Nipples the size of spaceships.
Well, that pretty much sums up my astute assessment of the new Bertolucci film/movie The Dreamers. Whose spaceships. Did you really ask that question. I half-jovially whump you, dimbulb, upside the head for who else in the movie would HAVE said nipples but the sole girl in the movie. Not the two nubile boys. And, really, I think the entire point of this movie is to have us first guess at the spaceships before they are flying free. Hints of spaceships through diaphanous shirt. Then the yanking of a shirt. And... then... holy Chariots of the Gods.
Saw the movie with Vanessa (Jam Master V) and Beth and we had divergent goals although the commonality was lurid in scope. V's critique: Not enough dick.
And, really, it's no Last Tango.
Onwards.
Oh, JW,Esq. writes a dispatch from Oracle on my Mars rover, conspiratorial post. And he does put forth some fine twists and turns, of course building upon the thesis of Yours Truly.
To quote, summarily. An abstract. A brief. And then I am to rest my case. Your Honour.

"Now what to make of the White Boat?  Clearly it's a symbol of racial and moneyed-class superiority; it is now a target, a goal, a dream, perhaps unattainable by the unwashed masses unless you too have the best 'things' that money can buy, like the most expensive ATV in history.  I can virtually guarantee you that this Christmas, the Sharper Image will have a replica Mars Rover for sale in its catalogue for a mere $99,000, complete with extension arms with which wealthy suburbanites can "explore" the peripheries of their well-manicured back lawns -- 'nature' to them.
In short:  the Republicans are simply evil.  Go Kerry."

Nice work, JW.

Onwards to more by Perfect Me.
Turned AnnieD and Beth on to the favoured Toronto restaurant, Caffe la Gaffe. A hybrid of North American bistro and Parisian parfait flourishes and easy elegance.
But before that, the true crux of this section, I purchased my first hands-free wristwatch. As in no hands. A display. And from the Canadian version of EMS, LLBean, About Face, North Face, whatever. Roots. I feel really sported out. I feel like I should be timing everything around me. It came with a fucking manual and if there's one thing in this world I do not need is more orders, more directives of a non-art nature. Who else owns an iPod but doesn't use it because who really has that kind of time to transform the cd molecules into iPod compounds.
Speaking of molecular structures I am now a very proud wifi pirate, hunting out non-lethal, non-ebolic hot spots to squat on the internet system efforts of others. How I do love technology. And gadgets. And shocking spaceships. And not orders. And not wonky surprises. And not strange emails from people I don't know stating that they know something that "will change my life."
Thanks for your attention in this matter.
I remain.
Remainder Love.

Not my usualling opinion but still in the after-haze of feeling ripped off by the Mac dude (a complete dude, worthy of that hated title. him, bearded, slight residue of Canadian accent, crappy beard, darting eyes) who charged me $30 "installation fee" as I hadn't shoved my Airport card enough into its slot. I mean. Really.
Giving him the paint-melting stare I said Really, you're going to charge me for that? Mr. Darter Dude stated that once your machine is dragged off to the mysterious back room from the Genius Bar you can pretty much kiss $30 au revoir.
onwards.
Thinking of my left coast attorney who sent me an email not too long ago so in the spirit and style of epinw, Yours Truly's Perfect locution, that I may have to sue his ass for plagiarism or some such thing.
The most soothing bane to the whole Mac fiasco and a few others is that there is a new Johnny Depp movie creeping towards me. Opening March 12th. I'm thinking he's so on a roll to finance that fat French bitch that he married and her wayward lifestyle.
Oh, learnt a very important civics-style lesson yesterday.
When one's country's national holiday of questionable origins (say, Presidents' Day, combining the b-days of two very different and very dead leaders) it's probably wise (oh, how we know it not wise) to get a haircut from a Russian on that very day.
For she, of questionable background and training, will hack the living daylights out of your hair to make you look like a gulag gone bad.
Clipped Love.

On the Mac store tour, now on Prince @ Greene where I happen to be blogging on a powerbook just like mine simultaneously on a gigantic screen to my right for the grand erudition of those nearby.
Spent a few nights ago in B'Lyn with Beth, Justy, SteveBartoo and Jen. Boat. Brooklyn. Dark. Smoke-free until midnight and beyond when all hell breaks loose. Justy and Steve have augmented the cd jukebox offerings with cocktail napkin sketches, found objets, etc. Simply, in a nutshell, brilliant.
Spent better parts of past few days judging work of incoming Parsons grads. Plodding through slides, all types of resumes and deadly statements of intent.
After hours of deliberations, coffees, re-reviews and bantering we selected 15 and 5 alternates. Defended one who has a commercial background. Was listening to smarm and crap about him being too commercial until I'd heard enough. Basta, indeed. Spoke on his behalf thusly... we want diversity and that's a whole heap more than ethnicity. Howsabout someone's background. Journalistic. Commercial. Travel-style. He's in, if he's so inclined.
Onwards. I'm here at the Mac store to get and Airport Xtreme card, enough of this playfully slick banter.
Bantic Love.