Together In Feet, Immortal In Feet
I've just discovered wikiFeet, a wiki for pictures of celebrity feet, past and present. I wonder if Quentin Tarantino loses whole days browsing this site. There's even a gallery for Susan Hayward, where I found this image.
That's how I found the site, doing an image search for Susan Hayward, one of my favourite actresses. But I was only looking for her because some of her pictures came up when I was googling Diana Dors, not one of my favourite actresses but certainly one with a sort of spectacular personal life.
If you're looking for something short and salacious to read, I recommend reading her Wikipedia entry some time.
Dors regularly held adult parties at her home. There, a number of celebrities, amply supplied with alcohol and drugs, mixed with young starlets, against a background of both soft and hard core porn films. Dors gave all her guests full access to the entire house which, her son Jason Lake later alleged in various media interviews and publications, she had had equipped with 8mm movie cameras. The young starlets were made aware of the arrangements, and were allowed to attend for free in return for making sure that their celebrity partners performed in bed at the right camera angles. Dors would then enjoy watching the films the following morning, keeping an archive of the best performances.
She was born "Diana Mary Fluck". I can just imagine the schoolyard jokes; "You hear about Diana? Oh, she's a Mary Fluck."
Both Hayward and Dors died in their 50s (57 and 52, respectively) of cancer (brain and ovarian, respectively). But Hayward was four times the actress Dors was and I don't think Hayward left a hidden fortune after she died that hasn't been recovered to this day--Dors did, supposedly. The two did have something else in common which I'll probably talk about to-morrow at length.
I woke up to-day with ambitions to get a lot done--homework, laundry, cleaning, comic colouring, but have mostly felt too lazy even to begin. So all I've done is gone to the grocery store and started reading Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil again. I stopped at one of the Japanese markets to get some tofu which I think I might try roasting. Though I've been meaning to cut down on my oven use since it's been 100 Fahrenheit lately. Which is probably why all the potatoes in my cupboard were sprouting pretty flowers last night. So I cut off a potato sized hunk of daikon and roasted it instead, precisely as I would have the potatoes.
I coated the pieces in extra virgin olive oil and rosemary. The rosemary sticks to the daikon a lot better than it sticks to potato. But I must say I prefer potato--the daikon has a mild sweetness which is great but potatoes seem more . . . I don't know. Complex.
Twitter Sonnet #623
Aquarium foot prints are filled with fish.
Nods summon chins to support the goatee.
Affidavits float in a cloudy wish.
Through the maze find Bardot on the settee.
Winter teeth defy former Swiss targets.
Ageless agents aggregate in style.
Tearful mariachis won't eat baguettes.
Segway deletes scooters from the file.
Shoestring radish wells draw the wind brushed nerves.
Lime jello skies incubate the city.
Beans whisper spools of streetless false proverbs.
Blank gargoyles offer rooftop pity.
Wet tofu hidden by cherries wrecks cars.
A radio accidentally loved Mars.
That's how I found the site, doing an image search for Susan Hayward, one of my favourite actresses. But I was only looking for her because some of her pictures came up when I was googling Diana Dors, not one of my favourite actresses but certainly one with a sort of spectacular personal life.
If you're looking for something short and salacious to read, I recommend reading her Wikipedia entry some time.
Dors regularly held adult parties at her home. There, a number of celebrities, amply supplied with alcohol and drugs, mixed with young starlets, against a background of both soft and hard core porn films. Dors gave all her guests full access to the entire house which, her son Jason Lake later alleged in various media interviews and publications, she had had equipped with 8mm movie cameras. The young starlets were made aware of the arrangements, and were allowed to attend for free in return for making sure that their celebrity partners performed in bed at the right camera angles. Dors would then enjoy watching the films the following morning, keeping an archive of the best performances.
She was born "Diana Mary Fluck". I can just imagine the schoolyard jokes; "You hear about Diana? Oh, she's a Mary Fluck."
Both Hayward and Dors died in their 50s (57 and 52, respectively) of cancer (brain and ovarian, respectively). But Hayward was four times the actress Dors was and I don't think Hayward left a hidden fortune after she died that hasn't been recovered to this day--Dors did, supposedly. The two did have something else in common which I'll probably talk about to-morrow at length.
I woke up to-day with ambitions to get a lot done--homework, laundry, cleaning, comic colouring, but have mostly felt too lazy even to begin. So all I've done is gone to the grocery store and started reading Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil again. I stopped at one of the Japanese markets to get some tofu which I think I might try roasting. Though I've been meaning to cut down on my oven use since it's been 100 Fahrenheit lately. Which is probably why all the potatoes in my cupboard were sprouting pretty flowers last night. So I cut off a potato sized hunk of daikon and roasted it instead, precisely as I would have the potatoes.
I coated the pieces in extra virgin olive oil and rosemary. The rosemary sticks to the daikon a lot better than it sticks to potato. But I must say I prefer potato--the daikon has a mild sweetness which is great but potatoes seem more . . . I don't know. Complex.
Twitter Sonnet #623
Aquarium foot prints are filled with fish.
Nods summon chins to support the goatee.
Affidavits float in a cloudy wish.
Through the maze find Bardot on the settee.
Winter teeth defy former Swiss targets.
Ageless agents aggregate in style.
Tearful mariachis won't eat baguettes.
Segway deletes scooters from the file.
Shoestring radish wells draw the wind brushed nerves.
Lime jello skies incubate the city.
Beans whisper spools of streetless false proverbs.
Blank gargoyles offer rooftop pity.
Wet tofu hidden by cherries wrecks cars.
A radio accidentally loved Mars.