Cross-posted from the Shebeen Club.
Got this off Defamer. Yes, I can see Alan Ginsberg updating Howl just for the occasion. Lindsay Lohan is at least as consistently wasted as William S. Burroughs, although she is better-looking than he ever was and has not yet resorted to dealing. Clock ticking on that one, though.
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“and she’s what? Thirty? And she’s a total has-been…” said the comfortably-upholstered blonde not that far from thirty herself, to her expensively-if-more-selectively-padded circle of friends. Once you get implants, you pretty much have to shop at Bebe because nothing else fits.
“Yes, she is. Yes, she is,” agreed the brunette chorus. “But she really used to have the body.”
“I know,” said one. “But who’d have thought it would be him who’d turn out to be the smart one? The stable one? The better one?”
“She’s so overweight now. She’ just…have you seen her? She’s trying for a comeback, but she’s just…over. She can’t do work. It’s sad, really. Ever since the baby…He’s got it together, he really does. What a shock.”
And I’m sitting there, staring into my Martini and occasionally pretending to read my book, but the fact is that trying to figure out who they’re talking about is far more compelling than reading about Michel Mauvais, his accurst offspring Charles Le Sorcier, and their various intrigues in the deserted and time-haunted Castle of No Name.
And I’m thinking Affleck? Nah! Because the fact is that not only can it not be said that Jennifer Garner has let herself go, but it must be said that Ben has had it going on for quite some time and being visibly relatively together shouldn’t be cause for shock among a table of pub-going strangers, even after Gigli, or so ya’d think.
But the blonde is going on…
It appears, it doth, that her boyfriend/husband/whatever works in the film business, and this star, whoever she is or once was (it’s the movies that got small!) was up here filming something, and that, while she was filming this movie for which she was paid several million dollars, some jewelry went missing from her wardrobe. Oh, not diamonds, says the blonde, nothing like that. Only about four thousand dollar’s worth. But gone it was, and not merely misplaced, but stolen. And found in the star’s possession.
And at this point I rule that nice Jennifer Garner out entirely.
“Yeah,” says a brunette. “Who’d have thought the one with his shit together would turn out to be K.Fed.”
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Yes indeedy, this is what every action movie so far has been lacking. Wonder why Hudson Hawk lost $25million?
Because it did not have a climactic tractor mudfight scene.
Like this:
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So there I was, down at English Bay, waiting for the fireworks. But I was not alone: no indeed, 200,000 of my closest strangers and several of my friends were there with me.
And they were ready for us.
The three cops.
Actually, there were a great many more than three, although a wholly insufficient number to deal with the number of people celebrating their Welfare Wednesday en plein air. Most of them, indeed, were involved in traffic-denials and bicyclist harrassment and had no free hands, what with all the pointing and waving and whistling and “hey buddy, you can’t go there”-ing they were doing, to be involved in any riot-quelling activities.
Which brings us to the three cops.
The riot police.
The specialists.
You could tell they were riot police because of the quarterstaffs they carried in sheaths attached to their saddles.
Well, I guess technically it’s the SIX cops then, if you take Brigadier’s Law into account.
The Yanko-Belgian (half Quarter Horse, half Belgian).
The Anglo-Percheron (sometimes known as the Heavy Irish Hunter).
The Freisian (aka “those ones that Martha Stewart has, you know, that match the trim on the house”).
And their associated humans.
All were dressed in proper riot gear, the modern equivalent of military plate: it’s the first time I ever saw horses with plexiglas faceguards, reinforced LED-accented tack, teensy poll helmets nestled behind the ears, shin and knee pads like an NHL goalie and, as mentioned above, quarterstaffs. Plus Tasers, guns, handcuffs, snaffles, the usual. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a broadsword, but alas I was disappointed.
And you know, they DID have a mob to deal with, much to the visible consternation of their human partners. Ooohh, those boys were not happy: they were livid, faces like slabs of meat ripped from the flank of a charging bull.
Yes, the entire time they were on duty they were surrounded by a mob six to twelve deep. A mob of Canadians. A mob with one thing, and one thing only, on its mind.
“Can I pet your horse?”
Ah, I love the internets. Getting big online is like starting a religious cult: if something doesn’t exist in the real world, just make it up. Once enough people believe in your premise, Bob‘s your uncle.
Before eBay, did anybody think Six Million Dollar Man crap was really worth THAT much? Suppose I can’t be too smug, though: I actually HAD that t-shirt. And no, I didn’t get it at the time.
As I write this, I am pimping out my Second Life avatar in preparation for leading online blogging classes. So we’re all about the meta, the virtual, and the zeta today.
For an example of the kind of ephemeral (and temporary {hello Mahir! I kiss you!}) career which the intertubes have brought down the i-chute, may I present Bandicar, the Lightsaber Sensei.
With no fewer than 26 different saber spinning styles, each with its own YouTube video, a presumably economically-rewarding relationship with the manufacturer of regulation lightsabers, and a DVD release last year, Banditcar here has clearly maximized the metaverse’s potential for self-promotion.
Hmm, are lightsabers futuristic or retro?
I have to ask these things.
Whether he’d truly be any good in a real lightsaber fight is a question which is the quintessence of irrelevance, given that there is actually no such thing as a lightsaber and thus, no such thing as a real lightsaber fight. So, it’s not a real object or a real activity, but it is a real career. Got that? Hey, money’s just a mutually agreed upon delusion anyway. It makes TOTAL sense to me.
Now, to think of crossover opportunities. Oh, ComicCon, sure, but let’s get creative here. Lightsaber-wielding bodyguard? Hey, we’ve endured the Cooterflash Wars, the Duelling DUI‘s: since lengthy prison stints do tend to take one off TMZ‘s radar, perhaps Pimp My Bodyguard is the way to go, and in the darkness of most nightclubs I can’t think of a more impressive way to stand out in Teddy‘s than to be guarded by a ring of lightsaber stormtroopers. Oh, scuse me, I’ve got a call…
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raincoaster 