PRESS RELEASE: Man up, Becks

Ah... this is a great story.

Upon realising that his soccer stardom can not last forever, David Beckham has started making plans for the future, wanting to branch into television once his on-field career draws to a close. However, it seems Becks has come across a small glitch in his grandiose plan.

His voice is too high-pitched.

Bah ha.

(On a purely selfish level, this brings me a small level of satisfaction that even the most beautiful of 'the beautiful people' suffer from issues with their self-esteem. I'm going to sleep so much better tonight.)

Anyway, to rectify his troublesome tonsil situation, Becks is joining bobble-head wife, Victoria in voice-coaching classes which aim to deepen his high-pitched tones and improve his accent. It seems Victoria has worked out that being British can be a bit of a draw card with Britain's Daily Star newspaper printing,

"Victoria knows being British can be an asset in the States, but only if the American public can understand what you're talking about."

Gosh, that gal is cluey.

Victoria was first to jump on the self-improvement bandwagon when she began attending 'facial lessons' and voice classes before guest starring on American Idol. The aim of these private tutorials was to teach Vic to properly pronounce her words and minimise the severity of her pout, in an aim to, quote:

"come across more human."

Now, is it just me or does something smell a bit off about that statement? Call me callous, but I think a woman whose head is noticeably out of proportion with her matchstick size body needs to do a little bit more than some "How now brown cow's"and the occasional smile to come across as human.

Like, I dunno, maybe putting some meat on her bones?

PRESS RELEASE: Unhappy little iSnack2.0-mites

Kraft have seen the error of their breakfast-spread ways and ditched 'iSnack2.0' as the name of their new Vegemite/Creamcheese blend.

After succumbing to public pressure and a riot of angry little vegemites, Kraft spokesman Simon Talbot said they have "been overwhelmed by the passion for Vegemite and the new product. The new name has simply not resonated with Australians."

Um... pretty sure any number of plugger wearing, XXXX drinking, snag BBQing Australians could have told you that. For free.

Best of all, the thousands of iSnack2.0-named jars being distributed to shopping centres and corner stores around the country are expected to become collector's items. Yah - because that's what everyone wants to house in their trophy room alongside their primary school running race ribbons - an eternal memory of Kraft's breakfast-spread blunder.

NEW TUNES: Rodrigo Y Gabriela '11:11'

While pouring over a sales bin in JB Hi-Fi last week, I couldn't help but tap my foot to the acoustic beats being played through the store's overhead speakers. A simple question at the enquiries desk - "Who is this?" - introduced me to the fast-paced rhythms of Rodrigo Y Gabriela.

A mix of acoustic Mexican and electric instrumental, you can not sit still while listening to the guitar genius of Rodrigo Sanchez and Gabriela Quintero. 11:11 is the follow-up release to their highly successful debut album and contains all the pulse-racing punch of the original.

The acoustic rhythms on this album hit speeds and sounds unknown even to the likes of Jimmy Hendrix. The tracks are infused with an energy which makes even the most left-footed among us want to stand up and salsa. The duo's fingers fly from string to string as they dance between the guitar frets and are kept in line by nothing but the raw beat of the riffs. And just as the tempo lapses and you think you have a second to catch your breathe, you are plunged back into the racing acoustic sound.

The Sunday Times UK Review summed the compilation up perfectly as 'The Gypsy Kings-meet-Led Zeplin' - a wild, uninhibited mix of Mexican boogaloo and sexy Spanish sound, a style not for the faint hearted.

Artist: Rodrigo Y Gabriela
Album: 11:11
Released: 04/09/2009
Website: http://www.rodgab.com/
Touring: Currenly touring USA

Sound Test: Buster Voodoo - 11:11

NEW TUNES: Gin Wigmore 'Holy Smoke'

Think Missy Higgins minus the sweetness and replaced with the dirty sound of Duffy - this is what comes out of the speakers thanks to New Zealand's Gin Wigmore and her new album, Holy Smoke.

This hypnotic sound is a delicate balance of grunge and folk music and has fast established Gin in a genre all of her own.

I first became mesmerised by Gin's strange sound with her single Stealing Happiness and was quick to pick up her six track EP, Extended Play in 2008. This beautiful listing featured ballads ripe with raw notes and true words which often stung, but with the sweet remorse of a reflective heart.

While Extended Play mused its way through sweet melodies, Holy Smoke delivers Gin's delicate lyrics through a variety of uptempo tracks. Gin injects her filthy sound into bluesy ballads which are thick with base lines and smooth drumming. The result is an album which effortlessly combines honest lyricism with ballsy rock melodies, a welcome change from the light-hearted acoustic sound female alternative artists commonly produce. But it is clear upon listening to this album that Gin Wigmore is anything but common.

Artist: Gin Wigmore
Album: Holy Smoke
Released: 25/09/2009
Website: http://www.ginwigmore.com/

Touring: 'Holy Smoke' tour featuring The Cardinals - NSW/VIC/QLD (visit website for tour dates and tickets)

Sound Test: Oh My - Holy Smoke

SILVER SCREEN: Fame! It's gonna live forever.

As a dedicated dance movie fan and broadway wannabe, you could say the expectations were definitely high when I bought my ticket to see the new Fame. I'm often a little dubious when it comes to remakes, harbouring an 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' mentality, but the thought of taking what was one of the original movies to establish the teenage movie musical genre and plunging it into modern day was far too tempting to avoid. So I bought my ticket, excited but with slightly concerned reservations about the impending possibility that what I was about to watch had all the potential of resembling the trashy love-child of Hair and High School Musical.

I left with a slightly different perspective.

It.
Was.

Fabulous.

Granted, I doubt any of the actors are going to win any Oscars, Emmys, Tonys or Grammys like their on-screen characters are so passionately striving for, but if you've got 107 minutes spare, I highly recommend submerging yourself in the lives of the students of New York's Academy of Performing Arts.

This school (aka. PA) acts as the premis of the film, which is an updated version of the 1980 musical classic. A whole new gang have entered the hallowed halls of PA and are looking to make it big in the world of show business via their various performing disciplines. Over achievers, rough diamonds, shy violets and undiscovered talents - the school has them all and their willing to bust their guts and girdles in order to make it big. But as our hopeful heroes and heroines soon discover, finding fame brings its fair share of trials, tribulations and sudden bursts into song and dance.

Undeniably, it is Denise Dupree (played by up-and-comer Naturi Naughton) who deservedly steals the show. A piano player with all the promise of the next Mozart but lacking the passion to really achieve, Denise discovers her hidden ability to sing and joins a hiphop trio under the nose of her conservative parents. The pipes on Naturi Naughton are nothing short of enviable and are displayed in perfect pitch when she busts out Out Here On My Own and leaves cinemagoers utterly amazed.

Despite the extraordinary choreography featured in the dance audition, Black and Gold and graduation scenes and the sporadic moments which may make broadway wannabes like myself shed a regretful tear at not having pursued those NIDA dreams, there are a few questionable aspects to the film. The remake boasts a bigger cast than the original and this often makes it difficult to keep track of the principal characters. As a direct result, some lack the fleshing out they really need and a few of the story arcs fly a little too far under the radar which is dissapointing.

But this being said, it contains all the teenage angst and visual direction one hopes for in a teenage movie musical, not to mention boasting a pretty impressive line-up of young performers who do the original proud. Hence, I have every intention of buying the DVD and soundtrack and belting out the lyrics to 'Fame' like they're going out of style, not that they ever will.

Popcorn Quality: 4/5

Starring: Kay Panabaker, Walter Perez, Naturi Naughton, Asher Book, Kherington Payne, Collins Pennie, Kristy Flores, Paul McGill, Anna Maria Perez de Tagle, Kelsey Grammer, Megan Mullally

Running Time: 107 mins
Recommended if you enjoyed: Any dance movie known to man, High School Musical, Rent, Hairspray
Trailer:

(Image Credit: http://hollywoodbay.fan-sites.org/category/fame/ )

KH COMMENTARY: All the single babies

As a big fan of Beyonce's Single Ladies ("Ding dang! She had the best video of all time!"), this video brought me much happiness this morning. Good to see that Beyonce is covering all markets...and ages.

This one wins YouTube of the week - fo' shiz.

DISCOVER ME: Fug it, I love it

I have inherited a new housemate over the last few days as a friend from Charters Towers camps on the floor of my living room. As a dedicated KH Chronicle reader herself (snap sister) and a blogging devotee, we have spent much of the last few days musing over our favourite websites like 13-year-old Warhammer fans and swapping blog sites like they were lipgloss shades.

And this is how I came across Go Fug Yourself.

Reading this site made me want to cry salty tears that I have gone 21 years without having ever stumbled across it before. The cynicism, the brutal sarcasm, the witty one-liners - I love love love it.

The site is essentially Gossip Girl gone brilliantly bad, where two writers review the outfits worn by the big wigs of the A-list business . Those hit out of the park and those gone oh-so foul, 'the fuggers' review them all in deliciously politically-incorrect style. No celeb is safe from Jessica and Heather's tauntingly terrific descriptions as they pull the red-carpet out from beneath each and every celeb who thought they were making a fashion statement, but were really just making the camera's cry.

Particular celebrities certainly worth a read are Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears where the fuggers' write the reviews in character. There is a definite stench of inappropriateness here, especially given the girls' practically poke fun of Jennifer's Latino heritage, but the comedy is so undeniable you can't help but keel over. Partly from laughter and partly from shock that someone could have to balls to say some of this stuff out loud.

I think I would be more scared of meeting these two than I would be of being trapped in an elevator with Anna Wintour, but despite my fear for my personal fashion, there's a deep respect for these two characters. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that one day they make their way out to Australia, as I'm just dying to hear what they have to say about Kerri-anne Kennerly.

KH COMMENTARY: Sanity or Sanitary?

For half the human population, it's one of those 'things' we can't escape. Like death and taxes. For the other half of the human population, it's one of those 'things' they don't have to experience or attend to, but must consequently put up with the fallout of on a monthly (or 28 day) basis.

That's right, class. Today we're talking about periods (aka. menstruation, monthlies, flow, rags, 'special friend' - let's just get those awkward words right out there where we can see them). And I know for the estrogen-challenged amongst us, this topic may be far from comfortable but let your unease in discussing the matter shed a fraction of light on the utter discomfort we women go through every month in the benefit of one day supplying you with offspring.

More specifically however, today we're talking about 'sanitary items' and the ridiculous, shameful way in which they are advertised.

Yesterday alone, between watching Neighbours and going to the cinema, I was confronted with two disturbing padvertisements which made me genuinely ashamed to be a woman. The first being:



I have a number of issues with this particular pad ad. The first being that under no circumstances what so ever would a man willingly get a pad out of a drawer for his girlfriend. This is blatant false advertising. If the words 'period, 'pad' or 'tampon' are so much as whispered behind their back in hushed voices, men run screaming in the opposite direction. They do not obligingly supply pads like a helpful worker bees. Secondly, no girlfriend explains the reasoning behind her particular 'sanitary supplement of choice'. There is no call or need for any kind of discussion of this variety. It's not about being prude or embarrassed, simply the fact that men don't need (or want) to know about what kind of pad/tampon their girlfriend uses in the same way that women don't need (or want) to know how many cans of XXXX their boyfriend can skull in a minute while balancing an orange on their head and doing the Macarena. That kind of info just ain't necessary.

The second pad ad to piss me off is everyone's favourite 'beaver ad':



You either love it or you hate it or you're in the boat where you're so disturbed by the idea that someone actually had to think this thing up that you're not quite sure what to make of it.

The question I want to pose from these monstrosities of public viewing is why feminine-hygiene-product-supplying companies feel they need to be creative and SO BLOODY COLOURFUL with the product they're selling? In the end, regardless of whether it comes in an attention-drawing box, smells like roses, is packaged in bright pink celephane wrap or is 'shaped to fit', it's still a tampon and no amount of dressing it up and savvy-selling is going to change that. We all know what they do. We're all familiar with their purpose and I don't need some beaver-toting girl on the TV to remind me of that.

But then again, I'm not quite the target audience, am I? As a 21-year-old with her fair share of period-pained years under her belt, I don't need to stand in front of the tampon aisle in the supermarket surrounded by my giggling girlfriends as I try to decide which tampon box resembling a Pez dispenser I'm going to buy this month (thankfully, those days are well behind me). Unfortunately, for those of us in the 16-45 year-old category who know exactly what brand we prefer (and have probably been using for the last however many years), we must put up with the $250 million dollar industry which churns out campaigns aimed at 13-16 year olds who are naively swayed by 'getcha free barbie with this tampon box' inspired packaging. We grab and go. Enough said.

So it seems, along with the next thirty years of seven day stretches involving mind-numbing cramps, emotional instability, cravings, headaches, yo-yoing weight gain and expense of $15 every monthly pay packet which must be attributed to supplying one's self with hygiene products, I get to spend the rest of my life putting up with the shameless, cringe-worthy padvertising surrounding things with strings and things with wings which I have long been familiar with. Will the torment surrouding periods never cease?

SILVER SCREEN: Summer Days (500 to be exact)

If you've ever lusted after someone to the point of obsession, stood in front of them and felt like nothing short of a complete dag, dreamt about them day and night to the point where you've convinced yourself you're actually in a relationship and were prepared to dismantle an atomic bomb if it meant getting to somehow be in their general vicinity, this movie is for you.

While (500) Days of Summer could fall under the romcom banner, it's far from your traditional romantic comedy. Sure, it possesses some of the vitals - boy meets girl, boy falls in love, girl doesn't know he exits, girl then realises he exits, girl and boy begin mild flirtation, girl and boy start a relationship, relationship goes sour, hearts break, dreams shatter, tears, tissues and torment - there's just one little hiccup that prevents this movie from standing side-by-side with its great romcom predecessors.

Boy and girl do not get together in the end.

(I'm sorry to ruin it for you, but the ending is spoiled within the first five minutes of the film anyway so it's not like I'm telling you something you're not evenutally going to find out.)

And this is what makes (500) Days of Summer so worth the $17.00 you'll pay to go and see it. It has all the sweet intoxication of a romance, wrapped up in this quirky, comedic script which tugs on the heart strings for all the right reasons. Zooey Deschanel is stunning as the 'girl' in question - the anal, awkward Summer Finn who has Joseph Gordon-Levitt (who's grown up some since his 10 Things I Hate About You days) pouring over her like an adoring puppy. You can't help but genuinely feel for Gordon-Levitt's Tom Hansen who gets buffeted by Summer's free-wheeling ways but can't help but do anything other than adore her.

The script is completely devoid of those cringe-worthy romantic comedy cliches and in their place, there are these beautifully crafted lines which are delivered with all the honesty of a heart longing to have something it isn't allowed.

Narrator: Most days of the year are unremarkable. They begin, and they end, with no lasting memories made in between. Most days have no impact on the course of a
life. May 23rd was a Wednesday.

And in the same way, but on a different track, the script is almost brutal in the way it handles the love that it forbids. Intertwining comedy with an almost desperate edge of tragedy.

Rachel Hansen: Better that you find this out now before you come home and find
her in bed with Lars from Norway.
Tom: Who's Lars?
Rachel Hansen: He's some guy she met at the gym with Brad Pitt's face and Jesus' abs.

While you don't float out of the cinema on Cloud Nine, restraining your gag reflex at the amount of sappy, soppy romantic crap they shoved down your throat and hoping that one day, you too, might find Mr Dreamboat, you do leave the cinema feeling relatively empowered. Here's a story which isn't about the destination, the tear-inducing passionate kiss which introduces the rolling credits as the music swells. This story is about the journey, which may not end in a happily ever after, but still ends none the less and for those love-sick amongst us, sometimes that's all we can ask for.

Popcorn Quality: 4/5
Starring: Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Running Time: 1 hr 35 mins

Recommended if you enjoyed: Juno, Little Miss Sunshine

Trailer:

or click here to view the trailer in YouTube.

PRESS RELEASE - My favourite news snippets from today's Daily Telegraph

I love newspapers - they're good for all sorts of purposes. Gauging what's going on in the global environment, hearing what inspirational messages Barak Obama has recently asserted, movie reviews, salacious celebrity gossip, a daily brain-teasing Sudoku and after you're read through everything and completed all the crosswords, you can even use it to wrap up your leftovers. What more bang for your buck can you get out of $1.20?
For me, however, it cost $11.50, as I read it in the coffee shop while I worked my way through a ginger biscuit and two cups of coffee. But, I did learn a few things about today's news which I thought were particularly worth mentioning in today's KH Chronicles.

Katie Holmes + Suri Cruise + Beyonce = earmuffs
Nothing makes me laugh more than celebrities doing outlandish things and this one had me snorting on my flat white. Attending Beyonce's I Am... tour in Melbourne, Katie Holmes and everyone's favourite pint-sized celebrity daughter, Suri, decided against their own private box and instead, opted to slum it with the plebs in their own roped-off area of the general admission (that iniated my first snort). However, during Beyonce's opening song, Crazy In Love, it seems Suri couldn't quite cope with the intensity of the sound system or the flashing lights and hid in mum's shoulder with her hands over her ears. So what does one do at a multi-million-dollar pop concert when their three-year-old (multi-million-dollar) daughter isn't enjoying herself? Industrial earmuffs - here in lay my second snort.

She's three years old! Is it not bleedingly obvious that a three-year-old and a pop concert don't go together like gin and tonic? But there seems there's nothing a spot of celebrity status can't get you, even when you don't know how to ask for it yourself.

G Wiz, Rob Mills
Boob tubes, white pants, halter tops, clingy dresses - when it leaves little to the imagination, it will require certain underwear. Here I was thinking this was an issue only women had to deal with, but apparently, not the case! Ladies (and gents) feast your eyes on Exhibit A:

Get a load of those pants! Amazing! Not a VPL in site! (that's a visible penis line for those not up on the lingo). And it's all thanks to Rob's "dance support" or more blatantly, G-string. While it makes me so happy to hear about boys having to endure underwear discomforts for the greater good of fashion, sheesh Rob, those pants really don't leave much, if anything, to the imagination...which only makes me wonder...

Brotherhood in the Battlefield
All jokes and celebrity-sarcasm aside, reading the story about Barry Delainey who wore a dress to his best friend Kevin Elliott's funeral after he died in Afghanistan, had me welling tears. Amongst the stiff, starched uniforms and black clothes of mourning was Barry in his bright lemon dress, worn after the pair swore an oath that whoever died first, the other would wear a dress to his funeral.
It may sound like a boyish prank decided about over beers and a cheap steak, but seeing Barry come true on the promise he made to his best friend, really moved me. As inappropriate as it might seem on the surface, if I had made a similar oath, I couldn't think of anything more appropriate than holding true to my word in the face of my best friend's tragedy. I give Mr. Delainey full snaps for his heartfelt gesture.

(Image Credits: Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise - Splash News / Rob Mills - Jeff Busby, The Daily Telegraph / Barry Delainey - Reuters, The Daily Telegraph)

Kanye Crisis

Me and my cup of coffee were met with shock and disappointment this morning when I switched on The Today Show for my daily dose of entertainment news with Richard Reid, only to hear about Kanye dissing Taylor Swift at the MTV Video Music Awards!

Shock horror, Nancy Drew!

Yes, indeed. After Swift was awarded the Best Female Video for You Belong To Me, the R&B singer did a brilliant job of royally putting his foot in his mouth when he snatched the microphone from Swift like a jealous prom queen and declared the rightful owner should have been BFF R&B artist, Beyonce.

Cue shot of a horrified Beyonce looking like she was witnessing a car crash.

Sure, my music idols may wear slightly bigger boots than Miss Swift, but I genuinelly felt for her as she left the stage looking a tad bewildered and a tinge humiliated. Come come, Kanye! What do you think you're doing dissing a co-artist in a public forum? Not to mention a fairly sizable public forum of 27 million viewers, which then exploded like viral rash once they hit the good ol' world wide gossiping web.

Like any celebrity coming to terms with their stupidity (and any publicist with two tequila shots worth of common sense would encourage), Kanye was quick to back peddle in the midst of his media fire storm. He lamented, he issued apologies, he gave excuses but there was little to be done to counteract his verbal word-vomit.

So in a last ditch attempt to regain himself, the el-macho-music-man pulled out the waterworks on The Jay Leno Show. But are they tears of regret? Guilt? Or the knowledge that his career just tanked like the Titanic and there ain't no life rafts in sight? Sure can get mighty cold out there on your own.

The Doodling Dream-boat

Patrick Moberg - illustrator, designer and dream-boat

Thanks to his sudden coverage through the NY Girl Of My Dreams advertisement, Patrick Moberg definitely came into his own as an illustrator and textile designer.

His drawings are cute, quirky and immediately say something about his character which I think is critical to connecting with people in a creative way. His site resembles the cluttered doodlings on the back of a math book, but are powerful and moving in their sweet simplicity.



In the lead up to Barack Obama's election, he was also responsible for producing some media material which was included in an Obama-inspired art show in Chicago.

His designs are gorgeous and a cyber-trip to his website to fully appreciate them is well-worth it. But for now, here are a few to tickle your fancy.

Creative Contempt

I posted a KH Commentary on Tuesday called The Romance Reality which told the oh-too-cute story of Patrick Moberg and his search for the NY Girl Of My Dreams. As a professional illustrator, Patrick had designed the advertisement which had made womens' hearts' melt around the globe.

Upon writing at the time, I took a little cyber-trip to view Mr. Moberg's website and I had quite the pleasant experience viewing his illustrations. To read just what I had to say, visit The Doodling Dream-Boat post.

I have such respect for artists, illustrators, photographers and creative personnel trying to make a living from their passion. They do it tough for the love of their craft - they're payed in peanuts, generally exploited and rarely receive what they truly deserve in terms of cash and credibility. In the face of terrorism, poverty, the GFC - they make the world a more beautiful place to be in. The same goes for anyone in the creative milieu - dancers, writers, models, fashion designers, painters, poets, grafitti artists. They don't trivialise the world, they make art from it and that's harder said than done.

So in the face of my creative contempt, I have started a new portal - Discover Me - where all those struggling artists (no matter what genre you herald from) can receive a little bit of coverage courtesy of KH and together, we can appreicate the artists making our world a little more liveable.

Sparrow to the Heart

Oh Nicole Richie...what will you do next? First you delighted and disgusted us with your behaviour on The Simple Life, then you had a very public falling out with ex-BFF Paris Hilton, followed by an anorexia scandel that almost claimed your life. And now you've shaped up, fallen in love, popped out a kid, started a fashion label, popped out another and to the delight of media-moguls everywhere, you've called him Sparrow.

Gwenyth named her's after a fruit. Nicole - after a week day and Gwen Stefani - after a much-loved Arnotts biscuit. But move over ladies, because the front pages have been freshly claimed by Mr and Mrs Madden and their new bundle of joy. Yes - Sparrow, brother to big sister Harlow was born early Wednesday 9 September and thanks to his unconventional name, he's already making waves in the media. But I suppose, when you're parents are an ex-reality TV star and a tattoo covered lead singer, the quicker you get used to living beneath the spotlight, the less therapy you're going to need later on in life. Although, with a name like Sparrow, I could be proven wrong.

(Image Credit: Nicole Richie with daughter, Harlow.
People.com - Celebrity Baby Blog)

Mama Mia!

As a devoted fan of Mia Freedman's, I was tickled pink when I found out she was releasing a new book. I had torn through 'The New Black' like a kid in a candy store a few years back and when there was no sequel, prequel or movie deal to satisfy my sudden addiction, I was left to twiddle my eager thumbs waiting for her to release a new installment.

And finally she has and it is everything I anticipated. The perfect mix of Mia's addictive dry-wit, sassy attitude and love/hate relationship with magazines, all squished into one lolly bag titled Mama Mia: A Memoir of Mistakes, Magazines and Motherhood.

I've always harboured a secret suspicion that Mia Freedman and I should be best friends and reading Mama Mia from cover to cover only further confirmed this. The book follows Mia's initiation into the Land Of Magazines, a glossy world of freebies, front covers and fake tan and where she is quick to learn there is more to the glossy veil than meets the eye. Eager to become the editor of Cleo by the age of 25, Mia goes on to take the magazine world by storm, becoming the youngest editor of Cosmopolitan and eventually, the editor-in-chief of Cleo, Cosmo and Dolly.

Listening to Mia describe her love and disgust for the magazine world felt a little like deja vu, but it was the sub-story of her personal life that really moved me. Her honesty about her struggles falling pregnant, the descriptions of her repeated miscarriages and the blow-by-blow accounts of her three labours are brutal on the emotions, but all delivered with the quick wit we love her for.

With her musings on magazines, media and motherhood, there is little bit in this book for everyone who either dreamed of working for a magazine, managed to survive it or who is prying a copy of Cosmo from the hands of their 13 year old daughter. Mama Mia a bit like an honest conversation over Cosmopolitans - a little shocking, laugh-out-loud funny and can sometimes result in the need for a tissue. Well worth the $27.99 from Harper Collins, although I got mine for free, and no, you can't borrow it.

The Romance Reality

A few years ago, a boy sitting on a train from Manhattan to Brooklyn fell in love with the girl sitting across from him. Too shy and nervous to introduce himself, the boy said nothing and when the girl got off at the next stop, he sat and watched her go. As the train pulled away from the platform he suddenly realised, that could have been the girl of his dreams and there was a good chance he was never going to see her again.

So what did this down-and-out Romeo do? He went home and created the website NY Girl of my Dreams which featured a cute sketch of the girl with 'fancy braided hair', 'rosy cheeks' and 'blue gym shorts' and called for any further details which might help him in his cause. It wasn't long before this cyberspace advertisement went haywire and within a few hours, this cansanova had chased down the NY girl of his dreams. Although it turns out, she was actually an Australian.

Unfortunately, this story doesn't end like your typical romantic comedy. While the boy (Patrick Moberg) and girl (Camille Hayton) gave the relationship a worthwhile shot, it's ending didn't result in the happily ever after everyone hopefully anticipated.

But I still remain inspired by this cute tale of perseverance and public humiliation. Just like Seth Cohen who stood on the kissing booth and declared his love for Summer Roberts or when Patrick Verona sang it's too good to be true to the shrewd Kat Stratford, there is something undeniable about a boy willing to be a fool for the girl he loves. With that damn macho-manly-getup to hide behind, getting a man to declare his feelings can be like like extracting a tooth - it's just plain painful. But never the less, it's still the dream. Every girl wants that. Every girl wants the declaration, the public humiliation, the Hallmark card moment that romantic comedies are made of.

And it's nice to know that they don't just exist in the movies. If Patrick Moberg could make it happen in real life, perhaps there's hope for all us romantic saps who occassionally catch somone's eye on the train.

Funny Farm

I am excited about tonight. I'm not going out. I'm not attending some fantastical media event. I'm not wearing a new dress or brushing shoulders with the best in the business. I am staying home. And I'm watching The Farmer Wants A Wife. And I am so excited.

There is just something about watching these poor men fall in love that really pulls on my heart strings. They thought they were down and out. They thought their hearts had been broken beyond repair. They thought they were unlovable. But low and behold, thanks to the joys of reality TV and contrived scenerios, cupid and his bow and arrow are making magic happen and bringing it to the comfort of my living room.

Sure, it may contain the occasional cliche and be riddled by moments so cringe-worthy I want to curl up into the foetal position and rock back and forth, but I withstand all that to watch these simpletons find love. So what if these people have resorted to a reality TV program to find their happily ever afters? I've done my dash on RSVP.com. I'm not one to point the finger.

So tonight, I will be spending the glorious hour between 8:30pm and 9:30pm watching The Farmer Wants A Wife and leaving my cynicism to sulk in the corner like a naughty child.

Plant Life

I know I would be a terrible pet-owner, or parent, given that I can't even keep a succulent alive.

Granted, I bought the plant from Ikea so its future has always been doomed. However, I didn't expect a succulent living in a pot the size of a coffee cup would require that much care. In fact, it seemed the more I neglected the plant, the more it seemed to thrive. Sure, living in my bathroom couldn't have been all that pleasant, but the plant seemed to enjoy a severe lack of sunshine and water. It even grew off-shoots and seemed to double in size. It never complained, it seemed quite happy living there so I continued to neglect it out of love.

But gradually, all the leaves fell off and the stem turned brown and the succulent began to look more like a stick in a pot than an actual succulent. It wasn't until later that I realised the poor thing was suffering from chemical poisening. The amount of hairspray, deoderant, perfume, toilet spray and cleaning agents being emitted into the air of that 3x3 metre space would be enough to kill a small human, let alone a succulent.

I quickly pulled it from the bathroom like a concerned parent yanks their child out of a dangerous daycare centre and began the delicate process of reviving it - a little water, a little sunshine and a new residency out on the coffee table where the risk of chemical contact wasn't quite so high. But despite my careful tendering, the succulent continued to look desperately sick. Some might say, dead even.

I felt terrible. My obsession for personal hygiene and perfect hair had killed my succulent. And to think, I had actually thought it enjoyed the neglect and toxic envioronment I had subjected it to. I had been selfish. I had taken it for granted and my guilt over my sudden concern for its welfare only made me feel worse. I didn't deserve my succulent.

But it seems, either succulents are harder to kill than you think or my particular succulent believed I deserved a second chance. From the tip of the brown stem, a frail green leaf timidly sprouted, followed by a bigger, bolder leaf which grew out from the base. The stem even began to turn greener in the presence of its new leafy friends. It didn't look as full and healthy as when I first bought it, but it was alive and I was relieved.

Sure, I had screwed up before and I hadn't realised until it seemed too late. It wasn't until the thought of losing my succulent that I realised how much I still wanted it in my life, how much I still had to offer it and the fact that I genuinely wanted to care for it. It's a sign of character to give something a second chance and it was nice to think if anything, my succulent still believed in me.