7 x 7 Award

Oh, darling Neve. Why would you give an award like this to a self-destructive cinéaste who subconsciously deters the interest of any one like minded by being awfully sarcastic, morbid and childish? A woman who just watches her blog slowly wither away into oblivion and nothingness?

*dramatically covering eyes with arm and falling down to the floor with a loud bounce*

Please, Neve... if these are my last words... remember... The Baz... I believe... in... you... *croak*

Thank you, darling.

The point of this award is that once you are the recipient of it, you are supposed to highlight seven blog posts of your own (following the highlighted directions below), and then pass the award on to seven other bloggers you feel deserve the punishment of forced false modesty.

I will feel like a defiler of graves, since my answer to all these questions will consist of links to really old blog posts. Welcome to the Lolita Mausoleum:


1.Tell everyone something that no one else knows about you.

I believe that I already share too much about myself that you now know about me, but would prefer not to. But I can share something with you. I know that I am cool and all that. Super cool. Tough. Ice cold Queen of Scandinavia. But I'm afraid of spiders, which is totally ridiculous. Snakes - no problem, I grew up with them. I don't even mind the big, hairy tarantulas. No, the spiders I'm afraid of are those icky buggers with teenie tiny bodies and enormously long legs. (A quick Google search informed me that the correct Latin appellation is Daddy Longlegs.)
I blame my father, who traumatized my big sister by chasing her through the house with a spider in his hand. Guess he mistook her crying for hysteric laughter. So, some cognitive behavioral therapy:

2. Link to one of the posts that I think best fits the following categories:

a. Most beautiful piece:

My top 20 favorite actors. Obviously. Lots of sexy dudes there.


b. Most helpful piece:

Pictures Galore: Paul Newman. Seems like I helped my readers regain their sanity with sexy pictures of the late Mr. Newman. Going on my bitchy remark in the beginning of the post, it seems like I  in the previous post had tried to demoralize my readers by shoving post-colonialism in their cute and naïve little faces. Sorry about that.

c. Most popular piece:

According to the statistics, my review of Barbarella (1968) is the post with the most pageviews, closely followed by Ilsa, Swe Wolf of the SS (1975). Dear readers: you are filthy.

"Whaat? I'm just sittin' here lookin' all innocent with a fallic symbol in my hands."

d. Most controversial piece:

Controversial? Petite moi?

Well, perhaps The Strong White Man vs. The Rest might qualify. I was pretty brutal in my sarcasm with that blog post, and those who didn't get that... probably thought that I would enlist with the KKK any moment now. I think it was after that post I put up Groucho excaliming "Warning! Sarcastic bitch blogging" at the top of this site, for those who thought this was a genuine article:

"Interesting thing that natives from other countries can show their breasts and genitals all they want in photographs and in films, but we normal people just get censored. I bet it's because animals have no concept of moral". - A quote I just made up

I recommend to any one going the Cinema Studies route to throw yourself at a colonialism class when the opportunity arises. You may get sick to the stomach, but it's fascinating and important.


e. Surprisingly successful piece:

I'm surprised any piece of this blog is successful, if it is. But I enjoyed the reactionson Lars von Trier's Cannes fiasco (or rather, Cannes' fiasco of banning someone who just didn't express his sarcasm clear due to language difficulties)  in the comment section to my post "I understand Hitler, I do". Come on, it's one of our greatest modern auteurs. Let him be a little clumsy...


f. Most underrated piece:

Boney M. - Rasputin (1978). I am sad that so few people see the value of teaching history with the help of disco. Too further prove my point, here is the absolute, true, historically correct story of Ma Barker:



g. Most pride-worthy piece:

If one takes pride in exaltation without limit, slightly bad English and inexplicable amounts of bold text (don't ask me... I guess I thought it was a good idea at the time for those who only want to read little snippets of a text): Inglourious Basterds (2009). There's a lot of (perhaps too much) love and nerdiness there. I would love to feel that rush I had when I wrote that piece again. Without the help of cocaine, that is. (But one should never underestimate substance abuse.)


I nominate the following seven bloggers. Let your cinematic slime swirl to the surface so that it, once again, can see the light!


David C. - The Marx Brothers

Matthew Coniam - The Marx Brothers Council of Britain

Dymon Enlow - Happyotter

Kate Gabrielle - Silents and Talkies

Millie - ClassicForever

Flapper Flickers + Silent Stanzas

Particular Girl

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!

Rick and Ilsa as brother and sister

I am currently writing a 25 page essay in film studies, and I just got the idea to change the subject of it. I first thought about analyzing the female influence on the male characters of The Maltese Falcon from 1931 (Roy Del Ruth) and 1941 (John Huston), but I have sadly realized that there is already too much written on that subject. Instead, I remembered that I always got unmistakable incestuous vibes from Rick and Ilsa whenever I have watched Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942), and I think that point of view can result in a substantial re-evaluation of the great classic, and a great essay.

Isn't it weird that Rick and Ilsa seem unreasonably uncomfortable with running into each other? Almost as if there were something else than just a regular heterosexual love affair to be anxious about.

Haven't we all wondered what Rick really meant with "We'll always have Paris?"

What we all do know is what Paris was infamous for back in those days. For example, there is one scene in Boardwalk Empire (Terence Winter, 2009-) where Jimmy asks his wife to fellate him, arguing that all women in Paris does it. And Boardwalk Empire takes place in the jolly 1920's - just imagine what happens in Paris 20 years later, in desperate war times.

I do also believe that the line "Here's a looking at you, kid" is an obvious reference to Leopold von Sacher-Masoch's Venus in Furs (publ. 1870), but I may have to check minor details.

This stance may not be the most popular one, but I do think I have enough evidence on my side to make this essay work. Any ideas?

Gee, I'm so stylish!

Thank you, Monty! His reason for giving me this blog award was that my blog is "awesome!" - and I bet the awesomeness of my blog lies in the fact that I update just seldom enough to lose the interest of my blog readers. Or just that I am awesome. Anyway, thanks again, Monty! Check out his blog, if you have a fetish for classic films.

I'm supposed to list seven facts about me, and I'll try to pick a few that aren't too obvious. It may be some repetition since I've done this before, but it was such a long, long time ago that I won't bother to check my old answers.

Then I will pass along this award to seven other bloggers, and let is spread like chlamydia. So here goes:

1. Some time between the age of 10, when I was deeply in love with Johnny Depp in Cry-Baby (who wasn't), and the age of 14 when I wanted to sexually assault Chico Marx every time he played the piano, I had a serious fling with $crooge McDuck. I can't find any word for that kind of infatuation, but I think I really was attracted to the idea of him being an older, wiser dude. With lots of money. Anyway, this little trivia brings the is-manga-pornography-debate to another level, I think.
2. I'm married to the most cynical, intelligent, entertaining (not necessarily haha-funny), non-jealous man that I could find that doesn't want to have kids. Too bad he wasn't rich too, though. But I think that's about to change - he's studying to work at the hospital. My Manolo Blahnik shoes are just around the corner! (That was haha-funny.)
3. My favorite stand-up comedians are Bill Hicks, Eddie Izzard, George Carlin, a couple of Swedish guys you won't care me to name and, recently, also Doug Stanhope. Apart from Izzard, I like my men bitter and broken. And of course, the occasional transvestite always liven things up.
4. I have a thing for taking pictures of dead animals. I don't kill them myself, mind you! But if I run across a dead pigeon that's had its gut ripped apart by crows, I just have to pick up my camera. The whole beauty of death thing, I think. Anyway, my camera is broken now, so I guess Allah was trying to tell me something about my hobbies.
5. I love Braindead (Peter Jackson, 1992), and in my humble opinion that was about the last good move Mr. Jackson did in his career. But money makes the world go 'round, and makes artistic souls cry blood.
6. I'm currently blowing out my brain through my nose. There is nothing as horrible as a bad cold, as any man would say while his wife gives birth.
7. I am a student and the Department of Cinema Studies at Stockholm University, and it makes me feel awesome.

Now to the nominations! Other stylish bloggers are:

Millie at classicforever

Darsh at Happyotter
Mykal at Radiation Cinema!
Avalon76 at Silent Stanzas
Jenny the Nipper at Cinema OCD
Matthew Coniam at The Marx Brothers Council of Britain
Kate Gabrielle at Discovering Dirk Bogarde

Keep up the good work!

I love Lucille Ball

I have soon watched the whole first season of I Love Lucy (1951-1952). I am so going as Lucille Ball this Halloween! How I will manage that hairdo is a future problem.

The Swedish election finishes this Sunday (even NYT have written about the election drama), and then I will probably be able to concentrate once again on my classic movie passion. I'm even too distracted to study.  Even my mother complains about me talking more politics than television and radio unitized. I guess I'm black or white: either throwing up in the gutter outside Blue Oyster, or boring people to death with unemployment issues.

Until then: lo and behold my Photoshop skills. I look like a hot emo girl! I experimented with some Clara Bow lips, between television debates.

Bonnie Blue Butler

I just read that the actress playing the ill-fated (and quite spoiled) daughter of Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler in my favorite lying-in-the-sofa-being-sick-and-feeling-sorry-for-yourself classic film Gone With the Wind (1939), Cammie King, has died aged 76.

I read a cute quote from her, about working with Clark "The Hunk" Gable:

"He was such a warm, friendly man. When he kissed me, his mustache tickled. I'd tell that to my mother's friends and they'd swoon."

No wonder! By the way: I just realized how sad it is to first realize that there still are some people alive having experienced immortal classics like GWTW, only when they have died. A quite disturbing paradox. Anyway - R.I.P.

I will keep this post short only for the one reason that so many found my Fred-Ginger-crossbreeding photo so disturbing, that I want it to still be the first thing visible when visiting my blog. Just for a little while.

And yeah, I feel terrible for STILL not having come back full time, blogging with that 110% energy that I always do. (Ha! Hope I trick at least some of you that I put any thought what so ever in my writing.) Here's why:

The school has, finally, started again - the current subject is Television History. Enormously fascinating, since it is mostly crap with a few glimpses of potential every now and then. Just enough glimpses of hope that you become devastated over and over again of the pure shit that drowns it. If you want an angry Briton to spew all over it instead of a narcissistic Swede, check out Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe. I give you the first third of the first episode of the first season. (That was a confusing sentence. But I bet nobody reads it too close anyway.)

The second reason why I am so neglecting, is that it's a quite crazy situation politically in Sweden now. The election is September 17, and until then I just have to keep up to date with all rotten vegetables the politicians throw at each other to respectfully win the confidence of the voters. Aren't politics just nice?

Anyway, to sooth your anger you can see the following evidence of me being the most glamorous bride this summer. Crown Princess Victoria is nothing compared to my awesomeness. See you soon!

About the wedding dress (I got a question in the comment section): I bought it on Forever21, and the standard wedding dress in Sweden is the princess-of-a-day white silky ones, which I wouldn't feel comfortable in.


And yes, my maids of honor are that beautiful. In fact, all Swedish women are beautiful, so come here on your next vacation.

I'm back... but not really.

Hello, beloved ones!

I'm not on honeymoon anymore. I came back to the Realm of the Swedes on Sunday, with a bag full of ethanol-filled bottles. Well, at least two bottles of gin, one bottle of Vodka and a bottle of cheap whiskey. Don't come to me and say that Scandinavians have a liquor problem. We just like to binge drink a lot.

Anyway. On the plane back home there was suddenly huge flashes of lightning, and a deep voice among the thunder in the hell ridden sky that shouted to me: "I will strike upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who buy cheap alcohol in Spain and bring it across the borders of Europe!" I briefly wondered why Samuel was so angry with me, but I shrugged it off. What could he do about it, I thought.

He gave me fever, coughing and a cataclysm of snot. I'm not kidding when I tell you that I have blown half of my brain out of my nose, and coughed up vital parts of my intestines.

My point with this being that I don't feel fit to watch any film more mentally challenging than Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), and no movie more sophisticated than Dodgeball (2004). And even if I would try to make you suffer by reviewing the last one, the quality of my writing would not exceed that of Dan Brown's. You deserve better.

To quote Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich: Hold tight.

Away on honeymoon

Sorry that I bored you to death by writing about Swedish films the last two blog posts. I should be ashamed.

Now I'm off to Alicante, Spain for a week on honeymoon! See ya later, groupies!

While the wedding photos from my personal photographer are taking some time to get finished, here's a little appetizer from a relative's camera - "You may kiss your bride."

Left to right: Maid of honor, silver screen queen of the day, the lucky guy and best man.

Al Pacino needs to burn

Oh, no. It's nothing personal. I don't mind Pacino, even though he seldom plays anything but a hot-tempered sociopath. He was good as Shylock in The Merchant of Venice (2004), though. The combination of an angry Italian and Shakespeare is priceless.

So now I will explain why he has to burn.

I got this weird text from my mother today. "I found Al Pacino under the freezer. Do you want him?"

Usually I have quite a good imagination, but this time I had no idea what she meant. I called her up, and obviously she found a Scarface (1983) poster under the freezer while cleaning. Don't ask me how it ended up there, but I suddenly burst into laughter. You see, this was one more or less treasured possession of an ex-boyfriend of mine (and I can't say that he had great taste in films) - the same person that took off with my Beatles Rubber Soul vinyl (that he had giving to me, after some manipulation) when I dumped him. The same person that was bitter enough as to describe to me on his blog as "an evil she-devil that exploited me both emotionally and economically". That post is a regular laughing stock on parties, so thank you dear!
(I won't give you the blog address since it is A in Swedish, and B mostly pretentious crap about how blue he feels and what emo music he listens to.)

Okay, so I kind of manipulated him into paying for a Bob Dylan concert at The Globe in Stockholm, but that was after I broke it off. I mean, what did I have to lose on a free concert? If he was naive enough to think that I would take him back because I got to watch a drunk and confused (but incredibly cool) music legend from the front row, he has only himself to blame.

I thought that I should set fire to the poster with the cigar I got as a wedding gift from my friend. Maybe I will paint on a grease mustache and eyebrows, while laughing maniacally. Moahaha!


(I guess you all could guess that I haven't watched too many classic movies lately, so I have to write about anything remotely related that comes to mind.)

I'm not that stupid

To those who may interpret me as a misogynist, feminist hater or terrorist supporter:
(For those who haven't even had the thought that I would be a mean person - just look at the pictures and enjoy.)


I may be blonde in the picture above, but I'm not that stupid. This is a film blog, and it would be stupid (which I'm not, at least not that stupid) to sneak in upsetting political comments to scare off my readers. One could compare that hypothetical deed to the popular urban legend that Tommy Hilfiger once said that he didn't want black people or Asians to wear his clothes. That would just be stupid.

Even though this is a classic film blog, I have obviously made some political comments every now and then - but that is either for harmless comical reasons or that the Swedish minister of justice has an IQ of a football and recently has proven it yet again. I.e. nothing that should upset my, mostly American, readers.

Why do I then feel the need to explain myself? I have no fucking idea, and I despise myself for it. It's fucking common sense that I do not hate women for being women, that I do knot know enough about feminist history to know that some amazing things have been accomplished, or that I would be as ignorant as to have some underlying hatred for all Americans just because your ex-President was considered totally loopy by great parts of the world population.

My real political opinions are rather normal and boring, to tell you the truth, and therefore I may spice them up with obviously bizarre comments if I feel like making a brief reference to political opinions. Like "all women are usually whiny bitches".

Thankfully, 99% of my readers seem to have brains enough not to think twice about it. Thankfully, most of those people who do find my blog disturbing just go to some other area of the pretty big world of the Internet. Thankfully, most people probably don't want to waste their valuable time giving pathetic life lessons in the comment section of a blog post they didn't like.

Thankfully, most of my dear readers also understand that this is a classic film blog for movie nerds - and that politics have nothing to do with the subject.

I guess everyone that was born with a sense of humor can see the difference between making fun of innocent victims of a national disaster, and a lighthearted reference to the incident as a whole. The latter does not mean "yay for terrorism and loads of civilians ending up dead".

In Sweden the MS Estonia disaster of -94 (852 deaths, read more about it here) is still a touchy subject, especially with the state-smuggling-weapons-on-board-and-therefore-didn't-raise-the-ship conspiracy theory attached to it. Just adorable.

That doesn't mean that we would go berserk if someone mentions it - or even jokes about it. If it shows to be a tasteless joke, then one can be pretty calm with the notion that it was spoken by a pathetic person not worthy of my attention.

So... are we cool now? If not, just remember that I will not beg on my knees to explain something obvious and (for the theme of my blog) irrelevant again. I will do a lot for my readers, but when it comes to this shit once is enough. When (hopefully "if") similar comments about me being an asshole reach my comment section, I will just answer with a link to this post.

Notice that I never delete the comments - they are pretty entertaining in a way too.

Inception (2010) was, by the way, a mind blowing film that I would recommend to about anyone.

It's clever (took about eight years to write!) and original - something that I never dare to expect to come from Hollywood since the 1960's. Don't read too much about it before watching it, though. Or, do - you will not understand a thing anyway and will not be able to spoil it for yourself. You only have to know that the film centers around the concept of being able to break into and manipulate dreams - an ability that some would pay a lot to be able to exploit. Oh, and that dear, dear Marion Cotillard is in it.

And the film nerd's favorite:

1963: The first computer nerd?

Computer pioneer Jean F. Hall fondling AVIDAC in 1953.

I miss my blog. Why did I decide to take summer courses? (Aside from the fact that I want money to food and alcohol.) Well, "Russian for Beginners" is soon finished, thank God. Russian grammar isn't the loveliest thing in the world, believe me.

Now I need to concentrate on a ridiculous little course called "Internet and World Wide Web". I know, hilarious. I thought it would be a breeze, with assignments like "How to open a web browser" and "How to attach a Word document to an email". Now, I am currently writing about the history of the Internet, which is surprisingly interesting. How cute isn't the little computer nerd in the video below? It's a documentary like film clip about the potential of computers and ... connecting of computers! This is high-tech stuff. And how can they make a computer work on more than one mathematical problem at a time?

"Does the computer understand English?"
"No, it's actually more like algebra."

I don't know, I just find that man to the right very charming. Might he be the first computer nerd?




Oh, and I still don't know anything about the Internetz or "nodes" or "networks" or that other stuff. I will fail so hard. I'll just find something to do in the kitchen...

Midsummer à la Sweden

Did everyone have a nice midsummer? Like me, with a bottle of wine and no glass. I heard that 23 million Americans watched the Swedish royal wedding June 19th. That's just more than twice as many as there are Swedes. Well, sigh no more: in less than a month I will kick that wedding's ass!

The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage

One thing that I absolutely loved about studying film was the adorable film library. (Perhaps I shouldn't write in the past sense, but there is an entire summer between me and my dear film books.) Being a film nerd like me in this situation, I almost feels like Eve getting banned from the Garden of Eden. But of course she was always welcome back in the autumn - in exchange for life long education loans. Or should I check the Bible one more time?

The most wonderful thing about the library though, was their constant literature clean-outs - there were always some cool film book you just have to have, for just 20 SEK each.

...that's $2.50 for those of you who don't care about world economy. Jesus, you really should keep track on the Swedish currency. We almost took over the Earth once - but Charles XII was killed by a button and messed up everything. But don't feel safe just yet - in about a week there is a Swedish royal wedding, and new plans for taking over the planet will be presented...

His spawns are going to get you.

Where was I? Oh yeah, film books. The last day of school this spring I bought a book I can't believe I didn't already own, since the title is just awesome. It's Stanley Cavell's Pursuit of Happiness: The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage. I have just started to read it, but it is really refreshing to read some serious analyses of the, at the time and to a large extent still, most popular film genre Hollywood had to offer.

One common explanation for the popularity of this genre and its (very often) filthy rich protagonists, is the fact that the poor Depression era audiences wanted to satisfy their need for extravaganza by eye balling Ginger Rogers' feather gowns. (So called "fairy tales of the Depression".) Cavell offers another explanation, which I find a little more realistic and not as degrading as the first one, namely that the story wouldn't work in a regular Depression era life. The characters have to be able to afford to make drama about their relationship status, wonder who is the right one, whether they should marry/re-marry, etc. etc. The genre wasn't about standing in a bread queue or trying to find a job to support your family.
Well, Cavell puts it a little more delicately, of course.

What? A leopard is on the loose?

He also points out some interesting similarities between the "Hollywood comedies of remarriage" and Shakespeare's dramas - and that is quite the different era, telling us that certain themes obviously are popular throughout the ages. One similarity is the importance of the father/daughter relationship. In Shakespeare's works the father stands for the education of the daughter, as well as being the protector of her virginity. In the Hollywood films, take The Lady Eve (1941) for instance, the father often has the same function, although the virginity at stake is rather a psychological than physical one.

And of course, there are extensive "close readings" (a chapter each) of the following films. In short, 20 SEK for this book seems like quite the bargain, in my opinion. But of course, one can always watch films just because you enjoy them, without analyzing the celluloid out of them.

The first one guessing all of the films right gets five points.

Always new Marxists in the world...

One thing I love about studying film is that I encounter interesting people all the time, just when I thought that there were so few of them. Yesterday was the last school day for the summer, and a few of us sat down in the grass - sharing beer, wine and cigarettes and enjoying the rainy Swedish summer weather.

After a while I find myself talking to a girl that obviously has been in the same class with me for half a year without me noticing. (Perhaps an effect of me always thinking that women are whiny bitches I don't care to spend any time with.) Suddenly she asks me if I had heard about some guys called the Marx brothers. After a minor shock I regained consciousness enough to reveal my Groucho Marx tattoo on my upper arm, and got following reaction: "Oh my God! Is it...? No! Is it... It's Groucho!" And there I had a new friend. I just love when getting to know people takes less than three minutes.

Of course I had to send an email to her with the url to the top two Marx Brothers blogs: The Marx Brothers Council of Britain and The Marx Brothers (aka Minnie's Boys), and of course a link to Salvador Dalis Marx Brothers script "Giraffes on Horseback Salads". We Marxists have to stick together.

People will probably hate me for this, but I will share some pictures from the lovely beer picnic. Just look adore the film nerds and the cloudy Swedish summer. Hopefully I will have the energy to be more active on both my blog and yours now that I can take a break from school a few weeks. Cheers!

The Marx Brother girl and a good friend of mine,

who will also be our wedding photographer.

Happy happy fun time!

Beer and pizza - probably the only masculine features these two boys have. I like them, though.

More Hollywood kisses

Dearest readers!

Do you remember the clip I made with top ten greatest (but they weren't the greatest) Hollywood kisses? Now that summer is coming - oh yes, after a while it comes to Sweden too - and I won't have much to do, except from studying Russian, I thought I should try to pick up were I left off.

I recently got a comment on the video on YouTube, asking me if I had more videos like that. I don't - yet. It could be a good way for me to practice on my video editing program.

Therefore I ask you, dear classic film experts - do you have any suggestions for film kisses I have yet to highlight and honor?

I also plan on not relying only on a wannabe British voice over this time, but show my pretty little face for you. Suggestions for improvement, or any kind of ideas, are dearly welcome!

Go through hell for retro boots

A typical late-at-night-last-minute-bidding-tournament resulted in me winning an auction for these retro 1970's boots. But of course, I had forgotten to update my address on the site, so they wound up at the other side of town. Being a woman I still felt that I needed these shoes right now, so away I went on a little journey. Little did I know that it would be a journey from hell.

First the usual five minute wait for the elevator to finally reach my floor. I realize that I had forgotten my ID, so I had to go back again.

Returning to the elevator a family in the building has decided that they want to move furniture during that five minute delay for ID retrieving. I am welcomed by three dumb faces and a bed, staring  foolishly at me. Well, the bed did more of a triumphant expression to be honest.

Squeeze a bed in there, and you've got the picture.

The rape staircase it is. It's dark, narrow and goes in a frightening Vertigo spiral. And at the bottom floor there is smeared dog poop that has been there for weeks, giving of a delightful smell to welcome any passing house guest. (Someone should probably call about that.)

Finally. Almost on my way. But no. Of course the rails for the streetcar has to be renovated today, so I have to take the bus instead. Do I have to mention that the bus I had to take is also the one that every damn citizen in this little town of mine has to ride on, and that the route goes about three times around the city before reaching its destination? I bet I don't, since I just did.

The bus stops about seventy eleven blocks away from the dirty little store that has my boots. On the way I almost slipped and fell to my death five times. Oh, and the temperature outside! It's not that cold that I need a jacket, but it's too cold if I take it off and I begin to sweat wearing it. I adore Sweden, I do.

Well, I received my package, the local store sold my favorite brand of cigarettes, Virginia Slims, and I was almost happy again. (How smart is it not to design a pack of cigarettes to look like a fashionable brand of lipstick?)

I get home, try on the boots... one size too small. Obviously they were the 1970's idea of size 9, and not the real size 9. How about those genes? I am as short as my mother and have as big feet as my father. Very proportional.

Maybe this is the solution to my problem?

But damn it, I have to have those boots. I squeeze by feet in and hope to be able to stretch them out to my size. What is a flesh wound in this context, anyway? And how about that - the heel broke.

I fear the day my Forever 21 order arrives.

Bette knows how I feel.

Academy Awards predictions

Personally, I am always a bit cynical about the Oscars. The right film seldom gets the prize, or even a nomination - but if a film makes enough money at the box-office it takes all the statues no matter what any sane person thinks.

However. I got this nice little email from vouchercodes.co.uk, that I for some reason do not think is spam since I got the thumbs up on posting a Right Said Fred video on the blog. They obviously have some film fan competition, and the person who makes the most accurate Academy Award predictions wins a $400 (or £250) discount on amazon.com. So why not? I will however only try to predict the awards for the five big categories and the supporting ones, since I will get too depressed guessing what shitty film will win in all categories.

BEST MOTION PICTURE OF THE YEAR

If I were to decide the winner, it would without a doubt be Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds (2009). But that would be too fair, so I will go ahead and guess James Cameron's Avatar (2009). And no, I haven't seen it and I don't intend to.

CGI masturbation tend to be called "the best film of the year".

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE

Okay, so Jeff Bridges (Crazy Heart, 2009), George Clooney (Up in the Air, 2009) and Colin Firth (A Single Man, 2009) are all nominated. But since Morgan Freeman plays Nelson Mandela in Clint Eastwood's Invictus (2009), I think for politically correct reasons that he will win. No offence - Morgan Freeman is awesome, but so are the others. I hope for Colin Firth, though. Ever since he soaked his white shirt in Pride and Prejudice (1995) he has had a special place in my heart, and A Single Man looks like a pretty awesome, depressing 1960's film. But to make things clear: I believe in Morgan Freeman in Invictus.

I haven't seen the film yet, but I bet Freeman is awesome as usual.

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE

This one is hard. I like both Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep (Julie & Julia, 2009), and I sure hope that Sandra Bullock (The Blind Side, 2009) does not win. If she does, I will run around Norrköping in a toga shouting "Geronimo!" all the way. That is a promise. My guess goes to Helen Mirren in The Last Station (2009). And I haven't even heard of that film.

I don't know. But she's usually good.

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

By God, if Cristoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterds do not win this one, the world will surely die. I want to predict him as the winner, but I will be realistic and go for Matt Damon in Invictus.

Starting to resemble Schwarzenegger back in the days, huh?

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

I like Maggie Gyllenhaal (Crazy Heart - never heard of that film neither). But I will guess for Penélope Cruz in Nine (2009), which looks like a pretty interesting film. I mean, Sophia Loren and my new French favorite Marion Cotillard is in it.

Where can I buy a corset like that?

BEST ACHIEVEMENT IN DIRECTING

Tarantino needs this one. No, he deserves it. Damn it. I guess for James Cameron. Damn, damn, damn. But Cameron will win this. He is very good... at making money. If not the only female director nominated will win this for being a woman, of course. But no, I will go with Cameron. Damn!

He does think he's fucking awesome, doesn't he?

And there they were, my Academy Awards predictions. Check out vouchercodes.uk's discounts at LoveFilm, Amazon.co.uk and Sky (if you for example are interested in watching the Academy Awards live). And for the last time: grab the statue, Cristoph Walz!

A pipe like that has to win him the Oscar.