Shiny Shiny Disco Balls

Ah the nineties. Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool and shootin' some b-ball outside of the school. Not to mention conversations that went "No way" "Way" "No way!" "Way!" "NO WAY!" "WAY!". Good times. A last minute text from The Incredible Mulq yesterday and a resolve to brave the hurricane-force wind resulted in the pair of us being flung into a shinier, more disco nineties, courtesy of Bitches With Wolves as they tore up Whelan's last night in their own glittery way.

Quote and photo from State

The crowd, as expected, was hipster central. Haircut o'clock, you could say and ticking off the appearance of dickie bows (check), oversized glasses (check) and ridiculous quiffs (check) made for a fun game of hipster bingo. And that was just the boys. The girls were backcombed, red-lipped and too pretty to say sorry when they walloped into you. "The cast of Fade Street are probably here" sneered I. Moments later, frontman, Head Bitch and human disco ball James pulled a girl onstage to dance along to You Can't Piss To This, exclaiming "Jaysus! It's yer wan from Fade Street!". Having only seen half of one episode I still can't confirm if that was actually the case, and neither could The Incredible Mulq.

Making fun of cool kids aside, the gig itself was brilliant fun too. Copious changes of sparkly costume, Solitary Brother morphing into Papa Was A Rolling Stone, a dynamite Dolly Parton-inspired acoustic version of their disco aural assault Broken Hearts and quips like "There's no we in Madonna" made for an unquestionably entertaining experience. Demented, supremely danceable electro-pop. Next time we're bringing the boys to hold our coats so we can go nuts on the dancefloor.

Oh, and Brendan Courtney was there too. Mega.

One Track Lover

Given my previous enthusiasm about the fantastic Matt Berry on this blog, it was safe to say that I was really rather excited about seeing him live in Crawdaddy last Saturday. Or as Billy Flag put it, CrawFAAAATHERRR! Nice. The gig itself was great fun, in all its folky, funky weirdness and the man himself was sound enough to hang around afterwards to allow the audience members to swarm around him for photos, signings and what have you. The Bear bought the 7" vinyl single above, and had it signed. It now brings his record collection to a grand total of two. While our means of actually playing a vinyl record of any description remains at zero.


Naturally, the queue for a photo with Mr. Matt included The Incredible Mulq and myself, giggling nervously with no clue whatsoever as to what we were going to say when our turn came. When it did and Mulq's iPhone didn't work properly, meaning she had to explain to the girl taking the picture what to do, I was standing there thinking "BALLS! I have to say something now before this gets ridiculous and awkward" which resulted in something along the lines of:

Me: Awesome gig...it was really....eh...awesome! (How smart do I sound right now.)

Matt: Thanks, glad you enjoyed it. Did you think it was going to be a stand-up gig?

Me: No! I have Opium and Witchazel (his albums, nothing drug-related, I assure you) at home.

Matt (impressed): Really!

At this point our picture was taken and I figured I should quit while I was ahead before I made a complete fool of myself, so we thanked him and skittered off back to our respective boyfriends, delighted that we managed to get a decent photo. Deadly. It was up there with the time Russell Brand told me I had nice boobs.

Graffiti Boy

Old Man FM, or 4FM as it's also known have this as one of their billboard ads of late. When I saw it, it put me in mind of how I met my first boyfriend. I was in Sixth Year and there was a supervised study that used to run for Leaving Cert students a few evenings a week after school. Everyone had a designated place to sit in the study hall, which used to have these huge tables that around four people would sit at. They were metal tables painted grey and as such were really easy to doodle and write on.

One evening I was sat at my table and instead of doing homework, I proceeded to draw the band logos for the likes of Slayer, Pantera, The Offspring, Machine Head, Nirvana etc etc. I was something of a metalhead back then and a rubbish goth, seeing as I was way too smiley to really pull the whole thing off. Anyway, I had built up quite a little gallery on this table over a few weeks and one day I noticed that someone else had been adding to my doodle collection. Then some other person scrawled about how crap they thought all those bands were across MY heavy metal table, the cheeky fuck. So I proceeded to slag them off, via more scrawling and Mystery Doodler Friend wrote something like "Stick it to the scobe!" in agreement with me. (It was a bit like blogging using a table and a pen, now that I think of it.) So somehow we ended up having little conversations, all through the medium of this mild act of vandalism, until he wrote his email address down.

After that, we exchanged emails and spoke on MSN Messenger and in the meantime I had figured out who he was. It wasn't too difficult seeing as there weren't many people in my school who wore Coal Chamber t-shirts to PE and were into that type of music in general. Eventually we started talking in real life and it pretty much went from there.

Unfortunately he turned out to be a controlling, jealous, possessive douchebag, and after a year and a half we called it quits. One messy breakup and five years later, I get an email from he who was later to became the Bear through a dating site I had joined. Now it's an altogether different story, seeing as he's just brilliant, so it's a much better conclusion this time around.

It also appears that I'm incapable of initiating relationships in real life. Fuck it, at least I don't need to now. YEAH.

Llama Girl and the DOD

Oh my. A weekend of sitting out in the sunshine and turning slightly pink, only eating things that came off the barbecue, copious amounts of Bulmers with ice and partaking in four-player MarioKart Wii till the small hours of the morning. (My swearing abilities increase tenfold when I'm having a particularly bad race. Or when someone picks Yoshi before I get a chance to.) All of which took place back home home (on the range, like), where there's a deck to sit out on and alpacas to befriend.

Behold a selection of said alpacas

As luck would have it, David O'Doherty was doing a gig a mere twenty minutes away from my house on Sunday night. I had discovered this fact during my spell of inconsolable jealousy when he was supporting Flight of the Conchords at the Olympia and I was woefully ticketless. As such, I became determined to at least see him live. Especially since the last time was Electric Picnic in 2008 and this just would not do.


The great thing about the venue was that it was so small he barely needed a microphone, and our seats were about two feet away from the side of the stage, to the extent that when he thanked the crowd for coming he actually just said it to me seeing as I was the closest one, as he put it. The gig itself was a minimum of eight kinds of deadly, the first half mostly featured his reasons for being late (an untrustworthy and seemingly quite pervy Sat Nav was to blame) and in the second half the tiny Yamaha keyboard was unleashed. During the course of the gig, he ended up asking me and the Bear what we'd been up to that day, which led to about ten minutes of David asking me questions about alpacas. I was subsequently referred to as Llama Girl, and he even worked them into one of his songs. Which was exactly as fucking deadly as it sounds.

Weapons of Mass Destruction

Imagine if He-Man, Rambo, The Transporter, John McClane, The Terminator, Machete, STONE COLD STEVE AUSTIN and oh, I don't know...Jet Li were all in a film together, running around blowing shit up.

Well imagine no more! The Expendables is a ridiculous, overblown, forget-storyline-let's-just-take-out-some-bad-guys film coming out in August and it looks AMAZING. The trailer doesn't really tell you anything but that matters not! What DOES matter is that Arnie, Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis are in a crazy ass movie together with every other action hero from the last oh, twenty years. Apart from Jean Claude Van Damme (who was offered a role but he turned it down claiming that there was no substance in the character. Substance? I forgot that JCVD was one of the most respected actors of our time), Wesley Snipes (couldn't do it since he's busy being in jail for tax evasion or somesuch) and Steven Seagal (didn't get on with one of the producers). All they need is MacGyver, but some people might say he's not actually a real person. I hate those people.



They've got hilarious names like Lee Christmas, Dan Paine, Toll Road, Hale Caesar and Tool. Brilliant. They're like man versions of Bond Girl names. It's a shame that Wesley Snipes couldn't do it though. I'd love to see if the script for this could ever top his classic line from Passenger 57.

"Always bet on black."

Savage.

Hey Roomie!

Check out the steely alien gaze of Tommy Wiseau (middle). There can be only one.

I've previously blogged about the cinematic wonder that is The Room over on Culch.ie and attended a SoundCheck screening back in March. I also happened to mention a screening that would take place in May which one of the cast members, Greg Sestero (Mark), would be at. That fortuitous and magical evening has been and gone and last Thursday night was one of the most surreal and hilarious experiences I've had in quite a long time. For the uninitiated, The Room is the demented masterpiece of Tommy Wiseau, the actor/director/producer/writer of this film, he's something like the polar opposite of Orson Welles, with The Room often referred to as "the Citizen Kane of bad movies". That should have been bad in capital letters, actually. And that wouldn't even begin to cover how terrible it is. Here's the trailer, just to give you a feel for the glorious mess that it is.



ANYWAY.

With myself and the Bear that night, among lovely others were two thirds of The Dead Flags, EleventyFour (who got recognised on the night as "that girl from the TV licence ad"), and B (to whom we are eternally grateful for introducing us to The Room). Now, Eleventy and one of the Flags had never seen the film before and honestly, it was JUST as entertaining to watch their expressions of horror and bewilderment as it was to watch the screen.

The thing with these screenings is that there's a lot of audience participation, much like Rocky Horror. One of the biggest things, along with roaring general abuse at the characters, is to shout 'SPOOONS!" and fire plastic spoons at the screen whenever the weird framed pictures of, you guessed it, spoons, dotted around the apartment set come into view. This was the scene after the movie was finished:

Spoons ahoy!

Carnage o'clock. After the screening and before the Q&A with the actually-great-craic Greg Sestero, there was a competition for a signed tshirt, where contestants has to roar the famous(ish) "YOU'RE TEARING ME APART LISA!" line, which can be seen in the trailer. At the time of calling for contestants, I found myself herded onstage by B and the Bear and had to get the biggest cheer from the crowd. And guess what? I only went and fecking well won. GO ME.

During the Q&A, Greg came off as an absolute legend, well able to take the piss out of himself and the film, which was good seeing as many questions were along the lines of :"what were you thinking?". So seeing as my obsession with The Room shows no signs of abating, I went and got my photo with him.

YEAH.

So, to summarise:

GO SEE THE ROOM AT SOUNDCHECK BECAUSE IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE. They screen it once a month so get thineself over to their Facebook page to check when it's on again. Because words cannot describe.

Charlie Who?

On the absolute offchance that Charlie Brooker Googles his name so exhaustively that he was to come across this particular mention of him on le Interweb, allow me to say:

I WANT TO RUN AWAY WITH YOU, PLEASE.

I wonder if adding Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker to this post will shunt it slightly higher up the search results. I will await an email wherein he expresses his agreement to this offer from Random Girl Blogger on the Internet. Your move, Charlton.

Come on Brooker, let's not fight this any more.

The Bear recently bought me the Charlie collection of Dead Set on DVD, Dawn of the Dumb and The Hell Of It All because he's deadly like that. (He also drunkenly stole a poster from Whelan's for a Talulah Does The Hula gig because he thought I might like it. Aw. I do, as it happens.) Needless to say, all this has only added to my enthusiasm for the grouchy telly critic. I've been enjoying his C4 show You Have Been Watching, although I tend to find myself wishing it was actually Screenwipe or Newswipe and that he could just spend the entire show being cross about idiots on TV and not be held back by the superflous quiz format.

Other things I've been liking include the new series of Doctor Who. I'm quite excited about tonight's episode with the frankly terrifying Weeping Angels, seeing as the crafty bastards left it To Be Continued last week. I've also been entertained by the Internet rantings of Very Serious Fans who were appalled at the sexy new Daleks. I quite like the Dell laptop makeover they've received.

I'll take a purple one, if you don't mind.

***

EDIT: Don't worry Bear, I won't really run away with Charlie Brooker. Probably.

Mr. Takagi...won't be joining us for the rest of his life

Alan Rickman has officially got The Most Amazing Voice Of All Time. It's the sound of chocolate talking. It's knicker-droppingly sexy. As much as I love him as Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibilty, we all know it's the villians that he's so fantasticly good at. Allow me to draw your collective attention to the brilliantly hilarious and concise The Many Faces Of Alan Rickman.

Inspired.

After Work Pints

Last Friday I was informed that I "had a head on me like a kid's TV presenter" and that I should've been on Bosco. Which I was pretty happy with, considering how badly a statement from a stranger that begins with "D'ya know what you're like.." can go. This observation was from a random guy called Deckie who had struck up a conversation with the Bear outside The Stag's Head, solely based on the fact that he too was a big beardy long haired man. In fairness to him, Random Deckie provided us with a good three and a half pints worth of rants, stories and shenanigans. He'd been out since two o'clock the previous day. I have no idea what was keeping him going but it made for some damn funny conversation. Especially the story about how he went to college with a guy whose mother was the voice of Bosco and a rant that involved the phrase "it'd be like sucking off Robocop".

I just wish I could remember what that one was about.

Fuck You Very Much, Ticketmaster

They're both strangely yet super attractive in their own way. They crack me up like no man's business. Let's face it, they're pretty downright fantastic. (Albi the Racist Dragon, anyone?)

They appear to have sold out two Dublin shows in the Olympia in less than three minutes. Thanks a bunch to Ticketmaster for the unnecessarily confusing and increasingly illegible security checks. Also a big shout out to the Master of Tickets for emailing me an ad for "Get Me In!", mere minutes after nine o'clock. Apparently it's their other company where "fans" (I use this word with unrestrained sarcasm and venom) can buy and most importantly sell tickets to major events. Seeing as the ticketmaster.ie site was proving to be useless in my quest for a humble two tickets, I chanced this other site, thinking "Well, it's Ticketmaster right? They'll hardly be allowed to screw you completely on the price, cos it's probably all monitored and whatnot, RIGHT?"

Wrong.

At seven minutes past nine, some amoral cunt has got twelve, count 'em, TWELVE tickets in two of the Circle rows. Have a look.

In sterling. For more than twice the price. And this "Get Me In!" pile of bullshit has the absolute fucking cheek to use this as a tagline.


Oh right, I get it. When you say true fans you mean evil, money grabbing, repulsive, greedy fuckbags who want to cash in on ACTUAL fans' desperation for tickets and screw us in the process.

Right, glad you cleared that up for me.


***

Edit: According to MCD.ie they sold out in twenty seconds. Twenty effing seconds like. I fail to see how anybody could have managed to get tickets apart from the presale. Still raging.

Ya Wanna Be A Staaar, Don't Ya?

I got a link to this in an email from lovely Miss Dizzle today. It's a heap of rare photos of famous folk, many of them before they were famous and nearly all of them just having the craic. Anyway have a look, cos there's some proper gorgeous ones in there. Some of my favourites are:

Marlon Brando

Legs o'clock Jane Fonda

Audrey Hepburn and Anthony Perkins acting the maggot

Audrey again, looking very un-Hepburny but feckin gorgeous nonetheless

Sophia Loren in Disneyland

Elizabeth Taylor and Pocket Cat


Marilyn Monroe meeting Queen Elizabeth II

Anyway have a looksee yourself, and do keep an eye out for bodybuilding Sean Connery, Brigitte Bardot looking beautiful despite a bad dose of camel toe, Goldie Hawn with a PIRATE on her belly, supernerdy George Clooney, Carrie Fisher looking like a munchkin with the rest of the Star Wars crew, Alfred Hitchcock's eskimo children and a certain creepy baby.

Not to mention....

CHRISTOPHER WALKEN!



You're welcome.

I Can Haz Job?

Well, they've put the cat out at work. On the plus side, I don't have to suppress the urge to punch my now former boss each day and I'll have loads of time to pack up for the Big Move In with the Bear. (Which really translates to having loads more time to procrastinate seeing as I hate packing.)

Jessica, I'm back!

Place Your Bets

Henry's handling balls, Tiger's been sinking them where he shouldn't (and other such ball-related jokes), so what's going to go horribly and publicly wrong for Federer?

Flag Fever

You may realise that I tend to plug a certain band called The Dead Flags here quite a bit. And look! Uh oh! She's at it again! In fairness though, their new single "Anymore" has thus far been played by Alison Curtis, Larry Gogan and even the DJ of all DJs, the one and only Tony Fentony himself. Impressive, no? So I suggest that all you lovely sexy people do the following...

Watch the video!



Download the single!

(In here!)

Feel bad for this sad little kitten for having a smushed up face!



I strongly recommend the first two, the third is up to you but you'd have to be pretty heartless not to. But hey! Heartless fans are fans nonetheless so help out a deadly band of proper daycent lads and get this song stuck in your head.

Your brain will thank you for it.

Talkative Bob

Tonight, at about 8.30 I'll be squeaking excitedly next to the Bear in a Block F seat in Vicar Street. You see, KEVIN SMITH will be arriving onstage right about then, and I'll be doing all that I can not to abseil down to the stage and hug the bejaysus out of him. He scores rather highly on my List Of People I Want To Hug, as do Justin Lee Collins, Nick Frost, Seth Rogen (more so when he was beardy and cuddly though, circa Knocked Up. He's slipped down the list somewhat in the last while) and Matt Berry.

Needless to say, I cannae fecking wait.

I saw this YouChoob clip over on Ray Foley's blog quite some time ago and laughed my ass off. Now, it IS almost twenty minutes long and those of you (like me) with short attention spans are quite possibly thinking "No flipping chance missus, i'd rather...ooh something shiny!". BUT, trust me, it's worth watching. Well, it's certainly worth watching if you like Kevin Smith as much as I do and it is a pretty funny story. So just click play and whisht up down the back there.



And then watch this and be all conflicted and amused if you like Tim Burton as much as Kevin Smith. Which I do.



I'm going to see Silent Bob! HOORAY!

Darkness Falls Across The Land

Last Thursday, the Bear and I got in the mood for playing our part in the South William Street Death Mob by going to see Zombieland. When I did a search for it in Google Images just now, I'd gotten as far as typing "zombie" when the helpful suggesty list popped up, top of which was...

Zombie Jesus eh? Sure you'd have to have a look wouldn't you? It turns out that some corners of the Internet have renamed Easter "Zombie Jesus Day", what with the whole rising from the dead, eat my flesh, drink my blood dealy. Which is pretty flipping funny as far as I'm concerned.

NOM NOM NOM

You may have also noticed that number five on the list was "zombie stripers". I can only assume that the people feverishly conducting searches for pictures of sexy, undead pole dancers with a taste for brains are terrible at spelling. However, it does bring me back to what the point of this post was supposed to be and that is how FUCKING AWESOME Zombieland is. (Even the Times Culture Magazine liked it, and they usually hate everything.) You see, the opening credits happen to feature a zombie stripper chasing a patron out of the club, zombie tits and nipple tassles bouncing in slow motion as part of the hilarious and scary title sequence. It's Shaun of the Dead but all flashy-like, in America, with Woody Harrelson as a pure rockstar at killing zombies (maybe he is in real life too. I kind of hope so). He's a superhero when he gets going, like Wolverine or Liam Neeson in Taken. Badass and brilliant. And it's also got some really helpful rules of survival for when the zombie apocalypse does strike.


I'm completely and utterly TERRIFIED of zombies. Especially when they run fast, the bastards, which in this film they do. And yet I find myself watching zombie movies regardless of this fact. Thriller near traumatised me as a child, but I used to watch a documentary video about the making of it all the time with my brother when I was little. I'm really properly scared of them but end up watching things with them in it nonetheless. Oh and I got really excited when I saw this book in the window of Chapters. But back to Zombieland! If I could just stay on the point. It frightened the bejesus out of me, to the extent that I had to hand the popcorn over to the Bear or it was going to end up on the floor since I was jumping and flinching so much. There were bits of it I had to watch through my fringe, especially when my fear of zombies and being chased by fast zombies was there on screen in front of me. Like this:

AAAHHHHHHHH!

Even looking at this picture is making me all nervous and uneasy. But go see Zombieland, its hilarious and scary and clever and really very very gory. But they're zombies so it's ok and quite funny when they get flattened by pianos and lamped by fairground rides. Cos they're not real, right?

RIGHT?

Secret Cinemas and Saucy Rhyming

Ah unemployment. It does have it's benefits you know, and not just the Job Seekers variety. It also means that I can attend cinema screenings at 3.30 in the day, which is precisely what I did yesterday (thanks to Monsieur Doyle). The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus was being shown in a little cinema I'd never heard of, down a lane I'd never seen and behind a door you wouldn't even notice. Very Secret Squirrel.

Anyway, I thought the film was great. It's weird and trippy and gorgeous and funny and dark and pretty much what you would expect from Terry Gilliam. Lily Cole stole the show for me as sexy, tinkling (statutory!) Valentina. Her face is bloody fascinating and she looked fantastic in everything she wore (and didn't wear) onscreen.


Tom Waits is super slick as the devil and the boys popping up to replace Heath works seamlessly into the story. I thought it was deadly but I know some people won't like it at all. Not least because I heard someone behind me at the end of the screening whisper "that was shit". But he probably kicks puppies for fun, so don't listen to him.


***

On a completely unrelated note, the Bear and I won Maxi Cane's October Filthy Butt Fun competition with our tag team approach and mad rhyming skillz. We're now the proud winners of a €50 voucher to spend as we see fit anseo. Oh the possibilites!

Return Of The Cat

Le grande sigh.

So I'm back from France and back to real life, which of late unfortunately consists of not being sure what day of the week it is, apart from Wednesday Day which means it's off to the Post Office to collect my magnificent sum of 204 euro and something cents for another seven days, lamenting the disappearance of Murder She Wrote from RTE One's daily listings as poor old intrepid Jess has been elbowed out of the way by the Afternoon Show harpies and looking up the job listings on Creative Ireland.

Why Jessica, why?

It was a great old week though, with an insane amount of cheese eaten by all. The wedding was all relaxed and lovely, the priest looked like Steven Spielberg, I (embarrassingly) started crying after my first ever slow dance, The Dress was admired by many and my bag (which was also charity shop-bought, get me!) was LOVED by the assorted aunties. There was also a ridiculous amount of drinking done, an 8k kayaking trip down the river Dronne which I miraculously survived, REALLY cute pigs on the farm our little house was on, the invention of Extreme Ball (you need a swimming pool, a ball and no qualms about dunking people underwater should they be in your way) and many many games of Villagers vs Mafia (if you know this game, you'll know it's difficult to explain but frighteningly good fun to play - we had played it for four hours straight one night without even realising).

I still have to unpack though. I hate unpacking. Maybe first I'll send this tshirt to Montrose marked for the attention of Seoige Junior and Sheana Keane.


That'll show them.

The Deadliest Jumper in the World

...belongs to this guy, the Bear's French buddy from Sligo. I decided that he needs to write a book, beacuse anybody who can start a story with the sentence "So when I was little I used to go out to Australia to see my Dad, because he was working in a diamond mine at the time..." just should.

But back to the jumper. Although it's technically a cardigan, and it warmed the bejaysus out of me while sitting outside The Strand bar drinking cider in Sligo last weekend. This was after our second attempt at entry you see, since the first time around I was caught with a can of Bulmers in my bag and sent on my way. I believe he's attending Electric Picnic too and as such I'm hatching a plan to make it mine.

Anyway, the Warriors Run had been on that day, so earlier on we had been cheering the Queen Maeve-bothering runners (well, I'm not sure I'd appreciate 800 people stomping around MY burial cairn) across the finish line. That night Strandhill was a freezing cold craic-fest of people, bumper cars, bright lights and carnie folk. And there were FIREWORKS! Who doesn't love fireworks? I certainly love them even though one nearly set my hair on fire one New Year's Eve quite some time ago.

Fun times! But on reflection I was definitely drunker than I thought since..(oh the shame) when the Bear and I got back to his house, I once again got sucked into watching that infernal puzzle bastard show PlayTV, and the answer was so plainly obvious this time that I...em...rang in. I know. But I hung up in fury straight away when I got automated questions about whether India was in Africa or not. Fuck you JG Murphy. Fuck you.

Watchmen

I'd seen a trailer a while ago and thought it looked good, and had been vaguely aware of the hype that preceded it, mostly because Rick was so excited about it. So while trying not to give anything away...

YAY:
The opening ten minute sequence that zips through the alternate history of the world, especially the Enola Gay bomber with Miss Jupiter on the side, Silhouette grabbing the nurse in Times Square and wearing the face off her and Sally's Last Supper retirement shot, I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging open for that entire part.

The slow down/speed up, meat cleavery, elbow snapping violence. Savage.

The Comedian: horrible, nasty, scary, awful man but I kept wanting to see more and more of him. Sexy too.

(and he's danny in grey's anatomy!!..tcup)

Rorschach's swinging door moment in the prison. Wowzers.

Everything else.

NAY:
A bit of the second half kinda dragged a little.

The HEAT in the cinema. There was no air conditioning and neither of us had ever been so close to taking our pants off in a public place - it almost happened, it was that warm. Which isn't really anything to do with the film I suppose.

So I'm now on a mission to read the graphic novel, watch the film again and get myself an old school Silk Spectre outfit. Speaking of which, this is the artwork for the pinup calendar of her that appeared in the Comedian's apartment, which I would very much like as a poster pleasethankyouverymuch. *Drool*