Archive for July, 2008

Pretentious? Mais Oui!

Thursday, July 31st, 2008

Kilian Hennessy, heir to the Hennessy cognac family, is a perfumer whose fragrances come in swanky black packaging. He looks kind of   faux-decadent, in a good way. I would totally go shopping with him, at the very least. Here is Hint Magazine‘s description of his newest perfume, called “Prelude to Love: Invitation.”

Prelude to Love: Invitation ($225 for 50 ml, $2,500 for a liter barrel) keeps lockstep with its brethren in its ridiculous name and orgiastic theme, but it’s instantly forgivable once we smell the contents. Inspired by a Rimbaud poem, it’s flavored like a leaf-flavored pastille pierced with lemon pepper, an off-limits candy greenness reminiscent of when you start to feel naughty down there. At Bergdorf Goodman.

Hahahaha! Check out his other “quietly lewd” fragrances here.

Horrible Fashion Jargon

Wednesday, July 30th, 2008


“I’m all about a leopard shoe right now. I’ll wear these high/low style with a worn-out tee and skinnies”

-Maureen, copywriter. ( re Pedro Garcia shoes )

How many things are wrong with this statement from today’s front page at Shopbop, in a feature called Shopbop Obsessions?

This is what’s ruining online fashion for me. I can’t take the jargon. It is killing me. I am almost numb to the use of “rock” as a synonym for “wear.” But not quite. I can’t bear the word “obsessed’’ used as a substitute for I Love. When I read the words “I’m obsessed with this new lipstick by NARS,” I picture some girl who can’t stop thinking about the lipstick, maybe even stalking the lipstick for all I know. Can’t the term “obsession” still keep its meaning?   “Awesome” used to mean something, too. Now, if you see the Northern Lights or the Grand Canyon, you will need to say “The sight was breathtaking.” Awesome is what you say now when someone says “Dinner’s ready.”

I can’t stand the infantilisms either. The Brits do it more for some reason, but the US is catching up. Hoodie, lippie, cardie, booties, and now, apparently, “skinnies.”   Eeoow! Ugh!

Calling shoes “kicks” may be years old but it still feels like a knife in my stomach when I see this word. How about “mixing it up” as a fashion term? Jesus, am I the only one with an oversensitive ear?

Meanwhile, a “fan” has “suggested” that I am an exhibitionist. Okay then! Here’s my favorite photo of 2008, displaying the always popular Sister Wolf Beehive.

Secret Diary of a Call Girl

Tuesday, July 29th, 2008

Secret Diary of a Call Girl is my new favorite TV show. I was put off by the name of the Showtime series but in the end, I simply can’t resist the actress in the title role. Billie Piper is new to me, but evidently she had a career as a teen pop singer in the UK. She also caused a scandal by marrying a creepy DJ/TV presenter named Chris Evans. His fame to me personally rests on the fact that my best friend once encountered him in an elevator, and his greeting to her was: “Nice tits, pet!” (I still enjoy saying this to her, obviously.)

Anyway, then Billie Piper had a role in Dr. Who and some other stuff. Now, in Secret Diary of a Call girl, she carries the entire show with her voice-overs, her comments into the camera, and her big pouty lips.

Her character, Belle, enjoys being a high-priced call girl but she is very sweet and unassuming. In fact, she is so vulnerable, you want to just pet her head the whole time. Even when she walks into a room wearing a bustier and high heels. There is something very wistful and wounded in Billie Piper or her character, I can’t tell which. She is slightly chubby (only slightly!) and her hairline is too low. She has a nice overbite, too.

She looks a little like a monkey, and I know this for a fact because even my husband admitted it. He usually never agrees with anything I say about actresses, like Julia Robert looks like a horse. But last night, his response to my monkey assessment was: “A little bit.”   This is a huge victory in itself.

Last night, Belle had to conduct a foursome with a married couple and her own ex-boyfriend (long story, you will have to watch the show.) Belle was charming, ladylike, lesbitious, slutty, and yet vaguely melancholy throughout. I don’t know how she does it.

Please take my advice and watch this show if you haven’t already. While you’re watching, ask your BF or husband is Billie Piper looks a little like a monkey.

For the Snappy Dresser

Monday, July 28th, 2008

Do you like looking at ridiculous menswear? Do you long to see low-rent pimps, a fat guy in a crazy Zoot Suit, or fake crocodile shoes in every color of the rainbow? Good, because this is the place.

Hideous Shoes To Brighten Your Life

Sunday, July 27th, 2008

Earlier today, I was very annoyed by a crazy bitch who’s been taunting me online. But then I realized that if I had to go around kicking the ass of every single person I’ve somehow pissed off, I’d have no time for anything else.

Even better, I came across these godforsaken boots at Neiman Marcus, and my life was once again filled with joy. Who would buy these monstrosities?!   Besides Cher and Pamela Anderson, I mean.

They are priced at $395, a small price to pay for all this grotesque ugliness! Just try deciding which pair is worse!

An Interactive Feature Film

Saturday, July 26th, 2008

Late Fragments” is the first fully interactive dramatic feature film, and it’s now available on DVD. I read about it at Schema Magazine, ‘an online platform about ethnic cool in the new Canada.’   I don’t know what the new Canada means, but Schema is a great source of interesting pop culture news.

Late Fragments has three storylines: A male stripper struggling with past trauma, a mother dealing with the loss of innocence of a child, and a father trying to reconnect with a son. Together, they offer thousands of pivot points.   As you choose which storyline or character to explore, you discover more nuances and delve deeper into the poignant stories.

Apparently, the unifying theme is Restorative Justice.

Despite all my sexist posturing (which includes a vehement disapproval of male strippers) I am all ready to choose my character…The Traumatized Male Stripper.   Who among us could refuse him?

Men Who Love Dolls

Friday, July 25th, 2008

A friend gave me a heads-up to watch a documentary on BBC America called “Love Me, Love My Doll.” It focuses on some men who have ‘fallen in love’ with their life-sized dolls.   Let me say, this is nothing like “Lars and the Real Girl,” which has been ruined for me now.

After watching the documentary, I googled it. All I could find were other people who had watched it on TV and were somewhere on the spectrum between creeped-out and traumatized.

Watching it in our separate houses, my friend and I texted frantic messages back and forth, like “Oh god!” and “There is no hope.” One of the guys was really scary, because he owned some impressive firearms. If you’re reading this, scary firearms guy, we were only scared because you are so fucking AWESOME!

The men do seem to ‘love’ their dolls, who have names and personalities. The personalities are kind of compliant, if you know what I mean.

The documentary includes a visit to the factory where the dolls are made, and sold for $8,000 to $10,000. You can choose from several styles of pubic hair, and each doll comes with a “douche ball” for easy cleansing.

Had enough? Sorry.   If you want to know more, here is an essay about it at Salon.com.

On a lighter note, but also tragic in its own way, in a scene where a guy applies lipstick to his beloved doll before sending her off to be repaired, I actually recognized the lipstick!!!!   It was “Tabloid” by Prescriptives, a nice deep blue-red that has been discontinued.

The “Don’t Have Children” Movement.

Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008

Actually, I believe it is known as antinatalism.   I had no idea there were so many people passionately opposed to procreation, on the grounds that it morally indefensible to bring a child into the world when we know with  certainty that it will lead to suffering and death.

Do you feel this is a crock of shit? I do, and here’s why. I believe that if I invited every antinatalist to commit suicide, I would get no takers. Why? Because they fucking want to live, that’s why! Even though life means suffering, THEY WANT MORE OF IT. But they don’t want to subject this thing they want more of, to any future beings.

I believe these avowed antinatalists are acting in bad faith by refusing to kill themselves. Shit or get off the pot, know what I mean?

Life is certainly filled with tragedy but as Woody Allen complained about a restaurant with bad food, the portions are so small!

By the way, I came upon this topic via Chip Smith, a provocateur (and antinatalist) whose website wants to make you mad, or at least ruffle your feathers.

Horrible Celebrity Baby Names II

Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008

While laying in my death-bed, I’ve been able to read the new Vogue magazine with a fine-tooth comb, so to speak. It’s filled with horror this month. I haven’t even begun to dissect its many insults, but a feature on the style of ‘real’ women introduced me to the self-centered Trophy Wife of John Mellencamp.

Former fashion model Elaine Irwin and John Mellencamp have named their two sons “Hud” and “Speck.”

What were they thinking?! Hud is just awful, but Speck? Did they name him after serial nurse-killer Richard Speck? Or was he just really tiny, like a little teeny speck of a baby?   Whatever, the Mellencamps are fucking idiots.

I am also a little disappointed in Brangelina’s name for their new boy, “Knox.” I see it is imperative that all their boys have an X in their names. Maddox, Pax, and so on.

But “Knox?” It cries out for the suffix, “Fort.”

Here is my list of suggestions for their next son (leaving out the too-conventional “Max”)

Tex
Tex Mex
Text
Fax
Lox
Vox

That’s it, I’m worn out. Any one got some more?

Pain Journal: Part III

Saturday, July 19th, 2008

My best friend washed my hair last night. It was matted and vomitty and she poured water over my head that ran down my back and drenched my borrowed dress. It was sublime. Today my sister came over and shaved my legs. She did a much better job than I’ve ever done.   Maybe I can get her to do it from now on.

In the hospital, I shared a room with Dorothy, an 85 year old woman whose voice was weak and quavery.   Poor Dorothy had been in the hospital for four weeks without getting a diagnosis. She complained that her hands and arms were purple from being stuck with needles.

Dorothy was miserable. She suffered endless indignities, like a night nurse who inquired loudly “You need go poo-poo?”

One day, Dorothy’s son came to visit. I couldn’t see them behind the curtain that divided our beds. The son had a deep booming voice and began reading letters from lawyers, concerning a quarrel over her estate. Her younger son was mentioned and characterized as a shyster. The Booming Man, Gene, wanted to be named executor of the estate, instead of the shyster. Dorothy was barely able to respond. She probably just wanted a sip of water or a bedpan.

One night I started crying and told Dorothy that I just wanted someone to shoot me. She answered back, “Me too.”

When I’m back on my feet, and I will be, I’m going to find Gene. I’m going   to make him sorry for being a monster and a douchebag. I’m completely serious. That’s how I know I’m still me.