mock jeans

It's about time i made a new post. throughout the last couple of weeks i kept making mental notes on whines and moans to crap on about but really can't be bothered now. first order of business, a spot of geeklicious widgetry. to the left, under my pretty twitter badge, is a drop.io widget. through this you can send me anything you want, pictures, videos, music, documents, and i won't know who it's from. if it starts filling up i could just create a new free account of 100mbs. if it gets good enough i might publish the link where it all gets collected. the site is a really neat idea, you could even leave voicemail for me, it'll be an expensive call to new york to get it into my folder but that's not that much through the magic of skype. probably cheaper than leaving a message on my mobile even. anyway that's enough advertising for them. (and of course all this excitement is happening on the blog and not the facebook imported note)

the mental notes that i have basically consisted of bitching about how astoundingly bad cashmere mafia is (the production value of hollywood blockbusters, with the look and feel of soft core porn and playtime for lucy liu in costumes. lethal lethal mix), how surprisingly entertaining So You Thing You Can Dance Australia is (rhys, the resident flaming queer is the very same M.A.C. makeup artist that helped me pick out my base and powder shades), and horror upon horror, the leggins made to look like pants phenomenon that comatosed me before christmas, is now sweeping box hill, and most likely the nation, available at all good asian owned sock stands in shopping centers.

that's a pretty bad phone picture, so they might look like denim, but rest assured they all have the spandex and fake stitching of leggings. someone needs to bleed for this atrocity, and my finger is pointed at not linds lo, but people who do exercise. people who think a pair of nike's means it's ok to wrap your lumps in something black and stretchy and go out into daylight.

It was also the opening night of the French Film Festival last night, the full force of Palaise du Como was armed at the ready. finishing at quarter to two and having close to half a bottle of champagne down my shoe, the most unpleasant moment would still have to be when the greased back hair'd first born spawn to the zeccola legacy, my boss's boss, man who runs the Film division of the Palace family said to me (as i was passing trays of food around being attacked by vultures on all sides) "i just want you to stand next to me you're so beautiful". there. it's out on the internet now, i feel better.

thinking of having another movie night sometime in the near future. volunteer your most forlorn dates and we'll hug it out with chips and experimental cinema. speaking of which, my personal demi-god, felicity colman is keeping a new blog for her class this year at screen machine. the lastest lecture apparently touched on Gordon Matta-Clarke whice i blogged about not too long ago, but she included movies! so here i am shamlessly ripping off flick ripping off ubuweb.

Splitting (1974), Conical Insert (1975), City Slivers (1976).