overheard at the Kingston…

Scarjo

“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.

add to del.icio.us :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: Digg it :: add to ma.gnolia :: Stumble It! :: add to simpy :: seed the vine :: :: :: TailRank

quiz: are you a gentleman?

Oh dear. Does this mean I’m in for a big life change?


You Are 88% Gentleman


No doubt about it, you are a total gentleman.

You please the pickiest ladies, and you make everyone in a room feel comfortable.

Are You A Gentleman?

add to del.icio.us :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: Digg it :: add to ma.gnolia :: Stumble It! :: add to simpy :: seed the vine :: :: :: TailRank

latest Undignified Deaths news…

Got Gravity?

Also, headline of the day, from Fark as usual:

Cool, I found another geckoooOOoooooooooooohhhhhh

It seems that a nocturnal gecko-hunter, out for a quick 3am lizard-gathering in a cost-free initiative to feed his presumably ravenous snake (and really, haven’t we all heard that line about the snake and his appetites at 3am? well, exactly), opened a door in a disused building and pulled a Wile E. Coyote, only without the part where he lives afterwards. 45m straight down a shaft into a sewer.

News.com.au has the details…although it was generous of them to leave the fellow’s name off the report. In the absence of more information, we here at the ol’ raincoaster blog are presuming his middle name was Wayne.

add to del.icio.us :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: Digg it :: add to ma.gnolia :: Stumble It! :: add to simpy :: seed the vine :: :: :: TailRank

The Dukes of Bengal

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:

add to del.icio.us :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: Digg it :: add to ma.gnolia :: Stumble It! :: add to simpy :: seed the vine :: :: :: TailRank

quiet riot: a Canadian mob scene

Police Horse in Vancouver

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?”