Monthly Archives: October 2008

Prop K and Panthole

Major panthole appeared weeks ago in critical sector of second starter in the jeans rotation. Have ignored it for some time, but original hope of pant platelets coming to the rescue is rapidly fading. 

In other news, I had a conversation with TK about Prop K. Am I a bad liberal for being opposed to it? I’m all for legalizing/regulating prostitution for the health and safety of the Ps, but is stripping law enforcement of their power really the solution? What gets me is the sex trafficking angle. The whole things seems ill-conceived in the same way as—but potentially more harmful than—the bevvy of measures on each ballot that read something like, “Shall it be city policy that if it’s yellow, we should let it mellow Alcatraz should be converted into a cookie farm?” 

See you in four months, I regret this post,

Chris

“dessert”

I get spotty internet in my bedroom. This blog suffers as a result. I never watch movies at home. Tonight I’m finishing I’M NOT THERE (2007). Here is a new dessert that is very popular among me:

  1. one ripe banana, preferably not the last one
  2. cut it, unpeeled, in half
  3. put a generous spoonful of peanut butter in a blue Deomcracy Now! mug that has to be at least 10 years old.
  4. Peel the banana half and throw it in the mug with a studied carelessness
  5. think better of it and peel the other half of the banana. Throw that in there, too. It’s almost dessert time.
  6. take the same spoon you used to get the PB and start wreaking havoc in the mug. every peanut butter atom must be smashed into every banana atom until there are only nuclear dessert molecules (???)
  7. watch a movie in your room

there you have it folks. This is what this blog would be like all the time if I got the internet more reliably in my room. do you want to hear about the “Four Hours of Sleep Egg Salad” I made yesterday? If yes, click here.

This blog post brought to you by the best child actor who ever lived, age 11, raised on New York’s upper west side by a legally married Fran Drescher and Fran Leibowitz. Tama Janowitz is their live-in maid. I am the doorman. Goodnight.

blogmaster general

  1. “Robert Warshow wrote, ‘A man goes to the movies. The critic must be honest enough to admit that he is that man.'”
  2. This is a good band, and a good blog:”when they arrived disheveled and stoned and impossibly old in a rental sedan (having driven from Chicago to play two shows on the West Coast), we were all in awe. Watching them stumble onstage, looking for all the world like post-apocalyptic scarecrows in wraparound sunglasses and tattered jeans and running shoes, wreathed in dope smoke, none of us had any idea what to expect; they hassled the harried soundperson for a bit, smoked a joint, demanded beer ‘without fruit in it’ (code for Budweiser or Pabst, anything but the microbrew on offer), and launched into one of the most alarming, psyche-altering sets of music my young self had ever seen.”

    (fanks to T.McD)

  3. Tomorrow, Saturday Oct 17: you comin to Home Movie Day?

Color Photography

I was kinda knocked out by this photo in yesterday’s NYT:

Taken at Hofstra University, getting pumped up for last night’s debate. The turquoise facepaint, the green grass, black faces, blue robes in the distance; black uniforms with red highlights; the 2nd photographer in the foreground calling attention to the composition of the whole thing… I was amazed when the accompanying article wasn’t about race, or… photography, or… America. It was about how the campus was excited for the debate.

Can anyone recommend any worthwhile essays on race and color photography? There must be a Sontag or a Sante essay floating around somewhere. Or is this just a minor riff on “color” I’m forcing?

A couple things associatively, aleatorically spring to mind. I will share them with you now.

1. African Americans in William Eggleston’s photos, the South in the 60s… the photographic idea of “contrast”: plus a racial contrast?? I need some help here. I need to go back to college.

I remember reading somewhere, someone reviewing Boogie Nights when it came out (I want to say Glenn Kenny in Premiere, I can’t remembe. I also can’t find, for the life of me, a still from the scene he mentioned–) the scene where Don Cheadle is wearing a white suit in a donut shop and someone (?) gets shot. Blood splatters all over white-suited Cheadle as he’s holding a box of donuts. The critic in Premiere or wherever says something like “the scene is a literalized riff on the joke what’s black and white and red all over?

This baffled me in high-school when I read it. But stuck with me, too. I really wish I had a still of that scene right now. email me if you “have one,” or anything else. OK, talk to you later,

Andrew

NewVillager

Take the intensity of a severe marijuana-induced panic attack. Now sap it of all anxiety: only a supercharged, translucent husk remains. Meet the New Villager: Seal, the performer, blissed-out and fetally coiled in the trunk of a black 1992 Audi. Subwoofers the size of a woman’s breasts shimmer as their wells fill with tears. And so the question must be asked:

Which woman?

NewVillager are only the most prominent members in a slew of new bands in the loosely affiliated “Diet Shaman” movement. A self-described “rag-tag crew,” Spielberg won’t touch them. NewVillager‘s music creates a hot, moist aura that actually reduces the appetite and tends to increase physical activity. Sexual intercourse and modern dance become indistinguishable. Do you like passionate, wet-sounding coitus? How about special suits that blind and deafen the babies wearing them, so the babies are protected from the loud love-acts the suits engage in? Would you like a falafel sandwich as tall as a mangrove, filled with curried, salted plant stamens? The sandwich shakes with frequencies that bake in the mozzarella, turning the cheese a deep golden brown. “Deepest Apology,” a 7″ CD MaxiSingle, will be released in the fall.

link

Two Men

BUMPS: Hey, Shitty

MOUSER: Hey lounges

BUMPS: What’s the deal

MOUSER: Sleepy. Stupid. Gay.

B: Naw, yr not gay. You’re just creative, and afraid of women.

M: That’s not what my instructor at my graduate MFA program in the Graphic Novel told me

B: O No? What’d he say?

M: He said that I was addicted to Taurine and Guarana Root and all kinds of other lipoids and shit like that. And he said I had something called premature ejaculation syndrome, can you believe it? I have no idea what that is!

B: It’s when you cum the cum of a–

M: Don’t say baby.

B:  I’ve made love to you and your ejaculation was quite mature, Mouser. Elderly, even. You came like a grandpa.

M: NSFW

B: [Does that blow-job pantomime thing with his tongue inside his cheek]

[Scholarly-looking dude in the audience stares down into his lap, hard. He couldn’t look more uncomfortable. The paella he had for dinner has given him the farts. His glasses are NOT SMUDGY AT ALL. His khakis are CREASELESS. His SEMI-HOT GIRLFRIEND DRAGGED HIM TO THIS PLAY. AND now these weird, jokey GAY THEMES are making him UNCOMFORTABLE. He is not against homosexuality. He just doesn’t know what to do with either of these “premature ejaculation” jokes or the weird quasifrank homoerotic theme. He hates everyone in this room under the age of 40 except for his girlfriend and including himself. It’s an older crowd at the theater, always is.]

B: Mouser.

NARRATOR: [Standing at the edge of a stage, resting both hands atop a cane. Smiles through his fake white mustache. He wears a bowler] Are these guys really two dudes speaking? And why the academic setting? Is this a college art museum? If so, where are the guards? How have falafels “to go” made them so fat? Where are the women? Where is the wine?

M: Bumps.

B: You’re my little bitch, you know that?

M: I know, Bumps. I love you.

B: I love you, too

[SCENE!]