I haven't paid any heed to this blog in so long - I'm a terrible parent. And then I choose to steal away to it during work. Shame on me!
But. Speaking of mixing leisure with work, I have a new obsession. And it doesn't come from a bar well or the Gawker media network! No, lately I have been fully ensconced in AMC's beautiful confection Mad Men, an ode to the sexist, elitist, Kennedy-era executive kingdom of skirt chasers and four-martini lunches. (As per usual, I am once again slow on the latest brilliant pop culture uptake, as Mad Men has already been lauded by publications like Vanity Fair and graced the cover of Entertainment Weekly.) It's funny, because as misogynistic and philosophically concrete as the time was, there's something still so appealing and captivating about the gloss of it all: the economic optimism, the epicurian habbits of wining(scotching) and dining(smoking), and the impeccable approach to sex and how to sell it. I remember stories of my grandfather (though not in advertising, a thirsty member of Washington's lawyer crowd after he was swiftly ushered out of Kennedy's State Department) spending more time guzzling down lunch than inquiring about his wife and four children. Sure, it sounds a little irresponsible, but as the alpha female of Mad Men, Joan Holloway, says of the behavior, "isn't it the best?"
To sum up the mantra in one scene, here's SterlingCooper's resident slimeball, Pete Campbell, musing for the non-con, ambitious secretary Peggy Olson his idyllic vision for existence:
Here's hoping that my substance abuse impediments never find this sort of affect on my social skills.
After catching up on the last few episodes of Project Runway on YouTube, one of the thumbnails under the "project runway" search list really caught my eye. Here it is for your viewing pleasure - I hope you start to feel as uncomfortable as I was watching it. Luckily Tim Gunn shatters the icy wall of "WTF"ness by declaring a most decidedly out-of-character exclamation that puts his "holla atcha boy" moment with "that little gay grommet" Blayne to shame. Never have I loved the man more. Enjoy:
The first time I ate at least a quarter pound of bucheron all on my lonesome (thanks, FRIENDS, for being ladies and not helping me polish it off).
The first time I came home to find my roommate there before me AND asleep.
The first time I threw away not only a food stuff, but an alcoholic stuff! I cannot believe I tossed at least a quarter bottle of my $13.95 bottle of Placido pino grigio. Perish the thought!
The first time I sat up straight and paid legitimate attention to an old, black-and-white, mid-century-accented Bryant Park lawn movie. You know, until I got back from a trip to the bathroom and fell asleep.
And tying in with such rapt curiosity, the first time I had ever consumed a full Alfred Hitchcock feature. Considering my twisted, dark, and absolutely unforgiving penchant for the "what-if?", I find this simply appalling and unacceptable.
Such were my musings after my viewing of the movie Lifeboat. 'Twas a propagandist(?) WWII cross of and Survivor, Titanic, and Lord of the Flies wherein the folks left to their own devices in the middle of Fucked Avenue and Screwed Boulevard must decide what truly matters in this world we call HUMAN life. Do we work in the interest of MEMEMEMEMEMEME or do we put in (or out) for the greater of the common good? Do we sacrifice our most prized possessions, our own body parts, our loyalty, our kin, or (horror of horrors) our own selves for the pure understanding that the survival of just six living bodies is better than that of just our own?
As Hitchcock virgin, I felt that this little project he pinched out for Twentieth Century Fox c/o John Steinbeck (in 1944 - before the landlord of the Twilight Zone became a mainstream icon in pop culture - but wholly private - mental terrorism) was an apt introduction. It has enough psychological mindfuckery to make you wonder why the bosses of HBO's Bryant Park Summer Film Festival would sick it on a group of after-5 drunken 20-somethings looking for a summer Monday release, but not enough evil perversion to trump other, more perverted films. Because really, can you get any saner with this man? My roommate, a true old-timey movie afficianado (her dad can name ever Oscar winner since like 1325) insists that Lifeboat isn't as an appropriate first film as Rear Window, but I aint complainin. Lo, my Hitchcock naïvété welcomes the enlightened insight of those better versed in the man's portfolio.
If I blogged about my more personal life, then I would blog about this, which really did happen, and really did happen because - in a nutshell - I'm an alcoholic and INSANELY STUPID.
What I really want to share with the world is my newfound fascination with this chick, Marilyn Minter, whose work graces the cover of the latest edition of Time Out New York. She also has a featurette as part of their "Success" profile, and TONY was decidedly NOT shy about showing some of her more... exotic pieces. Regardless, I've looked this lady up and can say that I absolutely floves her eye for pure, unadulterated glamour trash. I also admire her embrace of the pornographic, and her emphasis of its truly bizarre aesthetic. As TONY points out, homegirl really does deliver in the same mode of a man. You know, like, a man with a raging, unforgiving hard-on.
Also, during my interwebz cruise for Minter, I came across CoolHunting.com and this other photographer who is totally awesometown. And makes me want to nom.
Last night, as I was drunkenly responding to one of those soul-searching surveys people propagate across the ethers of the interwebz, I was caught up in a storm of cheesy 80s music videos while I cruised YouTube. I must say that the most arresting and captivating piece of work was the video for Duran Duran's "Rio":
Yes, this video is truly bizarre, and full of that essential, let's-pour-some-mysterious-fluid-on-a-hot-chick, unashamed sexual innuendo. But at the end of the day, you really have to appreciate this 1982 number as a grandfather to the neon bubble pop avant-gardeness of the 80's. Plus, doesn't it just make you want to slam back Miami Vices while you get a killer tan in Belize?
To whom did you last give the finger to? A priest.
If you had one thousand dollars, what would you buy? 150 12-packs of either Diet Coke or Bud Light.
What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself? Rum and diet. Or Christian Bale. I can't remember.
Where were you last night around 9:30? Your mother's Hyundai Elantra.
How was the last egg you prepared? Fertilized. ZING. (actually - that's gross)
Last song you listened to? "Lovestoned"
Are you a forgiving person? Yes. Provided there's a monetary supplement involved.
Last thing you drank? The sweet nectar of the fountain of youth.
What is your current mood? Drunky Malunkies.
What do you hear right now? "Summer Love" (an ode to the only acquaintance of mine for whom I'd switch teams: AMYTANG)
Are you sarcastic? ....
Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? Hellz yeah. How else would we learn? I mean get laid?
What do you do when you have a bad day? A case, all by myself.
Pick a word that begins with the first letter of your first name? Kangaroo bop.
How many states have you lived in? Two. Unless you count the state of misunderstanding
Have you ever caught anything on fire?
My house maybe? (I think this question means to ask have you ever SET anything else on fire, to which my answer would be "half the panties in Manhattan")
I'd like to congratulate my roommate for starting a blog today. It looks great, particularly for something that was just started. You know how I know? Because she embedded a YouTube video and threw in a lot of hyperlinks!
Also she's a smart cookie and has meaningful things to say.
I haven't paid any heed to this blog in so long - I'm a terrible parent. And then I choose to steal away to it during work. Shame on me!
