Gerard: The Gift That Keeps On Giving (Or Why I Love Ben Pt. 2)

Ben and I have known each other for about 15 years now I think...maybe more. So that's a fair few birthdays and Christmases...which means numerous gifts have been exchanged.

Items which gave been given by Ben to me and other friends over the years include:

Antique jewellery
A dentists' mirror
A transvestite Barbie complete with lovingly hand-crafted Fimo penis
Glitter
A bag of compost
Possibly some bodily fluids
Cookie cutters
Books on mathematics
A tank driving lesson

As you can see, Ben is quite inventive when it comes to giving, and such effort merits reciprocation. Luckily, Ben has a range of interests which make him relatively easy and pretty fun to shop for.

When he expressed an interest in preserved insects and antique taxidermy, I felt we'd hit the muthaload. A few beetles, spiders and butterflies later, some of us decided to club together and get him something a bit larger. At first we scanned ebay for some genuinely beautiful bird samples from the 19th Century, carefully watching various auctions and studying photos to check the condition of each one. But then, being us, other things began to catch our collective eye. Moose heads, lion skins and even a PIG. I shit you not, someone was selling a whole, stuffed PIG.

Now, Ben loves a pig. For a few days, our biggest dream was to present Ben with a full sized, dead adult pig which would have to be used as a sofa or an elaborate pouffe because it took up the whole floor area of his living room. But when the bids reached £700 after just a few hours, we had to admit, with heavy hearts, that the pig might turn out to be the most expensive backfiring prank of all time.

(Incidentally if anyone knows who bought that pig, please make yourself known. I have questions.)

So, undeterred we decided to set our sights a little lower. A fox maybe, or a badger?

And then we saw this....



It's a SQUIRREL riding a freakin' HORSE!!!!!!!

From the same source, we could also have bought a squirrel IN AN ORANGE BOILER SUIT, riding a QUAD BIKE! This would not only have been brilliant, but would also have matched the decor in Ben's flat. But something about the horse made this too good to pass up.

We registered our interest.

Now, you're probably thinking a stuffed squirrel, riding a plastic horse would set you back about 25p. YOU'D BE WRONG! Although we were no longer in the giddy world of pig money, the bids were rolling in, and it became apparent that if we wanted to witness Ben's face as he came face to face with a dead squirrel super-glued to a horse for the first time, it was gonna cost us. Still, it would be worth it, right? Right?!

Having won the auction and taken delivery of Ben's gift, we then had to keep it safe from the marauding threat of a friend's cat until the evening of the grand unveiling arrived.

We nervously assembled in the pub and waited for the rest of the gathering to present their (nice and largely sane) offerings. Finally it was our turn. Ben took the package and tore into the paper. He opened the box and looked inside. For ages. We held our breath. This could go BAD. We had a lot riding on that little squirrel/horse combo (sorry). Maybe Ben would laugh a little at this tasteless monstrosity and demand his real gift. The silence was oppressive.

Finally, Ben reached into the box and removed the squirrel and his steed. Held them aloft to take in their full kitsch glory, face still impassive.

Then a huge grin broke across his face and he declared:

"Aaaaaargh...I LOOOOOOOOOVE HIM! I shall call him GERARD!!"

And that is another reason that Ben and I are friends.

UPDATE: You can now read more about the adventures of Gerard the dead, equestrian squirrel HERE!

A STUNNING Pixies cover & interview from the awesome OK Go boys. This has everything: an anecdote about a chainsaw, Tim in shorts, a glockenspiel! What more could you want? Also Damian is so beautiful, I genuinely forgot to breathe for AGES the first time I watched it. I wish he'd stop playing hard to get and just come get me already! ;)

So, the CW network asked fans of Supernatural to 'tweet' questions for the stars of the show. And look who posed the first to Ackles!



Tee hee! I am fully aware that this shouldn't make me as excited as it does.

FYI this is the only one I asked which was suitable for broadcast - I'm amazed I didn't just get an injunction in the post...

My favourite thing about this is that he has to actually try and dignify such a shit question with a response. He gives the correct answer immediately which is just 'NO'. And of course he's never had a supernatural experience because there is no such thing as ghosts or monsters, so he could have left it at that but then (BLESS HIM) he thinks hard and seems genuinely sad that he doesn't have a story. Oh, Ackles :( It's OK. I'm too busy looking at your mouth to hear anything you say anyhow.

And then he's all like 'maybe ghosts stay away from me because they know I have mad skillz when it comes to destroying them'. This is supposing that a) there are such things as ghosts (which there aren't) and b) ghosts watch Supernatural. It's all just gotten silly and out of hand!

Jensen, if you are reading this - and frankly why WOULDN'T you be?! - I'm very sorry I wasted 30 seconds of your life with my inane question. I let you down and I let myself down. But I do have many more pertinent things to discuss with you so call me, yeah?

Dear Santa...

I realise it's still a bit early, but I wanted to give you fair notice because I know what I really, really want for Christmas. Santa, baby, I give you the Rodeo Jensen 3000:



This life-size, posable spanky toy comes with an array of stunning features including:

Removable, mismatched double denim outfit comprising shirt and plum-hugger jeans

Complimentary 'Dr. Sexy' style cowboy boots

Sasquatch lasso

Ginormous and ostentatious 'junk adornment' belt buckle

Falconry gloves(?!)

Realistic smudges of grime for added heterosexuality

Carefully tousled 'grabby hands' hair

Awesome, patented 'Real Feel' mouth

(Requires 684 AA batteries - not included)

I think you'll agree it truly is the 'must have' toy for this coming Chrimbo - hence I am registering my request in October. You snooze, you lose as a wise man once said.

Also, since I have been so very extra good this year, I thought you might find it in your heart to send me TWO presents (don't ask, don't get, God loves a trier and all that jazz), so I would also like to put my name down for an Interactive Sweat 'n' Strip Jared:


He sweats REAL sweat!!

It may seem a tad greedy, but if you could see your way to fulfilling my requests this year, I will never need to ask for anything (or leave the house) ever again.

Many thanks and kindest regards,

Pinkwood (aged 30 and 3/4)

Sad Face Masterclass (Or Why I Love Ben Pt 1)

You know those days when EVERYTHING drives you into an insane rage?

I had one the other day. I was so tired and exasperated by EVERYTHING that I sat at my desk and e-mailed my friend, Ben, bemoaning the fact that I wasn't skilled enough with punctuation marks to design an emoticon which accurately represented the full extent of EVERYTHING happening to my face - annoyance, disbelief, frustration, ennui, mild hysteria - and that this failure in itself was adding to my mounting pile of impotent fury.

:( Wasn't going to cut it.

:'( Pfft! Where's the ANGER?

D: I hadn't seen a ghost!

D': Or a spider.

Ben does not enjoy a constraint. I'd go so far as to say he actively dislikes one, which is why he shunned the frankly limited medium of key-strokes and drew me this instead:



He's a freestyling fucking genius! This is EXACTLY the right level of hissy! The attention to detail and sheer depth of feeling conveyed is even more remarkable when you consider that it took him about 5 seconds and he was probably in the middle of cutting a brain into 0.008mm slices and sealing them in wax or something. (Should probably mention at this point that he is a scientist - not a serial killer.)

And this is one of the reasons Ben and I are friends.

Fishnets & Filth...

One of my most enduring memories from childhood is being simultaneously thrilled and scared senseless by the sight of Tim Curry stumbling out of a freezer, having stabbed Meat Loaf to death, and dropping his pick-axe on the blood-stained ice, while Little Nell screams from the soul and pulls her hair in the background.

I can't remember how old I was when I first saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but I must have been young. Mother - if you are reading - I'm not questioning your parenting skillz BUT you probably do have a lot to answer for! Just sayin'.

Rocky Horror was my main obsession for many years. I was in the fan club. I had posters, t-shirts, rare cast recordings. The works. I even had pen pals. Although this age of internet forums is perfect for a greedy, stalkerish, instant gratification kind of bish like me, I sometimes forget how exciting it was awaiting the arrival of the latest newsletter by snail mail or taking hours decorating a lovingly hand-written epistle with glitter and lipstick kisses and anticipating the reply.

I had two older pen chums whose lives seemed impossibly glamorous to me. One was a young lady who used to send me mix tapes loaded with obscure songs by the cast of the film. We spoke endlessly about our mutual love for Curry in women's underwear. You should know that my love for Tim meant I wasn't even afraid of this! The other was a gay guy who would regale me with tales of fabulous debauchery. At least that's how I remember it. We would write pages and pages about our Rocky Horror related antics and send each other pictures of ourselves dressed in our sluttish finery.

My 'real life' friends shared my passion as well. One of the reasons I bonded with one of my bestest and oldest friends was because we were sat together in an art class one day and she noticed the doodles on my portfolio included lyrics from Rocky Horror and also by David Bowie. I think our first real conversation began when she turned to me and asked bluntly 'So you like boys who wear make-up too?'. It was love at first dirty sight.

We'd go to the stage show at every opportunity. Back in those days we had to make our own costumes and everything! Look how fresh faced we were:

Ahh...it seems like only yesterday. But it wasn't. It was about 15 years ago! THIS was yesterday:

I'm not sure why I hadn't been to see the stage show for so long, but slipping into your fishnets and sequins to heckle some scantily clad actors is like riding a bike or doing the Time Warp - you never forget how. And now I am born again I will never stray far from the path of this joyous filth. I mean, is there anything finer than a perfectly toned man wearing tiny pants and covered in body glitter who can back flip and sing at the same time?

That was a rhetorical question btw. The answer is NO! Duh.

It's been interesting to follow how the show has evolved over the years, and how each new production keeps the story fresh. The sex has gotten dirtier. Way dirtier. As another gorgeous friend (and the organiser of last night's outing) noted, the current tour has dispensed with condoms - a staple of the bedroom scenes for years - and includes practices which may have been quite an education for some of the audience members by the looks of it. It's testament to either the actors or the wardrobe department that there are no visible side effects from all that dry humping. Either they are all consummate pros or that underwear is sturdier than it looks. But I digress...

I'm always amazed at the diversity of the audiences. For all the die-hard fans who turn out in stockings and feather boas, there are always newbies and those who look slightly out of place (terrified?) to me. I often wonder what is going through their heads as they hear a room full of people screaming 'SLUT!' and 'ASSHOLE!' at Michael Aspel for the first time.

When you think about it, the story makes very little sense. Neither do the lyrics. But I guess that's not what it's about. I think it's been popular for so long because of Richard O'Brien's excellent tunes and because it gives people an outlet. While we are at the Frankenstein Place we can laugh at kidnap, cross-dressing, molestation, incest, murder, jealousy, cannibalism, the Nazis and genetic experimentation. Anything goes. It's all very cathartic!

Although transgressions are punished and relatively normal behaviour is reinstated at the end of the story, it is the anarchy and decadence - embodied by Frank - which is prevalent for the most part. Although he stands for everything we are told is wrong - violence, pride, promiscuity - it is Frank we root for. He is literally playing God in his house, constructing his own depraved little universe where there is none of the order or restraint imposed on the rest of us. And everyone adores him, even those he has mistreated. So much so that they are prepared to die for him. Riff Raff's claims that his master must be destroyed because of his extreme lifestyle are undermined when he reveals he doesn't feel anyone 'liked' him. Jealousy appears to be the overriding motive.

Whatever their reasons for loving this lush, dirty little musical, it certainly seems to bond people which can only be a good thing. And anything which gets accountants, lawyers and school teachers wearing corsets and feathers, and more boys in glitter and heels is doing the world an invaluable service as far as I'm concerned.

I was obviously deeply affected by watching this cult classic at such a tender age. More so than I realised. Although I had neglected my own alter-ego for too many years...

...it seems she never really left me:

That is my everyday hair! But not my everyday clothes (although they WOULD be if I had my way).

And she and I STILL enjoy boys in make-up.


UPDATE!!!

My mother has confirmed I was TWO YEARS OLD when I first saw it! TWO!!! This explains a LOT!

Rudd-y Brilliant!

Yesterday I was on Twitter (as is my wont) when I noticed that one of the trending topics was simply 'Rudd'. Subsequent and very cursory research revealed this was of course Kevin Rudd, the ex Aussie PM, due to recent activity surrounding the elections. BUT for a few seconds when I saw that hash tag, before reason prevailed and disappointment set in, my brain was all like 'Wow! Finally Paul Rudd is getting the love and recognition he deserves as an actor and a gentleman!'

I LOVE Paul Rudd. I'm not sure when I first realised this. I think it was a slow burning thing. It kinda crept up on me over the years. Paul Rudd is more than the sum of his parts. Sure, he was pretty hot as Josh in Clueless even if it took Alicia Silverstone the whole damn movie to notice. Like, DUH Cher! But that wasn't the defining moment. Maybe it was as Phoebe's boyfriend in Friends? Nah - I actually pretty much hate Friends so probably not. He's clearly outstanding as Brian Fantana in Anchorman."That's the smell of desire m'lady." Now we're getting somewhere. Then there's this. "Your index finger smells like Rupert Everett." Yeah. I think we're pretty much there. But THEN there's THIS. WOAH! Holy shit! We've hit the paydirt. Bromance and cock rock. I didn't stand a chance! Take me NOW Paul Rudd. And while we're on his faptastic dancability, how about this:



And YES, I do enjoy that Family Force 5 song. And NO I am not ashamed. Much.

I'm not alone in my Rudd infatuation. I have found that in a room full of people, in any given situation, if you mention that you love Paul Rudd, 99% of the people there will be like 'who is Paul Rudd?' and when you explain they look at you with a mixture of confusion and pity. They can't fathom your enthusiam at all. They assumed he would turn out to be some actor of smouldering intensity from obscure arthouse films, a hero of cult '70s slashers or even a porn star, but instead it slowly dawns on them as you get further through your list. "You know," you say, with a manic grin and a slightly unhinged glint in your eye. "The one in 40 Yr Old Virgin? Knocked Up? Role Models? Forgetting Sarah Marshall?" "Oh...HIM!" they say, eyeing you with suspicion. "WHY?"

But then there will always be that one person. That one in a sea of blank stares who is returning your fervent look. Their excitement is palpable. They thought THEY were the only one who loved Paul Rudd that much. They have found a kindred spirit. "I LOVE PAUL RUDD!" they say. "I KNOW RIGHT!?" you reply. You are now firm friends.

Sometimes it's someone you've known for years, but due to circumstances beyond your control you've never had a conversation go the way of Rudd, or sat to enjoy one of his movies together. But once you DO discover your mutual passion, your friendship will always be that much richer for it. Conversely, someone you hitherto thought was a dick might inadvertantly disclose their love of Rudd and you decide they can't be 100% tool if they like Paul. That's the healing power of Rudd.

So ANYway, after writing on Twitter yesterday that I love Paul Rudd, and how I had thought (somewhat rashly) that the Rudd trend was about Paul Rudd, I got an e-mail which said in the subject line:

Paul Rudd is now following you on Twitter.

Imagine, if you will, the rollercoaster of emotion I was riding for the time it took me to open that e-mail. Confusion. Excitement. Fear. Possibly a more well adjusted person would have assumed that it was one of their friends playing a joke. Or that someone who just happened to be called Paul Rudd, but not THE Paul Rudd, had misinterpreted my Tweet and thought I was in love with them. Come to think of it, that would actually be quite weird as well. But MY train of thought went something like this:

OMFG! Paul Rudd is following ME?!

How did he know I love him?

I didn't even hash tag his name when I wrote that Tweet about loving Paul Rudd!

Paul Rudd must spend all day just scanning Twitter for his own name!

That's a bit strange, but then again if I was a slightly famous Hollywood star probably that is what I would do.

What if Paul Rudd saw what I wrote about him and started reading all my Tweets and now Paul Rudd is in love with ME?

Holy crap! That must be it. Paul Rudd LOVES me.

And I love Paul Rudd.

What if he's leaving his wife for me right now?

Oh God! Do I really want that on my conscience??

They've got a small kid forchrissakes!

What will I tell the boyfriend? Am I really leaving him for Paul Rudd?

I'm gonna have to. He's PAUL RUDD. I'd be a fool to pass that up.

Jesus tap-dancing Christ. I understand now. It's my destiny to be with Paul Rudd.

But just as I'd made up my mind that I was going to have to move to the US and set up home with Paul Rudd, my message opened and I could see that in fact Paul Rudd wasn't following me at all. It was the Twitter account of Paul Rudd FANS. Their bio says 'Biggest Paul Rudd Fan Page Ever'. And they have 16 followers :'( That makes me a saaaaad panda. I'm pretty sure more than 16 people (now 17 including me) like Paul Rudd. Come on Rudd addicts. You can do better than that!

So, it looks like I'm not going to be the next Mrs. Rudd which is kind of a shame. I was pretty upset for about an hour but I had wine and some Galaxy Counters and think I'm OK now. But for those of you still not getting the awesome power of the Rudd, I leave you with this: