Archive for February, 2009

Does Porn Cause Depression?

Thursday, February 26th, 2009

Over at 2blowhards, people have been strenuously debating whether porn is an art form akin to rock and roll, and whether we now accept porn as part of the internet experience.

Obviously, the first question is nonsensical. But the other question bothers me. Just now, I followed some fashion links to some new photos of Lindsay Lohan, topless. My first thought upon looking at her face was: This girl is spent. Literally. She’s been used up and she has nothing left to offer but her nude body for the purpose of porn.

The poor girl has been through everything, at such a young age! She looks like she’s at the brink of starvation, but since she still has tits, she’ll flaunt them. I find it very depressing.

Is it pornography to watch a young celebrity flame out and burn? Is Girls Gone Wild pornography? Are kids really posting nude photos of themselves on their mySpace pages? Is porn ever healthy? Is there anything we haven’t seen yet, or shouldn’t see?

When I first learned to use a computer, the girl I worked with immediately set out to show me some notorious video of a woman having sex with a donkey. I hoped she wouldn’t find it. She did show me a photo of an old lady using a dead fish for something….it wasn’t good, although it was somewhat shocking.

Another office, more searches for porn. My (female) boss and I laughed hysterically at photos of women with two cocks in their mouths. We went to massive cocks dot com and laughed some more.

That is really the totality of my experience with online porn. Is there something wrong with me?

I don’t think I’m prudish. I just don’t want to get depressed. Now I hear there’s a very popular website where people upload pictures of their own faces during orgasm. I don’t get why it’s popular! Why would I want to see what some stranger looks like when they come?

I’m wondering if the world is made up of exhibitionists and voyeurs. And of course a third group, where I fit in. I’m wondering if my problem is that I can’t look at porn without thinking about the motives involved. After I laughed at the girl with two cocks in her mouth, I thought about her mother.

Someone once showed me a website where you could look at women covered in shit. I was very upset and wanted to cry for weeks afterward. I know this is not an example of whatever’s considered mainstream or arty porn, but the whole new world of porn at our fingertips is distressing to me. Even more than distressing, it’s sad.

People who enjoy porn should at least have the decency to shut up about it. Insisting that it’s interesting on any other level is just a denial of its primary purpose. Waxing all intellectual about porn is just absurd, like Camille Paglia pontificating about Madonna.

I hope that young people will still be allowed some innocence about sexuality, so they can discover it with a real live person. Mystery and taboos are there to preserve the holy aspect of sex, and by holy I don’t mean to exclude any practices between two human beings of any gender. Speaking   as an atheist, I still think of sex as a religious experience.

Here’s what Leonard Cohen thinks.

Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it’s lonely here,
there’s no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that’s an order!

Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that’s left
stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I’ve seen the future, brother:
it is murder.

Things are going to slide, slide in all directions
Won’t be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant.

You don’t know me from the wind
you never will, you never did
I was the little jew
who wrote the Bible
I’ve seen the nations rise and fall
I’ve heard their stories, heard them all
but love’s the only engine of survival
Your servant here, he has been told
to say it clear, to say it cold:
It’s over, it ain’t going
any further
And now the wheels of heaven stop
you feel the devil’s RIDING crop
Get ready for the future:
it is murder.

Things are going to slide …

There’ll be the breaking of the ancient
western code
Your private life will suddenly explode
There’ll be phantoms
There’ll be fires on the road
and a white man dancing
You’ll see a woman
hanging upside down
her features covered by her fallen gown
and all the lousy little poets
coming round
tryin’ to sound like Charlie Manson
and the white man dancin’.

Give me back the Berlin wall
Give me Stalin and St Paul
Give me Christ
or give me Hiroshima
Destroy another fetus now
We don’t like children anyhow
I’ve seen the future, baby:
it is murder.

Things are going to slide …

When they said REPENT REPENT …

Comments or arguments, anyone out there?

Now I’m Madder Than Ever

Thursday, February 26th, 2009

See this fabulous beehive? This is what I’d like to take to the bank so that I might accept this gracious invitation from Opening Ceremony:

But no, the bank won’t send me to Paris. Fuckers. Why? Because they don’t want me to look at Chloe Sevigny‘s latest shit, or even Erin “Homeless” Wasson’s! There is no justice in this world, as I had already suspected.

Next, that fucking Octomom is driving me insane. Is there no end to this?! Her lips are even bigger now, on the verge of exploding. Go here and watch her argue with her mother. The sound of her voice is maddening. Quick reader poll here: What’s worse, her face or her voice?

Third, the boyfriend jean has now spawned the ex-boyfriend jean. This is an incredible development that signals the coming apocalypse.

How do you tell the difference? Will there be an ex-husband style, too? God, I can’t stand the ripped jeans thing. We baby boomers have already been there, done that, or at least sneered at the people who did.

Finally, summing up tonight’s complaints are these crazy new pants that I think are pretty awesome (and not in a homeless way) but can no longer afford.

Do you love them or do you love them?! Imagine them with a beehive! Waaaah!

I could shop my closet forever without finding these Kirrily Johnston pants. They’re so epic, right? Well, there you have it. I was planning to complain about porn too but I’m already too mad to think clearly. If you want to read some idiots trying to decide if porn is art, go here.

Good Clean Fun

Tuesday, February 24th, 2009

I love stuff like this! I got the link from Susan, who knows everything worth knowing.

Go and have fun at ImageChef! It’s stupid, harmless entertainment and something to do when you’re trying desperately to give up online shopping…..

The Wisdom of Erin Wasson

Monday, February 23rd, 2009

Oh dear! The Nostrilled One expands upon her appreciation of   homeless style :

“I was not meaning to demean homeless people whatsoever! I have actually talked to these homeless people. I’ve had conversations with them. It’s a choice that they’ve made. They don’t want to have a job. They enjoy being completely free. I’ll see people on the beach and aesthetically, they look awesome, and because it’s so uncontrived and uninhibited. I got a lot of heat for that. It wasn’t that I was like ‘Oh yeah, homeless people are so cool; it’s so cool to see people that are homeless looking cool.’ It’s the lack of complexity in the way that they dress and the fact that there’s no thought behind it whatsoever that’s so righteous. You know?”

Hahaha!   What a Fucking Cunt !

Academy Awards 2009 Exigesis

Monday, February 23rd, 2009

I don’t know about you, but I loved this year’s show. It’s the first one in years that wasn’t a grim chore to sit through. Hugh “I’m not gay” Jackman was a delightful host, relieving one from the effort of laughing at stupid show biz wisecracks.

The show’s two most dramatic moments were:

1. Jennifer Aniston taking the stage, just a couple of feet from Brad and Angie. You could feel the tension as the possibility of humiliation loomed. It was fabulous, wasn’t it? Your own mind could furnish Jen’s thoughts, and Angie’s, too. I thought I detected a fleeting second of eye contact between Jen and Brad, but I’d need a slo-mo replay to be certain. Jen’s hair extensions were amazing, and her nose was perkier than ever. Still, even if she were stark naked, she had no hope of eclipsing the shocking, otherworldly beauty of Angelina Jolie.

2. The announcement of Sean Penn as best actor. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to deal with the look on Mickey Rourke‘s face. He wanted it so badly! But everyone at my house wanted Sean Penn, and we willed it to happen. We manifested Sean Penn’s award, because we know about The Secret. Too bad for Mickey Rourke. He will have to make do with the Golden Globe and his pinkie rings, walking sticks, and dead dog pendants.

Fashion is the real reason for watching the Academy awards and I personally feel I got my money’s worth. SJP looked like a Bad Witch even though she wore the Good Witch dress. Heidi Klum wore a hideous cheap-looking Roland Mouret, with gigantic crappy earrings. Halle Berry was missing her boobs, a tragedy that has yet to be explained. Did she give them to Salma??

Natalie Portman made everyone happy, as usual, even though her head is too big for her body. She dared to wear a weird shade of pink, and for that I salute her. Tilda Swinton accomplished her annual goal of looking like a frumpy man.

I missed Renee Zellweger! Was she there? Her sourpuss expression and vintage couture were sorely missed. Somewhat filling the void was Goldie Hawn, still convinced that she’s 16 years old.

Zak Efron and Emile Hirsch looked boyishly yummy, but few of the men were impressive. Without George Clooney or Johnny Depp, there was really no one to drool over. Seal probably looked great, but Heidi’s trashy get-up managed to blot out everything around her.

Even if you didn’t want Sean Penn to win, you can’t deny the power and sincerity of his call for equal rights for gays and lesbians. He had the guts to stand for something besides his own narcissism, god bless him.

Comments or arguments, anyone?

Pre-Oscar Complaints

Saturday, February 21st, 2009

I’m looking forward to wasting my evening tomorrow, watching the Academy Awards. All I ask is that Mickey Rourke doesn’t win.

But first, let me review The Changeling for anyone who missed it. Not surprisingly, it’s all about Angelina Jolie’s lips. I’m not joking here; the Lips should get an award, but not Angelina, whose acting is painfully bad throughout.

But the Lips! Jesus! They fill the entire shot whenever Angelina appears. Coated in an eerily fluorescent deep red lipstick, they are like a pair of giant blow fish. They look like they have eaten most of her face. In fact, perhaps the Lips are some kind of parasite and her face is the host.

Angelina looks frail and exhausted from hoisting those Lips around from scene to scene, but she gamely tries to act worried and/or miserable by flapping her bony hands.

The movie is congealed in period set decoration, with its escalating melodrama almost secondary to the 20’s era flotsam and jetsam. The story is much darker than I expected, so let this be a warning for anyone sensitive to images of serial killers chasing after little boys with an axe. In the end, the Lips look happy, after all they’ve been through.

Now, as for Mickey Rourke, I haven’t seen The Wrestler but seeing Mickey Rourke win his Golden Globe was more than enough for me. His comeback and his douchey Pimp outfits are way too over-the-top, and it’s making me sick. I can’t remember why we’re supposed to feel sorry for Mickey Rourke! Is it because his acting career flamed out, or because he screwed his face up?   Does anyone remember when he was arrested for beating up his girlfriend?

Just make him go away. His whole stupid Bruised Macho shtick is already old now and it’s time for him to move on. And don’t get me started on that Darren Aronofsky! Ugh! What a fucking cunt  !   His Movie Requiem for a Dream was a fucking crime against humanity.

Okay, so enjoy the Awards show or just wait for my Awards Show Exegesis on Monday.

Shoes to Kill For

Saturday, February 21st, 2009

The ‘Dovima,’ an 11cm, spike-heeled confection of gilded silk mesh and jewels, is embellished with a pair of rose pink-dyed, taxidermy birds with gold and crystal heads. Sound good so far? How about this: They incorporate   “semi-precious stones, jet, satin ribbons, silk chiffon, diamanté and crocodile skin fashioned into dainty rosettes.”

These shoes by Bruno Frisoni for Roger Vivier are hand made and cost $43,000. A little pricey but wait! The shoes “can be inserted into and buckled onto matching crocodile or snakeskin protective ‘platforms,’ based on the ‘pattens’ of the Middle Ages. They add height and save the expensive, fragile works-of-art for the feet from actually making contact with the pavement.”

Fuck!

Now that I’ve seen these shoes, nothing else will ever be good enough. It’s the fucking birds that get me.

Around 30 years ago, I was out with my sister, waiting for a table at our neighborhood cafe. A tall man in front of us was wearing white shoes that he’d obviously spray painted. On each toe cap was affixed a little doll head. My sister and I exchanged a look, and I said to the guy, “Nice shoes.” He smiled graciously and said, “I call them ‘Babies in the Snow.”

I’ve never forgotton about Babies in the Snow. I think I’ll call the Dovima “Dead Birds With Bling.”

Peanuts, Penis, Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off!

Friday, February 20th, 2009

Travis the Chimp: R.I.P.

Tuesday, February 17th, 2009

Whenever chimps go on a rampage, nobody wins. Poor Travis the Chimp was shot to death by a policeman after attacking a friend of his lifelong owner. But that’s not the whole story.

Earlier in the day, Travis annoyed his owner by grabbing her car-keys and trying to drive her car. She tried sedating him with Xanax but he wouldn’t calm down. She called a friend to come over and help. When the friend arrived, Travis went nuts, biting her in the face and hands. The owner was so distressed that she stabbed Travis with a kitchen knife, but that didn’t stop him, so she called 911.

When the cop arrived, Travis went out to the police car and tried to open the door. He loved policemen, apparently. The cop shot Travis several times. Travis fled and managed to retreat to his cage, where he died.

I don’t know who is to blame for any of this shit, but it wasn’t Travis.

The Statement Shoe

Tuesday, February 17th, 2009

A few days ago, I received an e-mail advisory from Neiman Marcus, revealing that the must-have purchase for the new season is The Statement Shoe.

I believe I have found The Statement Shoe! It’s a fake-vintage red sneaker by Golden Goose, selling for $420. Its statement is “Screw The Economy!” Or maybe “Look, I’m an Idiot!”

Stylebop.com is nice enough to plan out a whole look for this Statement Shoe.

All together, this look will set you back $2,070, which I think is more than fair. If you’re willing to pay 400 bucks for some pre-battered sneakers, what the hell! You might as well spend ten or twenty thousand on the clothes to wear with it.

If I wasn’t so lazy, I could get out my red Converse lowtops from under the bed and wear them with some denim shorts, a nothing cardigan, a lame t-shirt and some necklaces….and then I’d look just as pathetic, for free.

Last month, some fashion magazine had the nerve to suggest: “Shop Your Own Closet!” As if I want any of the crap in my closet.   I hate to admit it, but now I see their point. I’ve just saved $2,070!

Maybe tomorrow I’ll go check out my closet and buy one of those leather jackets in there, if I can get a good deal.