The A Lot More Than 35 People Agree Post.

In a 1991 Pepsi commercial, supermodel Cindy Crawford steps out of a red Lamborghini at a remote roadside rest stop. Wearing a white tank top and denim cut-off shorts, she flicks her hair and saunters over to a vending machine, where she buys--and drinks--a can of ice-cold Pepsi. She's oblivious to the two young boys who are watching, spellbound.

The Pepsi commercial, which was created by Omnicom agency BBDO and last aired during the Super Bowl 17 years ago, was rated as the sexiest TV commercial among 35 viewed by eight judges from the advertising industry.

So sayeth Forbes.com (also making the cut: ads for Levi's with Daniela Pestova, Calvin Klein with Brooke Shields - yes, that one - and, of course, beer and perfume spots). The complete article is here.



The original...



...and the remake.

Sure they were looking at the Pepsi can, in either version. Sure they were.

The Hayden Panettiere In A French Maid Outfit Post.

What, you want words as well?

The Don't Do It, Hayden! Post.

At least, not anywhere outside numerous male imaginations. See An Open Letter To Hayden Panettiere From The Internet if you haven't already guessed what it is.

The 654-508 Post.

That yesterday wasn't all it could have been is... my fault. And Showmasters, but mainly mine.

Yes, the virtual queue ticket thing was a shambles (and have they not heard of "barriers"?), but if I had a) left earlier than 7:25, and b) gotten off the 328 bus where I got off yesterday i.e. nearer the venue and walked the rest of the way, instead of riding it further DOWN the road and waiting for another bus like a lazy bastard, I'd have been further up the long, long, LONG early bird queue. And thus likely have gotten a Hayden ticket numbered considerably higher than 654. Which meant a looooooooong wait that Sunday. Especially since I a) didn't have any lunch, b) didn't have anything to drink and c) had my £20 reserved for La Panettiere's autograph.

And there were a lot of people waiting - of the four Heroes guests there she was the biggest draw (good thing I wasn't there for Patrick "buggered off at 2pm" Stewart or Dominic Monaghan). And it has to be said that Hayden's queue moved considerably slower than Jack Coleman's (or Milo Ventimiglia's or Adrian Pasdar's), which is probably (probably?) why she was asked to speed it up later on... which was bad for those of us with higher numbers. You see, I'd hoped to get her to introduce my 508th mixtape (which has her on the spine and the card) and by all accounts she'd likely have been up for it. If only I'd gotten there EARLIER!!! AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!

But instead I was in the "sign-and-go" part of the day, so I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed... but the "Here you go" when she signed the inside of the tape card - making this the first tape in my collection to be touched by the person it's for - was still better than nothing. Along with the smile. And she was pretty stressed out by that point, so I'm not holding it against her; if the tiny and lovely Hayden does return to one of these things, I'll be back as well.

And not mess it up this time.

And it wasn't really a loss; not only did I feel better about it once I had some fluid inside me, but I was grinning like an idiot after this:

The moment has come...

Not only has my blog been unlocked, but as I write this in just over four hours (or six minutes, depending on where you stand, as she was born in New York) Hayden Leslie Panettiere will finally be 18. Which means she can legally drink - I think - and, for other purposes, also means that those men whose fantasies about her have been tainted by guilt can officially perv without getting told off (and also means that when she appears on Chris Moyles's show next Friday it'll be a bit less creepy for some).

Of course, for those who were already fantasising about her it'll be business as usual.

All we have to do now is hope she turns out to be more like Jessica Alba and less like one of the Olsen Twins... I'm an optimist at heart.

300 words.

That's all I want to put on this post.

So. I'm bored. And boring. If I start to write something and I'm not in the least bit interested, just think how you reader (like I have multiple viewers) must feel.

The solution would be to lie. But that ain't something either. So...

Actually, it's all loose ends. I want to get through a post without mentioning Heroes, but now that's gone out the window. I could gloat about how the fuss about phone-in quiz shows has led to a long-overdue and probably only temporary removal of the spacewasters, but I can't be bothered. And there is no way I'm complaining about banks again. So let's just go all stream of consciousness. (120) Whatever comes to mind.

Hey, Dangerous Liasions is on. Not the one with Michelle Pfeiffer and Uma Thurman, the one made for European TV with Nastassja Kinski and Leelee Sobieski! And Catherine Deneuve, but you gotta take the rough with the smooth. At least there's no Pacey from Dawson's Creek with an awful dye job.

Hearing about Stargazerz member Zahir losing his fiancee truly sucked. The poor guy.

Ditto John Inman from Are You Being Served? There was a calypso years back about the show; can't find a link to it anywhere. (That was Barbados for you - also ditties about Sanford and Son and J.R. Ewing.)

I hate overeating.

The phrase "Best of British" sets my teeth on edge. Where does this place get off calling itself "Great Britain"? At least the US doesn't call itself "Great America." Alliteration is, sometimes, evil.

I also hate charity telethons. Almost as much as I hate parades. Comic Relief is next week. I shall be sure to be out of the flat on that night.

Why was yours truly not informed of Patricia Araujo working in London earlier? (287)

And with only ten words left - no, wait, now it's three... two... done!