An open letter to Gore Verbinski

Dear Mr Verbinski,

Well done on the "Pirates of the Caribbean" (PotC) franchise. I'll admit to having watched the first movie approximately 20 times, it having found a place in my heart reserved only for a select few films which I can watch repeatedly, even after only short breaks - for example, it's up there with Wayne's World, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Princess Bride and Some Like It Hot on my Most Played list (the only film that has come close recently was School of Rock, but I was really bored that week). Admittedly, I'd watch Johnny D hyperventilating into a paper bag for two hours and say it was a masterpiece, but I genuinely enjoyed Curse of the Black Pearl.

So, I was looking forward to what has been commonly referred to in the media and cinema listings as PotC 2. Yep, great fun, lots of scary beasties and sword fighting and high seas japery and whatnot. Despite the rustly-chatty-heavy-petty couple next to me, I enjoyed it for all 150 minutes. Although there was a point at about 120 minutes when I started to gear up for the inevitable climactic showdown.

Which didn't really arrive, did it.

Because the movie isn't PotC 2, is it? Okay, you've been clever and titled it PotC: Dead Man's Chest so as to avoid too much uproar, but my point still stands, you deciever, you.

Please retitle the movie PotC 2 PART 1 (or PotC : Dead Man's Chest PART 1) forthwith. The movie I saw last night was half a movie, and you should make that clear from the start.

Regards,

Jenny

Saturday night and Sunday morning

Been out (as you might be able to tell from the time –bloody hell, it’s light outside).

I remembered an ambition I had at around the age of 13, which was to be an A&R man for a major record label. This because I was out watching bands. Many bands. I’m still hearing the cowbell used extensively by the headliners ringing in my left ear. During the course of the evening I developed an A&R theory – it doesn’t matter how talented a band is, if they are not 50 % pretty (minimum) they won’t be a success. The acid test is this -hypothetically, would I want to fuck any of them? One of the bands utterly failed this criteria (even bearing in mind my current favourite adage, that people on stage are 50% more attractive) which was sad, as they were pretty good. They could have made it up, I suppose, with styling and poise and attitude and energy but…they didn’t. I weep internal tears.

However, this does not explain the signing of the band Keane. It’s even an unsexy name. They wouldn’t have been picked up by my label.

I also started developing theories on boys, which I’m sure I will elaborate on later, after having had mulling time. I was thinking about having ‘types’, and whilst I’ve regularly maintained that I don’t have a type, I realise I actually just have many types, two of which I identified this evening: that is “The Hobbit” and “The Fat Geek”. There were a row of “Hobbit” types at the front of the gig this evening, and two were wearing knee-length shorts, which didn’t help me…. And I reencountered a “Fat Geek” who I had a thing with back in the day; I didn’t see him until he muttered from beside me at the bar the phrase “…and your specialist subject is?” before telling me I should have taken Star Wars, as I would have won my Mastermind heat with that (he’s probably right).

The night then degenerated further into a random bloke telling me how Xanax and Diazepam ruined his short-term memory; it was then I knew it was home time. An odd end to an odd day. I was ‘recognised’ in Space NK (well, the assistant came up and claimed I looked familiar) and my companion made a joke about me being on TV, or “As Seen On TV- the Edinburgh show title – and then I became a bit of a VIP and she started bringing us drinks and stalking us around the store offering to demonstrate things. I like being pretend famous.

In other news

I’m going to be a roving reporter for radio from Edinburgh – will elaborate later.

I just booked a flight. How mundane, you think; but it’s really fecking exciting for me as I’ve never flown solo before. Good Lord, that sounds sordid, doesn’t it. Sorry.

Yes, there should have been a quiz on Friday on the quizblog, but I grew too lazy and decided to have a bath and a lie-in instead. It’ll turn up. It’s about a specific person, but I ain’t saying who, or you’ll all (in your thousands) get revising, and that would be naughty.

Some questions

Is spectacles fetishism very very common, or do they all just come to me? And should I be worried?

Should the feminine of ‘viveur’ (see above) be ‘viveure’ or ‘viveuse’? This has been worrying me for some time, and if I’ve got it wrong I wish to change it.

Goddamn, the sun’s up. Bedtime. Laters boys and girls x

Fame at last!

Here am I in the local paper. Woooooo!

At least it's a start, eh?

Contemplating A Sport-Free Monday

Wimbledon’s over. The World Cup has reached its climax. No more sport to waste all my daytimes on from tomorrow. Damnit. TV schedules will go back to normal (I’d got used to being surprised by the odd soap turning up here and there, on the wrong day and at the wrong time), and I will have no excuse to leave the telly on all afternoon any more. I’m not sure I can remember what people talked about before the football, so this next few days will be a social learning curve for me.

All right, it’s a fair cop – there is the cricket. But Rupert has stolen the coverage from my pov terrestrial tellybox so it’s the Channel 5 highlights and long wave radio approach, which don’t eat up my time as greedily. And test cricketers don’t wear shorts.

I have recently come to terms with my minor shorts fetish. Hang on, that makes it sound sordid and dirty and wrong….but, yes, I have a little thing about shorts. Football shorts don’t do much for me (possibly it’s the length); rugby league boys seem to increasingly play in nigh-on skin tight affairs, which kind of ruin the effect for me. Cycling shorts & runners, no way. Nah, it’s all about the tennis. Not too short, preferably white, nice and baggy but the fabric clinging where/when it needs to… Thinking it over, I reckon it’s an accessibility issue as well as a visually flattering garment (on the nicely constructed athletes, of course) i.e. hands….

Lordy lordy, I sound like a pervert. But aren’t we all? I’ve only known a few people who’ve admitted fetishes (or “having a thing for xxxx”), and I don’t know why it always has to be hushed up, especially when it’s as innocuous as my own. Mine’s better than having a fetish for being drawn on (as an attempt to build girlfriend up to requesting being made dirty in other ways, true story) but I suppose it’s more limiting than a spectacles fetish (you know who you are). So feel free to open your heart and your little perversions. I’m fascinated.

DISCLAIMER This does not mean I will ‘give you a hand’ with any of your inclinations.