Archive for September, 2009

Hot Man Bein’ Hot of the day: James Dean, Pussy Magnet edition

September 25, 2009

James Dean being all handsome and fly with a couple kitty cats, and scope those specs no less! Heat.


“Only the gentle are ever really strong.” –James Dean

His cat’s name was Marcus. It was a present from Elizabeth Taylor.

Finally, a pen and ink drawing which was auctioned two years ago by his museum on good ol’ eBay. Dean drew it for Geraldine Page, his co-star in a Broadway play. I don’t really want to know what those two are doing, but you have to admit it’s a pretty damned good drawing, as bestiality sketches go.

Advice: Drew Barrymore NSFW Edition

September 25, 2009

Miss Drew Barrymore on keeping the faith:

“I’ve always said that one night, I’m going to find myself in some field somewhere, I’m standing on grass, and it’s raining, and I’m with the person I love, and I know I’m at the very point I’ve been dreaming of getting to.” –the beautiful and talented Drew Barrymore

Whatever is going on, it too shall pass. Pray for the night and the rain and the grass of your own with that special unknown someone, and keep that vision in your mind, and it will come before you know it. It has to.

A Fine Balance

September 25, 2009

I can’t believe how soon Paolo and Miss D’s wedding is, for them to have all this other stuff they’re dealing with on top of that stress, it is driving me nuts and I am not even them: I wonder how the fuck we all get through all our weeks, you know? Like, is it just me or does the time move faster and faster and the world spin more madly on its axis than it used to?

Just got a facebook msg from Sarah-fina putting out feelers to hang out this weekend. I’ve been feeling stuffy-nosed and am worried about getting her sick, what with her carrying the mini-me and all, but I do want to be able to see her, since I have seen her MOTHER more recently than I have her! But I bring this up because I also wanted to see Miss D and Paolo and just reassure myself they are doing all right, and suddenly the weekend is getting filled up…

A year ago I was all by myself but for the kidlet and HRH, with occasional, sun bursting through the clouds visits from my magnificent Christer-in-law, day in and day out. I could go a week without venturing further than the front porch. I was so insulated, and frequently fearful as well. I was well on my way to being a full-fledged agoraphobic shut-in. That is a crazy life to think about now. It feels like it happened to someone else.

I think I am walking a pretty good balance between my tendencies toward shuttering myself away and spreading myself too thin, these days. I think.

edit: Miss D on phone. Very upsetting news. Nothing is okay.

edit 2: Now the Cappy has large folklore being dropped on him, too. Um, if the universe could stop dumping on people I love, that would be great.

Breaking news (nsfw — surprise, surprise)

September 25, 2009

Breaking news: it is now retro to watch Gauge.

I believe Gauge was one of the best adult stars of the early 2000s, and represented an important trend, the resonation of which is still reverbating in the industry today: the individual, the self-made star, the branded girl who has put some time in to her scenes and has control over her career: the end of the casting couch and the rotating door of painful implants and bleached blondes. She arrived in porn with GoliathGirls at a time when it was first making the jump to streaming video, and that has obviously been a key role in the industry ever since. But I would argue that Gauge really emerged at the head of the pack in that initial grab-bag of amateurs and contracted girls who were the first computer screen queens.

This picture exemplifies several of the reasons that I make that assertion.

  • Gauge knew the value of looking the part. She kept on key pieces of jewelry, and not just cliched junk like a crucifix or a wedding ring. Simple stuff, like a pair of stud earrings or a black hills gold ring on an index finger. Stuff you’d be wearing and not taking off for sex. That’s important for making it realistic.
  • This went for hair, too, which she generally trends toward the lightly fetishistic with pigtails and braids, but never anything fancy or over the top. White scrunchies, they look like they came from the Walgreens, no crazy amounts of hairspray or spiral curling iron updos here. This is a chick who came straight from band practice or something, you know? Like how it really is. A+ all the way.
  • She closed her eyes during the good stuff, and she kissed a lot in her scenes. That’s 99.9% of it, in my opinion. At least for me.
  • Finally, she knew what she was about, she knew what the business was and how to do it and gave it thought (not, like, Sasha Grey or Belladonna levels of thought, but Sasha and Belladonna are very bright and special cases). She eventually made the natural jump to behind the camera, but she had creative direction and control over her scenes even before that.

    X: What about guys?
    G: Who cares about the guys. (laughs) It’s all about the chicks.
    –Gauge, Interview with Cindi Loftus, Xcitement magazine

    I think she is right. No, I’m not going to be all mousy and not admit my opinions anymore, right? So what I mean to say is that I know she is right. And it’s at the heart of porn vs. erotica, of the intersection of sex and love … I have more to say about all this, later. It’s percolating.

  • Woman Warrior (nsfw)

    September 25, 2009

    Topless archery: it is a thing.

    A friend was given the news last night that she has breast cancer. They are moving quickly on it, I’m hoping for the best possible outcome. But I have known her a long time, not only do I consider her a friend in her own right but she is the mother of three of my dearest friendohs and the soon-to-be mother-in-law of a fourth dear one, so I’ve been constantly returning to this issue in my mind, the worry that they will not be able merely to isolate the cancer and remove it, the concern that the surgeon will advocate taking the entire breast, doing a masectomy to make sure the cancer does not return.

    So it has had me thinking even more about girls and our bodies. I mean, I already was lazily toying with these notions, but now I am more consistently revisiting ideas about femininity, and breasts, and the image of the Amazonian, or Lady Macbeth’s “unsex me” speech. Why is it that breasts are so bound up in our vision of womanhood? I guess because they feed us? Because we have them and men don’t? I have no anwers and no keys into the doors of deeper thoughts, I’m still pretty preoccupied with my friend’s health. But I plan to come back to these thoughts later. For now I will I guess just collect some topless archery pictures while I ruminate on this stuff. You know. For science.

    Daily Batman: They’re coming to take you away

    September 25, 2009

    Welcome to the monkeyhouse!

    Need a rest? Dr. Jeremiah Arkham has plenty of room for you. It’s no trouble at all.

    Music Moment: Basia Bulat (repost now with functioning video!)

    September 25, 2009

    I did this a week or two ago, but that version of the video has since been taken down. Here it is again. The whole damned post, in fact, just with a live link to a functioning video.

    Basia Bulat is a great new artist with a great and modestly excellent album, check her OUT!

    (If you are an impatient person with a short attention span like myself, let the video buffer and then skip straight to around 2:30 cause that’s where it gets awesome.)

    “Sometime now I’ve been
    afraid that the pilgriming vine is
    Finally coming to take me
    Taste it and tell me it’s savoury
    Hold it up high to the light and
    Let it grow and
    Tell me I’m always your only
    Never look down mother maple…” –Basia Bulat, “The Pilgriming Vine,” Oh, My Darling.


    Buy this kickass album directly from Beggars Group, the distributors of Rough Trade records, and consider that you could, if you wanted, stop going to Amazon.com and maybe buy directly from labels from now on because they and their artists will see more money. It is your call and I am not telling you how to live your life, but in most cases the artist is going to see more money and the label, and thus music, will stay afloat longer. Unless it’s a major label. Then eff ’em.

    Unlikely G: Actually Very Likely Indeed, Inaugural Hot Man Bein’ Hot of the Day edition

    September 24, 2009

    Well, looky here, if it is not the inaugural Hot Man Bein’ Hot of the Day!


    Sean Bean as Errol Partridge in Equilibrium. What’s got two thumbs and reads Yeats at gunpoint? This flyass mothafucka right here:


    Partridge: You always knew.
    [begins to read from Yeats while John Preston keeps his gun trained on him]
    “But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
    I assume you dream, Preston?
    Equilibrium

    I am not only about boobies and geeky boys from 80s movies and Star Trek. I also am a lady and I like lady things; I certainly can appreciate hot men bein’ hot. This will hopefully be a daily feature. Maybe even more than once a day, because why not? Final g-ness:

    John Preston: Then, I’m sorry.
    Partridge: No, you’re not. You don’t even know the meaning. Its just a vestigial word for a feeling you’ve never felt.
    Equilibrium

    Lit by the fire flickers of the burning “Mona Lisa.” Yeah. That is fly as fuuuuuck, I’m sorry. Critics generally did not like this movie, but what the what do they know? How can you say no to Christian Bale, Taye Diggs, and Sean Bean in a dystopian futuristic action movie with a made-up form of martial arts and secret feelings-awakening rebellion in the form of reading banned books of poetry? That’s, like, ten things that ring my bell. I am not keeping a super-close count, but I’m pretty sure that’s lowballin’ it, even. For me to pan this film would be like a straight high school boy panning Wild Things. Just not happening!

    Anybody else suddenly in a better mood about life, the universe, and everything?

    Passin’ ON the laudanum while I pass the time

    September 24, 2009

    She’ll be here in 30 minutes, the Grandma P. We have a good relationship, my daughter’s father’s mother and I. It’s all the other people in our lives who fuck us up. They are always putting us in awkward positions. She and I have similar perfectly fucked up backgrounds and are as a result perfectly insane and so perfectly capable of functioning in the tight little space we have carved out in which to negotiate our friendship and play with the kidlet. Seriously, the only tension comes from outside forces, which is to say the many individuals, predominantly men, in our lives who we have striven to please and be taken care of by and who instead have hurt, bullied, or disenchanted us both. If I was going to start a Utopian women-only cult, I would hella take P with me right out of the gate. Look at that, I found a positive in today’s agonizing piecework of weaving together some kind of central rope to pull myself out of my bullshit mental problems:


    (“Rope play at supper club” by PreciousLittle, on deviantart.)

    Grandma P brings out a side of me that is very empathetic to women and can admit that men are as capable of being flawed as a sex as that Other Gender I’m always bashing away at despite being among its ranks. Thanks, Grandma P!

    I guess I will not be needing this after all.

    Matryoshka dolls and pulled teeth, or, pass the laudanum?

    September 24, 2009

    The mother of my daughter’s other father is coming over today. Oh, look at the little layers of insulation, like a set of goddamned matryoshka dolls, this is how I nestle away my feelings and keep myself safe from them. I start with myself and erect shell after painted shell all around me: this means I am very tiny inside. Did you know?

    You see, he got married in the last few weeks (stab), and has another child, now, a boy (twist), and has apparently totally turned his life around and aren’t I such an awful person for thinking him a stranger to me and to my daughter? I know it’s more, I know it’s more repressed and deeply painful even than the obvious things I can think of to say about why it’s bothering me so much, why it’s like a sliver of glass in my heart, cutting deeper and deeper with every breath. Am I holding him responsible for the fact that I and my daughter were not enough to make him want to become this awesome new person his friends tell me he is (not at all the person I miss anymore, I guess, I guess that person is gone forever), not like his New and Improved girlfriend, I’m sorry, wife and his New and Improved baby. They are the ones who get to have him around and hear his voice every day, whereas I get to wake up every day and know very specifically that I will not see him and will not hear from him that day. And as that pain is on me, I have to let go of that hurt.

    I am glad he found someone who seems faithful and kind and full of grace, plus someone who is, like him, really good-looking and also musically talented like he is, I honestly am, they will probably go far together. But the son…and the wedding…and the probable amazing amounts of pure happiness, when I am in the midst of this waking-up to my old repressed self and this marital separation, that is such a kick in the stomach, especially coming from someone that I loved so much and so wrongly (in a way that poisoned the well instead of making it clean, you know? like a hell-version of soulmates that was best walked away from despite how hard it was to disentangle myself from it, because it was too enormous for me to see any other way out of) that I’ve shoved those feelings about that breakup so far down that I don’t even know what shape they will take when they come out? I guess, this shape. Matroyshka dolls, aimless crying over shit that doesn’t really affect me, events of my own life spinning outside my control, no way to keep myself or my daughter on what I think of as “normal” footing, so maybe it is time to redefine normal for us and stop letting my family judge me the way I let them break us up.

    Oh hell, what was THAT.

    Fucking jesus. This talking about your feelings stuff is some heavy shit. Like pulling teeth. That’s all for the day, sorry. Please send vibes for this visit that my daughter’s father’s mother will continue to pretend like our friendship is totally normal and continue to pretend as though the main thing we all three of us (daughter, grandmother, me) have in common is not her son.

    I didn’t know it was possible to be ghetto and full of emo bullshit at the same time, but I am nothing if not amibitious.

    Daily Batman: The Bat and The Cat, “Shocking!” edition

    September 24, 2009

    The Bat and the Cat, they do get up to some games. Who would have predicted that two grown people who wear leather animal costumes and beat people up for a secret living would take things off-Broadway in the bedroom. The heck you say!

    This shot is from a collection compiled by Adam West from the scrapbook he kept during the shooting of the 1966 film adapation of Batman. Yes, you read that right: Adam West is a scrapbooker from Way Back. Ain’t no shame in a name, buddy. Own your pleasures!

    Catwoman was played in the film by your 1955 Miss America, Lee Meriwether, because Julie Newmar was unavailable due to scheduling conflicts and outside projects, plus she was washing her hair (in other words, she read the script, and, seeing that the opening scenes had an exploding shark, correctly deduced it would fail miserably and distanced herself from the project).

    Music Moment: The Ditty Bops

    September 24, 2009

    The sassy molassy through which I had to go to get this video to be my own and get WMB off my back from site to site to site where I was trying to store it for embedding was absolutely ridiculous. I cannot even go in to it. (The worst part is that Amanda and Abby would love for you to easily watch it. It is only their label and its parents making things difficult.)

    Please enjoy this awesome video for “Wishful Thinking,” off of the lovely ladies’ first self-titled LP, and check out their official website to buy merchandise, download media, and more!

    When you’re standing in a puddle with wet feet
    And your head is sore from pounding drops of sleet
    When the cold and lonely hours put your heart to the test
    Maybe I’ll be the one that you like best

    If the sky can open its eyes
    And cry from up above
    Let’s shed some tears of joy
    And fall in love

    They got married last October. Happy almost one-year anniversary!

    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.