#freud?

Sexy, LOL. Shelley Long as Belinda Keaton and Henry Winkler as Chuck Lumley in Ron Howard’s 1982 directorial debut, Night Shift.

Lily Allen’s Smile came up in the related videos in my latest YouTube binge and I spent some time listening to her songs. There are a few themes that run through her music: the casual cruelty in Smile, the socially concious irony in Fuck You, the examination of her own career in Hard Out Here and Sheezus. Most songs have a combination of these, but the only one I think clearly has all three is The Fear. The verses form a disturbing image: the girl that smiles when people cry becomes a popstar and a monster, casually aknowledging she wants blood diamonds and then forgetting about it and scheming to become more famous. The chorus, on the other hand, is full-on sentimentalist in a way I’ve only seen Allen be in Somewhere Only We Know. Maybe you can call it contrast between irony and honesty. But there’s not really any contrast in the actual music, is there? A cursory listen woulsn’t even notice it. So I think Freud has the answer.. Humour lifts our unconcious censors and can reveal things we don’t want to know about ourselves. If you listen to The Fear as honest all the way through, it becomes about complicity. So maybe Lily Allen’s looking at The Sun and The Mirror because she’s avoiding am actual mirror. Her fear is looking at herself.

Ricordo che le indicazioni spiegavano di cospargersi di un velo di crema sul dorso delle mani e sul viso, ma io non mi fidavo e, per essere scrupolosa, mi spalmai uno spesso strato di prodotto su tutta la faccia, su tutte le braccia. Tutti intorno a me procedevano con le operazioni di preparazione, non stavo più nella pelle, avrei dovuto aspettare i miei familiari per lanciarci insieme ma non ce la feci, presi la rincorsa e mi buttai.

Ho avuto subito il sentore che non aveva funzionato, che sarei precipitata, caduta in picchiata rovinosamente, e con la coda dell'occhio nel mio campo visivo è entrato un orologio. Segnava le 23.30.