i won't ask whys.







...i wouldn't iron clothes, i wouldn't shine shoes, i wouldn't make the bed,
i wouldn't cook the food, i'm not familiar with the concept of "never cheat",
still, i'm the best person one could probably meet...




...tja. reversing lyrics for an appropriate intro only, of course i would cook. but that's not the only reason why i'd deserve the title "desperate housewife" lately. shocking: i didn't leave my own 4 walls the past 6 days, nurturing my pain and wailing with nothing but a book and water o.t. rocks.

....sounds peculiar?
i don't know why most people picture me like a modern anita berber [sorry, english speaking people, may i introduce you....!] born slippy 80 years later, living it up in the land of milk and honey, with my mouth wide open for flying pigeons, dancing til the sunrise with no sleep at all, bathing in champagne, being regularly seduced - together with the boys upstairs - by a lady dressed in green with strong perfume....



....people confront me with their picture of me: cherishing the life style of a suicide girl, just without tattoos [long-term commitment? eternity? OMG!!]; lavishing time either between a brother and a sister in darkrooms [friday? aber musst du nicht demnächst post-magistralisch die hucke in meiner anwesenheit weg-komatösen?] or strolling from disco to disco, spending too much money on water; coloring nails and lips red, packing hip flask and ambiguous attitude to fly out with the 2 other protagonists of the blackbird trinity [a label matching with our appearance, yes, but of course the original german "amsel" attains distinction from a former minimization of my name, now referring to all 3 of us, mire, ewe and vere]...




yeah, hm, well, a-hem, yes.
...if there are, apparently, photos existing, and i just picked the innocent ones, maybe the signifier is congruent with the signified after all: i am the picture others have!
another picture that exists in several different prints: me, in the middle of significant monetary troubles.

just today [my first day out after monday's surgery, which left me with only 23 + 4 half wisdom teeth and seams all over my palate] i was part of a serious fight between 2 strong antagonists: my purse and a shelf full of tempting 30s style lingerie. certainly none of your business, but let me take this mnemonic back to the headline "housewife":...my last thought before i faint on the battlefield was smth like: "fuck it, at least i feel empowered and self-confident when i face my bank clerk next week!" i wake up with a little paper bag, and a huge headache...shopping hangover? i decide that my purple-yellow-swollen left cheek is to blame, and its evil, literally defacing existence justifies the slaughter of a credit card account.

...rushing back home, somehow uncomfortable with my current looks of an abused matron. a suchlike existence is not part of my agenda of course, i'd rather kill me as a housewife than die as one....

probably i'd kill myself with the same knife i am applying the cream cheese icing onto 35 little banana fairy cakes in this very moment, wearing my frilly apron and a flowery headscarf to avoid hairs on the topping.



a picture of the week, but definitely no picture of the left cheek. quel visage, quel dommage!
but calculate this: tooth gap + nose + eye color + ruffled thatch + writing blog entries as opaque as engimatic incantations = seems i'm prepared for walpurgis already.

now, from wood and forests, moving on to...
butter. butter, that's me, freezable, yet meltable.

...and, actually, it's one of the main components to answer the question of the day.

first, of course, i have to create a field of understanding, before i recount what made me melt lately.
S, more an acquaintance, due to her busy job at some reputable media place that makes her rich and famous. and, confabulating last night, makes her drive down h-street in a stretch limo to do an interview on the middle part of the 60's trinity, with a med c. patient as conversation partner.

...one of the usual suspects i generally fancy as friends, as you can see. actually, she fancies me, intellectually, appreciates my work, my taste, my life style. crucial for me to struggle with my shadow in my self-imposed closet, reason enough for her to assign a cook & restaurant critic to host a sophisticated soirée for me.

...i know, having a personal cook is quite common these days, still, i'm at ease that for one night i don't have to be my own. but of course i'm too much of a control freak to simply eat what i'm being served. i request to assist the procedure of preparations, and i end up with a sharp knife in my hand, cutting fillets out of a dove. yes, dove, and yes, first time in my life, as i rather cherish a modest cuisine, and yes, i felt terribly pity for that naked bird, although i don't mind blood, sweat & tears, sorry, blood, bones & sinews. by then i thought "it's fortunately only part in 2 of 4 courses!":

hors d'oeuvre - marinated parsnips with petit petit dove legs.
entrée - dove breast with caramelized figs, glazed salsifies and a jus of the carcasse.
main course - monkfish medaillons with young garlic and raddicchio au lard.
dessert - tartes aux poires with fresh goat cheese, rosemary, honey.

...every day stuff? true. i surely need no pro to have a dinner like that, except of...well, that dove. that cute little dove, worth every damn euro per gramm, which i would never have bought myself. that bloody flying rat coming all the way from france probably, i should move there! - i surprisingly start thinking, tasting the creamy texture. it was definitely worth biking to the other end of vienna for that dinner, worth spending 2 nights preparing the presents i brought for both, cook and host.

a minimalisitc japanese dream of flowers from my favorite shop, a potpourri [i hate this word, but i love amphibologies] of music in extravagant wrapping, ja, and, some of you know i am terribly oldfashioned, a self-made bonbonniere. another premiere, admittingly.

...instead of myself, who wouldn't get a certificate anymore [grown on heavily polluted emotional soil, über-consumption of "pesticides" and definitely not well-maintained], i melt heapes of real organic butter in my bain-marie. if you want to end up with divine truffles like me, do this with some real good high % chocolate. add double cream and the flavorings you desire. maybe coat those sweets after rolling w/ couverture. or, for some this would be the perfect combination, w/ a bloom....



i combined each flower with one specific fruity component and ended up with...
- rosehip / rose blossom in 72%
- lavender / apricot [here the white chocolate ganache is the filling for marcipan ravioli]
- marigold / orange in 88%

host and cook assume i bought the confectionery, a compliment melting like butter on my ego, just like the chocolate on my lips and the soft meat of the dove on my tongue...

...of course my thoughts didn't stop with the arrival of a dessert,
and kept stuck to my mind as did the taste of orange infused honey on my lips...



i kept thinking about highly compatible rats and narcisstic monkeys, a species i'm definitely the shiniest of... wikipedia tells me, that my unshakeable self confidence makes me think i could even crack the hardest coconut without being discouraged, i always aim to climb the highest tree to celebrate my superiour complex from above, i want attention, i'm so ridiculously obvious like a 30's movie.

therefore: why trying to pretend? i'm bad at it. the 30s are among my favorite eras anyway, and although the story of my dangerous climb up the hill has already a long gray beard, i, at least, can scream blatantly from the top to the world: "that's me! deal with it, i try to do the same since almost 28 bloody years!!"

yeah, i'm the storm, the wonder, my heart beats loud as thunder, i'm the china girl.



[no. i don't stop messing around, even if i end up with blue eyes. yellow is boring anyway]
so, people/folks/guys/withwhateverdubiouswordsyoufeeladdressedwith: you know anything about chinese theatre? of course not. but i do, what a question [i got my beautiful degree in representational studies. face it!].
turn on loud for those keywords: combination of music, dance, words, martial arts, with a strong focus on mimkry, styilzed mimic and gestic expressions, conventionalized roles and rules.

sounds familiar? sounds....dangerous?
sounds like a concept for a surreal blog? sounds like a persnickety recipe for dim sum?



flour, water, salt, cabbage, chili, soy sauce, sugar, oil, self made, by the way.


ok ok, that was a regression to the old asian recipe of how to write a weblog in 2007, but let's get back to the rules of 2008, answering instead of questioning.

again: how to pretend that nothing really meant too much?
that "nothing" could be for example: smth some people think is miriam, whereas i call it abstract writing, inszenierungswut, baby!, or, less catchy, linguistic staging rage [only open this link if you want to be a former 19 year old austrian with little social skills].


confession of the day: i don't have the answer. shall i start asking questions again?!
run, people, run! run as fast as rats eat cheese, and please: don't loose your integrity on the way...

happy new year. its under a good sign indeed....!

having a friend ringing on your door
pancakes waiting to be flipped
a postmodern chinese dinner in black
having the possibility to change something



...i hope people go and do so. make me read some good news.



someone graves for quinces instead of cheese, and obviously they fit better with pancakes.
you say, you want to flip some virtually? i'm not quite sure if you call pancake day what others call wednesday this year, marienkäfermädchen, but if we are talking about the british version of fun: then i have to disappoint you today. i ran out of sugar, no suppliant in sight to provide me with sweets...






...speaking of colorful dreams, the days when norms are converted, when heads are turned to look into the eyes of the transgressive, when principles stand upside down [called everyday life for me, fasching for others]...



sweetest friend with polish roots, we might share an unorthodox approach towards a constant identity crisis and transform it, quite elegantly in both cases, into a master thesis, but your discoursitivity is by far not so elaborate to feel the questionable urge of blogging. therefore: jaja, i did wait for another opportunity of running into your linguistic labyrinths. yes, you missed the chance to discuss, to trespass borders of social morality on saturday - but well, you are familiar with both, bakhtin & me, therefore aware that it was just another night of excessive intellectuality w/ too many empty bottles.
[btw, dearest portuguese master of bale and malicious glee, it's this weekend's ghost that escaped one of the bouteilles.]


keyword friends: this is exactly the answer that makes my question disappear.
how to have a super-tuesday? - have a friend knocking on your door. mine: saves me from the depressing thought, that on feb 5 2007 i was flying from vienna to london to shanghai. and although i open doors on feb 5 2008 screaming sulkily, like on any other morning, "this tuesday sucks!" i'm approached with sweets, a smile, a hug. no plane ticket though.


postscriptum: instead of wrapping the intensity of an anniversary as planned into selfmade ravioli, i unwrapped dim sum at the shanghai tan, to have a quick look what the new [chinese] year will bring. ah ja. R like in rat, what a coincidence. whilst sipping green tea, i start thinking about zodiac signs, but of course i stop surprised as my dessert approaches, otherwise my head would explode once more, like the ginger-orange-honey combination does on my tongue...

2 marriage proposals within 1 month
1 avowal that i was someones dream fiancée when i was 15
1 offer yesterday, from my oldest best friend, to send me a huge host of potential aspirants with gold and myrrh on white horses to save me [from what?!], after reading a former entry here.




...excuse me, world, but are you seriously out of joint?!
my life is a battlefield, yes, but there is no need to send an army of devotees to fight my 2 warriors called bravado and desperado, thanks. my mind might be alienated, but not absent.

- just because a) i've the right type of humour to one person and b) my dancing is inspiring to another person?! flattering reasons, but not good enough for me, no [yeah, lost in quotation, once again; rest of the poignant lyrics hidden in a link somewhere further down...]


[some person stated once: if she is ever gonna settle down, than with a man who "accepts" that the one & only bestest friend always owns the priority place next to her in bed]


...after all, 4 conversations that made me think. what would it need to make me want it? or, much better question, whom would it need to make me want it? someone with my type of humour and a passion for dancing could never be reason enough. here some advices, what/whom to provide [and i'd still turn down]:



first of all, it could only be a person not afraid of being ambiguous. should know how to apply eyeliner. and go public with it. [his influence is still sustainable, yes...]




should like wearing well-tailored man's shirt of course, like me, and: no, its not patti smith, but a person with an equally captivating aura.




probably i would not have needed a single deep breath to consider a marriage with this person when i was 14. oh, how i was in love with his hip swing & looks...




then of course: only nerds can run in this competition. otherwise i'd the only one in this bonding.




hell, intelligence definitely is sexy! independence is appreciated, bohemian lifestyle even more.



being in command of language is necessary. eclectic knowledge about music a must.




...the candidate should be a fetishist of side parting, no question, middle parting makes me yawn. and radical leftist discourse shouldn't be smth to look up in a dictionary, but everyday life.




that's already common sense here, but still i mention it again: inspiring odor essential. can be the smell of beloved ranunculus, of fresh coffee [i'd totally marry my espresso machine] or the smell of a forest of pines after a summer rain.




must enjoy spending nights on dancefloors. [oh, i would marry you, beautiful, glowing, electric su]




probably i should give him a chance. worked for an organic grocery, likes running, has his, hm, high & low times, and, thankfully, borrowed his picturesque back head to the dangerous mind here.




...attitude! here i am and i don't give a damn. should have a true dictionary of dirty cusses.




speaking of: idiosyncrasy should be the family name then, of course. and this the wedding gown.





--> the only real liaisons i could think of, is with music. i guess i'm already married to this song...






definitely i need something tangible too. nothing too plaintive. something to slap, to knead, to warm up with. yeast dough is probably not only one of the first choices, but one of the most desirable objects in terms of a marriage. i mean it. top end of sensuality.




being or avoiding to be a piece of the celebrity cake could make someone interesting for me too. and, unless the nobel jury decides differently and bestows a second contemporary austrian feminist author with a prize, i have to marry my all time role model to have a bite of the cake.




like the precursor, the unheard applicant should raise the voice for issues i think are important. having a voice that makes knees shiver is inquired anyway. her erotic one brings me to:




arts. photography, architecture, literature, varietee, whatever genre, but cultured, godammit!




and the previous imperative [actually one of the most beautiful photographic series i could think of] brings me to fashion of course. there is so no way to the altar without having an own distinctive style. and. i. would. not. only. marry. to. possess. her. couture. but. probably. even. kill. not her of course [although maybe her silicone, that's personal taste], the adored subject of desire of almost everyone i know, including myself.

...actually i think that's the most viable solution. she being in vienna at the moment, and as she already agreed once to the proposal of someone named M wearing lipstick, a miriam might have a chance too. i could share wardrobe and make up with her, get an american citizenship as her spouse, a mansion in L.A., finally interesting friends, so why don't i take the rings and run off...?!



......still here.
sure, i forgot about all the other wonderful girls [christina r, rachel g, charlotte g, tilda s, anjelica h, - hm, i go so obviously for dark haired ones i just realized] and beautiful boys who could [not manage to] twist my arm, turn my mind. but most probably not even a "bastard" of the above-mentioned davidfeistbrettmartinsimonecharlottedirkflowerselectricindigopeterpeachesvincent-
knifedoughelfriedescarlettditascarlettdita could get me married, and so i will, thankfully, for always be the prior one & only bestest friend in the marital bed, wherever that is, and whoever the husband.

sorry for so many questions.
you know i have a curious mind,
and there's nothing more that i'm curious of than you:
your everyday coffee, your everyday thoughts,
your everyday words, your everyday hints,
your everyday culinary, your everyday photos.
because your "everyday" makes my days special.


complaints from all sides because of being unavailable why the hell don't you have a mobile phone yet why an automatic absence message at your email address my sister pumping on the door screaming get the fuck out of your pathological hermitism and eat some bread with egg that being the only cure for uneven times did i ever tell you that i sucked raw egg yolk out of its shell when i was young it soothed the pain of recognizing i'm alive and probably the proteins made me grow fast and tall i ate 2 different sandwiches today one with hot peppers and one with mushrooms my sister paid me a beer although i got up 20 mins before i hate being drunk i wanted to sew something for her birthday tomorrow i can't open my cupboard with all the utensils those lovelylovely needles i would start sewing myself but i will get the sewing machine and the fabric i like the sound it makes my mom used to say no wonders that you like sewing it sounds like the music you are listening a muff for my sister with constant cold hands purple with nice fur on the inside maybe i should bake her some muffins to join the present thematically my sister my love convinced me to invite for a birthday dinner she and her girlfriends invading my hideaway probably with some reggaeton cds and of course i have to cook costa rican she the america latina afficionada being the more upbeat version of a daughter definitely the sunny side up egg whereas i'm the poached one she will be wearing red yellow orange and bracelets made of seeds you wanna know of course what i'll be cooking gallo pinto salsa de mais guacamole tamales platanos y tal vez una torta tambien and of course she will force me to go to a salsa club afterwards although the last time i went dancing it was on saturday after a crazy week because a friend of mine was doing visuals after that i had the 3rd bike accident in 3 months and this time just because i still had all those beats and basses on my mind i had to concentrate my senses on the inner music and didn't see the fireplug and here i am not able to sit and probably not to dance although i of course would follow your request of showing you how to dance to dubstep i can't understand your complaints of it being boring i would rather say its a fun work out for your gluteal muscles and of course that kind of music reminds me of one of the best nights of dancing i ever had it was a thursday in august although i probably would have even eaten house music straight from the turntables if it would have been served of course one could state that i was getting increasingly undemanding by the end of that week and would take whatever i was offered but i think it was quite the opposite which is me being discerned and hard to please but as for this mentioned night of dubstep i remember J & B going nuts next to me too it means that i was so moved emotionally that i had to move physically to whatever would touch my ears i had a coffee with ice on the next morning and as for your question i drink my coffee alone as always because if i don't have peace in the morning sipping slowly the promise of activity and creativity i will crawl back to bed immediately because i love mornings but only and especially being alone there were so few people [3] in my life so far whom i drank coffee with after getting up because its a holy ritual to me and almost no one has been holy enough to me my thoughts are definitely unholy capital sins as always the content of my mind could probably blow up not only one church same with my everyday words always shifting between swearing and prayers you wonder what me the atheist is praying for well i can tell you that i pray that i make the right decision miriam decide yourself finally for a job offer in graz researching and curating for an exhibition of queer life styles which would mean i have to commit for a long time and move to another city which is temptingly close to ljubljana or shall i think about this other job a project cooperation for 4 months only in a famous viennese art institution which would suit my general plans for the future about which i'm not going to talk here all in all i pray for money and i pray for being called by my name and get off my knees and i pray that never again a morning like today's will come waking up with tears and i pray that the wounds from my accident heal fast i can hardly walk it hurts so much i pray that people are less blissful because why the fuck should they have fun when i simply don't have it although i grant you a fair amount of it and even more i do so tonight when you have the possibility to freshen up your summer love affair how wise to choose a european version of weird eyes so summer becomes winter but of course i expect that i am the top end of love eyes european and weirdness definitely the last one is officially recognized my homeopath medicating me and my indifferent sadness once more indifference yes i learnt this english word 8 years ago now i'm on sepia again plus on a freudian couch which i have to surf i hate when i can't find an apropriate link in english but probably i'm searching with the wrong keywords here is a better one so if you don't want to call me a cuttlefish then you have to think of a better name and don't let it start with a D please thats the forbidden word forming my third name and if you find a way how to unname me then you solve the riddle of the sphinx for a pyramid of incomprehension in which 5-15% of the population is living maybe a picture of me is laying in a catacomb one of those wrong angled selfportraits the reason why i always avoid the direct look is that a) else my eyes would address the world therefore be real communication and not alienated like my words(!) b) because it hides my slight squint and so the squid with a squint is reaching out her arms to deliver wishes for a sensual energizing evening wishes which hopefully receive you on this way between all those je t'aime vows and voulez vous proposals because tomorrow this will be eaten digested and gone like the sandwich i had today.

1 vivid mind


....i wish i could give advices how to provide immediately freedom, social justice, equality, peace etc pp en gros. maybe days like MLK day can remind, that people could start turning such dreams into reality with small acts of benevolence in their close environment.

those key words make me think, of course, how i tried to spread love & peace, sort of - or: how i acted as a mediator for quite a while between 2 people in the u.s. of a.

but that's pretty much all what my american dreaming is about.
nothing to make art with, nothing to dance to, nothing to build a festival around.

what else am i dreaming of...
i dream of...waking up, finally.
i dream of...how to keep on dreaming, still.
i dream of....coffee, always.


jajaja. JA.
suggestion of the day.


how to dream....fast forward.




wish i could push that button....!

3 different teas
4 different juices
- all organic of course -
couple of books
1 hot-watter bag
warm woolen socks
all doors closed

...i wrote last week about an explicit reduction i want to apply. well, this resolution became rampant over my debauched life too...
total refusal, i'm addicted again. i, of course, need antipodes - heat/cold, love/hate, intoxication/sobriety, blah. in fact, i am a manifest evidence of a silent shout myself, i guess...

therefore no surprise that i closed myself 1 week ago into a self-imposed enclave of sacrifice.
sounds like the typical christian hostility towards the body? well, i'm the wrong person for that in many ways, but still: my only purpose of the past 7 days of fasting was spiritual, not physical. getting symbolically rid of things, concentrating on what's really important, tapping my inner qualities and energies.

...stop the esoteric drivel, miriam. i promised advices, advices you shall get!
- come in, enter, follow me, follow the first suggestions of a dangerous mind.

• take a picture how you leave the world behind you.

• take ten unplanned days. the first five shouldn't be filled with any tasks.

• discharge your body on the first 2 days with raw food only.

• quit any intoxicating acts of course. stop drinking coffee. stop it miriam.

• stop eating on day 3.

• prepare a comfortable place with all things doing good for the next 5 days: blankets, books, diaries, pictures to look at, good music.

• ban as much external influence as possible: cosmetics, tv, phone, computer, radio, newspapers, simply: radically close all communication channels. close the real doors behind you too, because:

• be by yourself as much as you dare. possibly: don't have anyone around you. if, only meet people doing you good, but having no food. convince someone to give you a massage or someone to talk to about those nasty evil damn bloody never ending dreams about those heavenly divine wonderful damn good kettle's. K.E.T.T.L.E. why the fuck only s/p in austria, hm? why not the fancy sophisticated kitchen tastes, HU?!
  let me immediately, and i mean THIS VERY SECOND, bath in my you-have-a-real-problem-within-a-second-if-you-don't-pass-them-over-to-me-weakness!!!

• drink tea. tea. and again: tea. chew each sip. "chewing" a small glass of juice at noon, one for "dinner" will cause you unknown pleasures....

• keep yourself warm. wear your favorite colors only. sleep a lot.

• face what you want to get symbolically rid off. write it down. write it away/delete it from your inner papers. shower once a day, end with a very cold shower. take a brush and scrub until you are warm again, bring all the things you accumulated underneath your skin (emotional and physical) to the outside.

• become aware of your inner deposits. of the power, strength, courage, persistence you have. you can care for yourself. slow down and realize how rich you are.

• suffer. suffer cold feet and hands, suffer the lack of food, suffer wild nightmares, suffer insomnia, suffer drowsiness. suffer the celebration of your daily morning ritual.

• enjoy. enjoy the riddance. enjoy the free and empty time. enjoy your sharpened senses. enjoy how your skin gets soft, how your eyes become clear, your breath goes slow and steady. enjoy fantasizing in heavy proportions. you might even see the light....no more darkness, no more night. no wonder if you're in the middle of a mental ring of fire. called endorphins too, they start rushing in on day 6. enjoy being high on them.

[i just realized that i sound like my fave texan boy during his yoga sessions. oh i do miss him!]

• don't lay around. move as much as possible. 1h of yoga, 1.5h dancing, maybe hiking for 1h or going for a a short run - that's my stint. find your real rhythm.

• do something. have a task for each day. "quality moments" those north americans call it....

my achievements: i sewed. i read 2 good books. i painted. i had a wonderful conversation with my sister. i cooked for bestest friends [and it was delicious of course, by what i smelled!]. i counted my gray hairs. i stopped counting them. [remembering the wonderful one and only J - my intellectual counterpart, my linguistic challenge, a hilarious conversation partner, a person i like dancing, drinking, eating with: jan. now, jan states: gray hairs are sexy. my words.] i cooked the most nerve-racking jam with 5 pounds of collected haws.

• go shopping on day 7 for what you should slowly start eating on day 8: apple puree. smth for a soft soup. a potato. spinach. you won't need salt (me!). you won't need pepper (me!!). you'll be in heaven just by seeing those products.

• make small steps back into the world on the following 2 days. slowly approach food, people, situations, (e)mail that has been written to you.

• realize how you started the process. how you feel now. try to think of the lessons you learnt and what can be part of your every day's life.

• take a picture of you having your first meal. it's gonna be a worship service, i promise. appreciate each meal you have from now on as a gift....

i love first times. first food! i could rave about this spinach. rave, scream, and dance!
[and cry, scream and bemoan the era ending with today.]

i've loved, i've laughed and cried.
i've had my fill, my share of losing.
and now, as tears subside,
i find it all so amusing.
to think i did all that;
and may i say - not in a shy way,
no, oh no not me,
i did it my way.

...although some find this way elusive, and others won't join it in 2008:
- i'm still willed to share the road and discuss my topographic map publicly.

...but definitely the coordinates will change:
as i've been told that my english is a) capricious and b) tough, plus i'm sort of running out of words as i haven't been taught any new ones in quite a while - i will have to reduce my excitable speech, minimize driving the metaphoric loops and the serpentines of associative writing.

....whereas others try to form a new, quite simplified religion for a contemporary feeling/form of expression/culture which i might share: i don't intend to continue writing the verses of my individual bible. although some believers are obviously touching faith in the church of miriam, i ain't no personal goddess after all, not even of writing....

therefore: why don't i follow beloved m. july's directives? of course i should only learn to love myself more than others, but preparing some instructions of how to give significance to the arbitrary could be a new form of communication. no confessions anymore, but advices from a dangerous mind...

...although i don't have any red doors, i will now close mine for a bit of black painting.
- i shall reopen with a new concept, a brighter mood, but the same jagger-esque bigmouth...