Sunday, January 30, 2005

Stands to treason

There’s this. You should read it or you will not understand what I’m talking about at all. Go on, read it, it’s not long and it will increase your lifespan. I’ll be here waiting. Placidly. Not snarkily at all. Incisives barely showing, I promise. NU, GO ON ALREADY!

All done? You have now met Graydon Carter, esq. I had nearly convinced myself he existed as such because I FOUND HIM, by golly!

Do you see? Isn’t he impressive? I must admit I blushed a little.

But then tragedy struck. My friend, the nosy Viscondessa, googled him. [WHY???] Oh BAD, BAD GOOGLE, damn you and the mare you rode in on!!! You see, he DOES exist. I AM heartbroken. The real Graydon Carter is, al(i)as, the editor of Vanity Fair. Read this if you don’t believe me. V., bless her, got all hysterical (she’s Californian, they’re sadly prone to that) and was convinced I HAD ARRIVED. Sweet. Yes, I did, BEARING GIFTS. It tickled me pink since I am usually the daftly gullible one.

I am fairly [fairly, ha!, make that fully] sure that Mr. Carter does NOT read this blog, and has in fact entered me in NO competition. I must admit he looks dashingly handsome and terribly smooth. I'm sure he has moooves most men can only dream of, to say nothing of his proven political acumen. I am also sure Mr. Carter is a brilliant editor. Actually I’m not, since I don’t read Vanity Fair - but I hope he is or else it’s an appalling waste of power and money. I was very much in the wrong thinking someone called Graydon, a name which would be far more fitting on a scaly, oceanic deity that only leaves the depths to feast on unsuspecting mortals every 13 years, would NOT have a sense of humour (though hard to see how he could have survived WITHOUT one) until I came across this picture. That takes humour, surely? Quite frankly, and irrespective of anything else, anyone who can get Madonna to twirl without being a whirling Dervish [so, so lovely] or a Sephirot master himself has my utmost admiration. Be that as it may, he cannot compare, will NEVER compare to my hero.

Oh Graydon, Graydon… You were far too manly to be true.

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At 31/1/05 10:50, Blogger Ana said...

You are so damn funny. Where do you find these pictures?

At 31/1/05 11:03, Blogger Viscondessa said...

There is so much brilliance in this post, I hardly know where to begin.

So I'll just ask you a question: why are the pygmies covering their breasts? (And are they properly called breasts if they're men? Or are they just nipples?) And why, in contrast, is Graydon throwing his arms wide, as if to say, "These little brown men are ashamed of their breasts, but not I! Not I!"

(BTW, the exuberance over your being Almost Famous was, in fact, solely for your benefit and had nothing to do with my gullibility in general. Well, almost nothing to do with it. Well... ok, ok, I admit it, I was pretty excited by the idea of your being Discovered by the editor of Vanity Fair. Wouldn't that be cool?)

At 31/1/05 15:02, Blogger The Lioness said...

Pigmy on the left is just looking tough I think. Pigmy on the rigth was caught right after his elephant bath and is trying not to disgrace himself by flashing posterity. Graydon, The Visionary, is, even then, in 1927, embracing all differences. Or maybe his arms were tired.

[Yes, cool and IN YOUR DREAMS! Say, doesn't "gullible" sound like some illiterate Portuense is trying to say Gulliver? HA!]


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