depuis que j'ai vu cette double page dans Elle, avec deux nanas en tailleur Chanel portant leur mini-mal griffé sur la grand plage de biarritz, je me suis dit qu'il était temps que j'investisse. assez du look jesorsdelamachineàlaver et c'est pas moi! c'est l'eaucoincéedansmacombi qui me fait des bourrelets à la taille. la prochaine fois, je me ramène avec les talons, le lycra bleu azur et le bikini assorti, même si l'eau n'est qu'à 12 degrés, et l'incontournable planche Chanel. tout est prévu, j'ai un compte Paypal pour recevoir des dons de mes généreux lecteurs, après tout, y'a pas que karyn qu'a droit de craquer pour un accessoire mode inhabituel! (un extincteur?)
mais voilà, y'a un hic: Brigitte Laroche de chez Chanel (un vrai patronyme d'artiste très recherché dans le milieu VRP, tout de suite, ça donne un certain cachet), Brigitte donc, porte-parole de la marque de luxe internationale, me livre la terrible nouvelle, dans un anglais très Chanel:
"We well received your e-mail and we thank you for your interest on our Brand.
In answer to your request, unfortunatelly we have no more surfboard to sold.
We hope you next on our site www.chanel.com
La Ligne de CHANEL"
je ne m'en suis toujours pas remise, ah oui, vraiment pas...
un post technique très court: est-ce que ça n'arrive qu'à moi, ou bien Blogger pédale un peu dans la soupe en ce moment?!
ça fait 2 semaines DEUX *deux* DEUX semaines que j'essaie de mettre à jour mon template et de rafraîchir mes archives, rien à faire!! je ne connais RIEN de plus frustrant qu'un problème technique! ça me fait tourner en rond et réessayer le même remède pour la énième fois, sans succès évidemment pour la énième fois.
la faute à google! y'a plus de support center, où sont les msg boards où les utilisateurs pouvaient se passer des tuyaux?!
PLEASE HELP, SOMEONE!!
je suis pas assez geek pour me passer de Blogger, peut-être, maman! faudrait TOUT réapprendre!!
PS: super! j'essaie de relire le post avant de le publier, histoire de corriger les fautes (je crois avoir entendu dire que les fautes d'orthographe ça nous disqualifie de l'appellation blogueur), et le post apparaît dans un mélange de français, japonais, unicode ou est-ce le langage des signes?
PS2: "the page cannot be displayed"
back in NYC, Har Mar Superstar had been warmly recommended to me, after he'd performed in front of CMJ raving crowds. CMJ people are not supposed to rave, they are supposed to stare fixedly at the bar, and occasionally acknowledge the guy who's holding the mike. Har Mar had managed to get them to focus on his round body for a period of time that most obviously represented an extraordinary stretch on their otherwise low concentration ability. that fact alone convinced me he was not to be missed.
unfortunately for me, it would take me weeks before i was finally able to catch him. some daytime radio comment about the previous night's gig with the Yeah-Yeah-Yeahs informed me that Har Mar was about to perform at the Notting Hill Arts Club that very evening. sooner done than said, i was zooming out of the flat to get my arse to West london. no mean rain could have stopped me.
i got to the venue just in time to witness the remnants of electrodiscotrash fashion, which included twins in legwarmers headbanging their mullets to the rythm of diamond dogs, and girls too old to be rolling on the floor drunk at 9.45pm. theoretically the perfect environment for Har Mar. i got some feedback from the crowd that his Astoria performance the day before hadn't gone down too well. you must remember that the london audience hasn't got the reputation it's got for nothing. Har Mar had managed to enthrall music buffs at the CMJ music marathon indeed, but at least they were mainly american buffs, my theory for explaining their responding positively to his "i am fucking awesome!" exhortations. but down in london everybody likes to think of themselves as dejected music critics, not to mention that the Astoria WAS packed with dejected industry people. "I'M FUCKING AWESOME... i'm fucking awesome?!". was the assertion turning into a plea? as Har Mar was going through his suitcase like a clown getting ready for the show, i had the impression he was still bearing the strains of the previous day. what was he getting himself in for this time?
for those who do not know Har Mar Superstar, maybe it is time to give some background info (after the above rambling, it could come in useful): Har Mar is the king of sleazy electrofunk, some whitetrash version of the artistformallyknownas, undoubtedly with a higher awareness of his physical assets than the aforementioned. Har Mar looks like your next door neighbour, the one you zoom past as a girl hoping he will not try to strike a conversation again. the one you would not dream to catch doing that kind of thing. Har Mar looks like the guy from the Sopranos who would have had a drink too many and proceeded to dance on the bar with the ambition to outstage the strippers. you could easily assume that Har Mar is the fun guy just because your prejudiced brain makes you believe that everything with a large stomach is bound to be jolly, the father xmas complex? well, Har Mar is not a fun guy, he is sleaze from top to toe. sleaze is fun, but only from a distance: Har Mar himself has set up the rules.
take for example some aforementioned inebriated rock chick, who would get to the front of the stage, and start playing touchy-feely with Har Mar. what would you expect a fun guy to do? father xmas would take her on his lap and play with her. but no! Har Mar is the stressed guy from the day before, the neighbour whose portable disco is likely to die on him any second with these idiots messing in the corner, the yorkshire dog barking louder than the doberman, the guy snapping at the drunk bitch "don't you fucking do that again!". now THAT is rock'n'roll fun! a sigh of relief! the guy is for real! sleaze as an act has let drips of genuine sleaze percolate through, and it is the very sight of the control freak failing to control his sleaze image that turns him into what he is trying so hard to be, the real thing that we, as a public, are after.
from then on, i enjoy the gig to the full, and so does the crowd which is getting more and more excited: a girl wags her pony tail in my face and frantically shakes her bootie for Har Mar to see, another one in chic frock climbs on stage, and while languorously dancing with the master, loses her balance and falls flat off the stage onto the sound gear, boys too young to know what sleaze is wave their quiksilver clad arms in the air as if to say "kewl dude!", young men with stupid haircuts gaze in awe at what looks like a vision of what lies ahead for them in the years to come. the music is enthralling, too good not to be taken seriously as great music, and Har Mar, when it comes to dancing, YOU ARE FUCKING AWESOME! i would kill to see more of these moves on the dancefloor, enough of men shifting their weight vehemently! let the guys like Har Mar in! some genuine 80s cool moves, the ones we miss in this seriousasfuck world!
with a final high-pitch rendition of "sir duke" and an encore, Har Mar finally leaves the stage, brushing his bare sweaty chest against the crowd on his way to the dressroom.
HAR MAR WE LOVE YOU!
i could not resist to share the news. now there's our Har Mar!
Har Mar Superstar has been forced to cancel his forthcoming UK tour supporting Hot Hot Heat as a result of contracting shingles.The dates were to begin tomorrow in Manchester and go on til the 7th May.
From his sickbed he said: "Apparently I've got a pirate's disease called shingles. I'm really sorry I had to cancel the shows but I didn't want to give everyone in the UK chest herpes. I'm still the fucking best and I'll be living in the UK all summer so you'll get enough of me then. I'm now taking applications from naughty nurses.."