Sunday, April 28, 2013

4.28.13: US tries drones in Caribbean drug fight 27/04/13 21:10 from Caribbean Business | 3 million NewYoricans vs. 3.6 million Puerto Ricans... Statehood has not worked for poor stateside "Ricans" - by Jorge

Photo: Jack Vettriano. The Critical Hour of 3 am.

3 am is a friend of mine.


Mike Nova shared Mikhail Iossel's photo.
about an hour agoJack Vettriano. The Critical Hour of 3 am. 3 am is a friend of mine.


Photo: Vía Deportes El Nuevo Día: Danny García derrotó a Zab Judah por decisión unánime. Tarjetas 115-112, 114-112 y 116-111.


about an hour ago: Vía Deportes El Nuevo Día: Danny García derrotó a Zab Judah por decisión unánime. Tarjetas 115-112, 114-112 y 116-111.


Photo: Misters of Puerto Rico en ruta a la final http://bit.ly/10ISeOJ

13 hours agoMisters of Puerto Rico en ruta a la final http://bit.ly/10ISeOJ



» US Employs Drones In Caribbean Drug War - Fox News Latino

27/04/13 15:40 from latino - Google News
US Employs Drones In Caribbean Drug War Fox News Latino ABOARD THE HIGH SPEED VESSEL SWIFT – A common tactic employed by drug runners in the Caribbean is to dump their cargo overboard if spotted by surveillance aircraft, hoping any chance ..




» Statehood has not worked for poor stateside "Ricans".

28/04/13 02:21 from 
8 Comments, last updated on Saturday Apr 27 by Jorge


» 3 million NewYoricans vs. 3.6 million Puerto Ricans.
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» Does Kirsten Gillibrand truly represent Bronx's NewYoricans?
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» Bronx' poor NewYoricans have to break generations poverty cycle.
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» a pasar la página de la pena capital
28/04/13 08:26 from Opinión - El Nuevo Día
a pasar la página de la pena capital El secretario de Justicia de Estados Unidos, Eric Holder, tiene el emplazamiento moral de un pueblo unido a que declare en moratoria administrativa las peticiones de pena de muerte en Puerto Rico, como ..

» Servicios 
28/04/13 03:34 from Opinión - El Nuevo Día
Servicios Subástalo Destape Legislativo Haití a un año del sismo Resumen de la década A un año de CAPECO Tu planilla PR Radiografía 2012 Obama en Puerto Rico Serie Narcolazo 60 años del ELA Puerto Rico News Mapa De Sitio Internacionales El..



» I found Harlem Yulin ... in Orlando
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6 Comments, last updated on Saturday Apr 27 by LongIslander1987
» US tries drones in Caribbean drug fight
27/04/13 21:10 from Caribbean Business
US tries drones in Caribbean drug fight This post has been generated by Page2RSS 
» US Tries New Aerial Tools in Caribbean Drug Fight - ABC News
27/04/13 20:18 from caribbean - Google News
ABC News US Tries New Aerial Tools in Caribbean Drug Fight ABC News Drug smugglers who race across the Caribbean in speedboats will typically jettison their cargo when spotted by surveillance aircraft, hoping any chance of prosecuting them..


» Haitian-American writer gets prestigious Caribbean literature award - Jamaica Gleaner
28/04/13 01:11 from caribbean - Google News
Haitian-American writer gets prestigious Caribbean literature award Jamaica Gleaner The Third Congress of Caribbean Writers came to a climax on the fourth and final day of its activities with the announcement of this year's winner of t..


» Old Cinemas in Puerto rico
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» San Juan mayor fosters Latina power in Orlando
27/04/13 18:21 from Puerto Rico News
From left, Alejandra Castillo, Deputy Director, Minority Business Development Agency, Carmen Yulin Cruz, Mayor of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Maria Matilde Londono, Consulate General of Colombia, sit on a panel discussion during the Latinas..


Photo: "i'm not gay, although i wish i were, just to piss off homophobes"
kurt cobain

"i'm not gay, although i wish i were, just to piss off homophobes"

kurt cobain


» PR does it better among equals in Latin America.
27/04/13 22:35 from 
14 Comments, last updated on Saturday Apr 27 by BrooklynAmerican


» For Some Young Latinos: Donkey Jaws And Latino Roots - NPR (blog)
28/04/13 05:58 from latino - Google News
NPR (blog) For Some Young Latinos : Donkey Jaws And Latino Roots NPR (blog) That's why we're sharing this report, about retro-acculturation, from our friends at Latino USA. The process of integrating into mainstream America is a co..




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Mike Nova shared a link via The New York Times.
13 hours ago


April 25, 2013
Yes, I Really Am Bisexual. Deal With It.
By WILSON DIEHL
When I told Jared I’m bisexual, he couldn’t, or at least didn’t, hide his discomfort.

“Why do you have to announce it like that, like it’s still relevant?” he asked, his eyes darting around the restaurant as if he were on the lookout for gun-toting bigots or maybe a pack of lesbians (in sensible shoes) poised to drag me off and feed me herbal tea. “When we get married and have kids, it won’t matter who we dated before we met.”

He spoke with such dazzling confidence, I breezed right past his bold assumptions. This ambitious, unapologetic doctor who apparently was going to become my husband had a point. I didn’t want to hear about his ex-girlfriends beyond what terrible lovers and inadequate friends, cooks and travel companions they were. Why would he want to hear about mine?

But I wasn’t looking to chronicle my romantic escapades. I was clarifying my identity. I like men and I like women. That way. I’m attracted to both, fantasize about both, have dated and kissed and enjoyed sex with both. I like the soft roundedness I’ve found in women, the scratchy ridiculousness I’ve found in men, and the culinary generosity I’ve found in both.

If you lined up 100 people I’m physically drawn to, maybe only 4 would be women, but the depth of attraction I’d feel for those women would be the same as for the men. This was true when I was 23 and entered my first romantic relationship (with a woman), and it’s true now that I’m 38. I do not think of myself as 4 percent lesbian but 100 percent bisexual.

“I’m not saying I want to be with men and women at the same time or alternate back and forth,” I told Jared, cocking my head like a parakeet in an attempt to make eye contact. “And I’m not suggesting, like, threesomes. My longest relationship was with a woman, and I pictured a wedding, trips to Europe, raising kids. I’ve been to couples’ counseling with a woman. So yeah, it’s relevant.”

Over the next few weeks, as I felt myself falling quickly under Jared’s self-assured spell, I became terrified of clasping his hand and stepping onto the hetero-normative conveyor belt: engagement, wedding, mortgage, children, evenings on the couch watching a bunch of straight people behave just like us on TV. My woman-loving side would be obliterated, and with it a piece of myself.

Once I was committed to this man, how would anyone know I also liked women unless I went out of my way to tell them? And under what circumstances would I do that? If I was going to hitch my star to Jared’s till death did us part, I had to still honor the jeans-wearing, boot-stomping, Ani DiFranco-loving, I-don’t-need-no-man side of myself.

Early on, I’d made coming out part of my routine. First date: Reveal introverted bookishness (usually made obvious by my cat-eye glasses and social awkwardness). Second date: Pet heavily. Third date: Announce bisexuality.

No matter how open-minded I believed my companion to be, the coming-out conversation was always excruciating. I was a sweaty, self-conscious mess, having no idea what reaction I would get. Would I feel as if I was seen and heard and accepted and embraced — the whole object of the painful, naked-making horror show that is dating? Or would I get metaphorically punched in the gut, shamed for merely being who I am? Would she shrug? Would he think it was hot?

“So you’re, like, one of those four-year lesbians,” one guy said in the middle of a make-out session — no matter that all my relationships, gay and straight, have taken place after college.

“I think you’re just too timid to face your deepest personal truth,” one woman told me as she reached for my shirt buttons.

A man I was on the verge of loving said he was “totally cool with it” — so long as I didn’t mention anything to his parents.

Would they next ask me to explain why I can’t choose, to untangle the mystery of how I can be drawn with equally lusty force to both Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal? Who can explicate their attractions, their fantasies, their loves?

I could say I like variety, but I always get a manhattan, in a lowball glass if possible. I could claim I’m on the prowl for new experiences, but usually I’d rather stay home and read a book. I could profess to love ambiguity, but nothing drives me crazier than trying to follow the “plot” of an art-house film.

It’s true that I gravitate toward seeming contradictions — a buff, heavily tattooed guy stooping to pet a kitten, or a delicate, longhaired woman with perfect makeup pounding a bunch of nails — but that only explains so much.

Bisexual people have gotten a bad rap for so long. To some, we’re confused sex maniacs who love threesomes, hate monogamy and spread AIDS to straight people. We’re totally gay but too petrified to admit it, or we’re totally straight and “just going through a phase.”

Protective friends counseled me not to mention my orientation until later in the wooing process. “Why scare people off?” they would say. “Not everyone’s as comfortable with the whole ‘bi’ thing as you.”

They suggested it might be better to let people fall for me before I came clean, so when I did, my love interest would already be too smitten to dump me (the same advice, I imagined, given to registered sex offenders and convicts on parole).

But waiting until someone likes me before I share potentially hard-to-swallow aspects of myself has never been my style.

Jared contacted me on an online dating site, and before we had even met I told him via e-mail that I hate tofu, sausage and girlie cocktails; I’m sensitive about textures, depictions of violence and buzzing noises; and even though I was only 32, I was wary he would indicate on his profile that his age cutoff for women was 36, a full two years younger than he was. What was the deal with that?

My declarations and pushy questions made him wonder if he was pursuing the wrong woman, and he required a glass of Jack Daniel’s and a phone consult with his mother before e-mailing me back. Still, he agreed to meet me. And in the six years of our relationship, I’ve never once had to pretend to enjoy a tofu-sausage scramble and frozen daiquiri while watching “Pulp Fiction.”

Better to be upfront, I knew, than trick him into believing I was a stiletto-wearing hetero girl, only to reveal my true self after the honeymoon, once we were married and pregnant and had everything to lose. What if he found the whole thing — found me — too threatening and weird?

By the time I dropped the B-bomb, on our third date, Jared was well prepared for my proclamations of selfhood. And he did not run away screaming. Instead, he eventually bought a sparkly vintage ring, proposed on a tiny Hawaiian beach, got me pregnant on Valentine’s Day, and declared before our closest friends and family that he would love me in sickness, health and, I have to assume, in moments when I’m crushing on some woman.

In our little family, Jared is more or less the sole breadwinner, and I’m usually at home making sure our two children don’t stick their diminutive flatware in the outlets — which is to say, our roles aren’t just hetero-normative but old-school hetero-normative.

Is it strange that I call myself bisexual even though he and I have been married for four years and I haven’t so much as held hands with a woman in seven or eight? Is it reasonable for me to claim queerness when I’ve benefited so much from heterosexual privilege: shared health insurance, uncomplicated baby-making, implicit legal guardianship, inarguable life insurance beneficiaries, a federally recognized union?

Strange or not, reasonable or not, it is what I am. And because my bi-ness seldom has occasion to come up organically, I intermittently bring it up apropos of nothing. “I can’t pick a restaurant — I’m bisexual,” I’ll say. Or “I’m wearing jeans and a skirt today because, you know, I’m bisexual.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Jared asked the last time I did this, feigning nonchalance.

“Pretty great,” I said with a smile I tried to make reassuring. Then I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “When we’re old and the kids have forced us into a nursing home, it could work out particularly well, given how much older you are and the fact that women live longer than men.”

Even when I’m gray and wrinkled and have had my life forcibly downsized and my driver’s license revoked and my wardrobe reduced to velour loungewear, I will still go both ways. And when I’m an octogenarian, I’m sure I’ll find sensible shoes to be an even bigger turn-on than I already do.

WILSON DIEHL, who lives in Seattle, is working on a collection of essays. 


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Photo: En portada: A tres décadas del cierre de las petroquímicas en el sur, arranca un plan para usar esas tierras.





En portada: A tres décadas del cierre de las petroquímicas en el sur, arranca un plan para usar esas tierras.

Pedro Almodóvar: 'It's my gayest film ever' - The Observer


Pedro Almodóvar: 'It's my gayest film ever'

He's one of cinema's most visionary directors, and his films have shaped the way we see his country. So how does Pedro Almodóvar choose to portray Spain's catastrophic economic crisis? With an outrageous, sex-sozzled farce
Pedro Almodovar promoting his new film 'The Fleeting Lovers', Madrid, Spain - 18 Feb 2013
Pedro Almodovar: 'I wanted this to be a wacky comedy, something escapist.' Photograph: Agencia EFE/Rex Features
Pedro Almodóvar is hobbling. He is also hopping mad. He has come into his Madrid office – where visitors are greeted by a massive album of Helmut Newton nudes – despite surgery on his knee the day before. Hence the hobble. But what really hurts him is that, forced to rest from his normally hectic routine of scriptwriting, the director has spent his convalescence watching the news. "Some days I try not to see the news at all," he says. "But yesterday I couldn't avoid it. It is all horrific."
Almodóvar's day in front of the television consuming endless stories of the country's economic woes, which have left a quarter of Spaniards out of work, has made him indignant. "I think the country as a whole is worried about social unrest breaking out," he tells me. "I certainly am. Every day that goes by, I get the impression that there is further provocation." But, he reassures me, "That doesn't mean I am inciting anyone to violence. Quite the opposite. I'd invite everyone to react – but in the most peaceful way possible."
As Spain's most famous film director – the Oscar-winning auteur of dramas such as Talk to Her and Volver, which range from melancholic to subversive to downright twisted – you can imagine Almodóvar's anger being expressed in dark ways. Witness The Skin I Live In, his most recent and arguably most chilling film to date. But at 63, Almodóvar has other plans. "I like the idea of helping people to have fun," he says, "because the atmosphere right now is so very bleak." And so the creator of Broken Embraces and Bad Education offers us his latest film – a screwball comedy set in a transatlantic jet, full of mile-high blow jobs and dancing cabin stewards camping it up to the Pointer Sisters (their signature song "I'm So Excited" provides the English title – in Spanish, it's called Los amantes pasajeros). And box office results in Spain suggest Almodóvar has judged the mood perfectly – the film gave him his best opening weekend performance ever.
In Madrid I've heard it approvingly referred to as a mariconada – a sort of irreverent campfest. Almodóvar's first return to pure comedy in 25 years, since Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, is a piece of extravagant, kitsch entertainment which he joyfully calls "my gayest film ever". It's also a return to the style of his early successes, when he burst on to the scene as a colourful purveyor of lavish, gleeful, hedonistic transgression. Gags include a clairvoyant losing her virginity by riding a sleeping, but aroused, fellow passenger, and the semen flecks left on a cabin steward's face after he locks himself into a cramped bathroom cubicle with the captain.
But the film can also be taken as a metaphor for ailing, recession-struck Spain itself. "I wanted this to be a wacky comedy, something escapist," says Almodóvar. "But it is true there are things that chime with the times." An aircraft circles aimlessly in the sky, its landing carriage damaged, awaiting the go-ahead for a crash landing. The crew and first-class passengers drown their sorrows, confess their sins and indulge in mescaline-fuelled sex while the tourist class drifts into ignorant, drug-induced slumber. Almodóvar himself was surprised at how the surreal backstories of the film's main characters – who include a crooked banker fleeing the country and a call girl who claims to have a compromising videotape of the king – increasingly resonate with the things Spaniards read daily in their newspapers.
"There was always the metaphor of a Spain that doesn't know where it is heading, that doesn't know where to land or who will be in charge, nor what the dangers are," he says. But he did not foresee the raft of corruption cases that have since afflicted everything from prime ministerMariano Rajoy's conservative People's Party to King Juan Carlos's family. "Since we shot it, the film has actually gained in metaphoric relevance," he says.
Link to video: Watch an exclusive trailer for Pedro Almodóvar's I'm So Excited
Almodóvar's thick, vertically groomed bush of hair is now completely grey and his face is underscored by an equally grey beard. He wears it all with the same panache as, say, Albert Einstein – but it is a reminder, along with the knee, that age is catching up. Indeed there is something of the ageing rock star about him, as if the spirit of youthful rebellion cannot quite be cast off. He certainly exudes verbal energy – I could have got through an hour-long interview with just a handful of questions – but manages to avoid being either overbearing or arrogant. After decades of praise and adoration, he might easily have grown a bigger head. A last-minute plea not to make him sound as if he has been trashing Spain, which brought him rushing back out of his office after we had finished, was a reminder that he still cares what people think about him.
Almodóvar himself has long been the symbol of a more playful, upbeat Spain, one that emerged from decades of darkness and moral strictures under Franco's dictatorship in the mid-1970s to become a vibrant democracy. He was born in the rust-red flatlands of La Mancha, home toDon Quijote. His father Antonio traded in oil and wine, loading up a mule and carting it away for sale. But Pedro did not fit into his father's version of the masculine world. His mother Francisca, who occasionally appeared in his films before her death in 1999, was his key reference point. She earned pocket money by composing letters for illiterate neighbours. Like her son, she enjoyed embellishing. "The improvisations were a great lesson for me," he wrote after her death. "They established the difference between fiction and reality, and how reality needs fiction to be complete, more pleasant, more liveable.''
Almodóvar's brother Agustín, who doubles as his producer, once described their birth village of Calzada de Calatrava as "the sort of place where people spend their whole lives saving up for a decent headstone in the cemetery". Almodóvar himself has called it "a harsh place where nobody understood sensuality, the joy of life or even the idea of colour". His entire career can seem a rebellion against that (although many die-hard Almodóvar fans argue his best film is Volver, a story about superstition and death shot in a town close to Calzada de Calatrava and starring Penélope Cruz in her best role yet).
Close to where Almodóvar grew up is one of the country's dullest cities, Ciudad Real, and it's here that much of I'm So Excited! was filmed – at an abandoned airport that is one of Spain's infamous architectural white elephants, part of the glittering detritus left by a decade of extravagance, financial corruption and delusions of political grandeur.
"That airport cost more than €1bn to build and is totally useless," says Almodóvar. "All you see are a couple of rabbits hopping along what is Spain's longest runway. Some minister has produced a list of 17 airports like that one in La Mancha – they represent the megalomania of our politicians and unscrupulous financiers over the past decade."
Walk of Fame in Spain - PhotocallThree amigos: Almodovar with Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem Photograph: Pablo Blazquez Dominguez/WireImage
The international airport, which was supposed to welcome 2 million passengers a year, eventually sank the local savings bank. "Somehow they convinced my fellow Manchegos that people from across the world would catch flights straight to the heart of La Mancha," says Almodóvar. "But who wants to fly there?"
In some ways, Almodóvar's own journey is a reflection of Spain's own. He reached the big city in his teens, experiencing a surge of liberation after the claustrophobic atmosphere of village life and schools run by Roman Catholic priests. And when the so-called movida madrileña – an anarchic, anything-goes, party-crazed movement – set the Spanish capital's nightlife ablaze in the 80s, Almodóvar became its master of ceremonies and lasting icon. He is also one of its few real cultural products.
"We were drunk on optimism and freedom," Almodóvar remembers. "We weren't really conscious that Spain was taking such a huge leap forward for a country that was traditionally so divided and fratricidal. I was able to reinvent my life as if I had been newly born." There was something innocent – even ingenuous – about that time, despite its avowedly hedonistic nature. Almodóvar started making short, often soundless but sex-obsessed Super-8 films with titles like The Fall of Sodom. His first commercial film, Pepi, Luci, Bom, was written in his free time while he was holding down a desk job at a telephone company. He would take unpaid leave to go filming, then return to his job and weep. But he had definitively swapped the moral corset of Catholic rural Spain for personal and artistic freedom.
"We are all worse off now," he says glumly. "And we have all become worse people, too. If a filmmaker wanted to get started the way I did in the 80s, they would find it impossible. There is too much competition. I don't want to sound nostalgic, it's just that everything has changed." Almodóvar is part of that change. The man who used to dress up in fishnets and leather miniskirts to front a glam-punk band now does yoga classes.
His sisters still visit the chapel in Calzada de Calatrava to light candles and pray whenever he is nominated for an Oscar. The prayers worked their magic in 2000, when All About my Mother took the best foreign film award, and again in 2003, when he won best original screenplay for Talk to Her – a rare honour for a non-English-speaking director. But his lionisation by New York critics and Cannes festival crowds is too much for some Spaniards, who cannot see why this apparent eccentric – in reality a disciplined and driven worker – should come to represent Spain to foreigners; Almodóvar has joined a list of other great mould-breakers, including Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dalí, who won greater respect abroad than at home.
A study by Spanish academics has claimed that his characters were off their heads on alcohol or drugs 14% of the time (I'm So Excited! can only have raised that percentage). A total of 170, mostly female, characters were regular drug users. Almodóvar says the study left him with "a Kafkaesque sensation of fear, disgust, astonishment, fury and indignation", for there is nothing he dislikes more than puritan moralism. He is, however, zealous about political ethics: he once issued orders banning Silvio Berlusconi's companies from distributing his films in Italy. Even José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, the former socialist prime minister who made Spain the third country in the world (after Holland and Belgium) to embrace gay marriage in 2009, has let him down by pandering to the prophets of austerity. "It is not just disappointment. His last four years were a monumental disaster."
Almodóvar is also famous for putting female characters at the centre of his films. Penélope Cruz may only have a cameo role alongside Antonio Banderas in I'm So Excited! – laying on a thick, lisping Andalusian accent – but her presence is a reminder of how Almodóvar has made her career, and why he now has a long list of famous actresses begging for parts. Eva Mendes is the latest to have admitted asking him to direct her.
"All my life great actresses have been asking me for roles – there is an infinite number," he admits. He thinks this is because he wrote so many great female parts in the 90s, when Hollywood was ignoring its best actresses.
"They realise that I don't just write good female roles, but that I also work hard with the actresses. Great actresses are often condemned to working on their parts on their own. When big stars who don't speak Spanish ask me for roles I imagine they are thinking of me as a director who spends more than half of his time during shooting and pre-production working with the actors. They think: 'I want someone who forces me to work, who makes me jump without a parachute, but is there looking after my security.' I have never made a film in English, but one reason would be to work with some of these actresses, who I adore."
One of several half-written scripts he keeps on the boil is for a New York film, but he admits the chances of it being shot are fading. "I am a bit old to change language and culture," he says. "It might be too late to start trying that sort of thing." He describes I'm So Excited! as a Mediterranean comedy, sharing elements with the kind of Italian comedies in which a ruffled Sophia Loren would lose her cool. "We have sharp tongues, but it doesn't mean we really want bad things to happen to the person we are talking to," he says. "There is a shameless lack of inhibition in the way the characters act and speak. They shout and lose their composure, heatedly saying exactly what they feel. It's not that we are more sincere than the British, or that they are more hypocritical; it is just that we are less able to keep our mouths shut. And that is great for comedy."
With more than a dozen successful films and two Oscars, you might think Almodóvar was immune to the darts hurled by some critics. But that is clearly not the case. A famous feud with El País film critic Carlos Boyero led the director to call for the paper to send someone else to the Cannes festival in 2009. Indeed, reading a bitchy Boyero review before seeing Almodóvar's latest film has become, for some Spanish cinemagoers, an integral part of the entertainment. Writing of I'm So Excited!, Boyero complained about its "infantile" humour, and compared it to the tacky offerings of Mariano Ozores, a prolific Spanish director of spicy 1970s comedies with a touch of the Carry On.
Has Almodóvar seen the review? "No, I haven't read it," he says. He certainly used to read Boyero – there's a well-known exchange of letters with the newspaper's ombudsman that still sits on his blog. "For the past 30 years one of Boyero's functions in life has been to rubbish my films," Almodóvar says. "I don't think El País should let him use his job to do that."
But it's Britain, he says, that has been one of the toughest nuts to crack, with critics and audiences initially unwilling to look beyond the scandalous sexual edge to many of his films. "I am having wider success there now," he tells me. "They have got tired of being shocked by the films and find it easier to get close to them."
British viewers of I'm So Excited! may find it hard to understand the subtext of Spain's crisis, but they have their own concerns about the economic future. Perhaps Almodóvar's semen-specked Spanish screwball humour will lift them, too, out of their gloom.
I'm So Excited! is out on 3 May