Julie Zenatti essaye son coeur à un âge très jeune, sur l'étape.
Je souhaite remercier tous les haut-parleurs français de visiter mon site Web. La beauté de cette langue est exprimée bien en musique. Visitez svp encore.
peut votre amour survivre
Encore.
For those who don't know, or did not grow up in the Mingo-Ming universe, the movie is "Flash Gordon" with the fantastically incredible (to borrow a Lindsay Lohan phrase) soundtrack by Queen.
Melody Anderson was Dale.
Imagine naming your daughter "Melody."
If you had another girl, named her "Harmony," and they both turned out to be terrible singers, the guilt would carry you to your grave.
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Can't swing a dead cat around here without hitting a hypnotized Dale Arden.
Or did she just read my latest white paper on the transmogrification of dead prepositions in the english language?
"Will we ever get out of here Hans?"
"I don't know. But we'll try."
I actually like the other girl in this fight
She had "the bore worms" on her from her own father.
Still Dale, like a comic book girl on film. Extremely pretty.
"Flash! I Love You. But we only have seven hours to save the universe."
Happy July 4th everyone.
Just playing with the awesome video capabilities of my MAC.
I'm not an anti-PC guy, even though I've "crossed over." Yet it bugs me, so to speak, that Microsoft will stop supporting XP. I like my XP just fine, thank you.
On to the heart crushing. Chekhov is hard to take apart in little venues, because every work of his is completely intertwined, even unto a two page short story. Nevertheless, I want to give credit to an actress who is able to deliver the perfectly written page with evocative emotion and not crumble under the weight.
I don't think Meryl Streep could have done any better.
Just playing with the awesome video capabilities of my MAC.
I'm not an anti-PC guy, even though I've "crossed over." Yet it bugs me, so to speak, that Microsoft will stop supporting XP. I like my XP just fine, thank you.
On to the heart crushing. Chekhov is hard to take apart in little venues, because every work of his is completely intertwined, even unto a two page short story. Nevertheless, I want to give credit to an actress who is able to deliver the perfectly written page with evocative emotion and not crumble under the weight.
I don't think Meryl Streep could have done any better.
Not sure this will show up on my California friend's Brooke Smith Fan Page.
Hope it does. Happy to contribute.
The link to the left is from .Mac, because it is higher quality.
Below is the YouTube version.
Ironically, I've never seen "Grey's Anatomy." Let me guess. She's a nurse?
Now we know why my favorite Polish tennis star lost the other day.
Radwanska was only 19. Now, life in ruins.
Pods. Space invaders.
Mummy-faced aliens bringing us yet another all-Williams final Saturday.
Thank God I won't be watching it.
Wimbledon is not particularly going my way down the stretch, so turn to robots in search of a purpose.
Still can't quite get used to "Disney" over "Pixar," but I think Pixar retains an independent identity. Not sure.
Anyway, this latest installment sounds a heck of a lot better than the new Will Smith movie, or Angelina Jolie movie - whatever those are.
These days I usually wait for them to show up on a pay TV channel.
This is fun for about ten seconds.
Then I remember my dream of shaving was not in fact a real shave this morning, and so have little time to waste on trivialities.
Agnieszka Radwanska will probably disappear from the scratchpad of history, but while she's around, I take notice. Hits the ball clean. Admirable disposition.
Plus she's cute as all get out, and sexy.
I am completely in control of myself. This fiction about women making men blind is a dark, dark secret.
Not sure about that hairdo. Bette Midler does Warsaw? I'll let that slide.
But sultry eyes are a slam dunk. Nineteen and experimenting with mascara.
I know several readers out there are tired of tennis, but we are in the middle of Wimbledon. Either that or ESPN's boring sixty minutes of baseball.
The players I like are still alive, except for the dead ones.
Here is what Agnieszka Radwanska is thinking in her hotel room:
"How do I beat the russian bear?"
This is before she cleaned out that little refrigerator.
All I got from my interview was a hiccup.
Svetlana Kuznetsova, just another masculine woman whose unpronounceable name ends in "a." No amount of mascara is going to help her, and she knows it, which is why she is so dangerous.
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V
<--- Back to Agnieszka's inner thoughts:
"I don't think I can win. But I have my black dress all picked out for the champions dinner and dance with Roger.
I wonder if he'll propose.
Ten minutes with me and his longstanding girlfriend will be history.
Perhaps that's why I'm never invited over.
Don't tell me that girlfriend for fifteen years has that much of a hold on him.
Maybe I should try a different look, or wax one of the Williams sisters for emphasis.
First things first. If a Wimbledon 4th-round match were to fall in my favor against Ms. Testosterone, guys will emerge excitedly from the woodwork.
Then I'll have to decide which ones to disappoint.
If I win one more time, Mark might quit his infatuation with Kristin Chenoweth and Stevie Nicks, midwestern romances, and devote more time to my favorite sport, which is actually chess."
Stop thinking too much, Agnieszka. I've seen your legs and also your driver's license. The birth year is shockingly recent. You are very pretty, but that's not enough.
"Why?"
"Just, you know, grow into your twenties for starters."
"Fine."
"And what's with this Roger, Roger, Roger stuff? Don't you like middle aged rocket scientists?"
"I suppose they are fine as long as they last."
That's it:
Sob into a pillow. Get back to me in fifteen years. Relieve your father from that sawed-off shotgun.
Maybe better to remember your homeland's heritage of being invaded from the East ten thousand times.
Seek revenge.
Win something. Turn up on a Wheaties box. Try escalating from the top fifty to the top ten.
"Oh Mark, you just don't care about me as a person."
Yes I do, if you'll be so kind as to dismiss a Williams sister. That's all I request of any deity with the slightest sense of mercy.
"Fine."
Fine.
"Get mad now."
"I am."
<---- Ya know, she's really pretty good.
If this coolest chick from Krackow somehow manages to sneak in a victory and get to the quarterfinals, watch out for classic chokers, such as Elena Dementieva.
She will ruin your day every time.
Don't let me be the one to advise Poles to guard their backs, what with that stellar history in terms of not being surprise attacked.
I don't worry about Agnieszka's poise. Not afraid of Russian choke jobs.
Oh, did I mention russian puff cakes for choke jobs?
------->
I can't let a demeaning comment go when the lure floats in front of my nose.
Poor Elena Dementieva. I've never felt more sorry for anyone in my life. God bless her, she hits a great shot then double faults. Every time for ten thousand years.
Her misery, in the Greek archetype sense, persuaded me to develop a derivative of her name as a passport to a password for poor online investments.
It's sick because I like her, want her to do well, and I hate tennis and why do you keep bringing it up?
We return you now to your regular blog reading.
Because you don't need a sports inside reporter's claim on the state of the Women's Tennis Association, although I should get paid for the golden nuggets I hold under my mattress.
I refuse to close this post before uttering the hope that Agnieszka might americanize her name.
But that would turn her into an Aggie. I dunno. College Station, that white hat. Predisposition for always coming out on top.
As a University of Texas Alumni, I, and certainly my brother and sis-in-law, would find that unacceptable.
Back to Krakow, baby.
<--- Miss Radwanska has a pretty ball toss, and a little extension goes a long way.
Cool customer too. Composure can't really be taught. You either have it or turn into Joan Cusack, the controlled crazy.
If Agnieszka could simply mangle syllables into vowels, give a guy's jaw room to breathe, garner one or two big wins...
Stop being so hard on the eyes.
Not saying she looks like Maria or Ana, but THEY ARE BOTH OUT AREN'T THEY? Losers.
Ag's implacable coolness on court drives me crazy, as if we were not discussing how hard her name is to pronounce.
All kidding aside, the kid is cool under pressure.
Calmer than me screaming from my living room, "hit the backhand up the line and go to net!"
I know she's just brimming inside, desirous of a polka.
I tried to polka once.
I fell down.
You may say to me,
"Mark, Mark, Mark - she's a young Polish girl, applauding your Dennis Miller T-Shirt."
I say, I've always wanted to be a potato farmer, as long as the wife earns $500,000 per year and comes home every night.
I understand the writers' strike and all, but it is time to bring back the blonde vs. brunette wars.
Paraphrasing:
<---- "I am the girlfriend, Olive. See me in the photo? Get out.
Resume your Nashville singing career, or RV movies with Robin Williams. Whatever."
"Hey Chuck,
At least he doesn't have to kiss me through plastic".--->
"Cheap shot."
"You've already been dead once."
"Want to join the club?"
"The Pie Hole has been down for reconstruction. America forgets."
"We are coming back in the Fall."
"Ah, so the writers can try to sustain a romance where two love interests can never actually touch each other. And then there is me, in the flesh."
"Brutal."
"Oh, and Chuckie. It's past Memorial Day now, so feel free to wear white, although the paisley compliments your desperation."
"That's it! I'm calling my Godfather. We are going to the mattresses."
"One of us, maybe."
"You are a dead woman."
"Anymore threats and I'll call in the crazy aunts."
Expecting more tennis commentary?
Later. It's the middle Sunday,
If the Williams sisters keep winning, I'm not going to watch anymore.
Just give me iTunes and I'll be happy re-living the past.
If anyone cares to comment, what is it about Stevie Nicks that drives normal men nuts?
She is pretty, talented, old. Maintains a 60's personality. Survived the Bill Clinton administration.
Mystical. She is a phenomenon of nature.
Don't know where the appeal springs from. It's not like you can fake true weirdness, or learn it from a book.
A lifetime of development.
You can talk to me with that crazy, insane, heart-ripping voice.
She's over fifty and probably not demanding.
Lace. Likes flowing articles of clothing. Never makes a verbal mistake on record either.
I miss Fleetwood Mac.
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