How to quit smoking when I love Hollywood so much?!

Don't worry, it's not for health reasons that I am trying to quit smoking; It's a damn expensive habit. Even though it makes me feel cool, I'd rather spend my money on clothes and make-up. You know, like a real woman. It's a girl thing.

But this interest of mine really doesn't help. I'm sitting here with my morning cup of coffee, trying to distract myself from the nicotine cravings that makes my whole body itch... by looking through a map of celebrity photos. Not wise at all:

 Basil Rathbone does it.

 Betty Compson does it.

 Brooke Shields does it.

 Buster Keaton does it.

Audrey Hepburn does it while having her hair fixed.

 Audrey Hepburn does it again, accompanied by Dean Martin. And it makes her feel carefree and happy.

Maggie Gyllenhaal does it before she even puts on any clothes.

Drew Barrymore does it before she even gets out of bed.

Fritz Lang does it with a monocle.

Gösta Ekman does it before snorting cocaine.

Hasse Ekman does it on Kungsgatan, before stealing a bicycle.

Isabella Rossellini does after slaying some zebras.

Mae West does before and after an enema.

Sigourney Weaver does it before slaying aliens.


It's perfectly clear. All cool people smoke at all times. They can't imagine a time when it's not cool to inhale the poisonous fumes of a Camel, Marlboro or a Lucky Strike. And I shouldn't have a cigarette to my morning coffee?! Even the dog in my previous post has a puff on the cancer stick! Strength, give me strength...

I have no strength.

This is my struggle, two hours into a day without a pack of cigarettes.

Weekend Fun: No 27

Every now and then you need a smoking dog with hat and glasses!*
Presumably from 1923.

*Weekend Fun is my mission to at least post something funny once a week. To get me started with the blog again, you know? And what's more fun than the mistreatment of animals?

Uhm... hello.

It's depressing to think about how long it was since my last blog entry. But perhaps we can ignore that teeny tiny little detail and pretend like everything's normal, mmm'kay?

I'll try to whip this dead horse alive again. I think I need it. I know the world needs it.

This blog may not be as strictly about classic films as it used to be. It may consist more of narcissistic rants about how society is too stupid to realize that I am The Almighty Lolita of the Classics! - nowadays a divorced 24 year old steaming pile of shit that can't even hold down a job as a hotel maid. Not even Dominique Strauss-Kahn wants me.

Juuust kiddin'! I'm not that down in the gutter. I'm awesome. Just a little... out of sync. With everything and everyone.

This time it's personal. This blog will keep me sane while I, for the umptyfifth time, sit at home looking for a job and wonder how the hell I will be able to afford my rent, my booze and my Virginia Slims. It won't be pretty. But it will satisfy your deep down, dark, hidden desires to gloat at other people's misery.

Nah, kiddin' again. I'll try to be pleasant. And those who know me also know that I am at least trying, though not always succeeding.

I am now a resident of Greta Garbo's home town. Also the home of our Whore King. (Seriously, not my invention: false 1 SEK coins are now circulating in my beloved country of the North. Instead of the text "The King of Sweden" on it, there is the phrase "Our Whore/Adulterer of a King". So funny. But silly. A king should sleep with whomever he wants, whenever he wants. The same goes for the queen. And if the people don't approve: let's do away with the damn monarchy then. Yes, this was a long and pointless parenthesis. Sorry about that.)

So I live in Stockholm now. Guess that was what I was trying to say. Uhm... yeah. I'll be back with some exciting stories. Or movie reviews. Or narcissistic rants.

Hey ho, let's go!

(Does anyone know how to get rid of those annoying advertisements that appear as links in my blog post? I feel violated.)

Update: I'm a computer whiz. Got rid of the ads. Ain't sellin' my soul over 'ere!

Werner Herzog reads Curious George

"And vat does ze fat man get for his troubles?
Nothing but a broken jaw and to be laughed at by mousies."

If Germany ever produced something reminiscent of brilliance, it is this. Forget Fritz Lang, Ernst Lubitsch and the other guys: Werner Herzog reads Curious George.

Okay, it's not really Herzog reading. But it could be. A dark and existentialist update of a children's classic.