Archive for October, 2011

Amanda Palmer and My Nose

Monday, October 31st, 2011

Last night I went to see Amanda Palmer, aware that I might feel emotional, since Max loved Amanda and introduced me to The Dresden Dolls in the fist place.

I couldn’t get as close to the stage as I’d hoped, but we managed to find a pretty good place to stand. Before the opening act started, a girl directly in front of me felt compelled to dance  theatrically  to the piped in music. I turned to my companion and said: “This is a test from god. He put her in front of me to see if I can take it.” I added that all I really wanted was to not get my nose broken by her flailing elbows.

We managed to move closer to the stage and away from the dancing girl. In a break between the two supporting acts, I got something in my eye and asked a big friendly girl to hold my drink for a minute. She was adorable, like an enormous puppy but I can’t remember her name. She works at Trader Joe. I felt happy about our  camaraderie  and excited about seeing Amanda.

Suddenly, I experienced the shock of being whacked in the face by a plastic bottle that some fucker had thrown in my direction. The people next to me had seen it coming and I turned to see them cringing in horror. I felt my nose to see if it was still there. I wanted to cry but decided not to. You can’t believe the force of a flying plastic bottle! When I got home, I saw that there was a small bloody cut on the bridge of my nose. (see above)

Why did I have a premonition about my nose? Did I manifest a blow to the nose by Putting Out a negative thought? Does everyone get hit in the nose if they go to enough concerts?

Amanda was terrific, as always. Her embodiment of both male and female energy is so mesmerizing, and luckily, marriage has done nothing to tame her.

One of Amanda’s rituals is to answer personal questions from fans, selecting them randomly from a basket. She started reading one that didn’t make sense. It was just a name, like Quinn Something. She  threw  it aside, but someone in the audience yelled that Quinn was asking for a middle name. She said “Oh, sorry, I guess I didn’t read the whole thing.” Then she paused for a moment and shouted: “MAX!”

Suddenly everything became surreal. I expected Max to appear, summoned by Amanda Palmer. My jaw dropped in wonder. It was only a second but it was amazing. I was thrilled, freaked out, then tearful.   She added. “It’s one of my favorite names.”

Was it a sign? Say yes.

And what about my nose?

Stuff to Want, For a Change

Friday, October 28th, 2011

If you follow this link, you can see the full line of Versace for H&M, due in stores on November 17. Bright, flashy exotic prints and old-school Versace overkill in the accessories make this collection a nostalgic trip down Eurotrash lane.

I’m ready for it! I’m tired of drab colors and black with black.

These pants come in a leafy Hawaiian print as well, and look nice under the dresses or with short clashing   tops.

I love a pink suit on a male model but I admit that I’d like one for me. I think I could pull it off. But realistically, I will probably just set my sights on the pink shoes.   I’m not willing to stand in a long line to get my hands on this stuff but if the crowds aren’t too scary, these shoes are mine.

And if the shoes don’t work out, I want the bedspread. There are matching pillows for a nice opium den effect.

What do you think about this collection? Love it or hate it? Is it worth fighting a mob of aggressive girls wearing their Lita platforms?

Skirt of Death

Wednesday, October 26th, 2011

This skirt by Kevork Kilesjian would look great with a massive viking helmet, don’t you think?

At $1,495, the price is just right, and the designer’s name suggests he may be amenable to killing you with a plastic bag.   Maybe he could even do this before you suffered the indignity of wearing the skirt!

Shopbop,   of course.

Before and After*

Friday, October 21st, 2011

Even though he’s the Hipster du Jour, I can’t stand looking at Zombie Boy. Now that I see what he’d look like without his tattoos, I find him even more tragic.

He’s actually a cute guy! And he fucked himself all up.

If you think he’s a work of art, don’t fly off the handle: I’m reacting as a mother.

In any case, it’s a great marketing gimmick for Dermablend.

What’s your preference. Before or After?

~

*Update:   Here is the best possible version of Zombie Boy,   from a helpful reader, Danielle.   Now he needs to go away and leave us alone. I apologize for bringing him up in the first place.

Pictures

Tuesday, October 18th, 2011

Goodbye to Dad

Two walkers, December 2009

High School graduation, June 2011

Max and Pico

Playing guitars

and finally this photo by Antanas Sutkus. I can’t describe how much I love it. It is so exquisitely tender! It sums up everything for me. I want to kiss the little child and to reassure her. But I know she is me.

Daddy

Friday, October 14th, 2011

My dad died last night, at home in bed. He would have been 90 in November and we thought he would live forever. His health has been failing for the last year and a half but suddenly in the last week he took a bad turn.

My brother and my nephew have given their all to keep him alive but metastatic cancer is a  vicious force of nature that won’t be tamed.   All the kids gathered at my dad’s house to be with him. When he could still talk, he managed to tell me “Your….hair….looks…. dry.” I laughed and agreed.

Last night I sat by his bed and sang to him. He was unconscious but I imagined a slight reaction. I tried to offer comfort and peace. I wanted him to feel my loving  presence, and I told him that everything was good, everything was perfect, in case he was feeling any fear.

I joined the other siblings in the living room. There are seven of us, from 18 years old to 60.

My dad didn’t really care about me, but I was the Genius. He loved the other ones, though: The Artist, the Ladies Man, the Homemaker, the Weightlifter, the Looker and the Tennis Star.   He had asked us what we would like to have after he died. I asked for his old wedding band, mostly because everything   else was taken – his piano, his Rolex watch, his cars, his paintings, etc. The ring was in an envelope in a locked box with his will.

Sure enough, my sister noticed the envelope last night, torn open and empty. One of the siblings explained that our dad had decided to sell the ring, with the help of his caretaker. The story changed a few times and I left the house sobbing after screaming at the Tennis Star.

It couldn’t have ended any other way.

Too Fat or Not Too Fat

Tuesday, October 11th, 2011

If you haven’t seen The Big C, it’s a Showtime series about a spunky woman who has cancer.   A subplot features Gabourey Sidibe as a teenager whose boyfriend is a Russian immigrant, played by Boyd Holbrook, a popular male model and houseboy-quality hottie.

Every single time this couple appears in a scene, I can’t help but mutter, “As if” or “Oh please.” I don’t know how my husband can stand it.

I feel like if you’re not blind, you can see that Miss Sibide is too fat. She’s too fat to be healthy and too fat to be attractive. Maybe she’s a wonderful human being but she’s too damn fat.

Does the show want to make a statement about tolerance? Do we have to pretend that we don’t find the relationship absurd? Is it meant to challenge our “comfort zone?” For me, it only challenges my suspension of disbelief.

While it’s not fair that women are pressured to be thin, does that mean no one is too fat?

It doesn’t help that Miss Sibide’s acting is so awful in this role.   I’m sure she was phenomenal in Precious, but when she drones “You just want to get into my pants!” like she’s reading the phone book, I can’t help feeling she was cast primarily to irritate or disturb us. And it worked!

Thoughts or recriminations?

Disappointment from net-a-porter

Monday, October 10th, 2011

Shit.

Mermaids

Friday, October 7th, 2011

When I was little, I loved mermaids. I loved the illustrations in my book of Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales. I drew pictures of mermaids over and over, draping them in strings of pearls.

Now that I’m addicted to tumblr, I’ve discovered that mermaids are more popular than almost any other image. A mermaid also encompasses two hugely popular tumblr subjects: Tits, and women submerged in water. While tits need no explanation, the drowning women are disturbing.   Paintings of Ophelia tend to be lovely and melancholy, but depictions of modern women floating under water or laying dead in bathtubs are reminders that people like to see women in  jeopardy (if not actually dead.)

Mermaids are always beautiful and young, so that aspect of their attraction is obvious. In mythology and folklore, Mermaids are sirens who lure sailors to their death.   Do men find this danger seductive?

More important, mermaids have no genitals. Do men love them because of this or in spite of it? Does it relieve them of performance anxiety? I’m convinced that the anatomy issue is key somehow.

For me as a child, The Little Mermaid was a beautiful fantasy of a daughter who was loved by her family and showered with jewels.   I didn’t really understand why she would leave her home. I wanted a home filled with love and warmth. I didn’t feel good about her deal with the sea witch. The prince seemed kind of dimwitted not to recognize her or to intuit her love for him.

Later on, I remember reading The Little Mermaid to little Max, at bedtime. The book I read to him was an old unabridged translation of the original Hans Christian Anderson stories. It probably took several nights to get to the end, and I was so engrossed in the story that I forgot what was coming. I choked up with tears and tried to think of a way to spare Max the tragic last paragraph: The Little Mermaid threw herself overboard and turned into seafoam, comforted by some angelic sprites who asked her to join them. I think I made something up but I can’t ask Max.

Why do we love a story where the heroine sacrifices everything for love, even suffering constant  excruciating  pain, and ends up getting nothing but death? Until Disney changed the ending and turned a classic tragedy into a sappy feel-good product to sell other products, it was, for me, an inexplicably melancholy story.   It punishes a girl who seeks adventure and romance, so what else makes it such an enduring favorite?

Theories, memories, insults, anyone?

A Big Rock and a Bunch of Idiots

Tuesday, October 4th, 2011

The Los Angeles County Museum of Art has acquired, in its wisdom, a 340 ton granite boulder that will form the centerpiece of Michael Heizer‘s massive outdoor sculpture, “Levitated Mass.”

LACMA director Michael Govan points out that the huge rock is “only part of the sculpture,” which requires the  construction  of a subterranean slot upon which steel rails will support the rock, I mean the sculpture.

The largest part of the sculpture is the negative space, the channel in the landscape,” he says. “It has its own independent sculptural presence. The marriage of these two forms comprises the sculpture.”

When was the last time you got to hear the term “negative space” used without facetiousness?

Anyway,   the logistics of moving this huge rock are a nightmare. A company that moves “extreme objects” has been hired to figure out how to do it.   Some utility lines, street lights and stop lights will have to be taken down by the local area’s utility companies as the boulder passes through crowded urban areas, and the route the rock will take can’t be confirmed until permits are cleared.

At a cost of somewhere between $5 and $10 million dollars, this is a coup for LACMA.   Michael Heizer, the artist, is best known for “Double Negative,” the 1,500-foot-long land sculpture he cut into a desert mesa in a remote section of southern Nevada.

Breathtaking, isn’t it? To quote Heizer: “There is nothing there, yet it is still a sculpture.” So true.

As we ponder the meaning of art, the suffering of Sisyphus, and the value of ten million dollars, let us not forget that people are idiots.