Intention

Going through a design site yesterday, I came across this picture of the front door on a house in Texas.





It's welcoming to be sure, but something about it seemed a little twee for Albert Camus. He was, after all, the most nihilistic and moody Frenchman ever to glower over an ashy Gauloise. So I did a little research and eventually came up with the original quote:


"I knew a pure heart who rejected mistrust. He was a pacifist and libertarian and loved all humanity and the animals with an equal love. An exceptional soul, that's certain. Well, during the last wars of religion in Europe he had retired to the country. He had written on his threshhold, "Wherever you are from, come in and be welcome." Who do you think answered that noble invitiation? The militia, who made themselves at home and disembowled him."


This bodes rather badly for the homeowner and her family. However the house is apparently on the market, so hopefully a) the militia won't come until after the sale closes and b) it will be bought by Adam Sandler.

Beautiful

The name says it all.





Man, it's uncanny: it's basically the soundtrack of my thoughts when I walk into a Harvey Norman store.

Hot

Following a tip-off from a friend of mine, I went out yesterday evening for a late night hot chocolate at Chocolateria San Churro in Subiaco. It's a member of an upscale franchise of Spanish-style chocolate cafes, with lots of designer fonts in the menus and statements of smug corporate philosophy plastered over every available surface. And some nice orange chandeliers.


I don't know how authentically Spanish the Chocolateria San Churro experience is - I suspect not very - but the hot chocolate is amazing. Expensive, as you'd expect, but served thick and hot with lashings of chilli and cinnamon. The cinnamon lulls you with the rich blossom of its aroma, then you get smacked in the face with the chilli. I basically sat there going, "Mmmm... owww... mmmm... ouch... mmmm... ooof..."


However the most interesting part of the experience came afterward. As I was walking down the street with my friend PM, I said, "Sweet merciful crap, I feel so good!"


"Yeah, it was good," he said.


"I mean I feel... buoyant. Almost exhilarated! What the hell was in those hot chocolates? Other than chocolate. And sugar. And cream. Wait, I think I just answered my own question."


Apparently this is what happens when I go on a strict low-carb, low-calorie diet, then give my body a little indulgence: the sudden slug of sugars goes straight to the pleasure centres of the brain. I've been on a New Years Resolution diet since the start of the year, and coincidentally I've also been in a perennial bad mood since the start of the year. Then I have a single belt of gooey Spanish hot chocolate and suddenly I'm as chirpy as a bird in a Disney movie.


"Now you won't be able to sleep," said PM, who likes to look on the bad side of things.


But he was wrong. Not only did I sleep, but I had the most astonishing, semi-lucid dream I've had in years. Of course most of it dissipated when I woke, but I remember being in a beautiful coastal city of soaring skyscrapers, trying to save a friend who was the key to overthrowing a plot by the Norse god Loki. Because it was semi-lucid, I knew that it was a dream so I could relax and enjoy the ride. It also came in handy in rescuing my friend from the mental hospital (which is, oddly enough, where one puts people who claim to be trying to stop Norse gods): I convinced the hospital director to let him go by causing the dilapidated 1940s building to morph around him into a glorious art deco institution, all lofty ceilings, sleek furniture and ornate plaster mouldings. For some reason there were stylised pineapples in the plaster mouldings - I would have thought bananas would be more appropriate, but like I say, the dream was only semi-lucid.


Usually when I dream I wake up feeling disgruntled, more often than not relieved that whatever frustrations and fears I just experienced aren't real. But this one had me frantically grasping at the wisps as they evaporated. Skyscrapers... Loki... art deco pineapples... wait, was that woman who was helping me being played by Scarlett Johansson? Damn!


Chocolate: is there anything it can't do?

Bloodied

As I've mentioned before, my old friend JC has a remarkable talent in selecting movies. If he thinks a movie looks good or interesting, it's a sure bet that it will turn out to be bad. If he thinks that a movie might be bad, it generally proves to be kind of interesting, or even, dare I say it, good. Over the years this dichotomy has gone far beyond being an amusing coincidence and become one of the immutable laws of the universe, like gravity, pi or Margaret Cho being unfunny.


So it was with some trepidation, at least on my part, that we approached the first of two Audrey Hepburn DVDs that he gave me for Christmas. He'd mentioned at the time that he'd thought we should perhaps watch some "good" cinema rather than our usual Cheap-Rubber-Monster-Versus-the-50-Foot-Bikini-Girls fare. After all, how can you go wrong with one of the 20th century's most celebrated actresses?


It seems that this question can be answered with one word: 'Bloodline'.


Based on a novel by Sidney Sheldon (a fact that should have most cinephiles recoiling like Ingrid Newkirk presented with a copy of 'Home Butchery for Beginners'), 'Bloodline' tells the story of Elizabeth Roffe, who finds herself heading a massive multinational corporation following the death of her industrialist father in a suspicious mountain-climbing accident. Her extended family, who are all members of the board, want her to sell up, but she decides to follow her father's wishes and maintain his empire. In the process, she finds that she's likely to have her own "accident" unless she can find out who among her extended family is a killer.


Meanwhile there's a subplot about some guy making snuff films. It bears no relation whatsoever to the rest of the story, but it does give the movie makers plenty of opportunity to show naked 70s girls slathering themselves with baby oil before a muscular bald man strangles them. And there you go; it makes no more sense here in print than it did in the movie.


'Bloodline' had a lot of money spent on it, from Audrey Hepburn's lavish Givenchy wardrobe to the hire of helicopters, Ferraris and French chateaus. And yet, as I noted about twenty minutes in, "They've spent a hell of a lot of money just to show nothing happening." Then about fifteen minutes later, after we'd leapt from a villa in Sardinia to an office in Zurich to an English country house all in the space of less than 90 seconds, I was moved to exclaim, "Sweet merciful crap, it's like this entire movie is being conducted in shorthand!"


I was convinced that 'Bloodline' was actually a much longer miniseries that had been edited down to movie length. That would explain the scenes that lasted for two lines of dialogue, the ambitious sets that were only used for thirty seconds of screen time, and the presence of old troupers like James Mason and Omar Sharif who were still a little too upmarket for guest appearances on 'The Love Boat'. After all, miniseries based on sprawling airport novels were a staple of the late 70s and early 80s, when Danielle Steele and Barbara Taylor Bradford were at their gaudy peak.


But no. Apparently there was a lot of footage removed from the theatrical cut of 'Bloodline', but there's no mention on imdb.com or other sources of it being intended for miniseriesdom. Much of the edited footage appears to have been even more gratuitous dead boobie scenes, suggesting that the film was originally to have been a bizarre mashing together of feminised lifestyle porn and masculinised actual porn. However the bulk of the deceased naked chick ogling was removed so that the film could attain an R rating, rather than an X rating, in the United States.


So what was a classy dame like Audrey Hepburn doing in this bloated piece of euro-trash, riddled with soft core porn like a sideboard infested with borers? It seems that she was coming out of a difficult divorce, and, in her low state, was vulnerable to the flattery of director Terence Young. Never mind that she was more than twice the age of Sidney Sheldon's original heroine, and miscast for a role which really called for a flashy young starlet rather than an elegant and poised veteran. She was shoehorned into this aimless, convoluted movie to give it some undeserved credibility. Unfortunately rather than giving the movie credibility, she had hers smothered.




Hello, I'm Audrey Hepburn, and I'm too old for this crap.


At least JC's singular ability with movie choices remains unbroken.

Stunned

You keep using that word... I do not think it means what you think it means - Inigo Montoya


Prior to the turn of the century, the word "stunning" had a potent and particular meaning. If you saw a stunning woman on the street, it meant that you walked into a lamp post while staring at her. If a car had stunning performance, it meant that it was so overwhelming that you nearly lost control. If your sports team had a stunning win, it meant that it was such a heroic piece of athleticism that there was an awed silence when you saw it, before bursting into wild cheers. If something was "stunning", it meant that experiencing it was like being belted across the head with a sturdy piece of wood.


After the turn of the century, however, the word "stunning" has been rapidly downgraded to little more than a synonym of "nice". The blame for this falls pretty squarely on eBay.


On eBay and other online auction sites, anything and everything can be "stunning". A plastic dog. A plate. A sweatshirt that some Midwestern housewife bought at Walmart. Either there are a lot of people traveling through this world being constantly stunned by couch cushions and toasters, or the word has been more violated than Zac Ephron in a supermax prison.


So what the heck does this word mean these days? To further explore this issue, let us examine a collection of objects described by their sellers as "stunning" on gumtree.com.au (the Australian equivalent of Craigslist).


Item: Rug



Context: "Stunning Beige & Black French Design Floor RUG"

Commentary: Beige can be stunning? Surely the whole point of beige is that it isn't stunning. Of all the colours in existence, it's the most completely clear-headed and uncontrovertial.


Item: Painting



Context: "I have for sale a stunning frangipani 100% hand painted canvas"

Commentary: The rare Stunning Frangipani (hyperbolus boganicus) is native to the lower-class suburbs on the fringes of Australian cities, and is one of the most toxic art-based plants in existence. The aesthetic poison is so potent that it can incapacitate anyone with more good taste than, say, Charmyne Palavi within seconds of exposure. It is to be avoided at all costs, at least by anyone who has ever been within one hundred metres of actual art.


Item: Couch



Context: "Stunning 2 piece quality lounge suite"

Commentary: "Stunning" in this context obviously means "featureless, grey and lumpy." By this definition, other "stunning" objects include the contents of your washing machine's lint trap and the surface of the moon.


Item: Lamp



Context: "I have a stunning Chandelier type light fitting for sale."

Commentary: I would have thought that the danger here wasn't from being stunned so much as putting your eye out. Perhaps it's heavier than it looks. The seller also provides this odd piece of background information:

The only reason I am selling this light is because it is not practical with my 2 year old daughter.

Is this toddler over seven feet tall? Has she eshewed crawling and gone straight for a pogo stick? Is she allergic to halogen? I am in a world of bafflement.


Item: Box



Context: "Stunning muted colours of black, gold, green, pink and floral/bird images."

Commentary: It seems to me that colours can't be both "stunning" and "muted", but maybe I'm being naive. The alternate explanation is that the "stunning" refers to the box's apparent ability to go out of focus on command. Which is pretty impressive, when you think about it.


Item: Sculpture



Context: "Stunning gleaming Black Terrazzo, abstract Dancing Couple."

Commentary: Actually this is a fair use of the word "stunning". I feel woozy and nauseous just from the photograph.

Inspiration

While shopping the other day with my friend PM, I noticed that Lego has produced a new 'Toy Story' line. It seems an odd choice, since they'd be unable to reproduce any of the characters covered by external trademarks (like Mr Potatohead and the Etch-a-Sketch). It's also bizarre to see Lego versions of classic toys... there's something of a hall of mirrors effect in having toy versions of things that are already toys.


Lego produces movie tie ins for Batman, Spiderman, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Indiana Jones and a raft of other movies. Apparently these sell extremely well. This got PM and I thinking: what other movie tie ins could Lego be exploiting?


Top 10 Nonexistent But Absolutely Essential Lego Movie Tie Ins


10. Alien

It doesn't exist, but fortunately that never stopped the Internet:



The chestburster is okay, but I'd want the full grown version. Admit it, you can see the Alien minifig in your mind right now, and it's adorable.


9. Team America

Lots of vehicles, a few international landmarks to blow up, and a Michael Moore suicide bomber (with genuine exploding action!).


8. The Back to the Future trilogy

The first one I'd buy would be the little "I got me a Pitbull!" girl.


7. Casablanca

Especially if they did it all in black, grey and white bricks.


6. Alien v Predator

Double the alien killing machines, DOUBLE THE CUTENESS!


5. Frankenstein



You've got the potential for interesting building sets (the castle, the burning mill, the hermit's hut, etc) and distinctive minifigs. Extra points if there's a little Bride of Frankenstein.


4. The Wizard of Oz

Comes with a special water-soluble Wicked Witch!


3. District 9

Between the shuttlecraft, the powered battlesuit, the over-the-top weaponry and the aliens, this is a no-brainer.


2. Kill Bill

I can see a little yellow minifig Bride even more clearly than I see the Alien. She has two tiny katanas and a determined smirk.


1. James Bond films



Yeah, baby. One minifig in a tuxedo, a handful of others in bikinis, a Lego Aston Martin, retro-futuristic villain lairs... in the words of Homer Simpson, "This thing writes itself!"


Of course if Lego follows this advice, it may get out of control and start producing toys for other, less appropriate movies. So by way of warning...


Top 10 Nonexistent, Inessential and Entirely Inappropriate Lego Movie Tie Ins


10. The Exorcist

Part of Lego's new 'Scarring Your Children For Life' collection.


9. Saw

The only Lego set in which the minifigs arrive fully assembled, then you have to pull them apart.


8. Donnie Darko

I didn't understand it; what chance does an 8 year old have?


7. It's Complicated

Lego is supposed to bring out the child within each of us, not the middle-aged idiot.


6. The Big Chill

One building. No memorable characters. No vehicles. You do the math.


5. Purple Rain

They can't make minifigs that thin. Or that creepy.


4. Frost/Nixon

There'd only be one model set, consisting of two minifigs and a camera. Whee.


3. The Passion of the Christ

Now appearing in the dictionary as the new definition for "inappropriate". Of course that never stopped the Internet.


2. An Inconvenient Truth

The Al Gore minifig - the only one with more personality than the original.


1. Deep Throat

Mindboggling... but no.

Blue

My 2 second review of James Cameron's 'Avatar':


Destined for review in 2019 by this guy.

Dogged

I have this morning to myself, so I've hit the smart shopping precincts of Darlinghurst, Surrey Hills and Paddington. As might be expected, I get the impression that the whole area was designed to subtly discourage riff-raff like me. The expensive stores are intimidating, with lots of signs bearing simple white text on a black background, stating the nature of the store in the most fashionably minimalist way possible, and thus suggesting that if you need a store to have a "name", you probably can't afford to shop here. The Grocer. The Butcher. The Baker. Presumably in the shadier parts of Paddington there's The Prostitute and The Pornographer. Which is coincidentally also a fantastic name for a pub, especially in this area.


Paddington is one of the wealthiest and most stylish enclaves in the city, which means that everyone here is cooler than me. Even the homeless people wear their urine-soaked rags with a certain panache. And the dogs lounging outside the cafes and boutiques while their masters shop give me a superciliously curious look as I pass by, then no doubt growl to each other...


Dog 1: I say, Baxter.

Dog 2: What is it, Hampton?

Dog 1: I may only be a dog, and thus not well-versed in these things, but I'd swear that the human who just walked past WASN'T wearing Wayne Cooper!

Dog 2: Good gracious!

Dog 1: If only I had a mobile and opposable thumbs, I'd call the police.


I'm currently hiding in a bohemian book cafe, where the black-clad staff have politely sold me books and cake. No doubt they mistakenly assume that my Harbour Town jeans and $25 haircut are part of some ironic cutting edge meta-statement, and thus haven't felt the need to organise a mob and run me out of town.