via sapphoscloset, very cool queer style blog, check ’em out!
Vintage Joan Jett lookin’ all kinds of pimp and ready to hit that shit right out of the park.
Please remember that Joan still looks THIS GOOD:
That right there? Is what a motherfucking rock star looks like. Hell yes! I said goddamn, Joan Jett. Haters to the left.
So few words in this entry, so many king-size cusses.
Originally posted on October 13, 2009 at 12:33 pm.
Attaboy. Roll just as fly as you please and fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.
by Eliza Gauger.
Sorry for the re-tread on a Sunday and not on a Flashback Friday or Take-two Tuesday, but I’m nearly through my major June series which I have done every summer for nine years because of that there ol’ deathiversary due to my crushing unbearable survivor’s guilt and repressed rage, then snap! it’s almost time for my much-more-voluntary-and-less-moody yearly re-read of The Handmaid’s Tale, and then over Fourth Of July I do The Tommyknockers. I must reach the part where Ruthie McCausland blows up the clock tower on Independence Day on the Fourth of July in my own time for true Summer synchonicity to occur, and the times I haven’t done I’ve felt all kinds of crawly about it, so why invite trouble? Then I will wind things down with the Doomsday Book, which, entering my life in 2004, is a comparatively recent addition to my duties.
Librarian-type girls are hot. I’m saying that I’m hot.
Also somewhere in there I’m to become at least glancingly conversant with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s work on grief because my aunt said it’s time we try facing up to how we feel Ways About Things and try to let go. I’m all like, “Okay! if you think that’s best,” but really I mean, “WE’LL SEE,” or even, “NO.”
When I’ve attended to all my obligations, which should be done in about a month, THEN I am hoping to get started on this awesome book the Gentleman is loaning me about Abraham Lincoln hunting vampires, which is appropriate because as we all well know vampires suck and werewolves are going to the dogs.
See? Hot! The Bookworm knows. (Another retread; you may remember this picture from the “Enter the Bookworm” post a bit back.)
Christo brought the vampire hunter book down for me the night I went to the house to watch the finale of Lost with Gorgeous George, but I declined, telling him to loan it to someone else because I knew I’d be tied up for a while. But soon! I’ll let you know how it is!
via thechocolatebrigade on the tumblr.
I know this guy who claims controversially when drinking in a crowd that he doesn’t like the film Donnie Darko (Richard Kelly, 2001). This guy will say he happens to think that it’s a dumb, boring, pretentious piece of crap that tries too hard, and people only pretend to like it because they’re afraid of looking not-hip. I geniunely love the film Donnie Darko, but it’s okay, because I happen to think that this guy is a dumb, boring, pretentious piece of crap who tries too hard, and people only pretend to like him because they’re afraid of looking not-hip.
Haters to the left.
Happy birthday, I guess, to Gates “Dr. Beverly Crusher” McFadden, who turns 61 today.
Still from Star Trek: The Next Generation. “Thine Own Self,” Season 7, Episode 16.
This was the one where Troi must undergo the holodeck test to become a commanding officer, proctored by her pigdog ex Riker, and the first time through the simulation, everyone dies — including the doc, here — but the second time, after really annoying counsel from a predictably arrogant and slimy Riker (get this, he squints and tilts his head lecherously! wow! the moves!), Troi forces Geordi to sacrifice himself and everyone else lives.
Insert some kind of “Riker’s boner” joke here. Pigdog.
Lesson being greater good kind of stuff. That’s what matters. Not the first picture, which I mainly selected because, in it, Dr. Crusher has a typically bitchy look on her face. (I am a big anti-Crusher guy from Way Back, so I approach her scenes with a bias. Sorry.) That was the subplot, actually; the main thing of the episode was Data’s memory crashed and he was stranded on a planet where people thought he had the plague.
Actually, in my search for the above shot, I found the below one, and I take back almost all the mean things I’ve said over the years.
I said goddamn, Gates McFadden. Haters to the left. And this time, that’s me. Happy birthday, madame!
I am so glad to be able to share two super-special gals with you today. First, brooding and sensitive Cheryl Kubert from earlier in the day (R.I.P. and I wish her many hopefully joyful and educational returns to this earth after her unhappy retirement; that’s what reincarnation is for), the solemn, petite brunette with tall skis and deep eyes, and now — for something completely different! — ebullient and absolutely adorable blonde ray of sunshine Julie Michelle McCullough: model, actress, stand-up comedienne, and maligned-but-triumphant victim of sitcom scandal. Take it away, buttercup!
Photographed by Arny Freytag.
“I’ve always felt that I have little eyes, a mouth full of teeth and ears that I call elf ears. They kind of poke out.” That’s her opinion. We certainly didn’t notice any flaws when Julie McCullough showed up for our salute to The Girls of Texas last February. In fact, we tucked her ears under a Stetson and put her on the cover. It was the first time she’d ever seen a copy of Playboy.
Although she was born in Hawaii, Julie was then, and is now, living in Texas. But as the daughter of a Marine Corps lifer, she has moved around a lot. “It bothered me when I was younger, but as I look back, I appreciate it, because it taught me how to get along with different types of people. If you make good friends, you never lose them.”
During most of her childhood years, Julie thought she wanted to be an artist. “I really love to draw,” she says, “but I could never see myself as a starving artist. So I realized art would have to be more of a hobby than a career. And then, in high school, I started entering pageants, and I got a couple of Miss Photogenic awards. And everybody would tell me, ‘You should try modeling; You should try modeling.’ And all of a sudden, it’s like, ‘Hey!'”
Playboy’s cover picture, and the less covered picture inside the magazine, caused a furor in Julie’s home town of Allen, a rural community 26 miles north of Dallas. A local pastor, announcing that he planned to preach a sermon on the subject, was quoted as saying — we kid you not — “The easiest thing to do is jump on Julie.” He went on to say that he saw her appearance in Playboy as part of a larger problem, that of “general moral disintegration in the fiber of the nation.” (“Return of the Cover Girl,” Playboy, February 1986.)
While working as a model, she was also honing her skills as an actress and had landed a part on television’s sitcom Growing Pains, featuring Kirk Cameron. He unfortunately shared the opinion that the easiest thing to do was jump on Julie, it seems, because he used his pull with the network to have her summarily axed off the show when he learned she had posed for Playboy, accusing the network of tacitly endorsing pornography by continuing her employment.
Because Mr. Cameron was the breakout star of the show and a teen heartthrob who kept the network flush with sponsors (his charming smile conveniently moved hot amounts of Noxzema pads and Snickers bars to both cleanse and satisfy), they went along with his wishes and terminated the object of his objections.
McCullough appeared in eight episodes until she was fired in 1990, which stemmed from series star Kirk Cameron’s conversion to evangelical Christianity, a conversion that, according to “The E! True Hollywood Story” episode focusing on the show, served to alienate him from his fellow cast members, as he did not invite any of them to his wedding. He accused the show’s producers of promoting pornography. (the wiki)
Sez Ms. McCullough now:
[Kirk Cameron] thinks if I read science books that I’m going to hell. I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints … the sinners are much more fun.* And a lot more interesting than some book-burner who is still having growing pains! I am at peace with God. Kirk thinks people like me are going to Hell; if I do, then at least I’ll go well-informed and well-read!
(Ms. McCullough’s myspace.)
*That is a reference to the Billy Joel song “Only the Good Die Young,” about young Virginia, a Catholic girl who starts much too late. Rock on with it, Ms. McCullough! Good people quote the Beatles. Great people quote the Beatles, Queen, and Billy Joel.
Contemporaneous with her being fired from Growing Pains, Ms. McCullough was also stripped of her crown as Wilmington, NC’s “Azalea Queen” for posing for Playboy. Sheesh. I try to keep shit to myself, but I really feel the need to address Mr. Cameron’s and the people of Wilmington’s position on this issue. Leaving aside for now the fact that the lord decreed we enter this earth naked and that nudity is a major factor in procreation, which what good man can decry?, let us address the point where it seems people feel it ill befits a person of “good” moral fiber to celebrate the physical gift of their bodies. As a hippy-dippy meditative and soulful Christian who has thought my way deeply and thoroughly through these issues and can confidently and guiltlessly balance both Playboy and my beloved monthly The Way of St. Francis without throwing out the baby with the bathwater, loving-the-Word-but-thanking-God-for-earthly-forms-wise, I can only cite and gently suggest a review of Matthew, chapter seven.
Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the plank that is in thine own eye? Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a plank is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite, first cast out the plank out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye. At Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and the region across the Jordan, Jesus was talking to the multitudes gathered there after hearing of His message and of His healings to beseech them to not become like the pharisees and hypocrites who think they are above sin. (Matthew 7:1-7.)
Mmm-hmm. This is an earnestly serious ethical issue. I’m not playing about the no more judging stuff. It’s just like Blessed Mother Teresa said: “If you judge someone, you have no time to love them.” And which one do you think Jesus would rather you worked at doing? Get with the program!
Today, Ms. McCullough is a well-received and widely admired stand-up comedienne who continues to act.
Some of her film and small screen credits include The Golden Girls, Beverly Hills, 90210, Jake and the Fatman, the Drew Carey Show, The Blob, and Harry and the Hendersons.
She is also a published poetess, with a number of anthology and private publishing credits to her literary name, and she was on a basketball team with Casper van Dien of Starship Troopers fame (I ♥ Heinlein and Johnny Rico forever). According to the imdb, she began working full time in 2006 as a stand-up comedienne. She has performed, if the wiki can be trusted, at such well-known venues as the Palms in Las Vegas and the Laugh Factory in L.A. Right on!
In conclusion, it is a widely known but nonetheless hard and bitter truth that, frankly, haters gon’ hate. All love and good wishes to Ms. McCullough and her sunny resilience!
Miss Daryl Christine Hannah is looking very flyass indeedy. It’s not just any ol’ lady who can sport a monocle and still look g as all heck.
I said goddamn, Daryl Hannah. Haters to the left! Coolest lady ever.
ME: One thing I learned [from the Playboy project of NSFW November] is that I guess it turns out I am kind of obsessed by Daryl Hannah. I didn’t even realize that!
HRH: Oh, I did.
ME: Really?
HRH: You talk about her a lot, more than you hear most people do. And you know way more about her than anyone normally knows about Daryl Hannah.
ME: But she’s so cool! I thought everyone thought that… I thought everyone talked about her and knew about her.
HRH: You are pretty much the only person I have ever heard talk about her.
ME: (wonderingly) I think about her all the time. How do other people not?
HRH: I don’t know. But you are making up for it.
Okay, so an eyepatch is not a monocle (it actually serves as sort of the cross purpose), but it is an accessory intended for use on only one eye; plus, you must admit that she is positively rocking that fabulous Moschino trench coat.
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.
Listening to Joe Buck, actually listening to the words he says and attempting to string them together, is like staring into the Ark of the goddamned Covenant. Face all melting, eyes all exploding, regret the last thing you ever have time to feel …
Ugh. Even with the Yanks up, I am still turning that twat OFF and following the game from the slow but silent safety of Gameday on mlb.com, away from his inaccurate facts and banal, inane comments like, “I don’t like Kazmir’s pace.” Guess what, Joe Buck? He doesn’t like you. Not even Conan’s charity challenge can make this man’s incessant patter palatable to me.
Thanks for going with your usual shitty announcers who know nothing about the AL for its goddamned Championship Series, Fox. (two finger-pop) PEACE.
Apologies for the hateration. I try to be nice. But I simply think that, when you look at the empirical evidence, and consider all the facts together with a cool and reasonable head, it becomes apparent that Joe Buck is a total cockring.
edit: I turned off the game, ate, and turned the TV back on just in time to hear A-Rod called “Posada.” BLARGHGHGHGHGHGH (flesh bubbling, eyes dangling before being consumed in flame) ….
New feature! Model Citizens! And I can think of no better inaugural edition.
Ladies and gentlemen, the lovely and talented Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, model, singer, songwriter, indie actress and … something else …. oh, right, First freaking Lady of France, if you please.
“Nothing was calculated, nothing foreseen. I’ve never been married before and I’m Italian and I don’t like divorce. Therefore I’m the First Lady of France until the end of my husband’s term, and then his wife until death. I know that can hold surprises but that’s just what I want.” — Bruni on her surprise wedding to Sarko, shortly after his split from wife Cecilia (who had her own lover, too, don’t panic — they’re European)
I said goddamn, Carla Bruni. Haters to the left! Her sister also is a singer/actress/model. Very slashy, those Tedeschi girls. Bruni started out modeling for Guess, Dior, and Givenchy, but gave it up to pursue her singing career. She met Nicolas Sarkozy not long after his divorce, at a dinner party in November of 2007. They were engaged by December (it is rumored). I like a woman who doesn’t let any grass grow under her feet, and it also confirms two of her often-reported quotes:“I’m monogamous from time to time, but I prefer polygamy and polyandry.”
and
“I want a man with nuclear power.”
Kudos to keeping your eyes on the prize, Mme. Bruni-Sarkozy.
“It was immediate … I know you don’t get married in an instant and that even more, we were in the spotlight. But lovers, you know, have their own sense of time.” — On falling for Nicolas Sarkozy
Here is her cover of one of my favorite songs, widely charted by the Ink Spots and one Miss Patsy Cline, “You Belong To Me.” The track appears on her most recent album, the 2008 LP Comme si de rien n’était (It is as if nothing happened).
Carla Bruni – You Belong To Me
This has been your very, very NSFW inaugural Model Citizen dossier on Carla Bruni-Sarkozy. Eskimo kisses and you’re welcome!
The lush cover of this track by Fiona Apple that appears on the soundtrack to Pleasantville is I think the most gorgeous version of this song ever recorded, so I’m starting things off with that one.
Fiona Apple – Across the Universe
I stumbled over the below picture a few weeks back on the blog chained and perfumed, and my first thought on reading the left column of the album liner notes was, “Wow, that is so awesome to see the lyrics written out like that!” I have always loved this song. Some of my most special personal moments of epiphany and individual soul-forging have taken place with just me, an open Spring road, and this song playing in the car.
Then I read the right column and all my hackles rose and I was sputtering barely intelligible stuff about tunafish sandwiches sucking and I essentially finally spat, “God, I hate you, Yoko Ono!” A confession: I am not a hater in the truest sense. I am terrible at hating; I typically lose track of what I am even angry about, and end up feeling that I am the jerk for not being more forgiving. But I have always had this barely rational hatred of a few people, a shortlist if you will, and at the top is that vile, pretentious and ambitious ruiner of friendships, the dread Yoko Ono; I was even Continue reading, hear more music, see gorgeous and rare video, and help me be less of a hater!
Like she was not already a bombass superfly lady in her own right, she is also director Dario Argento’s daughter. I said goddamn, Asia Argento. You had me at buon giorno. Haters to the left! 
A confession: I feel like this picture represents my attitude toward women up until recently: a lot of masculine posturing, deliberate naughtiness with a subsconscious eye toward alienation, and tightly concealed feminine anxiety (keeping your feelings secret from a woman is virtually impossible, and this is mainly terrifying to me — I feel that the sheer dress represents this vain and futile attempt to conceal my very real girly core, which is just as sensitive and emotional as all-git-out and I shudder to admit makes me as vulnerable as any other chick on the block). But I’ve been on this new quest to strengthen my pre-existing female relationships—I have close female friends without whom I could literally not live, yet I still insist that women don’t get along with me; clearly this is false or else is based on residual hurt from some distant past that I need to just plain get over—and hopefully forge some new ones, too.
I’m trying to overcome my shyness around women and be less of a geeky tomboy, or at least balance that trait, and to stop pigeonholing 51% of the world’s population as likely to dislike me. I am guilty of reverse discrimination: by assuming a girl is not going to “get” me or like me, I am not only doing my sex a terrible turn, but I am also depriving myself of the opportunity to meet and learn from a new person. So I am working on this.
The Thought Experiment 