This post originally appeared on January 5, 2010 at 8:05 pm.
Roddy McDowall and Francine York, Batman, “The Bookworm Turns,” Season 1, Episode 29. Original airdate April 20, 1966. Well, that’s inauspicious. Shit.
I hate to come off as a down-at-the-mouth grump on the topic of love. I am a romantic. Here is the Bookworm and his lady, the lovely librarian Miss Lydia Limpet, and may I add that I rooted like gangbusters for this pair to win?
via Batman villains database — I love clunky contraptions on men’s heads. I find it so fucking cute. I really do.
In fact, I remember pretty strongly wanting him for myself (girls like a boy who reads!), but I rightly understood Miss Limpet having him was almost the same thing. Later, when I figured out he was in Planet of the Apes, I was even more impressed, but, being a fickle little girl, I soon made way for other crushes, like Matthew Broderick and the Great Mouse Detective — shut up, because that could work — to the point that, when I stayed at La Posada Hotel in Winslow, Arizona several years back and was given the “Roddy McDowall room,” I merely remarked that I’d “once thought he was cute,” and meant nothing more by it.
Interestingly, after his role as the Bookworm in the live-action television series, McDowall continued to wreak villainy in the DC world. He voiced Jarvis Tetch/the Mad Hatter for both Batman: The Animated Series and The New Batman Adventures, as well as performing him in a brief cameo for the late ’90s animated Superman.
In the original television series, the Mad Hatter was played by David Wayne. More on the Mad Hatter another day cause he was really depressed as a character and had some killer-great deadpan lines, even though no one matches King Tut in my estimation for the male villains’ comedic value. But back to love, because that is what I’m trying to prove is probably more important than trivial details of cartoons and old lunchbox-selling serials.
No, I can’t stop talking about it. Okay, because I’m looking at his page on the imdb to make sure I had the dates and titles right and it ends up Roddy McDowall was also the Breadmaster on Edlund’s masterwork The Tick, which is of grave emotional significance to me, and, moreover, had cameos on Darkwing Duck, Quantum Leap, and mother-effing Gargoyles. Also, he was monumentally in to photography and experimental camerawork. So, holy hell, I was smart to have a crush on him as a kid and now I’m going to have to get back to Roddy McDowall another day; he’s obviously been far more of an important thread in my life than I ever could have possibly understood … y’all please excuse me because Roddy McDowall has just now blown my mind.
Finally, according to authorities on these matters, the Catwoman outfit regularly worn by Julie Newmar appears to have been “upcycled” and worn by Francine York (who played librarian Miss Limpet on Batman) for the Lost In Space episode “The Colonists.” Also, in looking for pictures of her, I stumbled across a page where a woman had collected a bunch of pictures of famous Virgo women and though I always claim to put almost zero stock in that stuff, I have to say that they/we all have the faces of birdlike closet freaks who are too shy to smile with our lips parted but rock straight-up crazy do-me eyes despite our distrust of other people — to say nothing of the number of patron saints in her gallery of too-close-to-home horror. Good thing I think that’s largely bunk, or the unnerving similarities might have me concerned that my chakras weren’t aligned with the downward dog position of my chi and I’d have to bury a peeled potato under a full moon or some shit.
Truly the end of this post. Moving on for my own sake.
This one’s for my goddaughter — SpongeBob Batpants.
You don’t need a plane to fly,
Plastic wings can make you cry.
Kites were meant for windy days,
Lawn chairs with balloons fly away,
Inflatable pants, you might as well skip,
If you want to fly, all you need
Is friendship!
(SpongeBob Squarepants. “The Sponge Who Could Fly (The Lost Episode).” Season 3, Episode 16. Originally aired March 21, 2003.)
Last night after sushi I headed back to panda eraser’s pad and had a bonding moment or ten with Little V, my goddaughter. She was giving me a tour of her toys and suddenly started saying, “Bubbo, Bubbo,” which I finally figured out was a reference to SpongeBob coming on the television at that moment. I said, “I know that guy. He lives in a pineapple under the sea,” and she laughed and stuck the bottom half of a bisected doll in her mouth. She’s pretty rad.
“I am not Batman,” by Doug Gentry on the photonet.
Begin to be now what you will be hereafter.
(William James.)
All right, dudes. Fourteen days ago, I gave the rotten spots on my soul two weeks’ notice. Now it’s time to start working on those New Year’s resolutions.
The trial which had me so tied up in knots has ended better than I could have hoped. I celebrated a friends’ Thanksgiving with my closest friendohs. I attended my cousin’s wedding in San Antonio and feel grounded and affirmed being surrounded by friends and family in the past few weeks. I also ruminated long and hard and ultimately gained finality in a drawn-out situation that I hated, and I feel, in the grand summation, a whole lot less like I’m walled up in a castle behind thorns. Whew. I have my sea legs back, and I am ready to resume sailing steadily along this journey. Prepare for a post parade.
I had to report for Jury Duty last week. I wore a Catwoman shirt. Didn’t really think about it ’til I was already at the courthouse, but then I concluded that anything which made me look less mature, trustworthy, and respectable could only work to my advantage, as I distinctly did not want to be seated on a jury.
“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.”
(C.S. Lewis.)
I consider this self-evident on a daily basis but it’s still nice to read from such a beloved source. That C.S. Lewis has not had his own month around here yet is an absurdity and a crime. January, maybe. December is already lined up.
There is no genius free from some tincture of madness.
(Seneca.)
Hey. I’m home from going home and after I post up a few things, I will work back through the comments. I hope you have all had an illuminating, fascinating, orgasmic last ten days and I am totally willing to hear all about it whether you have or have not. It feels good to be back!
Topless Claudia Schiffer in Catwoman mask by Mario Testino for German Vogue (June, 2008).
Winner winner, chicken dinner! I said goddamn, Claudia Schiffer. Haters to the left.
Internet, I am going to let you knock off early and go home for the rest of the day, because you have truly outdone yourself. Great hustle.
Several days later:
Wow, guys. Monica Bellucci and my fave photographer, Ellen Von Unwerth, are seriously giving the topless Claudia Schiffer Catwoman by Mario Testino of several days’ ago a real run for its money for the internet’s Best [Batman] Picture Ever contest.
Monica Bellucci, photographed in Catwoman mask and leather bodysuit by the stellar and magnificent Ellen Von Unwerth for “Bella Bellucci,” a feature in Vogue España, June 2006.
While Monica’s cleavage is always impressive and, of course, her face is basically the most beautiful on Earth, I’m still giving the advantage to the Mario-Claudia collaboration for toplessness. Better luck next time, Team Monica-EVU!
TODAY:
I’ve brought them both back for this very special Flashback Friday because it’s a tiime for a bat couture Showdown!: Model Citizens as Catwoman edition.
Top: Monica Bellucci photographed by Ellen von Unwerth ; Bottom: Claudia Schiffer photographed by Mario Testino.
And ladies, please remember that in my mind, you are both winners. Pick your feline femme fatale poison below!
Holly Golightly: I’m like Cat here, a no-name slob. We belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us. We don’t even belong to each other. —Breakfast at Tiffany’s (film)
Check out more of Adam’s rad comic artwork on his deviant art account, he is without a doubt totally the bestest in the westest. Mad ❤ for his Audrey as kitteh-lady interpretations. Not my favorite movie, but I have always liked that Holly has the sense to merely call him Cat and not try to shove a name down his throat. Yeah, yeah, the cat is symbolic, blah bloggety blah.
Expect to read so much more about this. I can think of like 8 different ways of illustrating some of the amazing points Mr. Schöpflin makes throughout this fascinating essay on assimilation of cultural identities in order to face a morally uncertain future and the ambiguities of morality in a closed system where we pretend it is not bounded and treat as sacrosanct the presupposed morality that sits at its taboo-ridden core, too, like I’d go first obviously with stills from The Dark Knight to illustrate boundaries of security and the agents of anarchy and how new identities must be constructed to counteract them and maintain the safety of the bounded identity, then some Star Wars classic trilogy (Han vs. Boba Fett as two sides of the outsider coin, Luke vs. Vader as defending assimilated symbolic identities), then A Fistful of Dollars, then Sanjuro … like … dag.
But instead I will be in Arcata, kicking these ideas around in my brain while Katohs and I listen to likely pointless drivel about how motivated and enriched the lives of the students at CSU Humboldt are thanks to their four years on the campus. It is like, dudes, she already wants to go here and you have agreed that she should: just tell the girl where the bathrooms and the coffee are, let her find some hookups for less savory entertainments, put in some face time with her department folks, and send us on our way. We do not need the I’m-okay-you’re-okay, hugs-across-the-student-body, banana splits and chicanery. It is well-understood that she is the most supafly and okay-est cat in town. Duh.
But on the plus side — road trip with Special K! Off to google sushi restaurants in Santa Rosa (our lunchtime stopping goal).
I never thought I’d make this remark about anything Catwoman-related, and I used to be a fan of her music until right now, but in looking at this picture of Christina Aguilera as Catwoman in a music video or some shit, I can only say,
Vintage shot of perfumiere and freakstyle lovin’ Hélène Rochas, photographed by André Ostier at a masquerade ball in Paris, 1946. The event was called “Nuit du Pré Catelan” and was held on the bois de Boulogne. (thanks to Alecia Reddick photography blog for this credit!)
Found this picture via a June review of Rochas Paris’s 2009 perfume release, Eau Sensuelle, at mimifroufrou. Don’t be fooled by their french name and their claims of truthiness to the Rochas house’s roots. They are owned by Procter and Gamble now. Everyone Sells Out.
The Thought Experiment 