Monday, June 27, 2005

New Line sucks its own dick

Guess what happens when a big, vertically integrated conglomerate funds your movie? You sign a contract, they undersell, to themselves, all the merchandise upon which your percentage is based, then when you hire a lawyer, they make you out to be a greedy bastard.

Peter Jackson made a ground-breaking set of films, and helped New Line and its subsidiaries make a gatrillion dollars. By allowing only itself to bid on the merchandise, they maximized their own profit at the cost of Jackson's. Who's greedy?

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

moaning and munching

Lord, the internet moves fast. Apparently, is so last month. this article explains the origins of this wildly popular site.

My husband had sent me and several others the link to this site, then reported that there appeared to be a gender split by reaction to it. All the males responded with, "what the fuck is this?" while all the girls laffed their asses off immediately. Perhaps women are better acquainted with the impulse to boo-hoo and stuff face simultaneously, and can appreciate the rediculousness of it? Since two rather clever guys came up with the site, I guess that theory doesn't fly very well.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

I just finished 'Finding Neverland' and a bottle of cheap Spanish wine and this comes across my email from my husband. I've been through about ten of them and have nearly pissed my pants laughing...

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Fashion Brillance

I was enjoying a vast, flowing stream of fascinating topics about which to write, sitting at the Brick Oven over a glass of cheap Pinot Grigio and a slice of cold pizza. I had a shitload of trails to follow: my therapist's hair, the secret life of Tom Delay, ten things you do instead of going to your own mother's funeral.
I get home and fire up the laptop, ready to commend my brilliant thoughts to electronic media. But suddenly, with the cat rowring and the fishtank dirty and my clothes I just bought still in the sacks that say GAP and NY and CO, I find myself completely blank. Except for a faint pang of concern, looking at those sacks of clothes.

An uncomfortable realization forms: Now that I'm in my late thirties, I have resigned myself to the path of least resistance in fashion.

Not that I was ever much of a maven. My idea of accessorizing was wearing the same earrings for months until I reached up and noticed that I'd lost one (and who knows how long I'd gone around with just the one). For the most part, I favored Rock-n-Roll casual, thinking it vastly more important that everyone knew that I dug the Pixies than looking like I gave a damn. For those days when I really wanted to make an impression, I had a small collection of unusual, cool shirts with collars, like that fitted denim number with the embroidered longhorns that made me look all Rockabilly sexy (too fat for it now).

I tried to diversify. I'd drive around to all the little boutiques, looking for something that would really show the world what I was all about. All I found were tiny, overpriced swatches of cloth intended for girls far scrawnier than me.

I looked all over town because I didn't want to throw my money at the mall. I didn't want to go anywhere near the mall. And I certainly don't like buying clothes that are made in Sri Lanka by obscenely underpaid ten-year-olds.

I found, where you can create your own hoodies, tees, bags and so forth, adorned with whatever message you need to tell the world. I was instantly in love, and set out to make all the most important statements, such as 'Beck. His Beat Is Correct.'

But I found that I can't live by tee shirts alone. As I grow older and plumper, I've started to lean towards clean lines, crisp collars, and bold colors. Pants that fit me well. Decent prices. And I end up at the fucking mall. Sri Lanka be damned, I shop the GAP.

I'm not proud. And I would really like to see some of these small clothing stores help a sister out by carrying a size range beyond tiny to microscopic. I'd like to see more companies like American Apparel , and I'd like to see them do a wider range of styles.

In the meantime, I'll crawl the sale racks and pray for the day I find the One True Belt that, when worn, offers admirers a window to my brillance.