The speech accent archive. Go to town, y'all.
Speaking of accents, you will recall that Scottish and/or "some kind of British" was overwhelmingly the favorite the last time I asked. Well, tonight you've got your Sophie's Choice: Clive Owen on Conan and Gerard Butler on Craig Ferguson. In the same time slot. (NNNNGHHHHH!) I think I'm going with Butler, if only because Ferguson is also Scottish, and that should be frickin' hilarious. However, I am counting on y'all to find me digitized clips afterwards, because Owen's the A guest on Conan and Butler's the B guest on Ferguson, so I'm probably going to end up seeing neither of them in a frantic channel-flipping attempt to see both of them. Woe unto my not having a TiVo.
Something I found at Snarkfest (WARNING! Do not click unless you have at least an hour to waste! I'm serious!): Paperdoll Heaven. Omg I want Keira's cloooooooothes
From Gawker via Snarkfest: Ethan Hawke tools it up over in the Amazon book reviews:
*****I’m STILL laughing and crying.I assume you've heard about the Pat O'Brien thing, yes? ("The [perma-tan host of Access Hollywood and The Insider] checked into rehab Sunday, just as an embarrassing string of dirty voice-mail messages, which expressed a taste for hookers, cocaine and adventurous (if possibly unhygienic) sex, became public. His reps do not deny that O'Brien made the calls.") Well, jess_d_ripper took a bullet for us and transcribed the voice mails currently floating around the internet. Warning: skeevy to the max. You may crave the sweet release of death afterwards--even more so if you've ever *watched* Access Hollywood. Also, various gossip sites are reporting other O'Brien shenanigans that are just--beyond words, people.
This wonderfully insightful book presented me with quite a conundrum: laughter, or tears? As an actor, I can tell you: there’s no tougher emotion in the catalogue raisonne of the well-trained performer than mirth…or grief. And as the author of two hard-hitting novels I can back that up by saying it’s tough to express sadness and hilarity verbally. But this wonderfully insightful book had me rolling from side to side with belly-laughs, then scrunched into a tiny ball, wracked with sobbery. I don’t know how Foer does it. I am laughing now, as I write these words, but I can feel the tears backed up a couple of jobs in the old emotional queue. I’m buying extra copies of this book for all my friends, especially those who need help urging forth difficult emotions.
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Report from the home front: Very tired and spacy today. I had a good point in class but frittered it away on confused babbling. Seriously, I sounded either drunk or in need of medical assistance, I think. It's fatigue, nothing serious. Next week's my spring break, so maybe I'll have some uninterrupted Come to Jesus time with the book. Hoping to wrap Braveheart up soon. Like, yesterday soon.