Oct 16, 2009
nor'easter
Fell in love with a junkie on the train this morning. He looked like my ex-boy and had blood on his shirt, dirty sneakers and a limp. It must be the weather. It must be my reproductive system. Una mezcla.
Oct 14, 2009
you heard it here first
“She’s a wreck, a mess, a disaster,” one tells Star. “She's an obituary waiting to happen.”
ouch
singles
"Successful"
Drake, feat. Lil' Wayne and Trey Songz
Pillow played this track for me a few weeks ago. I downloaded it and proceeded to study it (in all of its heavy hotness) on my iPod, on the train and the street. Drake, as most of y'all been knowing, is Jimmy, wheelchair-bound Degrassi heartthrob, one of a team of wholesome and compelling Canadian daytime television teens (cult-status beloved Stateside). He rhymed occasionally on the show. But, for many this year, it came as a surprise that he was recording an album under Lil' Wayne's aegis, clurrrb "canoodling" with Rihanna, generally being a rapstar. His summer single "Best I Ever Had" was big, especially with Young World, but I was unconvinced. I found it irritating and puerile. This guy, "Successful," on the other hand, has soul and weight (an aforementioned "heavy hotness"), lyrical punch--"My girl love me but fuck it my heart beat slow." The first bars are dungeon-ous, casting one into hazy depths, a backward, basement church. Trey's refrain is apathetic to the max, slow and careless, a supposition, an expression of vague desire for a vague property. Half Memphian, half Great Northern Jew (bestill my heart), Drake's stories are lingually street (I mean, spoken in the manner of most hip hop), but the meat of them and his point of view are pretty privileged, at ease. He is not a "striver" or even a pretend "striver." He doesn't want to fail; he wants recognition, "success," but he needs for nothing. He has swagger, but he has indecision also, a kind of waffle-y quality that is more the rakish, gambling-indebted "profligate son" of Anthony Trollope novels than gangsta'. He was never in a gang (outside of the Screen Actors Guild), and he's not going to pretend such (certainly not when Wayne is around). Kanye is similarly middle class, but he's such an inaccessible asshole. Drake is relatable, and that second verse has a chilled morosity that I find quite moving (Kanye is NEVER moving, never more than a shallow hipster, who crafts fine beats and hooks). Drake seems like a sort we've been seeing and will see more of, a post-hip hop hip hop artist. Of course, that last verse laid down by Weezy ("best rapper alive," born of the Deep South and Birdman and "hot blocks," traditionally [?] hip hop), after a brilliant pause, like a hidden track for the MP3 generation, is miles ahead of Drake's, full of pleasure and mannerisms and wordart (not -play). Maybe this track is a fluke for our young man, buoyed up by his betters? I hope not....I think not.
addendum: I was being over-tough on Kanye. For rhetoric? For T. Swift? One day soon, his antics might become sympathetic...only the most insecure sort of person postures so. He has a habit of cutting off his nose to spite his face, sort of eroding his substantial catalogue with a whole mess of braggadocio...pretty human, pretty sweet, really.
Drake, feat. Lil' Wayne and Trey Songz
Pillow played this track for me a few weeks ago. I downloaded it and proceeded to study it (in all of its heavy hotness) on my iPod, on the train and the street. Drake, as most of y'all been knowing, is Jimmy, wheelchair-bound Degrassi heartthrob, one of a team of wholesome and compelling Canadian daytime television teens (cult-status beloved Stateside). He rhymed occasionally on the show. But, for many this year, it came as a surprise that he was recording an album under Lil' Wayne's aegis, clurrrb "canoodling" with Rihanna, generally being a rapstar. His summer single "Best I Ever Had" was big, especially with Young World, but I was unconvinced. I found it irritating and puerile. This guy, "Successful," on the other hand, has soul and weight (an aforementioned "heavy hotness"), lyrical punch--"My girl love me but fuck it my heart beat slow." The first bars are dungeon-ous, casting one into hazy depths, a backward, basement church. Trey's refrain is apathetic to the max, slow and careless, a supposition, an expression of vague desire for a vague property. Half Memphian, half Great Northern Jew (bestill my heart), Drake's stories are lingually street (I mean, spoken in the manner of most hip hop), but the meat of them and his point of view are pretty privileged, at ease. He is not a "striver" or even a pretend "striver." He doesn't want to fail; he wants recognition, "success," but he needs for nothing. He has swagger, but he has indecision also, a kind of waffle-y quality that is more the rakish, gambling-indebted "profligate son" of Anthony Trollope novels than gangsta'. He was never in a gang (outside of the Screen Actors Guild), and he's not going to pretend such (certainly not when Wayne is around). Kanye is similarly middle class, but he's such an inaccessible asshole. Drake is relatable, and that second verse has a chilled morosity that I find quite moving (Kanye is NEVER moving, never more than a shallow hipster, who crafts fine beats and hooks). Drake seems like a sort we've been seeing and will see more of, a post-hip hop hip hop artist. Of course, that last verse laid down by Weezy ("best rapper alive," born of the Deep South and Birdman and "hot blocks," traditionally [?] hip hop), after a brilliant pause, like a hidden track for the MP3 generation, is miles ahead of Drake's, full of pleasure and mannerisms and wordart (not -play). Maybe this track is a fluke for our young man, buoyed up by his betters? I hope not....I think not.
addendum: I was being over-tough on Kanye. For rhetoric? For T. Swift? One day soon, his antics might become sympathetic...only the most insecure sort of person postures so. He has a habit of cutting off his nose to spite his face, sort of eroding his substantial catalogue with a whole mess of braggadocio...pretty human, pretty sweet, really.
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 12, 2009
rep yr city
It was a total success of a non-holiday (my job hates Italian-Americans and does not choose to recognize their tremendous contributions to New York and Society by letting me stay at home and watch Wendy Williams and The View and paint my nails and take a nap and maybe go out to dinner). An inspiring turn at Bobby's Dept. Store (in furnishings and clothings). Nice weather. Nice neighbors (one of whom thinks we have a future in BCAT). A Baltika at Volna with a view of the sea. A cheerful sweep for the Yank-els (and an introduction to that glamorous Twins coach imaged below). In short: many blessings, birdmen, benefactions, bounties, bonuses, Brooklyns.
Oct 11, 2009
Oct 10, 2009
Oct 9, 2009
today is the day
There is so much to talk about when we talk about FEMINISM. And blogs (yes, Jezebel) have gotten us talking more. Thank goodness. I hate hate it when people accuse me of overreacting. Oh I do! And I'll never put the kibosh on someone's testimony; we should always feel free to complain about the Patriarchy (about anything), if the spirit moves. And it's shocking (sick, really) the way so many men and women dismiss the very real imbalances, inequity in culture (in the way of gender and sexuality and class and race and...).
However, lately, in the past 48 hours, I've been more generous with misogynists. Por ejemplo, I read this bunk, bloggy list of "Actresses Past Their Due Date," which has gotten the populous riled up. The post-in-question is dumb and mean and terrible, a symptom of the worst sort of woman-hate (and age-ism and size-ism) implicit in our contemporary Media and Entertainment Industrial Complex. But it's odd. This guy is quite the apologist, going out of his way to compliment Anne Hathaway, use the word "lovely" (?!), while he denigrates other women. He, at once, calls Drew Barrymore "chubby" and scolds Helen Hunt for spreading that tricky anorexia disease. Um? Does he even want to write this? Is this a case of two voices--reluctant, down-on-his-luck freelancer and wicked, tow-the-party-line editor? Who knows. Whatever the origin of this piece, I found myself, as I read it and a fraction of the comments, less angry than I might have expected to be. I wondered: is this sort of petty/bitchy misogyny (propagated by boys and girls [self certainly included]) just a cry for help? Yes. Indeed.
Fourth Wave-ers (a lot of folks) tend to dislike Naomi Wolf, and I don't know why. She makes a lot of sense to me (and I'm sympathetic because people always accuse her of being too generalizing and groundless and I am both of those things so much of the time but it just does not mean either of us are wrong, when we don't traffick in "concrete evidence" and [ooooof] science). Her platform on sex+The Youth, the content of a book called Promiscuities, is particularly stirring. In it, she regards my generation (and some a bit younger) wholly, regardless of gender, as suffering under the burden of loosened sexual mores (via interviews with college students). Sure. I think about this a lot--this bleak expanse of young men and women eschewing intimacy and comfort and self-care and self-respect, because, to be casual and "promiscuous" is the current norm. In theory, the sexual revolution is "the new" Oppressor, or it's become another vehicle for the same old problems, demands. I think some readers find her claims to be backward, an argument that we (especially women) do not enjoy sex, do not choose freely and happily to have sex. I don't think this is the case....I think Wolf's stance is no threat to healthy, liberated sex and our belief in its existence....both are real, you know? I have desires, valid and fantastic ones (of course). But I (and plenty of other men and women I know) have had sex I did not really want to have with people I don't particularly like. And what's that about? It appears to be an automated response to pressure, to some unknown other's idea of our what's and how's. And I've been a victim. But I've also been a co-victim, one of a pair that's fumbling and harming and not being so honest or healthy or happy. It is hard to be a woman. It is hard to be a man. And this is not too randomly tangential, I assure you.
As much as I think both sexes struggle with social-sexual pressures that can result in non-fulfillment, I think that both sexes become weary of, are damaged by the ceaseless onslaught of images of "beautiful women" (another thing Naomi writes about, maybe less judiciously). Models and actresses and the fuss that is always always made over them lead some to feel down-and-out, as, in this world of Photoshop, beings never capable of attaining such "perfection" (such a cruel thing to sell). And they lead some to feel down-and-out, as beings never capable of attaining such "perfect" girlfriends? We are all somehow, somewhere seeking phantom approval, taking hits from a phantom abuser, a corporate infrastructure utterly dependent on our feelings of worthlessness or hunger. So we get angry, judge harshly and hypocritically, say cruel things that we might never say to or about actual acquaintances. And money. Beauty and money are so conflated that I must believe some of the bile directed toward these ten ladies is a reaction to their exorbitant incomes and resulting agency in the World. I guess I just mean, in some cases (certainly not all, not half), we might have come as far as we can down the path of whistle-blowing. Women might need to show men how misogyny negatively affects us both...how we are both capable of it...is this naive? Probably. I will never stand for arguments against Feminist reactions that entail dismissals, claims that our politics don't belong everywhere. That's fucking naive--politics are everywhere, as are emotions--SERIOUSNESS. But I am increasingly interested in dialogues (as opposed to diatribes). I don't want my politics to be yet another wedge driven between mens and womens. We ought to be friends. Instead of lambasting this Spike.com (dear G-d) blogger, we might ask him: how did this work make you feel? How did your last girlfriend make you feel? Your mother? What's it all about Alfie?
However, lately, in the past 48 hours, I've been more generous with misogynists. Por ejemplo, I read this bunk, bloggy list of "Actresses Past Their Due Date," which has gotten the populous riled up. The post-in-question is dumb and mean and terrible, a symptom of the worst sort of woman-hate (and age-ism and size-ism) implicit in our contemporary Media and Entertainment Industrial Complex. But it's odd. This guy is quite the apologist, going out of his way to compliment Anne Hathaway, use the word "lovely" (?!), while he denigrates other women. He, at once, calls Drew Barrymore "chubby" and scolds Helen Hunt for spreading that tricky anorexia disease. Um? Does he even want to write this? Is this a case of two voices--reluctant, down-on-his-luck freelancer and wicked, tow-the-party-line editor? Who knows. Whatever the origin of this piece, I found myself, as I read it and a fraction of the comments, less angry than I might have expected to be. I wondered: is this sort of petty/bitchy misogyny (propagated by boys and girls [self certainly included]) just a cry for help? Yes. Indeed.
Fourth Wave-ers (a lot of folks) tend to dislike Naomi Wolf, and I don't know why. She makes a lot of sense to me (and I'm sympathetic because people always accuse her of being too generalizing and groundless and I am both of those things so much of the time but it just does not mean either of us are wrong, when we don't traffick in "concrete evidence" and [ooooof] science). Her platform on sex+The Youth, the content of a book called Promiscuities, is particularly stirring. In it, she regards my generation (and some a bit younger) wholly, regardless of gender, as suffering under the burden of loosened sexual mores (via interviews with college students). Sure. I think about this a lot--this bleak expanse of young men and women eschewing intimacy and comfort and self-care and self-respect, because, to be casual and "promiscuous" is the current norm. In theory, the sexual revolution is "the new" Oppressor, or it's become another vehicle for the same old problems, demands. I think some readers find her claims to be backward, an argument that we (especially women) do not enjoy sex, do not choose freely and happily to have sex. I don't think this is the case....I think Wolf's stance is no threat to healthy, liberated sex and our belief in its existence....both are real, you know? I have desires, valid and fantastic ones (of course). But I (and plenty of other men and women I know) have had sex I did not really want to have with people I don't particularly like. And what's that about? It appears to be an automated response to pressure, to some unknown other's idea of our what's and how's. And I've been a victim. But I've also been a co-victim, one of a pair that's fumbling and harming and not being so honest or healthy or happy. It is hard to be a woman. It is hard to be a man. And this is not too randomly tangential, I assure you.
As much as I think both sexes struggle with social-sexual pressures that can result in non-fulfillment, I think that both sexes become weary of, are damaged by the ceaseless onslaught of images of "beautiful women" (another thing Naomi writes about, maybe less judiciously). Models and actresses and the fuss that is always always made over them lead some to feel down-and-out, as, in this world of Photoshop, beings never capable of attaining such "perfection" (such a cruel thing to sell). And they lead some to feel down-and-out, as beings never capable of attaining such "perfect" girlfriends? We are all somehow, somewhere seeking phantom approval, taking hits from a phantom abuser, a corporate infrastructure utterly dependent on our feelings of worthlessness or hunger. So we get angry, judge harshly and hypocritically, say cruel things that we might never say to or about actual acquaintances. And money. Beauty and money are so conflated that I must believe some of the bile directed toward these ten ladies is a reaction to their exorbitant incomes and resulting agency in the World. I guess I just mean, in some cases (certainly not all, not half), we might have come as far as we can down the path of whistle-blowing. Women might need to show men how misogyny negatively affects us both...how we are both capable of it...is this naive? Probably. I will never stand for arguments against Feminist reactions that entail dismissals, claims that our politics don't belong everywhere. That's fucking naive--politics are everywhere, as are emotions--SERIOUSNESS. But I am increasingly interested in dialogues (as opposed to diatribes). I don't want my politics to be yet another wedge driven between mens and womens. We ought to be friends. Instead of lambasting this Spike.com (dear G-d) blogger, we might ask him: how did this work make you feel? How did your last girlfriend make you feel? Your mother? What's it all about Alfie?
Oct 8, 2009
who says
I definitely understand why there was such a negative reaction to the collaborative(?) Spain-Hollywood-Parisss Ungaro collection this week. It was "crafted" in a matter of three weeks by an established, hardworking, young designer, Estrella Archs, under the bizarro creative control of Lindzz Lohan, a testy, workless, drugged actress, all bones and poles and borrowed jewelry and hair extensions. Fay-shun Folks were miffed that a serious member of their elite workforce was made to (or made to appear to be made to) garner approval from a flailing chick a decade+ her junior with no professional experience beyond a daffy legging line and a few trainwreck ego-a-ego sessions with Kaiser Karl featured in Interview Magazine or Purple Magazine or whatever (or both?)...the crowds came to jeer. I'm not sure the fact of the garments mattered at all; in order to ensure their jobs, their world, all of the professional professionals must needs despise the publicity ploy that was La Lohan's hire. And good. Fine. It's just read this....
Umm.....you "have to choose"????!! I don't like that, not a bit. A diversity of pursuits, projects, media is ideal, and not problematic in the least (and didn't we do away with those "a manly painter paints" biases in the 70s?). Fame is the trouble--FAME PARADING AS ABILITY, such a fallacy. Fame sells. It has the "ability" to sell, but fame does not guarantee a thoughtful or fine record or collection of clothes (it doesn't make this impossible either). We need to inspect the slovenly business practice of handing opportunities to the "already opportuned," whether they be actors or actors' children (ugh). But if anything, artists/makers should be encouraged to make more and more of the new and unfamiliar and other-than-typical and challenging. I write and sing and take pictures (and I would totes do a movie or television role or QVC spot if given the chance). I don't think this is disingenuous or flaky. I think it's natural, natural to not see demarcations and rules everywhere, to not feel forbidden from treading fresh ground (or old ground...whatever ground).
One note: did Lindzz even glance at Ungaro collections of the past? Nothing in this collection is even Ungaro referential. A creative director of an old house that functions sans-founder is firstthing given a key to an archive (a rich, rare archive), whomever they hire next really ought to use that key (...obv coke-y jokey).
Oct 7, 2009
You Look So Fine
I'm not much for eyewear. I practically live in my contacts, to the point where I will only take them out at night when I'm alone or around my closest friends (conjunctivitis is on my list of possible things I could contract during one night stands). I consider a $25 sunglasses purchase from Target a luxury, as it takes me about 15 minutes to scratch them. Still, the new Oliver Peoples campaign featuring my spirit guide Shirley Manson (with Elijah Wood) makes me wonder where I might have an extra $400 to spare this spring...
Cute
A glance at the new White House art collection (gleaned from the old Nat'l Gallery collection)--the first few canvases look like cousins of Michele's smart, Americana garments. The pertinent Ruscha and telegraph-as-ready-made are inspired. The Catlin "Plains Indian" canvases (which will be replacing George's dippy Remingtons) even more so....now how about "blurring the line between art and [executive power]" and pardoning Leonard Peltier...?
"To be pleased means to say yes."
I made that much-noted Adorno phrase a touchstone in 2005. Later, I realized (thanks sis) it hardly meant what I'd imagined. In my mind, not being a great pinko (or art historian), it was a neat piece of music about affirmation and enjoyment/fun. In the author's, I think it might have been a warning against the lazy openness big consumption breeds. I can't very well go about pointing fingers at the lazy and bourgeois (because HOLA). So, for the zillionith time, I'll flip-ly appropriate the text for myself, shape it to my pleasure. Adorno was a "no guy;" he worked through a v. significant "no era." Occasionally, I succumb to "the no's"--blogs, for instance, are so often sticky "no territories." But it's not in my nature and I'm vowing to cease and...embrace. Nobody needs my negativity heaped on top of their own (or the rest of the Internet's) prodigious sum. When it comes to discoursing other folks' creative endeavors (and I'm not talking about Justin Bobby) best to avoid the stuff I don't admire. There's a lot that pleases me, a lot I say "YES" to. Here goes:
Alexander McQueen is absolutely important. Each season in Paris, people make so much noise about Karl Lagerfeld (and I'll refrain from getting into why I don't join in the noise-making...damn). But A.M. really has the goods as far as I'm concerned. These textiles! It appears no one (but for lovebug, Dries) uses difficult, think-y prints enough. I usually hate (gulp) Space and the unceasing, willynilly co-opting of Ghesquiere's brilliant early-aughts Space-Age shapes, but here it all works and it looks new (and also Elizabethan) and it's not fussy or forbidding so much as fine and full of stories. And everyone's really been listening to my advice about corsets and/or bare breasts...
Oct 6, 2009
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