If You Got A Fifty-Kilo Ass Put Your Hands Up

I may go on and on about stuff I like (and hate) but I felt my blog desperately needed something that really hits close to home. So I'm getting personal with a dedication to all my heavyset homies and monstrous mamis (you've got to have cried at the end of Shallow Hal to be a member. What? You thought we had to be inclusive just because we're fat? Think again). Mostly because I used to be an actual founder member of the tubby-club (Ladies, the operative word here is "used"). Although I might be more underwear model than Chris Farley now that doesn't mean I've forgotten my roots (my thick juicy tubers). To loosely quote one of the most asinine lyrics in the world "don't be fooled by the stones that I've lost, I'm still (I'm still) chubby from the block".

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about healthy lifestyles and all that new age crap but I have to remind all you lovely people that none of that gives anyone the right to hate. It would be too utopian to expect all the schoolyard taunts and behind-the-back sniggering to stop but at least Beautiful South know's what I'm talking about. Perfect 10, below, goes out to all my plus-size players. So, put down the extra-large bag of chips and give this one a listen.

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Posting about the American show Friends would be a mortal sin without mentioning Britain's brasher and more intellectual answer to it - Coupling (the circular logic that TV executives operate on forced them to make an American version of this too but trying to watch it is about as enjoyable as trying to tweeze out hairs from your big toe).

There are four main things which are likeable about BBC's Coupling and they are :-

1. Jeff,


2. The inventive dialogue about relationships and sex,


3. Jeff,


4. and the theme song Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

So there's a reason why I'm including Cake's tongue-in-cheek version of this timeless classic below (but no reason why I should be nominated for a Nobel Prize but that doesn't mean that's not going to happen either). Please press the pretty pink play button.

Hello Old Friend

I wanted to be the first to blog about Courteney Cox's new show, Dirt on FX. Matt LeBlanc had his chance with Joey but it turned out to be such a crapfest that the name Joey instantly became a synonym for anything bad and/or unwatchable (e.g:- The TV show Supernatural is SO joey. Or. Jay Leno, that joey bastard!). Matthew Perry went under the radar with Studio 60. I'm still waiting for it to turn into a real cult favorite before watching it (like Arrested Development) but I won't stop the clocks or let a cake rot in the background (never expected a Great Expectations reference didja? No matter how forced or unnecessary to the context). But good old Monica Geller just hit pay dirt (which will be my first and last wordplay with the title of this show).

She made the right decision not bringing in any baggage from Friends (we're still waiting for Jennifer Aniston to get out of character). This show isn't politically correct, it's not warm and fuzzy and it doesn't pretend that the United States of America consists of only good-looking, white heterosexuals who never have sex in front of a camera (and for those of you who are wondering, yes that is Spawn's cape Cox is wearing in the picture and no she isn't anemic, she's actually a vampire!)

So all you extremely unpathetic and sexually fulfilled people out there who are valiantly keeping the faith that six middle-aged men and women will once again sit down at Central Perk for a rousing chorus of Smelly Cat, I'd like to wish you a very happy upside-down-day. Throw a hat on me and call me mad already (I'm on fire with the lit-refs today).

**UPDATE** - Here's a little something for anyone even remotely interested in this show.

Dirt S01E01 - http://d01.megashares.com/?d01=c3d5eb9
Dirt S01E02 - http://d01.megashares.com/?d01=a16fe92

In the immortal words of Christina Aguilera - "Gonna get dirty..".

Vagina Envy

Confusingly provocative title - check (a possible interpretation of which might be that I am planning to be a transsexual. There I said it before anyone else could). However, that's a whole other story. I just wanted to follow up on a comment I made on Athena's blog (I hear she can induce erections in blind 90 year olds) about the bad rep that female artists get (female, not feminine. Prince, Little Richard, Boy George and David Bowie are respected enough). So here's a small list of some contemporary maestras that deserve more attention than they get.

Tori Amos

The grandmammy of them all. She personifies musical mastery. She also uses a L'Oreal exfoliant every morning for that fresh, clean look that teenage girls are supposed to have (enraged pimpley chicks, I feel your pain). A Tori-licious sample of her work below.



Fiona Apple

Beatles...who? That's what you'll think when you check out her cover of Across The Universe I've so generously provided. Fiona was named after her famous apple crumble which won her many national baking awards.



KT Tunstall

A veritable octopus of a musician. Don't understand? Video proof at your service, courtesy of Youtube in the form of a live performance of Black Horse and a Cherry Tree. Incidentally, KT says Victoria knows the Secret to a happy marriage (you know what she's talking about don't you girls?)



Worth a mention: Alanis Morissette, Tracy Bonham...Oh wait instead of me trying to impose my hegemonic will on others, could someone else come up with some more great female artists? (and no Ashlee Simpson and Avril Lavigne do NOT qualify)

In 24 Hours We'll Be Laying Flowers

Sunday, January 07, 2007 -

10:21 AM - 24 is back!! More Jack Bauer. More fast-paced neurotic suspense. Of course, season 6 will be better than all seasons before it and season 7 will trump season 6 and so on and so forth. Right now Jack and co. share the topspot of the pinnacle of my affections with Battlestar Galactica.

10:23 AM - I've got to find the right picture with all the counter-terrorist chutzpah.

11:02 AM - This real-time thing doesn't work as well in real life when you get interrupted in the middle of posting on your blog. I wonder what Jack Bauer does when he has to take a dump or someone messages him on MSN. Anyway watch 24 for the time of your life. Get it? Time? Comedy thy name is Hamzah.

Girls & Their Dreams

I watched Dreamgirls this week and damn me to hell but I liked it. I mean Chicago was annoying and managed to make Catherine Zeta Jones look like a man (they should show Martin Scorsese how to work that black magic on Leonardo Di Caprio) and Moulin Rouge was just plain scary at times (the thought of 40 year old whores being the norm in Paris was too much to bear. French pimps should have more rigorous hiring standards).

But try as I might I couldn't hate this musical. So there's no denying it. I must be gay (I apologize to all the families of women all around the world who slit their throats when they saw this). Still can't seem to think about buttfucking or getting poked by a dude without throwing up but that's the necessary next step. I'll have to find a way to get it done. Maybe pass out drunk on Santa Monica Blvd and wake up to find myself sodomized. That's relatively less nauseating. But wait Beyonce' was in it! Oh stop reaching Hamza you know you were actually in it for the scene where Eddie Murphy dropped his pants. Now you know the real reason why you watched Shrek three times.

Watch trailer below. Warning: Might cause irrepressible homosexuality.

Like They Did In Babylon

The first thing 2007 has given me is writer's block (bad year! Naughty, naughty!). The New Year's eve bash and the fact that I had my morning-after experience at 5 pm today might have something to do with it (although its just a theory). So I've been medicating myself with music such as Madeleine Peyroux's version of Leonard Cohen's Dance Me To the End of Love (listen to it below please, so you can all go ga-ga over how mature and sophisticated my musical taste is for my age).



Although I felt obliged to mention that prolific but gloomy Cohen wrote this beautiful piece of art he might as well just strike his name off the record and hand it to Peyroux. No offense to all you originalists but this is a woman who can sing in perfect French and, at the tender age of 32, sound like jazz greats such as Billie Holiday in their prime. This song is hers. Listen to Cohen's version and compare if you don't believe me.

Ah music. It's my crack. Some of you may laugh at this comparison but rock & roll, rap and even tame old Jazz have been outlawed in their time and consequently forced underground. So by relation drugs might not be all that bad (I can already see the invitations to speak at seminars pouring in). Maybe Amsterdam and Rastafarianism have got it right.

By Jove, eureka and gadzooks! I've just decided on New Year resolution number one - get dreadlocks and move to the Netherlands!