Brits and God; Brits and Sex; Brits and Ghosts! (11/6/09)

It's Friday, everyone, and your friendly neighborhood blogger has lady troubles, so on we dash to the news in brief, after which I am going to make and eat an entire pan of brownies. Delish!

BROWNIES!!!

David Cameron thinks he's American
Why else would a Brit be talking about God and stuff in public? Cameron. Dude. Your constituents are English. You're making them uncomfortable. Calm down.

"Americans love puppies, too, right? Puppies and Jeebus?"

Britty conservatives object to mandatory sex ed
Seriously, is this opposite day? I thought the Brits were supposed to be sensible about these things. Hey, Brits! Here in the US, states with abstinence-only education have really high teen up-the-duff rates, on account of the kiddies don't understand how the duff works or what one must do to get something up it.

Sex ed, southern-style.

But the real story here is that, according to the Times article about mandatory sex ed, the British Schools Secretary is named Ed Balls.

Anglotastic loathes Ricky Gervais
So you guys, I just spent a horrible evening at Carnegie Hall listening to Ricky Gervais tell tasteless jokes about the following things:

• rape


• child molestation


• fat people


• homosexuality

It was offensive, it wasn't funny, and there was no point to it, other than perhaps to illustrate that Ricky Gervais is a dirty old man. For realz, some people actually walked out. FAIL.

I hereby revoke your Union Jack, Ricky Gervais. You're dead to me.

Ghosts tip off Welsh police
True story: Welsh police are using information from ghosts in a murder inquiry. Okay, Wales. That's not weird at all. And believe me: The rest of the world totally takes you seriously.

"I saw everything, Officer. It was terrifying!"

Okay! Now you are own your own for entertainment sources for the weekend, though I can recommend that you hop over to iTunes and download some free eps of the John Oliver and Andy Zaltzman podcast "The Bugle: An Audio Newspaper for a Visual World." It's fantastic.

John Oliver and Andy Zaltzman reporting for duty at "The Bugle."

And now I'm off to have brownies for dinner. Jealous much?

Bright Star: Just say yes… (9/28/09)

…to saying no. It's hawter that way.


When I saw the trailer for Bright Star, the Regency piece about John Keats and Fanny Brawne, I thought it looked like the sort of movie I ought to watch, especially as I now have Anglotastic as an excuse for such behavior as obsessively watching period dramas.



But when I saw this on the homepage of the New York Times two Fridays ago, I knew it was the sort of movie I HAD to watch, because Hot English Chastity is totally my bag.

The New York Times reps for Bright Star.

I would like to write a long, lovely post about how gorgeous the movie was; how perfect every moment; how fabulous Fanny's fashion-designing, fierce independence; how hilarious the constant presence of Fanny's totally adorbs brother and sister; how much I sobbed at the end.

Abbie Cornish as Fanny Brawne with Ben Whishaw as John Keats in Sexual Tension: The Movie.

But it was just too beautiful for words, and I can't. I can say—and it pains me to write this, truly it does—that there is a possibility that it is as good as, or even better than, Pride & Prejudice '95.

*ducks behind shield so as to avoid readers' barrage of angry arrows*

I can also say that the verily pornographic sequence that accompanied the opening credits—extreme close-up shots of a needle making its way back and forth through a piece of fabric—was brilliant and hilarious.

Fanny and Keats with the fam. Little redheaded girl = cutest kid ever.

Oh, and I have not yet mentioned the Hot English Chastity? No? In that case, let's talk about sex(ual tension).

In brief, sexual tension is totally underrated. But in Bright Star, we never see Keats and Fanny Do It. Not even that Gone With the Wind morning-after smile. And that is fabulous, 'cause there's nothing more ovary-melting than oodles of anticipation.

YA novels are the best place for it. In possibly my fave homage to the beauty of Not Doing It, the heroine in Wendy Lichtman's Do the Math: Secrets, Lies, and Algebra compares sexual tension to an asymptote: a curve that moves closer and closer to another curve.

For infinity.

Without.

Ever.

Touching.

I know, right? And then there's this, from Sarah Ockler's Twenty Boy Summer:

When I take his iPod to scroll through his songs, Sam puts his arm around me, strong and protective and tan and a little banged up. The heat from his skin seeps into my shoulders, and I am so suddenly alive that if I don't kiss him right this second, we will both burst into flames and die.

Hahaha! I love it.

And THAT is why Britty period dramas like Bright Star, Pride and Prejudice, and North and South (featuring the single hottest hand-holding moment of all time) are so rad. Not Doing It is the new Doing It. (Can I get an amen from Sting?)

In Bright Star, Keats does not Do It.

Ummm. I think I maybe need to go visit Richard Armitage circa 1850 now.

Brideshead Revisited Gets Down (8/20/09)

Last summer, The Dark Knight hit the theaters, and everyone in the land rushed to see it, myself included. As I sat in the cool, dark theater, where nearly every row was full and popcorn and Junior Mints rustled softly under cover of onscreen explosions, my thoughts ran along these lines:

Wow. This really is exceptionally good. Most impressive. I do like Gary Oldman very much. And Christian Bale is unquestionably the best of all the Batmans. For that matter, Batman is my favorite superhero. No superpowers. Just gigantic balls of steel. So yeah, this is really good. And yet...I don't know why, but god, I'm bored. I wish I'd gone to see Brideshead Revisited instead.

Christian Bale is almost as fabulous in The Dark Knight as he was in Newsies. And yet, I don't feel a thing.

I never did see Brideshead Revisited, because I wanted to read it first, which I still haven't gotten around to doing. But my interest in giving myself a kick in the pants and getting on with it has been revived by this excellent Times of London article, descriptively titled "Sex scandal behind Brideshead Revisited."

Michael Gambon plays a dirty old man in Brideshead Revisited. Oh, Dumbledore, what are you doing?!

Per the Times article, the real-life players Evelyn Waugh's novel is based on engage in some gettin' your freak on worthy of any modern European political sex scandal, is all I'm sayin'.

This, that, and the other (7/30/09)

Three things you need to know about:

1) Cross-Atlantic civil rights FAIL.
I'll admit it: I felt a smidgen of relief when I saw that the UK's mother branch of the Episcopalian church was mad at the US branch (or part of it) for supporting civil unions/gay marriages (rather than the other way around, as I would have expected). Whew! I thought. At last, the US has the moral upper hand on gay rights over someone in Europe!

Right. So...pride goeth before a fall, doesn't it? This week, I saw that the British military has a non-Neanderthalic position on gays in the military. Basically, their position is: Do ask. Do tell. Now let's go kick some ass.

Probably NOT what's it's like to be gay in the military.

Meanwhile, gay American soldiers WHO KNOW ARABIC keep getting thrown out of the Army of One on account of no one here seems to remember that the Spartan militia were a bunch of flaming badasses. Exhibit A: Dan Choi.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Dan Choi Is Gay
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Joke of the Day

2) British GQ best men's mag ever?
I'm totally digging British GQ! It costs about one million US dollars, but it is jam-packed with lots of clever information (and tipped me off about both the ejaculating cake and the Invisibility Cloak). It is a magazine for magazine-lovers. And also language- and information- and cool design–lovers.

Simon Pegg goes Trekkie in British GQ. Oh, yes.

Also, fun culture twist:

• Ladies with bared nipples: 3 (one of whom was basically a bikini-bottom–wearing centerfold)


• Curse words: censored...because Brits don't want to f**k with using words like c**k in their magazines?

Honestly, I think I've probably seen the word "fuck" in Foreign Policy. No nipples, though.

And if you're interested in one Londoner's sex-and-dating escapades, check Jezebel's diary over at the GQ site. It's written with conversative usage of the personal pronoun, making it sound very urgent and diary-like, much like our girl Bridget Jones's diary is.

3) My Mac's thesaurus is devilishly old-fashioned.
Check this list of synonyms for the word "extremely." It's very 1850s. On both sides of the pond. (Click on the image for a full-size view!)

Dial-a-Ghost, plus ejaculating cake! (7/22/09)

First up: adorable kidz' book. (I am a big old sucker for children's lit. I think maybe there's less navel-gazing than in grown-up land? Whatever it is...kidz' books rock!) Dial-a-Ghost, by Eva Ibbotson, is pinch-its-cheeks cute. To wit: Oliver Smith's evil cousins try to scare him to death—but the lovely, oh-so-British Wilkinsons turn up and befriend him instead. Confusion and awesomeness ensue. (Adopta the ghost-animal lover helps.)

Basically, any book that starts off like this:

The Wilkinson family became ghosts quite suddenly during the Second World War when a bomb fell on their house.

possesses just the right amount of whimsy, I think. Also, my biggest, most Anglophiliest obsession is British English. The English on the Other Side of the Pond rocks my socks, and it totally runs rampant up in here. Yes!


Speaking of the Second World War, which was a long time ago...1623 was also a long time ago. And here is a mince pie recipe from 1623! Thanks, Britain Express! They also have more reasonable recipes, like Harry Potter's fave, treacle toffee.

Once upon a time, I checked out a book from the library with old English recipes—but as minor details (such as oven temperatures) were conspicuously absent, I didn't get very far. Nor with the mince pie recipe, I think. It instructs you to "cut the best flesh of the best flesh" from a leg of mutton, for starters. A tad vague for me.

Anywho, while we're chatting about food, how about star British chef Heston Blumenthal's ejaculating cake? Heston did a series of period dinners (the Victorian one featured an enormous glow-in-the-dark absinthe jelly), and ejaculating cake is a Roman delicacy, apparently. I couldn't find a video of Heston's cake in action, but for a more mod, very graphic (read: kind of crass) American version, check out this (very) short video (premature ejaculation short, if you know what I'm sayin').

Heston Blumenthal's ejaculating cake, post-coital.

In de rigueur Harry Potter news, Emma Watson has confirmed to Paste magazine that she will be attending Uni in the US, at Brown. (Actually, she said, "I’ve got a place there to read literature." How Very British.)

Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson being adorable together.

You can also check out the Paste interview with Daniel Radcliffe, as well as their general Harry Potter mania, including props for my boys Harry and the Potters. Nice.

Joe and Paul DeGeorge are wizards who rock.

(Side note: Paste and its founder/editor-in-chief, Josh Jackson, are both awesome. Like many, many other mags, it's struggling hardcore right now, so if you lurve music, you might consider subscribing to it.)

And now I leave you with my new favorite thing: the Guardian news quiz. I always fail, but it keeps me informed, more or less.

For example: Did you know that Prince Charles is now repurposing his bathwater to his garden? Sounds like my whole switching from tp to leaves theory wasn't as far off as one might have thought!

Condom Cards and The Great Sperm Race (7/16/09)

Dunno if I've mentioned it, but when it comes to sex, the Brits are a little more...how shall I say...open-minded than we Americans are.


For further evidence of the same, check this shizzle out: The British government—the government, mind you, not some crazy liberal freeloving hippies from Vermont—has a scheme in place to hand out condom cards to boys as young as age 12. And younger, at the discretion of local councils. The plan is to allow the boys to present the card at "football grounds, barber's shops, and scout huts."

Scout huts. I fucking kid you not. I mean...I guess the Boy Scout motto is "be prepared." There's nothing like free condoms for preparedness.

Also fun: Boys who take a sex-ed class get a stamp on their card, which the authorities hope will become a "status symbol." How adorable is it that the naïve grown-ups always think education is a viable candidate for status symbol–hood? Hee hee!


But wait, y'all. There's more. I give you The Great Sperm Race, which "tells the story of human conception as it's never been told before."

Allow me to explain.

This Channel 4 documentary follows a human-size path to the egg, using humans (dressed as sperm) and life-size, vagina-like obstacles...such as the Grand Canyon.

Sexy.

Best bit: My fave actor, one Richard Armitage, who is incredibly talented (in addition to being quite attractive and having a lovely voice), is the narrator! I can't embed the two clips, but they are here and here, and I really must insist that you check them out. I'm telling you, people, this is some weird weirdness. Tragically, though I believe the documentary is available stateside, word on the Interweb is that it has a different (albeit, oddly, still English) narrator.

Richard Armitage: Esteemed narrator of The Great Sperm Race

Finally, let it be noted that I am officially tired of Googling image results for "condoms."

December Boys! Daniel Radcliffe! Australia? (7/15/09)

OK, so I'mma just get this out the way, right off the bat: Daniel Radcliffe is hawt. It was at the opening night showing of Order of the Phoenix that I first realized it, and by the end of the movie, I had two burning questions:

1. When did Harry Potter get buff? and


2. When did I become a pedophile?

At least he's not a teenager anymore. (Is he? I think he's in his twenties now. You know what? Don't tell me if he isn't. Let's just say he's in his twenties now.)


All of that said, he's also an excellent actor. In rewatching any of the Potter films, I'm always a little disappointed by the emphasis on action content—I'd like to see Radcliffe doing all of that shouting Harry does in the books. (I'm not seeing HBP until Friday night—so no reaction on that front just yet!) But when I finally got around to seeing Equus (which I had been putting off on account of going to see Radcliffe naked made me feel like a dirty pedophile), I got to see him shouting his head off, and it was amazing. (The nudity, which was very much essential to the traumatizing scene it takes place in, was tastefully done—and the play was extremely good.)

Now, to the point: December Boys. The movie (which is actually Australian) is OK. Radcliffe's character, Maps, has a really engaging storyline (and gets in some good shouting, too), but it's held back till very late in the film, which focuses instead, and often not very interestingly, on four orphans (Maps included) frolicking at the seashore and vying for favor from potential adoptive parents. Still, on the whole, it's quite engaging. (Also, Radcliffe, who was maybe 15 at the time, is looking hotter than usual. So that adds a whole other level of appeal slash creepiness.)


And then there's the music. The score is god-awful and emotionally manipulative—all melodramatic strings during life-threatening situations and suspended cymbal swells at emotional climaxes. Which is to say that this movie about orphans (plus a fatal illness or two) did not make me cry.

Um. Yeah. Just to put my lack of weeping into perspective:

• Avenue Q (yes, the parody of Sesame Street with songs like "The Internet Is For Porn" and "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist") makes me cry.


• Scrubs makes me cry.


• Reading about Jane Austen succumbing to Addison's disease makes me cry.


• Seeing Mary Tyler Moore cry makes me cry.

A movie about orphans that doesn't make me cry = Epic Fail. No matter how hot or talented Daniel Radcliffe is. (Sorry, Daniel!)

So. Back to that. As with Equus, the media attention focused much more on his "sex scene" (which consists of some fully clothed making out—the Deed takes place offscreen), which wasn't as important as the shouting scenes, and now I'm quite ready to see him in more post-Potter work. More shouting, if you please!

Mini Sunday Post: "An Orgasm a Day Keeps the Doctor Away" (7/12/09)

Here in the US, a lot of political resources are used up arguing over the value of actual sex education versus baby-producing abstinence-only education (Hi, Bristol!); and in arguing over the value of nationalizing health care service so that everyone is covered versus propping up the corporate insurers with our current shoddy system. (Not that I'm biased in any way.)


Not so in the UK. The National Health Service has been distributing pamphlets in Sheffield—at schools!—reminding the kidz that sex is great cardiovascular exercise! And yes, the slogan is indeed "An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away."

Good on you, NHS. Just make sure you can get condoms with that.