February 15th, 2006

fat pony like thunder

(no subject)

Words fail me.

Oh, wait, they totally don't. GOOD SWEET JESUS, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON THERE? Liffey Rivers? LIFFEY RIVERS? It's hilariously bad, all right, but really, just the thought that someone (even fictional people) could name their child after a river that smells like fish-scented poo makes me want to burst into tears. And look at her. LOOK AT HER! The real mystery in this "girl detective" novel is the origin of Liffey Rivers. I think she was created in a terrifying laboratory by evil scientists intent on taking over the world with an army of freakish plastic-haired mutants. And as for the story...
Now the legions of Irish dancers have their very own heroine:

Liffey Rivers
Irish Dancer - Girl Detective

who manges to foil a sophisticated criminal plot, dance her soft shoe jig and even prevent a possible war-- all during ONE day at the Celtic Arch Feis in St. Louis where Liffey is determined to win her first gold medal and earn her first solo dress...

My mother was always adamantly against Irish dancing because, as she said, "you win a medal every time you learn a new step". So like the good little artsy middle class brats we were, we went to ballet lessons from the age of four, and later some of us went to tap classes, including me because I was a repellent show off whose dream was to star in musicals (which I never did, alas, although I did dance on the Olympia and Gaiety stages and can still tap dance quite well). I never had the slightest desire to learn Irish dancing, because apart from set dancing (which rocks, and which can be witnessed in a Jane Austen adaptation near you as many of the dances are the same, although ours are a bit livelier), I thought it looked crap and the ringlets were hideous and yes, you apparently got a medal for learning to tie the laces of your dancing shoes. I wanted to be a ballerina or a musical theatre sensation. And now I see that my mother and I have been proved right. Because frankly, if Liffey Rivers (even typing the name makes me snigger) is a heroine for Irish dancers, then their standards are pretty low. I mean, us tap dancers had Fred Astaire...


By the way, blame barsine for the damage done to your eyes by the sight of Liffey - she sent me the link!
fat pony like thunder

(no subject)

If, like me, you are fuming at the very existence of the Daily Oirish Mail, then this* should amuse you.

The DM is bad enough, but the fact that a paper which has devoted miles of column inches to appalling anti-Irish bigotry over the years has the sheer cheek to try and get money out of us for their repugnant rag is even worse. It's as bad as that telly ad for the Daily Express which features a just-married couple saying "we stand for traditional values" and a 2.4 kids perfect family declaring that they stand for "good clean fun" and other squeaky-clean people announcing all their allegiance to some sort of repugnant, sexless, witless, charmless middle England. They even have a token black bloke so they can say "look, we're not REALLY revoltingly racist! See, we allowed this coloured chap in our ad! And isn't he dignified, and doesn't he speak nicely?" Fuckers.

*From here
fat pony like thunder

things that are currently rocking my world

1. The new Belle and Sebastian album

2. My own mad knitting skillz

3. The fact that the crocuses in the park are already out. Flowers! Spring! Now!

4. Ju Ju's stupid surly little face

5. Going to the supermarket with Patsington, turning away for a few moments to select some fancy cheese at the cheese counter, and turning back to see that Patsington had entirely filled our trolley with enormous cakes and was looking innocently into the distance. It took ages to put them back in their right places, as he had basically grabbed cakes from random different shelves, but it was so funny it was worth it.

6. Pride and Prejudice. Still fantastic, nearly twenty years after I first read it.

7. Lemon Melt biscuits.

And you?