Showing posts with label Irish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Irish. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

The Fly Has Left Zoo Station But It's Not the End of the World


Here's Bono on the beach in St. Barts.

Le sigh.

There was a time when I would have been dancing barefoot in broken glass for the chance to ride his wild horses.  And don't get me wrong, I'd still let him hold me, thrill me kiss me, kill me. My everlasting love for him dates back almost 18 years (fuck I'm old) and when you've invested that much time, you don't just walk on when love comes to town. But now my spanish eyes would probably have to be staring at the sun the whole time. It's not that time has been so cruel to Mr. Hewson, it's just that he just looks like your average, every day white guy dad on the beach. Which is cool, I mean the dude turns 49 on May 10th (sadly I knew that without looking it up) but I miss The Fly, I miss Macphisto, I miss Mirror Ball Man, they were even better than the real thing. 

Time to get into the DeLorean, fire the flux capacitor up to 88 and head back to 1991. Click below for the video for one of my favourite tracks from one of my favourite albums. Also one of my favourite of Bono's many looks. 

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Candy for the Ears and Eyes


Readers of the online music mag gigwise.com have voted Kings of Leon frontman Caleb Followill as the sexiest man in rock. Hells yes they did. If I was blind, like I had my eyes gouged out of my face like Johnny Depp in Once Upon a Time in Mexico, I'd still be able to tell you that Caleb Followill is one.sexy.bitch.

It's that voice, that voice!!!!!

Even in speaking form, it's pure sex. I'm not usually partial to a Southern accent on a man. On a woman it's charming like on the incomparable Blanche Deveraux or those fabulous Southern belles of Steel Magnolias, but on a man? Meh. Give me a Boston or Irish accent any day of the week. I could listen to an Irish dude say "park the car in the garage" all.night.long. Irish is my kryptonite but Southern accents do nothing for me. Except young Caleb's. His accent? It's pure, unadulterated porn for the ears. It's ear porn.

Click below for an interview during which Caleb talks about getting drunk, passing out, getting a tattoo and barfing. Sexy, right?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrjQgV8P4yY&NR=1

Here's the video for Charmer. For no other reason than I like it when he screams;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YO0J-a-FxI

And here's some Caleb eye candy. Jared Followill is the more conventionally attractive member of KOL but that voice of Caleb's sets him apart.







Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Daily Male St. Patrick's Day Edition: Colin Farrell



Like most girls, I am a sucker for accents, they're like chick kryptonite. A dude could be puking up the most inane bullshit out of his douche mouth but if it's in an accent, it somehow becomes profound poetry. John Mayer needs to start speaking in an accent. British accents are a surefire ladybone inducer of course, but I also love a good Boston accent. It's not as refined no, and some have even said a Boston accent sounds retarded, or retahded in Bostonian, but I love it. It's like lemon gin to me which is to say, it's a panty remover. But to me, even better than a British or Boston accent is an Irish accent. It just does not get any sexier. 

Somewhat recently I met a dude who said this about a girl - "She has the whitest teeth I've ever come across." Let that simmer for a second...yep, there ya go, you got it. Disgusting, right? Wrong. Dude in question is Irish. Perverted and Irish? Fuck off! I was about to get down on my knee and propose (among other things) for this was clearly my soulmate but alas, the girl to whom he was referring is his girlfriend. Of course, right? 

Anyway, I've gotten off track. In the spirit of St. Patrick's Day, Colin Farrell and his hot ass Irish accent are today's Daily Male; 









My friend Robyn and I were recently emailing each other back and forth when talk turned to St. Patrick's Day and Colin Farrell. Read if you dare, but I warn you, your IQ will probably drop a few points;

Robyn: I’m so pumped for St Paddy’s day this year, last year was the first time in like 9 years that we didn’t go out, Tara is making a shirt that is going to say “Shamrock and Roll” and mine is going to say “I only kiss the Irish. I decided”. My favorite shirt we made was “I slept with Colin Farrell”. The old ladies at the pub loved that shit when I wore it.

Me: I slept with Colin Farrell? I loves it. You'd be wearing that shirt in a wheelchair if that shit was true. Have you seen his sex tape? Lil leprauchan is packin some heat.

Robyn: Farrell is packing heat, hey? He seems like he would destroy the shit out of you and then some.

Me: Not only is he packing (btw, to be honest he could use some manscaping 'down there' the bush is a little outta control which was made worse by the fact that, at the time of the sex tape he was filming Daredevil for which he had a bald head so to see him with absolutely NO hair up top while sporting a raging bush down below was somewhat jarring on the eyes) but he also goes down on this chick with some admirable enthusiam and at one point declares that he would like to eat that every day for 'breakfast, lunch and dinner' Yeah, I'm pretty sure we need to marry Colin Farrell.

Robyn: Ooooh dear a hairy boosh scares me! I like the breakfast, lunch and dinner comment though. Very nice.

Me: Holy fuckity. How's this shit for a coinky-dink (heh) just as we're talking about Colin Farrell's peen, Dlisted posts a link to it! I think Michael K is doing mind-reading tricks! Anyway, so, you know how sometimes, after it's been a while since you saw/experienced something, you can sometimes remember it more fondly than it actually was? Yeah, I did that with Colin's ween. I just looked again and I really oversold that shit. Colin and I offer our sincerest apologies. He still gets an A on his oral exam though. Anyway, send this link to your home account for ween action -http://www.omgblog.com/2007/03/omg_he_was_naked_colin_farrell.php

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Why I Need to Move to Boston; Reason #476



From MTV.com;

BOSTON — "It was an unwieldy event," Bono told MTV News' Sway Calloway just seconds after stepping off the tiny club stage at Wednesday's surprise performance. "But that's the way we like 'em." No strangers to spectacle, U2 wrapped up their 10-day, four-city campaign for Biggest Band in the World — and celebrated No Line on the Horizon's #1 status in 30 countries — with the global broadcast of a jet-fueled performance and Q&A from Boston's Somerville Theatre.

Below are the first 475 reasons my ass needs to call Boston home;
http://dirtyblondeshavemorefun.blogspot.com/2009/01/boston-affleck-think-about-it.html

Monday, March 9, 2009

YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!


U2 announces two Canadian tour dates
By JANE STEVENSON -- Sun Media

U2 will be making a tour stop in Toronto at Rogers Centre on Sept. 16, Sun Media has learned. The only other Canadian date scheduled so far is Oct. 28 in Vancouver.
U2 is scheduled to play two Canadian dates - in Toronto and Vancouver - on its 2009 fall tour of North America, Sun Media has learned in a world newspaper exclusive.


Could it be? Will my U2 Curse finally be broken?

Those who know me know I have The U2 Curse. They are my favourite band but I have technically only seen them once (Pop Mart tour, Thursday, June 12, 1997, Winnipeg) because of an ongoing series of missed opportunities, geography, poor planning, financial misfortune, bad luck, missed flights, failure to jump out of a car, and all around general clusterfuckery.

I thought my U2 luck had turned around in January of 2007, just a couple weeks after New Year's Day...



I was at the Sundance Film Festival, dressed up like a fucking Storm Trooper standing outside in the freezing cold night doing red carpet interviews when I received a text from a colleague/friend who was covering another event. "Don't freak out but we just heard Bono might show up here" the text said. After being outside for two hours and losing the feeling in both my upper and lower extremities as well as my will to live, this text was just the convincing I needed to wrap that shit the fuck up. "We're outta here," I said to my cameraman and hopped in a cab heading for the other event in an attempt to get a mere glimpse at Mr. Bono.

Alas, Bono did not show.

I should not have been surprised, this was simply par for the course when you have The U2 Curse.



Then, months later I found myself in New York, The City of Blinding Lights, at the Tribeca Film Festival, where, yet again, The U2 Curse reared her spiteful head....



On one particular evening during the festival, there were a few red carpet premieres from which to chose to cover. Having only two crews, we had to make an executive decision, which was determined by the potential starpower at each event. So we chose not to attend the premiere for some no-name documentary about orphans or some shit like that. Sounds like the right decision, yes? WRONG. The next day, a publicist sent out an email press release to all the accredited media informing us that none other than Bono had shown up at the premiere for this fucking orphan doc. The tone of the email was something to the effect of "if you missed last night's premiere of Some Random Orphan Documentary (not the actual title) you must be kicking yourself, Bono showed up!" Really, the press release could have just said "Hey dumbass, the one with the blonde hair, yeah the one who decided not to come to our orphan premiere. Guess you're regretting that now eh, retard? Muwahahahahaha. Sincerely, The U2 Curse."

Here's Bono at that premiere. Alicia Keys and those orphans are judging me. I can feel it.



Then just days after the New York Incident, the final lineup for the Cannes Film Festival was announced and not only was the concert film, U23D set to premiere, but Bono and the boys were scheduled to show up for a red carpet and press conference. Yes! I knew this was it!! I would finally have my chance, I could feel it in my bones. Where U2 would go, I Will Follow.

Days after that, I departed for the festival, my black heart full of optimism, hope and confidence that The U2 Curse had fucked me over for the last time. Sure, I missed my flight, sure I cried at the airport, sure I had to slap down $1200 on my VISA to catch a new flight, sure I passed out on the flight after washing down a sleeping pill with a bottle of wine, sure the airline lost my luggage, sure I was forced to walk around beautiful, luxurious Cannes in the same track pants I had been wearing for about 30 hours, sure I finally discovered a man randomly walking around Cannes with said lost luggage. I didn't care, it was all going to be worth it! The U2 Curse was finally going to die a slow and hopefully, painful death at the Cannes Film Festival....



The U2 press conference was scheduled for 4:30pm. At 3:30pm I raced over to the building, first I had to line up just outside the press conference theatre to collect our passes from the media office for that evening's red carpet. Plenty of time, I thought. But as I approached the line, I knew trouble was afoot. I had been Running to Stand Still. The line was like ten thousand people deep. Shit. I had one hour to get these passes and then get my ass into that theatre to join our camera guy and finally, at last, feast my eyes on my dudes from Dublin...



The line was NOT moving. At all. I was truly Stuck in a Moment. Each minute felt like an eternity as I watched more and more people gather inside the press conference theatre while I stood in line like a fucking chump just steps away. I began to panic. Could it be? Had The U2 Curse followed my ass to France? Why not? That bitch had already fucked me over in Winnipeg, Calgary, Utah and New York. In addition to a sick sense of humour, this bitch obviously had a passport and she wasn't afraid to use it. My hands grew sweaty and a lump formed in my throat. At 4:15pm, standing there with many people still in front of me in line and only 15 minutes until the press conference, I knew I had to take action. I texted my friend Alex and pleaded with her to come relieve me in line so I could get my ass inside that theatre. Thankfully, she had just wrapped up another shoot and was nearby. She was there within ten minutes and with five minutes to spare, I bolted outta that line, jumped over a velvet rope, opened the doors of the theatre and ran up the stairs to join my cameraman Dany. Yes! I made it!

Not so fast......

Before I could even say hi to Dany a security guard was on my ass admonishing me for jumping over the rope. This dude was totally and completely drunk with power, threatening not only to kick me out of the theatre but to pull my festival accreditation altogether. WTF? Under normal circumstances in my every day life, I would have offered this power tripping rent-a-cop an elaborate suggestion for what he could do with my pass involving a splintered broomstick, a rubber band, gasoline, a match, and a whole lotta screaming in an incident that would have left his ass hole resembling Lisa Rinna's busted lips, but since I was completely at his mercy and the presser was beginning in mere minutes, I had to swallow my Pride (In the Name of Love) and simply smiled politely in agreement, apologized and promised to never do it again. BARF. Satisfied, the security guard walked away as a man walked onto the stage, a stage that would soon feature Larry Mullen Jr, Adam Clayton, The Edge and of course, Bono. The man approached the microphone and had this to say to the assembled press; "Unfortunately U2's flight out of Dublin has been delayed and they will not be attending today's press conference."



A delayed flight? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Don't these fuckers have their own private jet or some shit like that? Delayed flight my ass, I knew was was really going on here, The U2 Curse had worked her magic yet again. Deflated in the knowledge that I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, I began to Walk On out of the theatre with cameraman Dany who simply looked at me and said "Wow. You really are cursed, aren't you?" I was Numb. I needed someone to Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss me or Kill Me.

Later that night, after eating and drinking my disappointment away with a delicious meal and bottle of wine, Dany and I headed to the red carpet premiere of U23D. Chances were, the guys weren't going to be there and this was simply an exercise in futility. But of course, if we didn't show up, the band most certainly would show up. The U2 Curse, naturally, works in Mysterious Ways.



As we approached the legendary Palais des Festivals, something struck me, in addition to the hundreds of assembled journalists was something else on that red carpet...instruments. Yep. Not only did U2 fucking show up, those motherfuckers played a mini set right there on the steps of the theatre to make up for missing that afternoon's press conference! It was The Sweetest Thing! What started out So Cruel had truly turned into A Beautiful Day! The photo below is from my own camera, a photo I didn't think I'd be able to retrieve after my camera broke towards the end of the film festival. I'd blame The U2 Curse for infecting my camera but truthfully, getting locked out of our apartment and a vodka-fueled Hulk-style temper tantrum spurred on by a full bladder emergency was the real culprit. Thanks to Nick who eventually let me in our apartment (I know it wasn't a pretty sight) and thanks to Dany whose mad skills and patience helped save the photos from my busted camera...



The photo is alright but it most certainly was not Even Better Than the Real Thing.

So, with the announcement that U2 is coming to my town, has The U2 Curse finally been broken? Tickets to the Toronto show go on sale at the end of March. I suppose we'll see. I just hope life doesn't hand me another Lemon because I will seriously Bullet the Blue Sky.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Holy Helena



Scarlett Johansson is my girl crush now but back in the '90s, my faux lesbian heart belonged to Helena Christensen. Above is Helena now at 41 years old. Holy crap.

Helena was one of the big supermodels of the day. She was never as famous Cindy, Linda or Naomi but she was my favourite. You remember Chris Isaak's Wicked Game video? Seriously, how hot was that? It came out when I was in junior high and I was like 'Omigod, are they like, doing it?'


The video, directed by the late, great Herb Ritts is still my number one sexiest video of all time. I think another part of my girl crush on Helena had to do with the fact that she used to date the walking sex that was Michael Hutchence...




Hutch was such a hot bitch. I loooved INXS. Make fun of me if you want but Michael Hutchence was a trailblazer. I mean, his Australian ass was found naked and dead with drugs in his system more than ten years before Heath Ledger pulled that shit. Anyway, unlike Hutch and Heath, Helena is still kicking and looking amazing...



That said, obviously there's some photoshop wizardry at work here. I know this because when my friend Chany and I were in Dublin we saw Ms. Christensen in person. It had been a long and tense day for us. As I've previously written about, we spent hours in the cold, rain and intense winds, wandering the streets of Dublin on a mission to find and take a picture of Hanover Studios where U2 records. After accomplishing our mission, we headed to the airport. We arrived cold, wet, dirty and not to mention beat the fuck down from the previous two nights of Olympic-style competitive drinking.

We walked into the airport and who should we run into but Helena fucking Christensen. Of course! Cause when you're looking like something a cat coughed up, you definitely want to run into an international supermodel to make you feel even worse about your disgusting self! I gasped and clutched Chany. "It's Helena Christensen," I hissed through my clenched teeth so my girl crush of yore wouldn't hear me. We totally followed her ass through the airport and stood in line for a smoothie behind her. I'm not gonna lie, she was looking slightly rough. But supermodel rough, not
regular bitch off the street rough. I should be so lucky to look like this bitch on her most heinous of days.

Monday, January 19, 2009

In the Name of Love



This is Bono and The Edge rocking out during U2's performance at the We Are One inaugural concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington yesterday. It makes sense Ireland's favourite sons were there, Barack Obama named City of Blinding Lights as one of his favourite songs and used the track during his campaign.

U2 is my one great love. The Justin Timberlakes and Chuck Basses of the world come and go but through living in three different cities, countless job changes, breakups and questionable hair choices, my love of U2 has been the one constant thing in my life since I was 13. I had been a mild fan of the band up until then but when they released Achtung Baby in 1991, I completely lost my shit for them and haven't been the same since. I flew my ass to Dublin in 2006 simply because it was their hometown. I needed to walk the same streets (which had no name) smell the same smells and taste the same food as the boys. Yes, I am a loser.

While in Dublin (after my friend and I somehow managed to get denied entrance to THREE DIFFERENT pubs in a row by the EXACT SAME bouncer only to discover they weren't so much three DIFFERENT pubs as it was the same pub and we were walking in circles. Perhaps we WERE too intoxicated after all??) I dragged my good friend through the freezing cold, wet streets of the city during what I believe was a mild to moderate hurricane in a friendship-testing journey simply to get a look and take a picture of Hanover Studios where U2 often records. Hours spent roaming the streets in torrential rain and wind so strong it was turning our umbrellas inside out, getting our wet feet covered in mud simply for a photo of a building. Sorry Chany.

Today is a very exciting day for U2 fans....



The band has released the first single from their upcoming album No Line on The Horizon which drops in March. The new track is called Get On Your Boots. I listened to it a few times this morning and here's the thing;

I don't really like it.

I knew this would NOT go over well with my friend Tara who is an even more rabid fan than I. Seriously, my fangirl fuckery pales in comparison to some of her shenanigans. She started texting me lyrics of this new song at 9:30 this morning. Tara lives in Vancouver so she was texting me this shit at 6:30am her time. Frightened, I confessed to Tara my concerns about Get On Your Boots. Here is the text I received back, Tara is channelling Kanye West, that is how passionate she is;

"I command you to go directly to U2.com and listen to the song as many times as possible. Do it NOW! STREET NIGGAS* CALLED AND I'M PRETTY SURE YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAID!!!"


*For the record, Tara is not racist, she is simply quoting our boyfriend, Mr. Kanye West.