Clean Up, the British are Coming!

Minutes 2:08 to 2:47 on how the tiny nation of Britain managed to conquer the world using only contempt.

On this basis, I am only surprised my Mother doesn't rule more small nations...

Colin Quinn:  Long Story Short

You're British; Put it Out There

Last night the Handsome Neighbour and I made a foray into Soho House West Hollywood.  Having spent the best part of the afternoon catatonic over my French tax return, it was a plus that I had managed to locate clothing of a random but somewhat matching nature.  But this, apparently, would not suffice:  'you're wearing that?'  remarked the Handsome Neighbour, 'you do realise that Abby will have spent all day getting her hair and make-up professionally seen to?'.  'Really' I replied, and about-turned into the house.  20 minutes, 12 dresses, and a host of unaccessorised indecision later I was back in the car.

On arrival, I understood his concern, but really, all I could wonder was, do these people ever get dirty, in all senses of the word.  I mean, if I'd paid hundreds of dollars to make my hair look natural but better (the hardest look to pull off, believe me) I don't think I'd be rushing to have somebody tug it out of place.  Which, if we apply Darwin's theory of natural selection, kind of defeats the whole reason you spent three hours in the hairdresser's in the first place.

Which segways nicely into another point of discussion over the course of the evening.  Maybe because my hair already looked like it had been dragged through a hedge backwards, I had a number of pleasant chat-ettes with a number of delightfully handsome men.  At the end of the evening the Handsome Neighbour demanded a telephone number recount.  Grand Total:  zero.  This led to some derision on his part:  'but why didn't you just give them your number?' he asked.  I had no real justification except that in my world, you don't just throw your number at people you just happen to bump into over a cocktail.  Apparently, this is not the done thing in Los Angeles.  'Just put it out there' he advised.

Really, are we, the British, doing this now?  I mean, yes, if you are somewhat of an American ilk then maybe you shout from the rooftops about how great you are (even when, in my experience, you suck) but did you not see how riddled with self-deprecating humour Colin Firth was in the run up to his Oscar win?  Even at the pinnacle of British wonderfulness we still don't quite want to self-promote.

There is, of course, an exception to this rule that comes compactly packaged in the form of Sharon Ozbourne, who's hair called to me from the car park before I even saw her face last night.  Kudos Shaz, no one could miss you.

Greece is on strike; the Yank is due to arrive in Athens

This is a disappointing result for the summer playground known as Europe.  The Yank is due to arrive there sometime today and I fear that her dreams of the Acropolis may be somewhat shattered, or at least, according to the BBC, smothered in tear gas.

This is a sub-optimal result for me given that every time I mention the wonders of the socialist system to Americans they counter-attack with jokes about striking that I tend to poo-poo as an anomaly known only to France.  Twas not to be.

Rather than rail any further , I prefer to use a more subtle weapon in the armory of Europe:  Stephen Fry.  Ha!  Don't tell me you can resist us now...

Why was Alexander so Great?

The Spartans

They say of the Acropolis...

Embracing the Nanny State and the Flabby Arse...

Recently La Bella Milanese (LBM) sent me a photo that was so incredulous I was forced to question the sanity of the American people:

 

Really, how lazy do you have to be? And who thought of these? And may I ask why? Seriously, what is wrong with America? You have been born with a hip joint, may I cordially suggest you use it?

So commenced a week of jaw dropping disbelief. The more I tried to prove myself wrong, the more evidence I found to affirm my assumption that Californians like to outsource everything, especially thinking. Take for example this delightful sign from the Joshua Tree National Park:

Dare I say, no shit Sherlock, grappling a cactus may not be the smartest move in the book, but surely common sense should tell you that, without the need for the Parks Authority to erect a sign?

And then there's this:

'Natural Fitness'. As opposed to what? Unnatural Fitness?

And there's more, as seen at the cash desk of Urban Outfitters:

This poses a problem, I imagine, for all the vegan leather trouser-wearers out there; and causes me to question why, when California is, to use a technical term, completely in the shit, intelligent (I use the term loosely but one assumes they have been in some way elected to office and thus could scratch a brain cell every once in a while) lawmakers are wasting time legislating against faux-leather goods...

And before you get on your high-horse and claim that this is just a small minority of this global super-power (USA! USA!), consider this:

It's true hard work never killed anybody, but I figure, why take the chance?  

~Ronald Reagan

Didn't someone say that the most recent financial crisis has its roots in the... oh yes, now I see...

He is every other inch a gentleman...

My TV just got an inferiority complex.

Really, how many inches is this?  Inhumanly large (American...)

The aesthetic of lostness: Joshua Tree National Park (in Pictures)

The Future Director has an enviable touch of the George Lucas' about her and so, it's no surprise that our road-trip into the Joshua Tree National Park became a quest for alien-looking territories for use as space locations.  Of which, more below:

Race for an Osama bin Laden Movie

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The Hollywood Reporter