rode the el nino

Today: a remix (gasp!). Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf Mix) by The Pixies . I’m not sure if it’s a cardinal sin to love this version above the original but I just do. If you want to fight me in a dark alley way with a filed down toothbrush over it then you’re on – It *is* just that much better.

I first heard the UK surf mix, in the movie Pump Up the Volume. Boy did I have it bad for Christian Slater (hello glasses!). After hearing Wave of Mutilation I remember just sitting there stunned for a minute and then rewinding the tape (god bless VHS), again and again and again just to listen to it.

It’s probably one of those songs you either love or hate. Musically it’s not one of their best but when it gets you it gets you: I just went straight to love and never turned back. And since I’m a mean reds phase at the moment, just bear with me while turn up the melancholy up a bit…

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Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf Mix) – The Pixies.

…already old, walking into sunday and I find..

These are the last moments before sunday comes – Saturday night already leaving behind a faint taste of melancholy on your tongue. A cool smooth ‘hardly there’ breeze drifts over the Yarra and you, on Princess Bridge, look out over Southbank with its many restaurant lights being extinguished a few at a time like candles being blown out. You lean your elbows against the cold thick concrete on the sides of the bridge and watch the dark river below you, extending further than your gaze allows. The scene is blurring at the edges in more ways than one. You don’t have to look behind you to know that a more subdued version of the Yarra (less lighting, more trees) bends and curls behind you heading off somewhere deep into the Eastern suburbs.

But this is the view you pick, for it’s twinkly lights over still waters: The one that looks out towards the arched pedestrian bridge with Flinders Street Station an orange glow to your right. You stand for a while thinking before moving on. There has been a lot of thinking going on lately and it hasn’t all been good. As you walk, hands in pockets, a distinct ’sheltering of self’ sign, the taxis come in beside you on the road, one after the other, a yellow conga line. They line up but don’t have to wait long – there is never a lack of passengers on Saturday night – Sunday now. As you stand in the taxi rank, a small line on the periphery of the station, a fight breaks out near the turnstiles that go down to the trains. Two young men surrounded by a circle taunting women. Alcohol is ugly if you can’t handle it. Suddenly a bottle is thrown and one of them is bleeding down his face. The police come and break up the fight. The bleeding man (boy, really) uses water from an evian bottle to rinse the blood from his face and mixed with the water it falls and makes a garish puddle on the floor below him. It’s a sad confirmation of the whole night. A sign, always a sign.

You haven’t mentioned E yet, who is leaning against you and commenting on the ’skanks hos and idiots’, because essentially, tonight, you feel alone. L still left back at the pub. The whole night started off beautifully – but you don’t know anymore. Noone has changed except you. The thought sobers you up even more.

assorted sins

Bless me bloggers for I have sinned:

* I have been downloading episodes of Americas Next Top Model and watching them while eating chocolate.

* Been on the Big Brother Forums reading the updates.

* Blew off friends who wanted to go to a particular nightclub I despise and went out with someone else instead only a few streets away.

* Had improper thoughts about Mike Goldman while watching Big Brother Up Late on Tuesday night (this is so, so, so shameful!)

* Secretly wished bad karma on friend who did not want to leave tip at restaurant last night.

* Read NW magazine cover to cover while in the bath..

- took particular joy in reading about Britney Spears’ slobbish behaviour and tell all book that ex-bodyguards are planning on writing.
- read Tom Cruise and Katie article and laughed cruelly about them mistaking their new child’s name: Suri to mean “princess” when expert has come out claiming it means “pickpocket”.
- read article about man with penis thickness lager than wrist TWICE (okay, I actually read the thickness bit FIVE TIMES!)

* thinking of buying this

* used crimper on hair because I was bored – then actually enjoyed the look and pretended I was Cindy Lauper in front of mirror for …quite a long time actually.

* have read the Aries daily star sign on cainer.com every day this week.

* stayed in bed till 1pm today.

* engaged in behaviour that may send me blind…kept doing it anyway.

* ate scones for breakfast AND lunch.

* drank 3 cups of coffee between 8.30am – 9.15am on Friday morning.

* had conversation with another teacher that can only be given the title; Which dads at the school do you think are hotties?

* lied about being busy so that I didn’t have to help at the school disco.

* used another teachers’ photocopy code at the photocopier yesterday without asking.

* had a serious conversation with my privates.

gee wiz, how am I supposed to achieve redemption I ask you?

stuff

Despite the unravelling spool of 4 day weekends lately I am still chasing my tail. I get home at the end of the day and just collapse on the bed thinking about all those things I haven’t yet done and then spending the rest of the night trying to forget them. Sleepy at 4pm, wide awake and terrified at 3am. That’s me.

I’ve somehow managed to talk myself into losing yet another lunch block due to request at girls who want to run the Art Club. As it stands I have only 2 days of an actual lunch break. I wish I was better at saying no, but when students request things of you that are within your power to grant and it creates interest in a curriculum area, god how can I say no?

I’ve also done the dumb thing and signed up to get my level 2 first aid. I’ve been meaning on doing it for the last couple of years, but now the school wants teachers to attend to sick bay duty with more regularity than we’ve been doing in the past and I figure that I need to know what I’m doing – even if other teachers feel they can get buy without it. So, smart in that sense, but dumb because for the next month not only will I be spending an extra 4 hours every Tuesday night doing the training I will also have to “study” in order to pass the test. This should be real fun.

I somehow also need to get a school display happening in the local shopping centre before Tuesday! Also, fill the cabinet with 3D art made by the children (err..have not done any 3D art! Furthermore, get a display of all the art work for the mural happening.. Not to mention getting the mural done in TWO WEEKS (when we are only half way through!) I am going into convulsions thinking about this..

Then I also decided that it would be good for me to attend a two day seminar on literacy next week. To be fair I am one of only 3 people in the whole school who has done the whole training thus far and it would be idiotic to let it go. But it means missing a couple of days in the art room to train for something that is irrelevant to my subject area. Prin was happy to let me go. But now I’ve realised that I am training for first aid, this literacy thing and the movie project.

Ahh, the movie project. I’ve picked my 8 kids for the movie project. Hopefully they will come through with the goods. They are beside themselves with excitement. I’m really going to have to do something that I’ve never been able to pull off before and that is getting ORGANISED! It’s worrying me quite a bit, because I am last minute girl and last minute girl doesn’t work well with timelines or dates. We’re having a meeting on Monday to talk about what we’re going to do, and really, what is realistic to do. Picking only 8 kids has meant that there are a whole bunch of kids who were *desperate* to do the project that won’t get to. One such girl is the school captain, who gave me the worst evil glances during art class after she had heard through the grapevine who was getting involved. DUDE you’re the SCHOOL CAPTAIN, you are already the shining star – let someone else have a go! I hope it works out.

A teacher came up to me the other day while I was putting up my Footballer display (oh, they turned out so, so well – so many people stop and stare at them!) and complimented the artwork I was doing with the kids. She said that the standard I was producing was beyond that produced by the last art teacher. Now, when I mention to people outside the school who the last art teacher was they usually gasp in reverence. The last art teacher had a reputation for being awesome and I have struggled with the notion of filling her substantial shoes. She really was awesome. I know that the standard of art work I produce is not on par with last art teacher but it was nice of this other teacher to compliment me in that way. It made my day.

The art role is much more isolating than being a classroom teacher but at the same time you’re always out there putting work up that everyone sees that you are told what a good job you’re doing. Let me tell you, that ‘apple for the teacher’ thing doesn’t come along everyday. It’s not often that someone will come and compliment you for doing a great job. Teachers deal a lot of daily shit. Not only do parents have many demands, they also approach in a very negative and aggressive manner (not all of them!)..so many negative things to deal with on a daily basis – sure globally it’s such a rewarding profession. There is a lot of joy in teaching! But still, the everyday drudge is exactly why people who go into teaching now are *not* planning on staying in teaching for more than 10 years. So when you get a compliment it’s the pearl in your oyster shell, really. As the art teacher there is much less contact with everyone, but most of that contact is positive. I like knowing if the work I put up has made someones day. And so often it does! It’s a very cool part of being the Art Teacher.

love and marriage?

I was listening to the radio this morning, as I always do on the way to work in the car and Hughsey, Kate and Dave were talking about “why are men embarrassed by getting engaged”. Not quite sure what brought on the topic. They outlined many a story about different men not wanting to talk about the engagement and even in one case not telling the parentals about it until 4 weeks later! Men were calling in from near and far to relate their embarrassment or just indifference to the whole concept of “ceremony”. One said that “once you’ve made up your mind to get married that’s just it – the rest is a bit of paper” and Hughsey and Dave agreed. Kate was bewildered by it all. Hughsey brought it down to the fact that each man is actually two personalities. There is the bloke you are with your mates and the romantic guy that loves his girfriend – and never the twain shall meet. So bloke will pretty much do anything to avoid letting mates know that romantic guy exists – because basically bloke is the antithesis of romantic guy. So when romantic guy gets engaged bloke will tell the mates that “oh yeah, btw got engaged..anyone got change for a fifty?” whereas girls have a whole different way of going about it that envolves analysing every single minute detail about fifty billion times until best friend mez wants to kill them..I mean..or someone totally unrelated to this entry might get a tad bored. That’s because girls are ..well, girls are scary sometimes.

I find the whole thing interesting. The only girl I have known that hasn’t been compeltely obsessed with her marriage and engagement was K – who ended up leaving her husband to be at the altar three weeks before nuptuals. I knew something was up – dur. So, as a general rule – do guys NOT care about any of the engagement/marriage plans or only not care when they are doubting whether they’ve made the right move? The whole thing is very perplexing.

Having said that, I feel that there is a bit of hammering the point home on the part of the girlfriends. As I have only ever known one girl who didn’t get into the marriage preparations as was expected I have only known one girl who did not drive the poor bf crazy in the courting process before the ring was given (it was the same girl). I’ve had friends who upon hearing some nice news about a couple being recently engaged will lean over to their boyfriend and practically shout for everyone to hear – “gee that’s nice – I wish I could get engaged!!!”. I have known people who have left magazines open at the engagement ring page where they know bf will see them or make snide comments, pouty faces, embarrassing altermatums, and all of this publically shaming the guy until he has no choice but to relent. Or so it seems anyway. I’m amazed more don’t walk away! So many times I have almost leaned over and suggested that I distract the girl and give the guy a sporting chance to get a 30 second head start on the run away. It’s only fair after all – when you’re being hunted…

All these girls, my lovely friends – who are all amazing catches and any guy should count themselves very lucky.. have done that strange “trying to convince the bf” dance like some sort of posessed zombies out for brains, and all of them, and I mean all of them have denied ever doing something so calculated after the ring is on the finger. It’s a strange, strange thing. In fact, recently at a lunch – S (who was the WORST at publically shaming her bf until he proposed – so much so that he told her that he’d ask her in a month and everytime she mentioned the word engagement the month would start again, and again, and again) expressed displeasure at a friend of hers who would not shut up about getting her bf to marry her. Well, we all looked at eachother (funny how the 4 way glance can work) and started pissing ourselves “well you were pretty bad too S”. And there sat S as we all outlined one particular story or another about her shameful acts in getting engaged and then she proceeded to deny them all! But all acts had already been witnessed. I’m not sure why that happens. Maybe that’s why men are more embarrassed to admit they’re engaged than anything else. Maybe it’s the “being caught hook, line and sinker” thing.

I can’t imagine ever, ever, ever being like that – who knows if that will ever change. I have never been so, anyway – couldn’t think of anything worse, as a matter of fact. I mean, sure if you’re together forever and there’s been no mention of the big M then I figure there’s something wrong and it’s either time to have it out or call it quits. But if the guy can’t ask by his own gumption then I know it could never work out for us anyway. I need someone a little more sure of themselves than having to be convinced or persuaded. One must have their own ideas after all – if not arrivederci baby. Then again, since I’ve never actually known any men who have had the marriage idea on their own or without any kind of exquisite twisting of the preverbial arm then maybe that kind of guy doesn’t even exist?

Whaddaya reckon?

the penis envy entry

Long and smooth, and just the right thickness – enough to get the job done properly, if you know what I mean. I run my fingers along the hard length and up to the tip and back down again. Then again and again. I could do this all day. I grap, touch and grip hard trying to get as much as I can in my hand – the volume swells, it’s too much for me now and so I use two hands, splaying my fingers wide hoping to fit more in. Where the constant squeezing and gripping doesn’t do total justice I lower my lips until they too are full. I gather and let go, back and forth, up and down I go – until some spills out onto the floor and I pause to collect it in my mouth, the only avaliable means. It is now a mission to see this to a satisfying conclusion, we are so close – nothing could be better at this point. And then after the effort of groping, and squeezing, of feeling and grabbing it comes to a head and my receptacle is full.

I love sorting out the new jumbo sized texta markers into containers.

big bro

Thank you chanel 10 for your daily dose of legal drugs. Just when I thought I was over the withdrawal symptoms back it comes again to tempt me once more into the back alley ways of commercial television, aching with anticipation and want. Please, just one more hit!

Big Brother. Hallelujah. Amen.

I love me a bit of people watching. If it didn’t result in getting me a restraining order then I would openly stare at people all day long, follow them around, laugh at their mishaps, commiserate with them ..make their skin into a lovely two piece suit… If there was a job where I could stare at people legitimately and get paid for it, I would gladly take it. BB gives people like me an avenue to just watch and wonder without being labelled a social deviant. ha.

I like watching how people act when they are alone. I know that I do a bunch of weird shit all the time – I like watching other people’s weird shit too. I love listening to their conversations. I like it when they have a political point of view and can argue it (oh Tim from last year was so great!) – though that doesn’t happen very often on BB. I know that they know the cameras are on them and so behaviour changes when you know someone is watching you – but still, it’s so enjoyable.

It’s also dangerous for girls like me. Here we have a show where suddenly girls are privvy to information previously only shared in the boys ‘locker room’. I don’t have a wide circle of male friends, so wow, the things they say! Oh my god. Do men really think that way about women? It sort of makes me sick and yet..I can’t not watch. I know the male contestants on BB don’t represent the whole male population but since a lot of the female conversations aren’t that big a surprise then I can only conclude that neither are the male ones. The girls aren’t that much better really. Men, women..where did humanity go so wrong? So yeah, it does disasterous things to my mind, but I can’t keep away.

So, BB06 is upon us. And once again Gretel Killeen has made herself known as the only true alpha male in the house, without actually being in the house, or male for that matter. Bless her heart. I wish she would win the money. I love how Gaelen (contestant: thinks he’s gods gift) walks out trying to give props to the ladiez and Gretel retorts (and I paraphrase) “oh Gaelen are you gay?” “oh, haha Gretel like I haven’t heard that joke before (ie: the name thing). “oh..no, I was just wondering..something in your walk when you came out.. nevermind” and we are left to watch him cower and retreat into his shell and walk down the plank with his preverbial tail between his legs. Not that she doesn’t give women the same treatment. If you’re an idiot you’ll get it from Gretel. Fair enough I say. When Jo (big bro 3?? the HOTHOTHOT XXX overly flirtateous prick tease) was voted out by the biggest majority ever seen (ie: because she was a prick tease, dur). Gretel was like a tiger, ripping at her behaviour in the house until Jo was visibly turning green – then she proceeded to bite into any of the boys who were duped by her. Good times.

This year they have picked a bunch of utter wankers. Only a couple of them seem like genuinely good people that you’d want to have sitting with you at the dinner table. The gay farmer from QLD is the front runner (how much do we love him?) – already the brokeback mountain jokes are emerging. Of course he hasn’t actually told the housemates that he is gay yet, but can’t wait for that bombshell. But apart from that and the mother/daughter boob job team the housemates are the usual mix, representing Australia stictly only for guilty pleasure television viewing whores such as I.

I should feel more shame, but I don’t.
In honour of the event Vice Prin has taken to looking out the window while on the loud speaker and telling kids off for doing naughty things in the playground “Callum, stop playing with that tree branch – don’t think I can’t see you”.

The Poo Incident

Kids are funny, you know. Today I overheard a conversation between two 5 year old boys in the art room that went something like this

#1: Do you love any girls? Would you ever kiss one?
#2: no way!
#1: hehehe, I know who you love (names some girl in the class).
#2: nooooooooooooooooooo! Well, maybe.
#1: are you going to marry her?
#2: NO WAY!
#2: well…I *do* love my mum. I kiss her!
#1: WHAT? you can’t marry your MUM, that’s dumb! ewww.
#2: I kiss her and I love her. She lets me kiss her and she cuddles me. She’s nice.
#1: Yeah…but you can’t MARRY her!
#2: ……

err, yeah well sorry kid that would be called INCEST which is only a valid past time in porn. So.. speaking of Freud that is the first concrete instance I’ve ever witnessed of the Oedipus complex at work. I can’t believe it’s taken this long! Go Freud, you were obviously on to a winner. An entry about penis envy next week folks.

The conversation had me laughing to myself while pretending I wasn’t listening. Kids are absolutely awesome. Everyday I find something new that fascinates and enraptures me. I hope I end up having some of my own one day.

Well, that’s what I thought until my next class. Teaching children is not like any other job – there are many reasons for this but the main reason is that I work with kids and kids are NOT adults, they say and do weird things and they are not in control of things that adults are. They are wackos actually. Teachers deal with a lot of shit that most normal working folk don’t have to deal with. In fact..sometimes when you teach the youngest ones you literally deal with SHIT. Today was one of those days. The class after oedipus boy stank. I mean Peeeeeee-U. Some kid had pooed his pants, or stepped in it. I was starting to feel sick as I sat there explaining the task. The stench was overwealming.

Then a kid puts up her hand..

Kid: umm….Miiiiiissssss?
Me: yes (trying to breathe through mouth).
Kid: something really smells!!
Me: tell me about it!
Kid: …something really smells..like …… bottom.
Me: *laughing*

yeah, I never said I acted professionally EVERYday! But yes, there is a degree of decorum one must have in these cirumstances. You can’t just go around accusing children of having a load in their shorts willy nilly without some EVIDENCE. That kind of accusation could scar a child for life. Who wants to be known as poo pants for the rest of their schooling years? A teacher needs to be sensitive about things like this. I tried to do the sniff test but almost threw up and had to retreat to the next room where I cowered and tried to convince myself that everything would be okay.

Finally, when I couldn’t stand it anymore I stopped the class and had them all clean up early (sprayed the room with glen 20 – almost a whole can) and gave them the POO talk. You know, ‘when you need to go to the toilet you must go, you must not poo in your pants. It’s stinky and it’s uncomfortable’. This is my JOB, folks. Are you jealous? I looked carefully for the guilty looking child, but they all gave me the blank look. The thing about 5 year olds is that they often give the blank look for pretty much everything and so it’s hard to know when they really don’t understand, or whether they’re just being 5 years old.

I brought them back to their teacher. She is a substitute who I recently bonded with in the photocopy room one day when we both realised that we both have the same dumb sense of humour that noone else gets.

me: Someone in this class is….
her: ohhhhhh yeah, I know! I’ve had to live with it for the last 3 hours. I can’t figure out who it is!
me: me neither! It’s got to be one of them! Who the hell is it? I think it might be (names kid).
her: I’ll check it out.
me: …I had to stop them early and give them the poo talk.
her: I gave them the poo talk too!
me: haha, I can’t believe they’ve had the poo talk from both of us. They must feel like shit.
her: …well they certainly smell like shit.
me: hahahahah!

yeah, well – sometimes you have to amuse yourself or you’ll go insane.

Pooer was discovered.
I couldn’t eat lunch. It was all too much.

The Shark Fin

I went and saw The Squid and the Whale the other night. I liked it a hell of a lot. I liked The Life Aquatic as well, so if you’re a fan of viewing the kinds of quirks that leave you feeling a bit weird then this is the movie for you. Basically it’s about the tearing apart and sorting out of a family that is going through divorce. Laura Linney as always is absolutely sublime – I fell in love with her when she played Mary-Anne Singleton in the serial adaptation of Tales of the City – a role she was perfect for. In fact, there aren’t a lot of roles that she’s done that she hasn’t been perfect for. She knows how to pick what’s right for her. Anyway, I digress..

There is a brand of psychoanalytic theory that the cinema screen is like a mirror – reflecting points of identification for us, the spectator. Philosophically (or psychoanalytically, as it may be) speaking one can compare this losely to when a baby first recognises itself in a mirror and sees itself as a whole entity. This is the first point of identification of self that is not completely fractured – it is not just a foot or a hand or whatever babies usually look down and see. Of course that image is a mis-representation of self as that image that we see in the mirror is always ‘other’. It is not self at all. Anyway, it has been philosophised that film spectatorship recreates this search for identity of self through the other. The big celuloid mirror. I can’t remember the how the whole thing goes, it’s been 7 years… I took a class on it at uni. The whole subject was a fucking big mistake. In fact that whole honours year was a big fucking mistake. But that subject still gives me nightmares – I remember walking into my first seminar in my tracky dacks and sneakers, all ready to kick some freudian arse. Every single other person in that room was wearing a black turtleneck. I swear to God! Not even the death of one of the wiggles would have attracted so many black skivvies. I was agog. I had no idea what to do. I very seriously almost walked out, but unfortunately I didn’t have the guts to just turn around and walk away. I made my way to a chair and just tried not to stare with my mouth open. I seriously thought I might have been on candid camera – surely this french cafe pseudo philosophic gathering was a big ironic joke! Surely a farce such as this wouldn’t dare actually happen in real life – in the English department of all places. Just next door I’m sure they were debating the similarities between the fifth Beatle and the First Mrs Rochester. Someone was having a laff! Then I noticed that it wasn’t just the black skvvies..it was black pants, black skirts, black shoes and horn rimmed glasses. The lecturer – the main offender – was a self important snob and the rest bore me to tears. I love a bit of black, but bloody hell – at least be funny about it. Nope, all deadly serious. All deadly serious about …Freud. A fun class. I liked the weeks we spend on film psychoanalysis and Hitchcock though.

Anyway, I was sitting there in the cinema watching The Squid and the Whale and did that familiar little mind dance that I usually do when watching film, which is to find parts of myself in the otherness of the celuloid mirror. I can imagine what it would be like to go through a divorce and that’s the horror of watching something like this. It helps you to remember the things you want to forget. Our little nuclear family never quite figured out the finer details of it all – and truly, my father died before we actually went down that road – but my parents got to that stage where they always fought, screaming all the time actually and the D word came out more than once like a shark fin circling the familial waters.

It was on the cards for a while. I remember one balmy night in my early teens doing some maths (gross!) homework in the kitchen when my father came in to make a cup of coffee and grab a cigarette (as he did, a lot). He turned from the stove and came to lean against the bench I was working at and asked me the question a parent should never ask their child. If your mother and I got a divorce who would you want to live with? Good god! What are you supposed to say? Which side is the right one to take? I mumbled something about not being able to choose and spent the rest of my teens until he died trying to be the peace keeper between them. I often wondered what it would be like to be part of a ‘divorced family’ actually. Sometimes I thought it would be preferable to the war zone we usually lived in. In fact, yes – it would have been. The whole business put me off marriage entirely. It’s only in the past couple of years that I’ve seen normal people (ie: not my parents) attempt it that I figured that it’s not an entirely evil concept.

I like the ideal of marriage but …geez – how do you know it’ll work out?

For those that have been through it, does one ever have a tiny little feeling at the back of one’s head that it won’t be forever? Are the cracks there to start with? Or does every marriage begin with the same chances, hopes and dreams as any other? I can handle the idea that sometimes people make bad choices. Get married too quickly, or too young or too..something. That’s okay – bad choices can be avoided if you have the clarity of foresight, or insight.. But what if that has nothing to do with it? What if it just happens later …and you look up suddenly and there it is… The shark fin circling in your waters.

And now:

I did have something a little more high brow lined up. But instead I thought I’d use this opportunity to make a public service announcement in keeping with the theme of today’s post.

Girls, don’t marry this guy

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Jimmy Fallon – Idiot Boyfriend <3 <3 <3

the men

okay since I have already made a lesbian list- here are the men. I have left out the dead ones. I mean there is the saying that the only good men are dead men but hey..if they’re dead who is going to be your partner to yet another wedding where you’re one of the single losers on table 9 or whatever.*

And now for the list of guys

clive owen (always seems to have a five-o’clock shadow, it looks good on him)
alan rickman (hands down the best voice I’ve ever heard in my life. Totally does it for me).
hugh jackman (sings, dances, punches the lights out of random mutants – what’s not to love? PLUS he married someone who is not a hollywood bimbo idiot which proves that he actually followed his heart and gives me hope for other men)
john cusack (funny in a neurotic way! Love the ‘black’ fetish. Has lots of quirky facial expressions, great voice.. plus we all know where he started “…*girls* underpants” love it! Also love his sister..actually I officially swap Scarlett J for Joan Cusack on my lesbian list! Phew, I feel much better about self now)
james spader (I tried not to like him, but he has a great voice, penetrating gaze, bastard thing going on….am only human. Plus there were three people who were awesome in Pretty in Pink – him, ducky and Iiona).
colin firth (Mr Darcy coming out of the lake in wet shirt. AM ONLY HUMAN!!!)
eddie izzard (absolutely hilarious! Has a lisp! A little strange..ie; okay he’s a transvestite).
neil gaiman (intelligent, wears pretty much only black and makes no apologies about it, awesome voice).
Martin Donovan (If he’s in the room you’re not going to miss him).
George Clooney (He is the Cary Grant of modern times. Cute as hell, quick witted, totally charming, a little elusive, boyish and manly at the same time).

(hon mention: Jarvis Cocker from band Pulp. He is awesome).

*I’m kidding okay? sheesh.