With all the expected controversy surrounding Bush's naming of John Roberts as the new Supreme Court nominee, I suppose it was only a matter of time before the quick wits at Mr. Sun came up with their own take--in this case, a 21st -century update to the old 'Mad Libs'. Enjoy...
While my heart will always belong to British cars, I do have a bit of a soft spot for the French as well--especially given that my first car was a 1974 Peugeot 504 Automatique (that means an automatic transmission for the uninitiated). A recent story in the UK's AutoExpress offered some background on a concept vehicle called the Evoque, created by a group at the Creapole School of Creation in Paris. It's a contemporary take on the old Citroen 2CV (a/k/a Deux Chevaux, "the ugly duckling", or "the umbrella on wheels"), much in the way the new Mini and Beetle build on their respective heritages. As you can see, they did a nice job of capturing the flavor of the original; given Peugeot-Citroen's generally good financial health at the moment, perhaps they can scrounge up some funds to get this thing on the road...
I confess that I've never been that much of a cat person--although I am more partial to cats than dogs, owing to cats' generally more independent nature. And I'll be the first to say that our cat--Lucky--is among the friendlier and well-behaved cats I've encountered (and, as we discovered last fall, can still kill mice despite being 16 years old and de-clawed). But this article on CNET offers an interesting take on cats' occasionally surly behavior; apparently, they are unable to taste sweet things. I know that if I were unable to appreciate chocolate, I might get a little irritable myself...
Well, it was bound to happen. First, Brits try to capitalize on the hit TV show by suggesting you might be 'desperate' to look at a different set of 'housewives' for the summer (ooh, how clever)--in this case, BBC America's Footballer Wive$, which is now airing over here (assuming you get BBC America on your cable system, which I alas do not).
Then, aftering disgracefully stealing victory from John Hurley in ABC's Dancing With The Stars, soap opera hack Kelly Monaco is attempting to parlay that 'success' (and I use the term loosely) into a spot on Wisteria Lane.
On a lighter note, Popwatch (to which I am grateful for the above Monaco backstory info) offered an amusing take on how DH might respond to CBS' upcoming telemovie about Martha Stewart's jailtime--casting her as "Bree's boozy, white-trash sister, fresh off the Greyhound for Rex's funeral".
I just returned from a brief trip to Germany on business. I stayed at a rather nice Radisson, and, while dining the other morning, I couldn't help but notice a card sitting on the table. It said, "Do you want to get regularly [sic] information about our specials in our Restaurant Capricorne & Bar 1486?"
Exactly how lonely do you have to be to subscribe to a mailing list from a hotel restaurant?
Well, technically speaking, the performer in question--Randy Roberts--was a female impersonator, not a drag queen, at least from my perspective; to me, a drag queen lip syncs his/her music, while a female impersonator uses his/her own voice.
In any event, while at the Cape last week, we did venture up to Provincetown for a little entertainment, and, since Varla Jean Merman was not available, we took in Randy's show. And, while waiting on line, we met a charming married couple from the Providence area. He was a hardcore smoker, they had a young child, and it was their first drag show. We had a lovely chat in line, sat with them at the show, and the husband was even kind enough to pick up the first round of drinks.
The show, by the way, was hilarious; apparently, the NY Times is a big fan of Randy's Cher, and we'd have to agree--along with his Joan Rivers and 'Consuela' (a character of his own creation). Highly recommended...
I think I learned from my parents the concept of the "the squeaky wheel gets the grease." So, if I feel I've been treated unfairly, I'm not too shy about piping up. My most recent experience was at Providence's airport, getting a rental car for our week at Cape Cod. Now, I had signed up with Dollar rent-a-car via Orbitz because they offered a good deal on a 'compact' (as they said, 'Dodge Neon or similar'). The conversation went something like this:
Me: What kind of cars do you have? Them: Well, we have a Hyundai Accent. Me (thinking: "Hmm... smaller, less powerful, less comfortable...in other words, a worse deal"): How about a Dodge Neon? Them: Well, we have a Neon, but it's a midsize car.
Apparently, as Americans have been progressively larger, the definition of 'midsize' has changed in someone's mind. We continue to debate as I explain the website promised a Dodge Neon ('or similar') for a compact price. The clerk acquiesces and gives the paperwork. We hop on the shuttle to a dirt-covered parking lot with about a dozen cars (not terribly inspiring, by the way). Inside the somewhat better-looking building is the Dollar counter.
Them: Your Accent is right outside. Me: But I was promised a Neon. Them: But the Accent is much nicer [wink, wink]
Yes, the woman behind the counter actually winkedat me. I held my ground, and got the Neon. As I got into the car, one of the other woman from behind the counter said, "I'm sorry if you were offended by the Hyundai."
What this all reminded me of was the classic Seinfeld episode about rental cars. Thanks to Invisible Matrix for the transcription:
Rental Attendant Says: "Well I'm sorry we have no mid-sized available at the moment."
Jerry Says: "I don't understand I made a reservation. Do you have my reservation?"
Rental Attendant Says: "Yes we do. Unfortunately we ran out of cars."
Jerry Says: "But the reservation keeps the car here. That's why you have the reservation."
Rental Attendant Says: "I know why we have reservations."
Jerry Says: "I don't think you do. If you did, I'd have a car. See you
know how to take the reservation, you just don't know how to hold the
reservation. And that's really the most important part of the
reservation - the holding. Anybody can just take em'. "
As so often happens, life imitates (for lack of a better word) art...
I will freely admit to being a clothes horse, driven perhaps a little too much by fashion (for better or worse). However, having recently discovered the hilarious Toothpaste For Dinner website, I've found a fiendishly clever definition of "fashion"...
When the weather eventually turns nice in Michigan, it's time for people to get their toys out of the garage--and it's time for the classic car show season to begin. My favorite is the Eyes on Design, sponsored by the Detroit Institute of Opthamology. What I particularly like about EoD are 1) the location--the relaxed and serene Edsel and Eleanor Ford House in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, 2) the attitude--very relaxed, without ropes surrounding the cars, and 3) the cars--not perfect-mint untouchables, but gorgeous cars in great condition. Because the focus is Design, it's a chance to get a wide variety of vehicles, including (for example) a section that will pair up classic American cars with their hotrod/custom counterparts. This year's theme was International Design, which meant an even larger proportion of non-American cars, from a post-war Fiat Topolino to a first-generation Toyota Celica. Check out the new album for a selection of photos.
Well, I finally got around to seeing Batman Begins. And, yes, I think the reviews I've read are pretty accurate. Strong performances (except for aspiring cult-member Katie Holmes), thought-provoking story, and virtually unconnected to any previous film or TV bat-incarnation.
But, the downside of being an auto enthusiast with a mind for generally useless details is spotting incongruities in a movie. In this case, it was the funeral of Bruce Wayne's parents. Suitably somber, of course, with an assortment of black cars. Except, oddly enough, one of the cars was an Oldsmobile Aurora.
Now comes the math: Bruce is about ten years old, give or take, and the Oldsmobile first hit the streets in 1994. Now, the funeral is, of course, a flashback; but when Bruce returns to the Wayne Industries boardroom, Rutger Hauer suggests it's been about twenty years since Thomas Wayne died.
Which means the movie is apparently set in...2014?
Oh, well. I suppose I can let it slide. Just this once...