Men in Tights

I've been keeping an eye on the shenanigans surrounding Russell Crowe's next film project - because dammit, there's nothing I love better than a Robin Hood movie.

Seriously. The film buffs who take themselves waaaayyyy too seriously will roll their eyes, but Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves remains one of my top three, all-time favourites (along with Gone With the Wind and Some Like it Hot). As far as I'm concerned that movie is FLAWLESS and I will brook NO ARGUMENT.

I'm also a big fan of The Adventures of Robin Hood, the original 1938 Technicolour masterpiece in which Errol Flynn donned the green tights and took on Basil Rathbone in the best onscreen sword fight ever. I still giggle at Mel Brooks' Robin Hood: Men in Tights ("I have a mole?!?!"); I have enjoyed the bits and pieces of the BBC's Robin Hood series that I've seen (mostly due to the delectable inclusion of Richard Armitage as Guy of Gisborne); and I remember the animated kids' version (where Robin was a fox - the best characterisation ever) was one of my childhood faves.

So it's been with some interest that I've followed progress on Nottingham, which was to be director Ridley Scott's creative re-imagining of the story, with Russell Crowe as a heroic Sheriff of Nottingham, taking on the menacing thief of Sherwood and his gang of Merry Men Gladiator-style. I was intrigued by this concept, not least because it could allow for a slighly more historically accurate depiction of Richard Coeur de Lion (the biggest show pony in English history - YES I TOTALLY WENT THERE).

But it now seems the whole thing is getting re-jigged again. As in, back to the usual story of the noble outlaw who fights for justice and the poor and shit. And Russ has decided to ditch the Sheriff role and play Robin Hood instead. And Cate Blanchett has come in to play Maid Marian. And they might even change the title too.

What's going on?

I don't think I WANT Russell Crowe playing Robin Hood. I was perfectly happy to have him get in there as the Sheriff, in his best ruggish, thuggish manner, and start kickin' some medieval arse. Laying the 12th century smacketh down on some drooling toffee-nosed nancy fannying about Sherwood Forest with a suspicious crew of highly-strung Saxon bandits. Hanging, drawing and quartering Friar Tuck for one too many nips of the sacremental wine. Defiling Maid Marian in the time-honoured way - by surprise in the murder hole of Nottingham Castle.

And really, Cate Blanchett. Haven't you made me jealous enough with your Oscars, your delicate yet otherworldly beauty, your playing Elizabeth the Fracking First, and your commitment to the Australian theatre industry? ISN'T YOUR LIFE PERFECT ENOUGH CATE BLANCHETT?

As far as I can tell, there's only way to redeem this version - and that's to bring Alan Rickman back as the Sheriff of Nottingham. The arty film wankers who by now have condemned me as a philistine for daring to find Kevin Costner an appealing Robin Hood - even they cannot disagree that Alan Rickman was the Best. Sheriff. Ever.

Who's with me?

Awesome "Felafel" artwork

I tell you, I know a bunch of incredibly talented people. One such freakishly gifted friend is Anthony Massingham, who I've drafted in to do some graphic art for He Died with a Felafel in His Hand:

How good is that? You can see more of Anthony's brilliant surreal style at his online series called The Not-So Impressive Entertainers.

Anthony is actually the younger brother of David Massingham, who you may recall had to suffer through my groping him every night onstage in Prognosis: Death!, and is a core member of The Sexy Detective sketch comedy group (who've produced one of my favourite-ever sketches).

Such is my admiration for the Brothers Massingham, The Wah recently accused me of having a secret plan to make them my toyboy love slaves. I will give you the same dignified response I gave him:

"Secret plan?!?!?"

Happy Lhosar

Last night was, apparently, Tibetan New Year's Eve. Which I guess makes today Tibetan New Year's Day. Happy Lhosar for the Year of the Ox.

I discovered this on turning up to the Tibetan Kitchen on Petrie Terrace for dinner with my folks and Queen Pat (my champagne-guzzling, Vanuatu-dwelling, sole-remaining grandparent) and discovering they had an excellent $25-a-head buffet dinner going on.

I had a moment of "But we just had Chinese New Y.... oh, yeah. Yeah, I can see how they'd want to avoid that."

The best thing was the fortune cookies served with dessert. The instructional letter left on each table explicitly stated the fortune cookies were "NOT to be eaten!". And with good reason. Made out of dough, they each contain one of 13 items, many of which could choke you to death. But the items correspond with a character trait, which "may or may not" match your own personality.

I got cotton. "Somebody that is very soft-hearted". Kinda true, I guess. The Wah will attest to the fact I do have an affinity for freaks. I also can't tell lies, and am easily influenced. I even shed a tear at the end of Love, Actually - even though I hated the film and everything it stood for.

My Mum got chili seeds. "Angry and outrageous". She's very shy, my Mum, and in fact, a very classy lady. But then again, she IS Irish by birth...

My Dad got a woodstick: "Who can build as many houses as possible". Somewhat true, if you take it in a figurative "good provider" kind of way, or in a more literal "excellent with tools and various stuff about the house".

We all had a gut laugh when my Gran finally got into hers. "Stone!" said the nice waitress who'd helped Gran crack open the dough ball on the side of the table. "Stubborn!" I exclaimed. This is the woman who refused to get a computer for years, but is now all "Just drop me an email". The woman who paddled a canoe out to a ship to make sure her younger brother was OK during WWII (she was in the WRNS; he the RN) even though he begged her not to because everyone would tease him. She's mellowed over the years but I'm reliably informed that my Gran is in fact one of the most Terrifying People to Ever Have Lived. It's pretty much Boadicea, Genghis Khan, and Queen Pat. There'll be a seat for her somewhere in Valhalla.

So you know four of the items and their corresponding traits. But there's another nine. So let's play a game.

Pick a number between 1 and 13, and post it here (along with any comments you have to make about the ferocity of my Gran, or indeed any grandparent of your own). Once I get a few, I'll post up what item you chose (in accordance with the Tibetan Kitchen's list), and what it means. And no Googling! It'll spoil the fun.

Hands off My Interwebs!

Because no matter what the government thinks, a clean feed is not going to stop child sexual abuse. It's just going to stop you, the Australian net geek, from your deity-given right to download free porn involving consenting (if somewhat tubby) adults. And it's going to slow down the internet so much, it'll be faster to personally deliver handwritten post-it notes to your friends than tweet at them.

Make me laugh competition

The last competition I ran - while a technical fiasco - did seem to be reasonably popular. So let's have another go.

Post a comment, and include a joke, or a funny story or quote, or a link to a humourous picture video. Whichever tickles my funnybone most, wins a post from me about them, or the topic of their choice.

Be My Limping Valentine

Due to last weekend's Sydney trip, covering state parliament for work, and rehearsals for He Died with a Felafel in His Hand, I completely missed Valentine's Day.

The Wah surprised me at midnight Friday by presenting me with a tiny glass-blown giraffe that he'd sneakily picked up at Taronga Zoo (he'd "forgotten" his mobile phone in the gift shop, but it was all a ruse! A ruse!). I adore giraffes, and it was a beautiful little gift. But I had zilch for him. Zip. Nada. Three parts of sweet eff ayy.

The thing is, I'm really not fussed by Valentine's Day. I don't expect masses of roses, or chocolates, or weekends away, or dinners for two at some overpriced, overblown restaurant where you're expected to tip, even though this is Australia and goddammit I'm cheap and I don't want to.

Now I could be considered unusual. I like to think it makes me THE MOST AWESOME GIRLFRIEND EVER, but you'd need to double check that with The Wah.

Speaking of said significant other, he had other plans for Valentine's Day. Plans that involved a lot of physical exertions.

I was not involved in these plans.

No, The Wah decided to go walking. For eight hours.

Why, you ask? And where did he end up? You can find the answers to these questions - and many more - over at his blog. It's a most interesting read.