Yesterday I read a rather fantastic story about this poor woman who'd been banned from Facebook because she shared the same name as Prince William's fiancee, Kate Middleton. For some ridiculous reason Facebook assumed she was an impostor, hell-bent on bringing KWill down - and so they blocked her account. The report was made even more ludicrous by the fact that this Kate Middleton's boyfriend is called - wait for it - JONATHAN ROSS, and he hadn't had his account terminated, despite sharing his name with @wossy. The full story is here: sorry it's on the Daily Mail.
Now, while such lunacy is bad enough, I came into work this morning to hear the news that my boss' grandmother is actually called Bette Davis - which means listening to this song just got incredibly cooler:
Or perverse. Depending on which Bette Davis I now think about when I hear Kim Carnes and her 80s electro fantasticness.
It got me thinking though: I also used to go to school with both a Robert Palmer *and* an Andy Williams (@HickPandy), and my Dad is friends with both a Sydney and a Pearl Harbour (not quite the same thing, but you see the point)...
Just how many people must be out there who share their name with a famous singer, celebrity, actor, presenter, TV character, whatever. These days my name is *nearly* Darcey Bussell, but only 'cause we've fudged it. *Lol, "fudge".*
Then I tweeted about this amazing famousness name-sharing and got this back:
From @mattbramf: I went to school with a Lisa Stansfield and a Katie Boyle, and my friend's mum's name is Janet Jackson. Mmmkay?
From @aroberts77: My b/f knows a Mike Baldwin.
From @lucylu2507: I have an uncle called Michael Douglas.
From @gaianriva: I know a Ricky Martin & a Neil Young
*** UPDATE ***
From @HRWright: I went to school with a Delia Smith!
From @1mgoldstars: I went to school with a James Bond!
...
It just gets better & better... Updates to come as and when I get more.
So Tweet me up: @DarceyButtell.
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Monday, 24 January 2011
X-tremely nerdy
I remember when I first came across the X-Men. Not like that. It's not THAT kind of post.
It was when the 1992 cartoon burst onto our screens. I think it was on Live & Kicking, although I'm pretty sure that show didn't start until '93... so, yeah, I'm getting my dates a little muddled somewhere. But, either way I was, like, 7 or 8.
Anyway, here's the opening creds:
I am also pretty sure that when I did watch the cartoon - and I did, religiously, with my cousin who lived 12 doors down the road - I'd actually seen them all before. The characters I mean. I'm not sure where this idea comes from though, because I certainly don't remember having been introduced to any of the X-Men before this show started. It was just like they were there: doing, well, their mutant-y stuff.
I do, however, remember the first X-Men comic I bought: it was one random issue of the Wolverine & Gambit (both main characters in the '92 cartoon) mini-series, and also introduced me to Psylocke/Betsy Braddock, who, up until that point, I hadn't been introduced to but who, during the intervening years (where my obsession with the X-Men has pretty much progressed into, essentially, something of a way of life) has become something of a favourite.
All of this waffle is a pre-cursor to a rather incredible graphic I was shown the other day, which, quite frankly, made me do a sex-wee.
It's basically a break-down of some of the crucial relationships (marriages, romances, sworn-enemies etc.) from the X-universe. And my God it looks cool. Worryingly, or perhaps not, I found that I was able to name (almost) every single character on the graphic. I was even quizzed. Full post/graphic here.
Eugh. That's enough geekery for tonight. Just don't ask me to come up with my "dream" X-team. As Tweeters @EastressStar, @mattbramf & @aroberts77 found out, it's a pretty EPIC conversation.
It was when the 1992 cartoon burst onto our screens. I think it was on Live & Kicking, although I'm pretty sure that show didn't start until '93... so, yeah, I'm getting my dates a little muddled somewhere. But, either way I was, like, 7 or 8.
Anyway, here's the opening creds:
I am also pretty sure that when I did watch the cartoon - and I did, religiously, with my cousin who lived 12 doors down the road - I'd actually seen them all before. The characters I mean. I'm not sure where this idea comes from though, because I certainly don't remember having been introduced to any of the X-Men before this show started. It was just like they were there: doing, well, their mutant-y stuff.
I do, however, remember the first X-Men comic I bought: it was one random issue of the Wolverine & Gambit (both main characters in the '92 cartoon) mini-series, and also introduced me to Psylocke/Betsy Braddock, who, up until that point, I hadn't been introduced to but who, during the intervening years (where my obsession with the X-Men has pretty much progressed into, essentially, something of a way of life) has become something of a favourite.
All of this waffle is a pre-cursor to a rather incredible graphic I was shown the other day, which, quite frankly, made me do a sex-wee.
It's basically a break-down of some of the crucial relationships (marriages, romances, sworn-enemies etc.) from the X-universe. And my God it looks cool. Worryingly, or perhaps not, I found that I was able to name (almost) every single character on the graphic. I was even quizzed. Full post/graphic here.
Eugh. That's enough geekery for tonight. Just don't ask me to come up with my "dream" X-team. As Tweeters @EastressStar, @mattbramf & @aroberts77 found out, it's a pretty EPIC conversation.
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Where's my Kleenex?
I am crying at Coronation Street. This would be fine if it was, say, the second episode on a Monday evening and I'd had a glass of wine or two and no tea: but the truth is it's 11:30 on a Saturday morning and I am watching Corrie on catch-up. The most intoxicating thing I have had all morning is a cup of instant Kenco and a slither of my flatmate’s homemade Millionaire’s Shortbread that (I admit) I robbed from the fridge.
It’s Gary Windass’ fault. He’s just told Quinny’s parents the horrific story of their son’s heroic attempt to save Gary while on tour in Afghanistan. Gary survived, Quinny did not. Lets be clear: I am crying because a man is telling A DEAD MAN’S PARENTS about how their son was gunned down, in Afghanistan, while SAVING HIS LIFE.
Okay, so the acting isn’t perfect, but it’s okay to cry at that, isn’t it? I only ask because, quite frankly, I cry at everything. In a conversation earlier this week, someone told me that they’ve NEVER CRIED AT A BOOK. Er, hello?! The Lovely Bones? The Time Traveler’s Wife? PS I Love You? One Day?
Before Christmas I was on a coach from London to Bristol reading David Nicholl’s One Day and I was crying so much, so loud, that the man next to me MOVED SEATS. These were guttural, manly sobs. Well, maybe not manly, but definitely guttural. I had to stop reading because I couldn’t see the words through the tears. It was pretty horrific.
“Films I get,” this chap told me, “I get why people cry at films.” Er, yeah: a quick look at my DVD collection just told me that eighteen of them (18!) make me sob. And I mean SOB: buckets. In fact, the only reason I own *any* of them is so I can pop them on when I’m feeling a bit “pent up” and am in dire need of a big old cry. Hello, The Way We Were...
Great. Now I’m crying at Barbra. Again. Well, she did do Yentl. "Papa can you hear me...?" *sob* Does this never end?!
I’m not sure why I am so bothered by this issue, or whether it is even anything to worry about at all, but a separate chat this week also reminded me of Diane Keaton’s epic crying scene in Something’s Gotta Give and ever since I have been plagued by the fear that, well, this is *genuinely* what I am going to end up like. I am completely fucked, aren’t I?
It’s Gary Windass’ fault. He’s just told Quinny’s parents the horrific story of their son’s heroic attempt to save Gary while on tour in Afghanistan. Gary survived, Quinny did not. Lets be clear: I am crying because a man is telling A DEAD MAN’S PARENTS about how their son was gunned down, in Afghanistan, while SAVING HIS LIFE.
Okay, so the acting isn’t perfect, but it’s okay to cry at that, isn’t it? I only ask because, quite frankly, I cry at everything. In a conversation earlier this week, someone told me that they’ve NEVER CRIED AT A BOOK. Er, hello?! The Lovely Bones? The Time Traveler’s Wife? PS I Love You? One Day?
Before Christmas I was on a coach from London to Bristol reading David Nicholl’s One Day and I was crying so much, so loud, that the man next to me MOVED SEATS. These were guttural, manly sobs. Well, maybe not manly, but definitely guttural. I had to stop reading because I couldn’t see the words through the tears. It was pretty horrific.
“Films I get,” this chap told me, “I get why people cry at films.” Er, yeah: a quick look at my DVD collection just told me that eighteen of them (18!) make me sob. And I mean SOB: buckets. In fact, the only reason I own *any* of them is so I can pop them on when I’m feeling a bit “pent up” and am in dire need of a big old cry. Hello, The Way We Were...
Great. Now I’m crying at Barbra. Again. Well, she did do Yentl. "Papa can you hear me...?" *sob* Does this never end?!
I’m not sure why I am so bothered by this issue, or whether it is even anything to worry about at all, but a separate chat this week also reminded me of Diane Keaton’s epic crying scene in Something’s Gotta Give and ever since I have been plagued by the fear that, well, this is *genuinely* what I am going to end up like. I am completely fucked, aren’t I?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)