"She Looks Like An Angel of Gawd"

Quote of the Day

You blew up every single financial vessel we had and if you think you aren't personally responsible, well, the blame starts at the top. There is no higher top than you, SIR! If I were you, I would feel so absolutely horrific that I would take every penny I had and distribute it to anybody and everybody to help them in whatever way I could. You owe the American people every penny of your fortune and your family's fortune.

- Suze Orman, to former president George W. Bush

Yes Courtney, But How Do You Spell "Kat"?

I'm perpetually on the fence about Courtney Love. It's an empathic curse in which every time I think about her, I get just as crazy in the head as she. Sometimes I think she killed Kurt, sometimes I think she's a genius, sometimes I worry about Frances. I just go all over the map, not unlike her.

I read a fluff piece in Nylon (as if there's any other kind) about Myspace and celebrity. Lady Gaga gushed over Love and her blogs. Here is her latest. I don't understand it and I don't understand her and I don't think I ever will.

Best Thing Going (For Friday)

Resolutions!

It Caused A Reflection

If you've never had tea (or coffee, or whiskey, or sex) with someone that resembled this in the slightest, well, then, you haven't lived.

Google Image Diptych(ish) For Thursday

Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

I hear tell that Spike Jonze is deep in a live-action adaptation of Maurice Sendak's 1963 children's book Where the Wild Things Are. I was obsessed with this book as a child. It struck me with both fear and awe, a combination of sentiments that I am still fond of as a grown up. I was always moved by stories that involved suddenly stumbling into alternate realities; and, as such, I also went nutty over C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series and Madeleine L'Engle's Time Quartet series. I'm also still a fan of stumbling into alternate realities, which perhaps I'll do before I go see this film. Don't fuck it up, Spike!

Verses

"Wynken, Blynken, and Nod"
Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe---
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea---
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish---
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam---
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea---
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Folk Art For Thursday (Part II)

Thursday mornings at my place of work are always a bit daunting, but then the new issue of InTouch was the first thing I saw when I walked in today. Everything going on here is pure gold. Wearing cut off shorts truly is Jessica Simpson's triumph.

Jim Jam Jem

Folk Art for Thursday

The Exception

I find Twitter really gross, because I crave anonymity and disconnection and, you know, aloneness a good bit of the time. And this 21st century hunger for ACCESS freaks me out (I don't have a Facebook or MySpace profile). Obviously I write on this blog, but I know my audience is a pretty closed circuit and there's a difference between openness and overloading everyone with a torrent of insignificant, obsessive personal information. I write about things and experiences in essay form and showcase musics and images; I don't regale you good people with artless "blurbs" about what I am doing and eating and thinking minute by minute. But, then again, Twitter is simply a format, and smart, fantastic people can do smart and fantastic things within its bounds. At least, Chris Walken can. Here are two recent tweets:

I claim to be frightened of horses but do so only to get out of attending parades. It's peculiar but has served me well. The horses get it.

I made a little pimp outfit and put it in the yard. The bluejay hasn't come back since. Some weird shit going on with the squirrels though.

Dunzo

I've been meaning to write a post about Gossip Girl's blatant shark-jumping for a while now. The show has been downright dull, and when they took a month's vacation in February, I felt no pangs. This is exactly when (midway through a second season) The O.C., creator Josh Schwartz's last teen drama effort, lost steam (it came back for a genius final, fourth season, but that was largely due to some heart-full character development that hot-airy GG has always lacked). Rolling Stone has put the two comely female leads on their cover in a miserable effort to keep "buzz" going as interest falls away. The picture is really gross (I'm embarrased for these girls!). I mean, whose dick is that ice-cream cone supposed to be?

This "buzz" stuff is not fuel enough for a moldy, feathered, brainless jive-turkey like Gossip Girl; no amount of press and costumery can undo bad writing and boredom, or the new, "recessed" American psyche. Whatever.

Police

So, I know I shouldn't dedicate so much space to things that I dislike or disapprove of (as opposed to loves and happy discourse), but this is a blog after all and that's what blogs are made of--snips and snails and tails. Worse still, I want to lambaste another blog, Jezebel, one that I both read (God save me) and have previously attempted to rip. When I started reading the "Lady Gawker," I sought relief from Perez Hilton, from the world of gay, woman-hating nega-nega-tivity. And Jezebel certainly encouraged/encourages positivity and smart womenfolk and an embrace of high and low information. Whatever beef I have with them these days is a matter of commentors (who I should simply ignore) and one terrible, awful style blogger, a certain, Sadie. When, in my last post on this subject, I determined that the Jezebloggers have straight-up poor taste, I was referring to (among other things) this nut and her "Good, Bad, and Ugly" segment, a rundown of the red-carpets (a place usually divorced from beautiful clothes). Yesterday, Sadie unpacked the premiere of that Valentino film at MoMA. It was the clearest illustration of her crimes. She polices people, setting and encouraging the most boring, soul-wrenching NORMS. Her "Goods" are always boring, often tacky, occasionally agreeable. Her "Bads" and "Uglys" are sometimes justified, but often reveal this real fear of and revulsion over difference, strangeness, otherness, willful, funny, fun unflatteringness. Who says women have to wear appropriate and body-conscious clothes and pin-straight hair?--Sadie does. She criticizes the "power-jacket" and "Intellectual Fash" and "chutzpah." What a kill-joy. Fuck the PO-LICE.

Now I'll proceed to poach two stories (both of which will involve disapproval) from Jezebel. (I didn't say they were wholly useless, just unclever and limited in the taste-in-things department.)

I'm OK. You're OK.

There was this really bizarre time in Alpha's life (we call it junior high school), when he and his mother sat down together, quite purposefully, to watch the world premiere of this video. It was funny for a number of reasons, but most of all, because it aired (MTV was quite adamant about the event in its advertising) after the latest season finale of Daria. I know all of this because two VHS recordings of that entire day on MTV still rest safely on a shelf right next to me.

In any event, Madonna did one of her last 'greatest things,' and Mama Alpha looked at lil' cherubic Alpha and said, "Oh, that's clever, because the song kinda fits Daria."

She paused and then said quite loudly (though still under her breath), "Goodness, you're both so much alike...".

A millions years later, Pillow and Alpha dragged Able back to Memphis during an especially long December; we entered her family estate, and she played this song right quick. I said "good call," and had a moment. We all did.

You have to wonder...

Verses

"You Better Get To Livin'"
Dolly Parton (2008)

People always comin' up to me and askin'
"Dolly, what's your secret?
With all you do, your attitude
Just seems to be so good
How do you keep it?"
Well, I'm not the Dalai Lama, but I'll try
To offer up a few words of advice.

You better get to livin', givin'
Don't forget to throw in a little forgivin'
And lovin' on the way
You better get to knowin', showin'
A little bit more concerned about where you're goin'
Just a word unto the wise
You better get to livin'.

A girlfriend came to my house
Started cryin' on my shoulder Sunday evening
She was spinnin' such a sad tale
I could not believe the yarn that she was weavin'
So negative the words she had to say
I said if I had a violin I'd play.

I said you'd better get to livin', givin'
Be willing and forgivin'
Cause all healing has to start with you
You better stop whining, pining
Get your dreams in line
And then just shine, design, refine
Until they come true
And you better get to livin'.

Your life's a wreck, your house is mess
And your wardrobe way outdated
All your plans just keep on falling through
Overweight and under paid, under appreciated
I'm no guru, but I'll tell you
This I know is true.

You better get to livin', givin'
A little more thought about bein'
A little more willin' to make a better way
Don't sweat the small stuff
Keep your chin up
Just hang tough
And if it gets too rough
Fall on your knees and pray
And do that everyday
Then you'll get to livin'.

The day we're born we start to die
Don't waste one minute of this life
Get to livin'
Share your dreams and share your laughter
Make some points for the great hereafter.

Better start carin'
Better start sharin'
Better start tryin'
Better start smiling
And you better get to livin'...

Happy Hangover!

New A&P theme song.

Aural Triptych For Tuesday

Happy St. Paddy's Day

Negative

Even more reason to use a Diva Cup!

Party! Party! Join Us! Join Us!

Google Image Diptych For Monday

They must have loved her in Charlottesville.

Alright, just a bit more about people I disagree with (and find ugly)...
It seems that some really sad, persnickety British people are upset about Gordon Brown and Co.'s recent White House guest experience, particularly the gifts they received from their hosts, the Obamas. I love a tradition, but I'm not so keen on policing formal rules of engagement--people ought to give gifts whenever the spirit moves. But if we're getting down to the technical stuff, isn't it the guest that typically gives a gift to the host, not the other way around? You come to someone's home and you give them a gift in return for their hospitality, warmth, food, wine, beds. Granted, it seems a little off for the President to be giving the Prime Minister a collection of DVDs...but this is all beside the point, a smidgen of background information.

The real object here is the much sadder and persnicketyer American essayist and famed "anti-feminist," Caitlin Flanagan, formerly of The New Yorker (Lord knows why). She's penned a piece for New York Magazine's dippy Michelle Obama issue about how "frazzled" and "tasteless" our new First Lady is (as evidenced by the gift-giving fiasco and what she terms "her big-and-tall gal ready-to-wear"). What?! Odder still, Flanagan attempts to pass off her catty, inaccurate criticism as some sort of positive recognition of the new values of a new economy. All schlock. I've never seen Ms. Obama appear the least bit "frazzled," on the contrary she's slick as can be, clean, brightly attired, young, healthy, brilliant, confident, chicer than most of her predecessors, a stunning mannequin for American Sportswear. And I'm sorry, but I still haven't gotten over the whole first black family in the White House thing, the breathless joy of overcoming historical binds and limitations (essentially, wholly beautiful). Also, they've come to us as equals; Mr. and Mrs. President Obama exude such professional and personal/parental respect for one another (and a good share of discernible passion). I just think there are loads of reasons why Michelle Obama is terribly chic and stylish and beautiful and perfect for right now not because of some malarkey about the lowered standards of a recession but because she is strong and smart and hope-inducing and independent and bold (things we need a dose of when the chips are down). There is supreme substance in our First Lady's stylishness.

Refer to the picture above (of the errantly critical Flanagan)...who does she think she is doling out opinions on taste and style? I mean, really?! The woman seems shrill, corny, confused, stilted, beige, and self-loathing. And, ugh, the orchid in the fireplace. Can you stand it?

Is this site funded by Walmart? Or Israel?

Papa Able (comically) forwarded me a link to a wildly uncritical piece of art criticism on GirlieGirlArmy.com--"Your Guide to Glamazon Living," and I'm...lost and appalled! First, the truly creepy paintings. Then, the description of the "saintlike," "supermodel gorgeous," wheelchair-bound artist. Then the odd promise of "Glitterati" being present at the March opening. Then the unflaggingly sycophantic comment thread. Who/What/How is the Girlie Girl Army?!

They appear to be a couple of thirty-ish New York JAPs who are vegan and plan parties...? I've found a quite funny interview with one of them, a certain Chloe Jo (a clear, Clubland pseudonym--the woman claims to have been raised Orthodox). There is so much fishy stuff happening: this eating-disorder-parading-about-as-GREENness, this definitively tacky Carrie Bradshaw 'fabulosity' and 'glamour' bullshit that refuses to die, and worst--this gaping absence of negative press regarding Chloe Jo's fakaktah schemes and notions. Am I going to end up on some kind of (Zionist) Watch List for posting this haterized account?

The Army's "Generals" are posed as women "brave enough" to claim that you can "look hot and save the world at the same time." Like, you can go to PETA rallies and also subscribe to mass-culturally defined beauty ideals (like thinness and orangeness and Japanese straightening treatmentsness) all at once--G-d damn thrills and chills. It's funny that someone so dedicated to saving beautiful animals and plants and airs is also so stringent and limited in her opinions of human beauty (and class). And what's with the military metaphor? It's dumb for me to even attempt to account for these broads. We have very different ideas--end of story. But I was alarmed by their site and mission and simply had to share with friends.

Sculpture (with a capital 'S')

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I'll Drink Your Bathwater, Baby

Silly-old-me just found out about this moments ago...

I'm OK. You're OK.

Chateau Frontenac

"Anyone have some downs?"