...And the award for Most Enchanting New Products goes to...

You know what we need right now?  I would never have guessed it myself, but having stumbled on it, I now know what just might be the greatest panacea for tired nerves one can imagine.

We may not have bacchanales on the scale of yesteryear on tap today, but I'm still indulging in a favorite Hallowe'en treat...

The riches available on the Youtube (however shadily, rights-wise) continue to astonish me. I had heard about this film, S*x by S*ondheim (obfuscating the title slightly in case any spiders are trawling to see if it's online - and in this case it even make is seem intriguingly improper, no?) when it came out, but having only Arabic-language satellite-TV at home, hadn't had the chance to see it. If by chance you haven't, grab the opportunity now. If you did, watch it again. It's worth it.

Just to show that it's not griping 24/7 hereabouts, something that's been making me exceedingly happy over the last day or so.

Are you a friend of Myrna's? If not, I think you ought to be.

If you're looking for a little escape, even for a few precious moments  - and in these parlous times, whom among us is not? - I really can't recommend anything better than the latest fantaisie from the prodigiously talented Mr. Ed Cachianes.

 The last time we checked in with musical prodigy Alaa Wardi, he was turning the semi-dross of Lorde's "Royals" into something rich and strange.

She was marketed as a character from the recent Disney Cinderella, one played in the film by Miss Cate Blanchett. As for me, though, I can't get past thinking of her as Lillian Hellman Barbie. Photos don't really do justice to her expression, which is something between peeved and not-suffering-fools-gladly - a feeling with which I suppose one really must feel some empathy...

Even in the midst of the clamorous, ridiculous, so often tedious parade that is Facebook, sometimes something stops you in your tracks. This went past a few days ago, and I've just spent a considerable amount of time tracking it down so that, in case you missed it, you too can spend a little time in a glamor-induced trance.

Great excitement, kids, in a small but avid corner of televisual fandom - the remarkable team behind YouTube's invaluable What's My Line? channel have uncovered a hitherto lost episode of every sensible person's favorite series!

I don't usually, magpie-like, post things I run across on other, infinitely more-trafficked sites, but over at his shiny new digs, dear JoeMyGod did us the favor yesterday of spreading the word about this gem, and I can't resist.

A little tableau en style Warhol, in honor of yesterday's good news.  Café regulars are well aware of my longstanding amusement with American's vinyl sweetheart...

A swirling combination of furs, cigarettes, cocktails, mascara, and long, searching glances - this extraordinary combination of Pre-Code clips and the music of Florence + the Machine combines as well as anything I've ever seen to answer the question:  Why does one so love film?

I first posted this a year ago today, when dear Miss Julia Child would have turned 100.  Today, when I'm distracted and a little sad, I find it has really cheered me up.

Oh, I know.  This one is all over the place and you've already seen it ten times today.  I don't care.  I think it's genius, and a fit and cheerful way to celebrate the centenary of someone whom I geniunely think a Great American, the late and so fondly remembered St. Julia of Child.  Gimmicky, I know, but catchy enough I can almost imagine it being performed in some other context - the lyric, for example, is both witty and, at least to me, oddly moving:

Freshness is essential;
That makes all the difference.
I like to smell something cooking -
It makes me feel at home!

Bring on the roasted potatoes!  Bring on the rosé! 
This is what good cooking is all about!

Cook and cook and keep on cooking!
This is the way to live!

Cook and cook and keep on cooking!
This is the way to eat!

Bon appétit!

Well, the good news is that, except for the books (no shelves yet) we've now opened all the boxes and unpacked almost all of them.

I'm more than a tad suspicious of the new movie Oz the Great and Powerful - let's face it, the track record for successful Oz films, while it dates back to the early silents, pretty much ends in 1939.

If nothing else, though, it has brought a welcome dose of Oziana back into the wider world, and I'm especially struck by the devotion illustrator Steve Murray has shown in documenting every single named character in every one of the canonical Oz books (above is just a detail, although it does include not only the biggies - Dorothy and her friends and a flying monkey - but a number of my personal favorites, including Princess Ozma, General Jinjur, Polychrome the Rainbow's Daughter, and the Queen of the Scoodlers among them).  The whole thing is pretty great, as well as a reminder that L. Frank Baum's world (as created by him and embellished by his successors) was infinitely more complex and whimsical than MGM's.  Bravo to the National Post for running it.

So - has anybody braved the prospect of two hours with James Franco and checked the new picture out?

We have, alas, returned from our little adventure in the exotic East.  Yes, the dogs were happy to see us (ditto Mrs. Galapatti-Da Silva, who in eight days had clearly had just about enough of them, bless her), but there's no denying that our winter holiday (and so the longer winter holidays) are over, and now the long slog toward summer is upon us.

We had an especially amusing last few hours in Thailand, however, having left the tranquil beach resort where we'd spent the last few days.  We met up with friends and filled out our experience as tourists in Bangkok by hitting the fabulous MBK center, a vast and quite wonderful emporium that is less mall a kind of concentration of Bangkok-ness, a six or so story conglomeration of discount electronics, market stalls, kiosks selling everything from Buddha heads to naughty devices, and pretty much anything you can imagine that you'd ever care to buy.  We went by tuktuk, as one does - I especially liked this gentleman's festive pink and white seats, which echoed the bright pink leopard print ceiling of the interior.


The MBK Center is tawdry and glossy and rather wonderful, as long as you don't think too closely about the implications of all those thousands of people and what looked to be about four emergency exits.


Seasonal decorations are everywhere in Bangkok, and MBK is no exception.  Oddly, in Thailand, Santa appears to have some sort of association with the space program, as he regularly appears, as here, in conjunction with what looks like SkyLab; satellite dishes and rockets also turn up here and there.


This gives no indication of either the density of the crowds or the intensity of the volume that envelopes you.  These corridors go on for what feels like three or four blocks.


Among other things, the place is a veritable festival of trayf.  I considered bringing a few of the manifold varieties of shredded, dried, and otherwise highly processed pork back with me to the Sandlands, just to see if they'd make it through, but decided that with a flight arriving at an ungodly hour of the morning, the last thing I needed would be a lengthy pig-related delay at Customs.


Dried fruit and other goodies proved to be much safer choices.


We found ourselves tempted by bling in many forms - these fine timepieces, for example, were being hawked by one stall proprietor as "A Number One Fakes!"  Some were so heavily encrusted that it was hard to tell fake what, exactly...

I had thought it would be hard to find trashier shoes than are found on sale at malls across the Sandlands.  I soon discovered that was I was quite, quite wrong.


Having been an aficionado of Engrish back in my Japanese days, I was happy to see that it's alive and well and living in Bangkok.  This sentiment could, I suppose, console us for forgoing the rhinestone watches.


Apparently, Amanda Lepore has a fast-food chain in Bangkok.  Who knew?


At a nearby eatery, a disconcertingly eager and seemingly cannibalistic pig advertises the delicacies to be found within.  Given Mr. Muscato's dietary proclivities, this joint was clearly off limits.


So we ended up at an excellent Japanese place nearby, drawn by its first-rate assortment of plastic examples of its offerings, and a good time was had by all.

We may not have gone for the watches, but we did very well on all kinds of tat, with which we plan to surprise and appall friends and acquaintances on a regular basis for the next few weeks - refrigerator magnets, novelty lighters, stuffed elephants in rainbow colors, and much, much more.

Within a few hours we were jetting back home, arriving to find the Sandlands surprisingly chilly (at least in comparison to Bangkok) and just about as dull as ever.  Tomorrow, it's back to the grindstone, but for now I'm holding on as firmly as possible to memories of mad malls, gilded temples, golden bar boys, and very nearly unwise amounts of excellent, ice-cold Singha beer...

Just a quick one, darlings, 'cause your Uncle Muscato has a new obsession - in my constant search for fodder for your entertainment and enlightenment, I've run across the extraordinary Mary Worth and Me, and I'm now hip-deep in the Worthiverse. 

If you can't get enough of meddling old biddies and comic-strip snark, you'll follow me right over.  You'll thank me - it's advice worthy (get it?) of Mary herself.

Okay, I admit it:  I'm vain.  Not overwhelmingly, and not all that much, any more, about my personal appearance.  There's only so much to be done, really, as one's sixth decade approaches, without making it the sole focus of your life - I'm tidy and I don't frighten people.  Who needs more?

No, what I'm vain about at the moment (aside from a couple of never-fail recipes, possibly), is this very blog.  I like it when people enjoy it, and I spend perhaps a shade too much time tracking its traffic.  If I had the energy and was more clued in, I would probably try to find ways to really pimp it out.  I'm perfectly aware that there's only so many people interested in a (to be kind, even to myself) untidily eclectic combination of terriers, mutterings about life in Arabia, olde-tyme stars 'n' royalties, and the like, but still.

So I sat up and took notice (at least metaphorically - we have been very lazy hereabouts of late) when I started noticing, recently, a string of visitors from somewhere new.  Quite a number of folks make their way to the Café from wonderful places like The Redundant Variety Hour, Peenee-world, the exotic fever dream that is Norma's Mitten Drinnen, and the Towers of Dolores DeLargo; there's still a surprisingly stream from TJB's sadly neglected Stirred Straight Up; despite pleading endlessly with MJ, I can't keep out the riffraff from Infomaniac; and I practically seem to be Google's go-to site for searchers after Adrian Maulana, Celia Hammond (despite her having graced us only once), and, inevitably (and unsettlingly almost always in all caps) MARISA BERENSON NUDE.  But this was something I'd not seen before.

So, I went with interest over to Male Pattern Boldness, and darlings, I was enchanted.  The site is a cornucopia of devotion to every conceivable aspect of the very kind of glamour I find most delightful, and its creator, Petter Lappin, is an acute, funny, and very charming host.  He is simultaneously deeply erudite and boundlessly enthusiastic about things like how best to accessorize '40s beachwear, or how to carry off tricky period accessories like snoods and stoles.  He recounts his adventures in creating from vintage patterns a staggering array of period costumes, and he brings into it all his own joy in what is clearly a deeply rewarding hobby as a seamster and style maven.  I'm deeply flattered that he's added l'il old me to his blogroll, and I'm pleased to see all new Gentle Readers coming this way.

So check it out.  Go.  Enjoy.

But do come back - and if you like what you find, tell your friends!