Archive for September 23rd, 2009

Link a dink a doo and some sketches too

September 23, 2009

Did you know? My “estranged” husband, Husbandly R. Husbandson the First, Esq.*, is an artist. He has a blog now.

He puts up his pen and ink drawings on there. So far my two favorites are from a series he did while moseying about hipster haven, the city of Portland, which also has a strange intersection with the detritus of decaying industrialism, so you have these two disparate populations constantly mingling.


His note on this sketch was, “He was psyching himself up to do something,” and I like how correspondingly large the hands are as the subject contemplates them. Must’ve been something that loomed large in his mind, to need such big hands for doing it.

The other one I like is this one of a man at the Fred Meyer grocery, I can only guess the one right by our house, badgering the retired gentleman who is merely working as a greeter because this country cannot care for the elderly and who never signed on to hear personal political and social diatribes from some stained-shirt-sporting young pudgy stranger who is either a) a knee-jerk liberal which is just as ignorant and open to the dangers of hypocrisy as going in the other direction, b) a recent parolee whose brain is addled by meth, or c) a die-hard, Ayn Rand-reading, every-man-for-himself, you-must-pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-even-if-you-are-paraplegic, bidet-sniffing son of a bitch who doesn’t believe in social programs or stop signs (in Portland, it could go either way):

So that’s my husband’s stuff.

*henceforth known as HRH

Navel-gazing, you’d think a person as neurotic and self-centered as me would be better at it.

September 23, 2009

Navel-gazing: it is a thing.

It is not a thing I’ve been doing lately. I’ve been avoiding thinking too much about the literal details of myself and the actual circumstances of my life at the present because painful things keep happening, and they catch me off balance and knock my wind out. It is safer to retreat to boobies and pop cultural references, lest I tip my hand and then They All Know that I am totally a fruitbasket and a half.

But I said I wanted to stop re-acting to crap when I started this journal, and pushing painful things away with jokes and beer is just as bad and reactive as my old habit of knee-jerk fleeing from problems. I need to confront all aspects of my life if this shit is going to work at all, right?, and regularly plumb even the deep-down icky depths of the self-audit I swore I’d be doing this year. Moreover, I think it’s possible that these things tend to surface whether you try to control them or not. Maybe worse when you do, even.

Unlikely G: Anna Karina “Look, Ma, no gag reflex!” edition with bonus ménage à trois

September 23, 2009

The only thing more attractive to a man than demonstrating for him your lax gag reflex is doing so with a negative pregnancy test. Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Love it.


Anna Karina as Angéla with Jean-Claude Brialy as Émile in Une femme est une femme, 1961, directed by Jean-Luc Godard.

A naughty cabaret dancer/singer—one of these days I will track down a scene on youtube and put it up here, she does this one in a sailor outfit that is hilarious—wants a baby (cause you know us women), but her boyfriend is not going for it, so she decides to hook it up with his friend Alfred (Jean-Paul Belmondo), who is always claiming to be in love with her, and sort-of hijinks ensue. It’s actually very witty and offbeat, and it has some fun music in it, too.


Alfred: Answer yes, and I owe you 100₣. Answer no, and you owe me 100₣, okay?
Bar Owner: Okay.
Alfred: Okay. Here’s the question: Can you loan me 100₣?

Per mi amico: the Cappy 2nd edition

September 23, 2009

For the wonderful and irreplaceable Cappy who is about to hit that hay like a champ, a final thought for your day:


(photo by the amazing Ellen von Unwerth, if you like chicks and photography and art, check her out!)

Sweet dreams, buddy. You are earning the sweetest ones out there the whole time you’re awake. Love ya!

PSA: Asia Argento Edition (nsfw, obviously)

September 23, 2009

Public Service Announcement, guys.

You may think that’s Asia Argento you’re with, but have you really checked to be sure?

Yep, it’s her.

Music Moment: Emily Haines

September 23, 2009

New feature. Music moment. I like music. Let’s begin.

I’m thinking a lot about Emily Haines this morning. I don’t really know why. I had sort of written her off as the waifishly hot gimmick in Metric’s freak act, “ooh, the girl-fronted-yet-not-terribly-chicky band, let’s all talk about how unusual that is and perhaps buy their albums,” like I thought Metric was okay, but I didn’t know anything about her or her background, or how much she contributed to the band’s writing (I assumed she basically did not at all contribute: I am aware that I am a jerk for making that assumption, but that’s just how I roll—light misogyny with a side of cynicism). Then I ran across this solidly interesting picture of her playing the tambourine and it piqued my curiosity to read she was not performing with Metric when the picture was taken, but was rather doing solo stuff.

“I really don’t relate to the female singer/songwriter. They’re vaguely privileged, it’s a vaguely middle-upper-class thing to do – your piano lessons and you’re all precious and everyone has to hush while you go over the shadows of your emotions. I’ve always really hated that.”
— Emily Haines

In case you are unacquainted with Metric, here is one of their latest videos, the silver sparkly styling in which I definitely dig, I’m in a silvery place so for me this was very right about now, but the song I am only middling to positive-ish about:

And this is a link to the official video for “Our Hell Is A Good Life” by Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton, which is her side project, when she is not simply traveling and performing solo.

I just took a spin through the wiki entry on her and discovered she was born in New Delhi, which is not something that I expected. That’s enough thinking about Emily Haines for one day, I think. Maybe I’ll come back to her eventually, maybe not.

This has been your music moment. There may never be another one, unless there is. I’m not the world’s most consistent or persevering person, sorry.

Daily Batman: Illustrated Man edition

September 23, 2009

Our Lady of Catalupe.

Asked and answered, but more questions are raised

September 23, 2009

Yes, I was at the pub! No, we did not win at trivia. Mr. Kite and friends won the first round, and I’m not sure what strangers won the second, although I got a nice video of Ronald giving us his patented glowery, sardonic Death Stare during the questions, which I will try to get around to uploading eventually. I let the Gentleman talk me in to the artichoke jalapeno dip, by which I used to swear, but I’m old now and my stomach is not the efficient and merciless iron machine that it once was. It’s angry at me today.

“Yeah, I was feeling pretty crappy today, too.” –thus spake the Gentleman, purveyor of artichoke jalapeno dip and stomach acid trips

The evening ultimately raised more questions than it answered, as there was the following new item on the menu:

This lead to broad and snickering speculation as to precisely what the what a “Tahoe Snoopy” is: it sounds like some kind of voyeuristic sex act. If anyone has an explanation for this, I’d love to hear it. Because that is simply not a term in widespread enough use to get thrown on a menu and not explained.