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wickedsaviour
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To luxuriate in hedonistic passion

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June 8th, 2007

A list of the world's sexiest men. Yay. (Blame it on Brain, not me)
At first it was "over 45", then "older", and now it's just...well..a list. But they're all over 40.

In no particular order;

James Spader 

Claim to fame: Alan Shore. Everything he does makes me go squishy.

George Clooney 

Claim to fame: Jim Byrd in Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. That 'stache totally did it for me.  

Dustin Hoffman

Claim to fame: He inspired Brain to write this stupid list in the first place!
...besides, I had a crush on Captain Hook as a kid.

Alan Rickman

Claim to fame: Duh. Snape? Harry-the-mid-life-crisis-guy from Love, Actually? Phil-the-grouchy-hairdresser from Blow Dry? Metatron (despite the lack of genitalia)?  Rasputin (Russia's greatest love machine)? Colonel Brandon? The Sheriff from Prince of Thieves? Uber-villain Hans Gruber? I swear he picks these roles just to torture me.

Steve Buscemi 

Claim to fame
: Ghost World. I have a geek fetish...so sue me!

Liam Neeson

Claim to fame
: The man managed to make a thinly veiled Jesus-allegory sound sexy! That takes skill! Not to mention Daniel in Love, Actually. And that accent...

Ralph Fiennes 

Claim to fame
: He managed to make sadistic Nazi bastard Amon Goeth look sexy. If Hitler had looked like that...I'm just saying history might have turned out a bit different.

Mikhail Baryshnikov

Claim to fame: Alexandr Petrovsky. So he's a temperamental artist. So  he slapped her. Bitch only cares about her fucking shoes anyway. 

William Petersen

Claim to fame: Gil Grissom. Need I say more? 

John Slattery

Claim to fame: Victor Lang, Bill Kelley, Michael Cassidy, Sam Truman. Always a love interest, never the one.

Hugh Laurie

Claim to fame: Dr. House. And Prince Ludwig. "I shall vreak my revengey!" And just being generally...Hugh-ish.

Peter Gallagher

Claim to fame: Sandy Cohen, Buddy Kane. And those fantastic eyebrows!

Alec Baldwin

Claim to fame: Leonardo Leonardo! And the video where he tore his kid a new one. And SNL. "I love you, canteen boy!"

Anthony Head

Claim to fame: Why can't Tony look as hot as Michael? And let's not forget Giles.

Jack Coleman

Claim to fame: Mr. Bennett of Heroes. Oh, you know you want him too. 

Adrian Pasdar

Claim to fame: Sticking to Heroes: Nathan Petrelli. And ADA McClaren on Judging Amy. And David Bradley on Desperate Housewives. And he shares the Best Eyebrows Award with Peter Gallagher.  What is it with Brain and eyebrows?

Tom Selleck

Claim to fame: Weeeell...Dr. Burke. But also Peter Malloy, Peter Mitchell and Magnum, P.I.

Isaiah Washington

Claim to fame: The other Dr. Burke. And some sort of homophobic remark. I dunno.

Patrick Dempsey

Claim to fame: Speaking of Grey's anatomy...he's just so...so...so...[Brain shuts down] *drool*

Kevin Spacey

Claim to fame: Shall we do this in chronological order? Eddie Otis, Buddy Ackerman, Verbal Kint, John Doe, Jim Williams, Lester Burnham, Michael Lynch, Eugene Simonet, David Gale, Bobby Darin and Lex Luthor!

Scott Bakula

Claim to fame: I've had a crush on him since Quantum Leap, so I'm willing to forgive him for Archer.

Kevin Kline

Claim to fame: Paden from Silverado. Otto from A fish called Wanda. Richard Parker from Consenting Adults. Luc Teyssier from French Kiss (don't mind if I do!). Vince McCain from Fierce Creatures. 

Alan Cumming

Claim to fame: Being deliciously sexually ambiguous. And then there's Boris Grishenko, the only reason -ever- to watch the craptacular GoldenEye. And geekazoid Sandy Frink with his big folder in Romy and Michele's High School Reunion. And Saturninus in Titus. And a super-gay General Batista in Company Man. And Fegan Floop, the only real reason to watch all three Spy Kids movies. And albino bad guy Wyatt Frame in Josie and The Pussycats. And -last but not least - Joe Therrian in his very own Anniversary Party. Seeing Alan dance around with a hundred little pigtails is enough to make anyone squishy.

Judd Nelson

Claim to fame: John Bender. Bad guys are the best. Although the was pretty hot as Jack on Suddenly Susan.

Joshua Cox

Claim to fame: Helloooo, nurse! Er...midwife. Peter Riggs on Strong Medicine. *Mmmmm*

Tony Shalhoub

Claim to fame: Monk. And Ian Stark. Does anybody remember that show? 

Christopher Walken

Claim to fame: You need to ask? He's...I...you know...just...he's always...the way he talks...it's, it's...it's crazy!

David Duchovny

Claim to fame: Foxy Fox Mulder of course, but he was pretty good as Ira Kane in crap-fest Evolution, and as hand model J.P. Prewitt in Zoolander. 

Dermot Mulroney

Claim to fame: The best friend in My Best Friend's Wedding and pain-in-the-butt Gavin on Friends.

Tim Matheson

Claim to fame: VP Hoynes on The West Wing, Otter Stratton in Animal House, and the impostor in A Very Brady Sequel.

David Hyde Pierce

Claim to fame: Being gay. Other than that; Niles Crane, and nervous wreck Peter MacMannus in Down with Love. 

John Corbett

Claim to fame: Aidan on Sex & the City, and the non-Greek in My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

David Eigenberg

Claim to fame: Steve on Sex & the City. Steve was sexy. 

Kyle MacLachlan

Claim to fame: Why, Dale Cooper of Twin Peaks, Trey on Sex & the City, and creepy-ass Orson Hodge on Desperate Housewives.

Gary Oldman

Claim to fame: Lee Harvey Oswald, Dracula, Beethoven, Zorg, the incredibly unsexy Mason Verger, O.W. Grant in Interstate 60, Lynch in Dead Fish, and the adorable Snuffles, a.k.a. Sirius Black. 

Jason Isaacs

Claim to fame: Lucius Malfoy. The yummiest Death Eater there ever was. Apart from Snape, but he's good now (yesheisyesheisyesheis!).

Craig Ferguson

Claim to fame: Nigel Wick. Yummy English accent, too!

Rowan Atkinson

Claim to fame: Ignore the monstrosity that is Bean, and focus on Mondavarius, Pollini, and the genius of Blackadder. 

Rik Mayall

Claim to fame: Drop Dead Fred, Lord Flashheart, Rick of The Young Ones and King Herod in the 2000 TV version of Jesus Christ Superstar.

Alan Davies

Claim to fame: Thlight lithp. Jonathan Creek, default loser on QI.

Steve Coogan

Claim to fame: Professional pain-in-the-butt Alan Partridge, Phileas Fogg. 

Alfred Molina

Claim to fame: Snidely K. Whiplash, Comte Paul de Reynaud in Chocolat, Doc Ock. 

John Cusack

Claim to fame: Martin Q. Blank, Rob Gordon, Craig Schwartz, Jonathan Trager. 

Hugh Grant

Claim to fame: I know, I know...but he's adorable, and you know it! The Prime Minister in Love Actually, Will in About a Boy, William Thacker in Notting Hill, Daniel Cleaver in Bridget Jones' Diary...

Colin Firth 

Claim to fame: Mr. Darcy in Bridget Jones' Diary and Pride & Prejudice.

Stephen Fry

Claim to fame: Apparently the second most influential gay man in the world, and damn smexy to boot. Watch QI if you don't believe me. 

Geoffrey Rush

Claim to fame: Harry Plummer, Leon Trotsky, Casanova Frankenstein, Inspector Javert.

Robert Carlyle

Claim to fame: The Full Monty, Danny Devine in Dead Fish, Felix DeSouza in The 51st State. Oh, and Hitler. 

Hugo Weaving

Claim to fame: V, Agent Smith, Elrond, Tick. 

Terence Stamp

Claim to fame: "Ralph" in Pricilla, Queen of the Desert, Jor-El in Smallville, and - of course - General Zod! "Kneel before Zod! Zod!" Don't mind if I do! Also, it takes something special to be this hot at 68. 

I could probably keep going all night (ooooh, fresh!), but I think I'll stop now. My fingers are tired....oh, get your mind out of the gutter! There isn't room for both of ours.
 

Update.

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Núna heldur þetta fífl fram að vinur hans hafi verið að djóka. Ofsa fyndið haha. Er hægt að kæra fólk fyrir lélegan húmor?

June 6th, 2007

Aðvörun!

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Ekki skipta við fyrirtækið

Garðlíf!

 

Ég réði mig í vinnu hjá þessu svokallaða fyrirtæki, og starfaði þar í tvo daga, nánar tiltekið 21. maí og 24. maí, samtals í 9 1/2 tíma. Umsamin laun voru 700 krónur á tímann, svart. Eftir þessa tvo daga var störfum mínum í raun lokið, þó ég hafi ekki fengið vitneskju um það fyrr en nokkru síðar. Í millitíðinni sendi yfirmaðurinn mér sms þar sem mér var ýmist tilkynnt að vinna væri daginn eftir, eða að engin vinna væri.

Síðan fór ég að reyna að fá greitt. Svörin sem ég fék voru margskonar;

Þú færð borgað...

...í næstu viku

...á morgun.

...ég læt X koma þeim til þín.

Loks hætti yfirmaðurinn að svara í símann.

Þegar ég ræddi vð X í gær, tjáði hún mér að lögreglan hefði komið og spurt um yfirmanninn, sem síðan skipaði henni að segja að verkefnið sem þá var í gangi væri það fyrsta.

Í dag hringdi ég síðan í númer yfirmannsins, og eftir þónokkrar tilraunir var ansað. Náunginn sem svaraði sagðist heita "Ólafur Tryggvason", og vera gjaldkeri. Eftir að ég skýrði aðstæður fyrir honum, sagði hann yfirmanninn vera farinn í frí, og að hann gæti ekki tekið eingöngu mín orð fyrir þessu. Þegar ég svo minntist á að X hefði heldur ekki fengið greitt, þverneitaði hann, sagðist vera nýbúinn að tala við hana, og að hún væri búin að fá sín laun og væri bara mjög ánægð. Hann sagðist síðan ætla að leggja launin inn um mánaðamótin. Ég sagðist ekki verða á landinu þá, og þá spurði hann hvað ég væri að fara að gera til útlanda. Ég sagðist bara vera að fara í frí. Hann sagðist þá geta lagt launin inn fimmtánda júní. Ég endurtók að ég vildi fá greitt, því mig vantaði peninga núna, en hann sagðist ætla að athuga málið, en þó ekki fyrr en hann hafði bent mér á að þetta væru "svo litlir peningar" að ég hefði "ekkert að gera við þá".

Ég hringdi í X og sagði henni frá þess. Hrakti hún undir eins allt sem maðurinn hafði sagt, en á meða ég ræddi við hana hringdi hann aftur. Hann var ekki eins kurteis í þetta skiptið.

Nú sagði hann ýmist að ég væri búin að fá borgað, að ég hefði tekið of langar kaffipásur, að ég hefði unnið illa, og að ég væri spilafíkill og dópisti. Þetta sagðist hann hafa eftir X.

Þegar ég benti honum á að yfirmaðurinn gæti ekki hafa lagt inn hjá mér, því hann hefði aldrei fengið reikningsnúmer hjá mér, sagði hann að Tryggingastofnun hefði látið hann hafa það, og "ráðlagt honum að leggja inn".

Hann bauðst til að greiða mér 2000 krónur, eða þessar 6650 sem ég á inni -ef ég mætti í vinnu á morgun. Ég neitaði því að sjálfsögðu, og endurtók að ég vildi fá launin. Í bakgrunninum mátti heyra í öskrandi börnum, og hann sagðist þurfa að fara "að lemja þessa helvítis krakka". Ég leiddi það hjá mér, og endurtók kröfuna enn einu sinni. Hann sakaði mig þá um að vera með dónaskap, og sagði að ég skyldi passa mig, því hann gæti hvenær sem er "kippt fótunum undan mér". Ég spurði hvað það ætti að þýða, en fékk ekkert svar. Hann sagði síðan að hann gæti lamið mig rétt eins og konuna, og ég spurði hvort ég ætti að hringja í kvennaathvarfið fyrir hana. Hann svaraði því til að hún væri "löngu búin að læra að það þýðir ekkert", og sagði svo að hann gæti bara "lamið hausunum á [okkur] saman". Um þetta leyti var ég skjálfandi af reiði, og skellti á.

Og til að endurtaka þetta:

Ekki skipta við Garðlíf!

June 2nd, 2007

Blue

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Blue, originally uploaded by wickedsaviour.

This was taken through some coloured & textured glass I bumped into downtown. I qite like the fact that Mother Teresa decided to make an appearance. Would have been funnier on a piece of toast, though...

June 1st, 2007

That's it.

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Roskilde is sold out. I don't have a ticket. Therefore I must commit suicide by drinking myself to death. Goodbye.

May 30th, 2007

Dear Customer;

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Head of Marketing,
Kitty-In-A-Box Productions HF.

May 22nd, 2007

[Annoyed grunt]

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Sometimes my brain gets the strangest ideas. Right now I caught it thinking about which of the Queer Eye guys it would date. "Moot!" I screamed at it "They're all gay! Duh! Even if they weren't, you're not actually fantasizing about celebrities, I forbid it." But Brain took no heed. It mused over the merits of  Thom and Carson, with a little side-thought about Jai (before realizing he looks fifteen, although he is 27), and after way too long, reached a somewhat strange conclusion. It would date either Kyan or Ted, the "straightest" of the fab five, odd, considering that it usually goes for the gayest of the straight ones. Mabey it's just looking for a middle ground. It gave me the reasons for this choice, revealing that it thought Kyan was "abso-fucking-lutely fucking gorgeous enough to fuck" (Brain's words - not mine) and that something about Ted's dry wit and serious demeanor turned it on - on an intellectual level (a Brain should know). This led to a rather one-sided discussion in which Brain tried to sort through my crushes, past and present, before coming to the logical conclusion that I must be insane. I kind of knew that already.

May 11th, 2007

Now, my imaginary reader, I know you must be tiring of my rants (how sad is it that even in my imagination people hate me?) so I'll make this one short [read; long and filled with inappropriate humour]

I have about fifty days to plan the trip. That sucks. Sucks so much. I wish I only had three days. I haven't even bought my Roskilde ticket yet, and they say they'll probably be sold out sometime in may or early june. And I'm already broke. At least there's still the pre-party tonight, and since there's a raffle, keep your hypothetical fingers crossed (well, you are figments of my imagination, so I think you have fingers. You might just have really long, flexible tongues. Hmmm...) Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. I suck. Yesterday was a disaster, but thankfully the kind of disaster you can just drink away. I went to Austurvöllur, the closest this city has to a park. (Well, we kind of have parks, but this is where people gather on sunny days.) I'd bought some beers, so I sat down to drink them like a common bum. So far so good. Then some idiots sitting by the cafe start throwing shotglasses in the direction of...er...my HEAD! Fuckin' eejits! Glasses smash, I'm fine, yaddayadda. Then my cousin wanders by, so I wave him over, and he sits down. No problem there. But then he lights a cigarette, smokes it for a while, and then puts it out. On the wall against which I am sitting. The ember (what do you call it anyway - you understand what I mean. The little glowy thing on the tip. Where the fire is. Quite essential to the whole process really.) falls into my pants. Yes. My pants. I, being an eejit, don't immediately realize this, until my cousin says something along the lines of "Ooh, it went out." I - in the fine tradition of a comedy straightman gawk at him awhile before sliding along the pavement to put out my assfire. That accomplished, my cousin departs, satisfied that he's wreaked the usual havoc, and I settle down to read my book ("Neither here nor there" by Bill Bryson, possibly one of the funniest men on the planet). however, this seems to annoy the severely inebriated man next to me, who proceeds to pester me with questions in at least three different languages. After a while he paused and said "You could just pat me on the shoulder and say; Sorry, but I want to read my book" And I did, but instead of fucking off, which would have been great, he asks me to keep an eye on his beer, and wanders off to harass a small child. An Icelandic child. In English. telling it to put things in the trash. Well. I buggered off soon after and made my way to Kaffi Vín (That's Café Vienna to you), where the Eurovision pre-thingy was on. Once there, I had one beer, then another, told really bad jokes ("The two worst things to come from Austria were Hitler and this years entry. Not neccesarily in that order."), and, well...got completely shitfaced. My bag had been sitting on the floor, quietly humming to itself, until some asshole stepped on it. What was in it, you ask? Well, my iPod, headphones, book, writybook, phone, pez, small things. Oh, and two cans of beer. One of which got stepped on. Guess what happened. Yes, it burst. Drenching my stuff. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. After a small outburst I cleaned my stuff off, settled back into drinking, and managed to totally psych out the waiter by coming on to him. It was funny.

I hitched a ride (well, technically two rides) home, and ranted to my poor couch-dwelling cousin about...stuff, I think. Something like that, anyway, before falling asleep. On the floor. Next to my cat.

I woke up this morning on said floor, no cats nearby, no glasses to be found, hangover present and making itself known by bouncing cheerfully around inside my head. Yay.
So, instead of crawling into bed to sleep (oh, sleep, wonderful sleep), I read some shassi-slash (if you have to ask, don't) and had breakfast. Lox on toast. Yum-my!
Now that I have ranted, I must away to purchase nicotine-stix and stuff of hangover-killing nature. Then, after that....SLEEP!

April 24th, 2007






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Dr. Gregory House
70% Eccentricity, 55% Confidence, 20% Kindness
Congratulations, you're the man himself, Dr. Gregory House! You're quite strange, and usually do your own thing regardless of what anyone else thinks. This is partially because a person with an ego as large as yours could not care less what anyone else thinks or feels about anything. Unless, of course, they're your patient and they're dying--but only if they're dying of something interesting! You're a definite asshole to most other people, but at least you know how to be one in style, with an awesome wit, comfortable sneakers, and a never ending variety of facial expressions.




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April 23rd, 2007

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From Google maps. Directions from New York to Berlin.
---
20. Take exit 24 A-B-C on the left toward I-93 N/Concord NH/S Station/I-93 S/Quincy 0.4 mi
1 min

21. Merge onto Atlantic Ave 0.8 mi
3 mins

22. Turn right at Central St 0.1 mi

23. Turn right at Long Wharf 0.1 mi

24. Swim across the Atlantic Ocean 3,462 mi
29 days 0 hours

---
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