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Ado and How To Live Without It
Sunday 8th March 1998
Ado | Japanese TV | More
Adverts | Neighbours | Fridge
Update | Japlish | Further
Ado
Ado
You may or may not be glad to hear that the ado has been switched
back "on" this week. I am, however, extremly busy today and as
such there will not in fact be very much ado. And certainly no
further ado.
Japanese TV
Well, I found an advert to beat the "Pot Noodles from Outer
Space" one. Antonio Banderas as a UFO-spotter advertises... the
Subaru "Forester" off-road 4x4. Bear with me here...
Begins with Antonio talking to two men in a library, wearing
a shirt and tie, with his fingers touching in the classic "About
to eat a Big Mac" pose. He moves his hands from side to side,
bobbing slightly. Dialogue: "Those discs, you know?"
Cut to film of the car in question zooming along a desert road.
Music plays. It is "Every Time You Go Away (You Take a Piece of
Me With You)" by Paul Young.
Cut to interior shot of Antonio, eagerly hunched over steering
wheel, his eyes sparkling as he scans the sky while he drives.
"Forester!" he says, breathlessly.
Cut to more shots of the car driving along. More Paul Young.
Cut to over-the shoulder shot of the pages of a book depicting
lots of cartoony-type drawings of UFOs with captions like "Safari
Hat", followed by shot of Antonio standing next to the road where
the car is parked, book in his hands; he gazes, awestruck, at
the sky.
We do not actually see any aliens. Nor do we learn anything
about the car other than the fact that it will probably cope with
being driven along a flat, dry desert road. One thing we can certainly
infer is that Antonio's split with Melanie Griffiths has clearly
affected the poor bloke. (Click here
for an important update!)
Further TV delights include:
* Winona Ryder, doing Tai Chi in a park with a bunch of wizened
blokes. She then stops, walks to her car, says "Alright!" approvingly
and drives off. A couple more shots of the car driving along quite
happily, and that's it. And the car? Something sporty? Nope. Another
model of bloody Subaru 4x4 family estate car. Any man who buys
this car for his family is clearly saying to his wife: "I fancy
the pants off Winona Ryder". It should at least sell, then. (Click
here for another important update!)
* Pierce Brosnan advertises a range of men's make-up. James
Bond meets Oil of Ulay, that sort of thing. Actually, if we're
supposed to believe that he's playing the same character as Sean
Connery did in Dr.No, then maybe he uses it after all. Hmmm....
* A range of mini-campervans named....
The Bongo Friendee.
Jingle: "What's new, Friendee?"
Neighbours
Here's a little nugget of information I picked up from the colleague
of mine who lives two doors down from me. The girl who lives inbetween
us, who looks sullen and disapproving the whole time? There's
a perfectly acceptable reason - brainwashing. She's a member of
the Aum Supreme Truth cult. You know, those lovable rogues who
killed twelve people on the Tokyo subway system a couple of years
ago using Sarin nerve gas. Kids, eh?
Great, just great; since learning that, I've been convinced
that every strange noise coming from next door is the sound of
cannisters of nerve gas being manhandled into position, ready
to be shipped out by those little electric carts they have in
all the best James-Bond-baddy-secret-headquarters. Admittedly,
if her flat is the same size as mine then there isn't much room
for an electric cart, let alone a tank full of man-eating sharks
(or slightly angry mutated sea bass, if you've seen Austin Powers
- International Man of Mystery) but what about underground? I'm
sure those are digging noises I can hear....
On a brighter note, they *have* just sentenced one of the cult's
leaders to life imprisonment, so maybe there'll be some kind of
crackdown. Maybe Japanese Special Forces will storm the place.
I hope they get the right flat, cos mine's a complete mess at
the moment. I wonder if they stop to take off their shoes as they
burst in?
More on this as things develop. Assuming I'm not killed in my
sleep by brainwashed bigots, of course! Ha-ha! (Gulp.)
Fridge Update
I was right. The milk auto-euthanised shortly after I left it
last night, and I discovered mould on the orange this morning.
Seems like the cokes got what they wanted.
The current contents are:
* 1 litre carton of orange juice
* The grapes-in-jelly thing
* Gerald (Attempted to dispose of the dairy cookie- dough monster,
but he put up such an impassioned defence of his freedom that
I felt bound to grant him temporary residential status. At least
until I defrost. He wishes henceforth to be known as Gerald.)
* Tub of "I couldn't give a toss if it's butter or not as long
as it spreads straight from the fridge"
* A 500ml can of Sapporo "Drafty Special" beer. This has revealed
a previously unnoticed puritanical streak in the cokes, who have
edged slowly to the far end of the door tray in an attempt to
distance themselves from the newcomer. So I drank them.
* Pack of cold ham (1 slice remaining)
* 1 six-slice loaf of bread (contains 1 slice).
I bought the 6-slice rather than the 8-slice by mistake, you
see; technically I suppose it's the same amount of bread, but
only having 6 slices means it only lasts 75% as long as the 8-slice
model. In addition, it doesn't toast very well. Not to be disenheartened
by the somewhat ambiguous success of the ice cream experiment,
I will attempt to slice the remaining piece into 2 thinner slices,
thereby laying the foundations for the first artificially-produced
12-slice loaf.
Stay tuned for the latest developments at what is fast becoming
the premier gene-splicing and bread-slicing spot in town.
Japlish du Jour
(as seen on the label of a student's fashionable rucksack:)
A big change is occurring in coquetry.
Curiousity polishes fashion sense.
(according to the Oxford Dictionary, coquetry is "coquettish
behaviour". A coquette is defined as "1: a woman who flirts" and,
possibly more relevantly in this case, "2: any crested humming-bird
of the genus Lophornis." So there you have it.)
Further ado
No, sorry, I told you I haven't got time. Bugger off.
Chris
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