justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Any relation to Mr. Grouch? BGM: "Here I go again on my own" - Whitesnake OK, so once again Oscar season has come and gone. My wise assed opinions, though perhaps not held in such high esteem by the Academy Award Ceremony atendees, are still here, ready and willing. Off we go, then. You heard it here first, folks: Nick's wise ass is ready and willing. If I didn't say it, someone else would have, n'est-ce pas? First thing that sprang to my attention was that Beyonce was fucking everywhere. Bitch ain't even done no damn talkies lately, neither. The Phantom of the Opera thing I can deal with. It saves us the trouble of having to deal with Andrew Lloyd Webber any longer than we absolutely have to. But why in the name of Buggs Bunny did you give her the french song?! The Children of the Corn Youth Chorus did pretty well with the language, but I swear Beyonce was speaking frikkin' Swahili or something. No way was that French. 'Cut her some slack, say the American readers, not everyone can speak french, you know. I agree, and nor should they have to. But there are, believe it or not, several very talented singers out there capable of singing in French. At least a good baker's dozen in Longeuil alone. I kept hoping one of the The Passion... people would praise Allah when they got on stage, but no such luck. Mazzeltoff anyway, boys. Name of the night goes to one Mr. Horst Burbulla. I will never forgive my parents for naming me Nick. Oh, and Pierce Brosnan's voice is enchanting, even when all scratchy. That guy could make hemmeroid cream sound classy. My final thought of the night is that Tupac: Ressurection was made by two middle aged white women. Awesome. And that's all he wrote, folks. Say g'night, Nick. G'night, Nick. Excelsior. 10:32 p.m. - 2005-02-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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