Department Of The Obvious, Minnelli-Style

"Some have labeled me as a gay icon. Well no shit, Sherlock." —Liza Minnelli

Today's a long day. This was nice.

I Guess She Made It

The title makes me cringe just a wee bit, but anyway, imagine my surprise when I found out a certain publisher makes this book?

And here's something else I found when googlin' dixie. God Bless you, Bernice.

Lady Pilot

Also in honor of seeing Joan Rivers tonight, here's another Joan, Joan Armatrading, doing maybe my favorite song of hers.



Who knew the video was so literal?

The Polish Connection

Remember how back a ways I made a post about funny foreigner movie posters? Some buddy put up a whole bunch of new ones, all from Poland. Well, some of them I had put in my other post, but most are new.

I like their take on Tootsie. Kinda literal, less comical.

Speaking of literal, this did actually happen in The Fly, so I guess it makes sense for the poster.
Also speaking of literal, this is NOT a literal interpretaion of Terms of Endearment, near as I can remember. Huh.
Short Circuit 2! Number 5 is Alive!
Rosemary's Baby. Evocative.
Not my recollection of what the Luck Dragon looked like, or of Bastian for that matter. But now I have the Limahl song in my head, which is nice.

Why is Harry & The Hendersons so popular with foreigners, I wonder?
Hee hee. Gremlins.
Crocodile Dundee 2 looks a lot more avant-garde this way. Also? Paul Hogan shares the same birthday as me and Sarah.
And now, off for some pierogies.

Viscous and Sawdust

The novels we know best have an architecture. Not only a door going in and another leading out, but rooms, hallways, stairs, little gardens front and back, trapdoors, hidden passageways, et cetera. It's a fortunate reader who knows half a dozen novels this way in their lifetime. I know one, Pnin, having read it half a dozen times. When you enter a beloved novel many times, you can come to feel that you possess it, that nobody else has ever lived there. You try not to notice the party of impatient tourists trooping through the kitchen (Pnin a minor scenic attraction en route to the canyon Lolita), or that shuffling academic army, moving in perfect phalanx, as they stalk a squirrel around the backyard (or a series of squirrels, depending on their methodology). Even the architect's claim on his creation seems secondary to your wonderful way of living in it.

Zadie Smith on my favorite Nabokov novel, one that I too have read a half dozen times, and given away at least that many.

(And yes I realize in the photo that it is literally Nabokov on Zadie Smith, rather than Zadie Smith on Nabokov. And I didn't have a squirrel but the little buddy I used otter be close enough.)

Happy Happy Hippo

Now this here, this is a nice story.

Happy The Hippo was - irony alert - anything but. Much like Amber, when he lived in Washington, DC he was as glum as a goose. His mom had passed along, and he was living out his days in the hippo house all alone, and apparently afraid of people wearing hats. (Good thing he left DC before Aretha did the inauguration).



Happy-ly, he was relocated to Wisconsin - making the reverse trek our friend did - where he met a few lady hippos, including one he may breed with. 28 years later, he's a cheerful fellow.

My favorite part? Happy The Hippo literally gets a new dating pool. I mean, come on. This stuff just writes itself.