The Wolfpack

wolfpack-boys

I finally got around to seeing The Wolfpack, but I was not prepared for it.

The true story of six brothers, aged 11 to 18, who were imprisoned in their New York apartment by their crazy parents, how could it be anything but dark and disturbing?

Somehow, from the promotional pictures I’d seen, I expected something more ‘quirky’ and lighthearted.

I knew the boys had learned about life from the movies that were their only link to the world outside. They were discovered walking down the street in the lower Eastside, dressed like characters from Reservoir Dogs, by a young filmmaker who ended up making a documentary about them.

Watching the family’s home movies, you see a group of children who are almost like puppies, clinging together with affection and loyalty and in the end, fear.

Fear of their father, a delusional South American devotee of Hindu, who didn’t believe in haircuts or exposure to the ‘poisonous capitalist society’ outside their front door, which he kept locked.

The mother has given up all power to her husband, who doesn’t believe in working but appears to like a drink or three.

The story is also a tale of resilience; the six boys are clearly damaged but somehow thrive. They are smart, sensitive, and loving. They are remarkably curious and life-affirming despite all odds.

But the picture of long-term abuse is just staggering. How does this go on?

It made me wonder how many households are run by little individual Hitlers, making crazy rules that no one has the nerve to disobey. The father here is like a paranoid Charles Manson without the charisma. A total shithead who somehow managed to get an idealistic farm-girl to buy into his delusions and bear him seven children.

The boys have a sister, Krishna, who was born with a disorder that keeps her tied to her parents, evidently.

Free Krishna, somebody!

One thing that startled me during this movie is the intensity of my revulsion for the Dictatorial Father. It is a visceral loathing that I carry around with me, ready to explode. All instances of dictatorial men, in books or movies or in the lives of my friends, trigger a deep antipathy, And by antipathy, I mean I want to kill them.

The Wolfpack father will never have to pay for his actions. All the petty authoritarian husbands and fathers out there will keep getting their way and ruining people’s lives. But why do women let this happen?

My own father left when I was 3 but maybe I’ve blocked out memories of his presence in the home. Or maybe it’s just the injustice of the situation that makes me want to kill these fucking bastards.

Everyone who has a daughter or who is in a position to influence young girls should make a point of teaching them to stand up and say No. Say No and walk away or run away if you have to.

It seems so obvious, and yet we haven’t made it clear.

See this movie for its unique gaze into the heart of darkness or because of the beautiful boys with the long silky hair.

But make sure you pass along the message to never let anyone control you. Ever. No matter what.

Posted in Art, Horrible Stuff | Tagged , , , | 12 Comments

My Prince

my price

I thought of him as my own Prince, the voice I danced to in my living room when nobody I knew liked Dirty Mind except for me.

On New Year’s Eve at the close of 1998, we went to an awful party at a neighbor’s house but when they put on 1999, I felt that surge of euphoria only Prince can ignite.

I think I even fell in love with my husband while we watched Prince on TV, dancing around in buttless chaps, on a set decorated with flaming torches.

There is so much more but don’t you hate the way people want to make Prince’s death be all about them?? I did see Prince live but maybe you did too. It’s not about what concert we went to or wish we’d gone to.

It’s just about what music means to us throughout our lives. You cannot overstate its significance, but you don’t really know it until you lose that artist who was always there for you, to lift your spirit or console you through the worst heartbreak.

I love Prince so much! He was my little Prince. I was so jealous of Wendy and Lisa and even whatshername, that one in Purple Rain.

I don’t get how someone so magnificent and full of life can just be gone from the world, poof.

I haven’t processed this loss but added to the others it feels more and more like life on this planet is drained of joy and hope and purpose.

I want Prince to come back and Max too. I don’t know how 2 celebrate this thing called life without them.

If you’d like to share something about Prince, even your favorite song, lay it on me.

 

 

Posted in Art, grief, love | Tagged , | 18 Comments

Want To Look Like a Rhinoceros?

rhino shoe junya 974

Well me neither, but that’s just us. What do we know? We’re so basic.

rhino shoe 2

Spending $974 would be a small price to pay for broadcasting to the world that we are edgy, daring and hostile.

Actually, if you’re following fashion as neurotically as I do, you’ll know that all anyone cares about right now is the perfect low-top white sneaker. You have to get a very special kind that’s so Nothing, you can’t figure out why it costs $395 or $695, depending on whether it’s Common Projects or Raf Simons.

You will wear your perfect white sneakers with your shapeless minimalist shroud by The Row, or your cropped flare jeans by Frame or Mother that hit your leg at just the right part of your calf to look especially, calculatedly, awkward. And you’ll be carrying a nondescript handbag by Mansur Gavriel.

Or, you can just wear some oversized streetwear by Vetements that only other idiots will recognize, because Kanye.

Fashion is so monumentally irritating!

How do fashion bloggers and magazine editors keep up their enthusiasm? Fashion is so loaded with class signifiers and mindless imitation and sweatshop slavery. You can’t set your own trend unless you’re Rihanna. Everybody tries to wear what everybody is wearing, because otherwise you’ll look like a know-nothing who can’t keep up or afford to emulate a Rhinoceros.

Right now, I’m wearing a pair of black cords by Paige Jeans and a silk shirt by Equipment. You won’t know how cool I am unless you read a lot of fashion shit, but trust me. I got them at Salvation Army or Goodwill, which only shows how devoted I am to my coolness and label-whoring.

Now, if all this means nothing to you, I salute you! You’re my fucking hero.

And I offer you these banana shoes by Dolce & Gabbana, priced to sell at a reasonable $1,745.

banana shoes 1745

 

Posted in Fashion | Tagged , , | 17 Comments

What Is It With You People?

Vladimir Clavijo Telepnev tears

I go to all the trouble to create a website called Hideous Denim, and what do I get?

Nothing.

You people are obviously too lazy to go over there and enjoy my expertly curated collection of the most hideous, fucked up denim monstrosities ever to blight this earth. It’s just laziness, because I know that in your hearts, you want to see ugly denim.

So guess what, you’re going to see some right now, because that’s how nice I am, and because I’ve lived a whole life of not being able to get people to cooperate with me.

bandana denim jeans

Here are the Bandana Jeans brought to you by provocateur Nazir Mazhar, a street-wear designer who expects you to pay $715.78 for the discomfort and humiliation. Look at the rear view:

bandana rear view

Three is only one pair left, size medium.

But don’t worry because this:

hideous junya jacket and skirt

Now this is just perfect on so many levels. Junya Watanabe signifies your appreciation of Japanese design, while breaking your bank account and making you look like a nutcase. I am sad to report that this outfit has sold out, but behold the skirt.

hideous junya skirt

Can you imagine anything more unflattering? So gorgeous! The real job of hideous denim is to mock the consumer on all levels. I’d say this Junya outfit is a ten out of ten.

What about something really, really stupid and embarrassingly twee, like a denim romper?

denim valentino playsuit 2490

Excuse me, it’s a playsuit, of course. And fairly priced at $2,490. How to wear it, you’re wondering as you hunt for your credit card? Read on.

denim valentino playsuit text

Not only playful, but DARLING! I fucking love this text. Hideous denim is even more rewarding when the text lives up to the fraudulence of the piece itself.

We are living in some rough times, aren’t we? I mean, we’re not eating dirt in Calcutta but we are fighting off existential dread from morning to night, watching our Netflix shows and compulsively checking our devices, waiting for the seas to rise or some maniac to shoot us or be elected President.

We deserve some relief, and that’s why god created all this awful hideous denim, even though he’s away from his desk.

So please enjoy.

 

 

 

Posted in Fashion, Rants | Tagged , , | 11 Comments

Donald Trump: Is The Nightmare Over?

trump ugly face

After all we have endured from this piece of shit, it’s hard to believe that his comment about abortion is the thing that broke the spell.

Who knew that people cared so much about women’s rights? It seemed like a majority of Americans were in favor of rolling back Roe vs Wade, and that’s been scary.

But lo and behold, Trump’s absurd statement that women who have abortions should be punished is striking a chord with everyone. For some reason, this is where they’re drawing the line.

I hope.

The news is telling me tonight that the tide has turned. Please make it be true!

Remember when it was fun to see Trump’s bloated red face, emitting outrageous noises that no one in their right mind would ever say if they were running for President, or even Boyscout Leader?

The fun turned to horror, didn’t it? I head a reporter call him a ‘steaming pile of human refuse’ on MSNBC the other night, and it felt like an understatement.

Now we’re hearing that women won’t support Tump, which makes perfect sense, but what the fuck has been wrong with men in that case?

Racism doesn’t begin to explain the attraction. Neither does the ‘people are sick of the status quo’ argument. They could have sided with Rand Paul if all they wanted was a maverick.

What is it about a fat loud bully that American men find so appealing? Is it some kind of projection? Is it a vicarious thrill to see some shameless lowlife insulting his betters?

My visceral hatred of this cunt has reached defcon whatever. His every facial movement is like a knife in my heart. That O-shape he makes with his mouth. The plump frown. The crazy hand motions and the way he says “believe me” twice after every ridiculous lie.

Is it over for real? Can we actually get out of this without anyone getting killed? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

I blame the press. I blame Donald Trump’s parents. And I blame the Idiocracy that America’s anti-intellectualism has spawned. Feel more comfortable with stupidity, America? How stupid is stupid enough?

Sure, Ted Cruz is a crazy prick and Kasich is a jerk. But there is nothing on earth as awful as Donald Trump.

Let us pray.

 

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, Rants | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Cunts!

Cunt wall

I was just recoiling from the word “lady”when used in neologisms like ladyboss or lady-parts, when I came across this horrifying tidbit about the Vagina Monologues:

Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologue “Reclaiming Cunt” spells out every letter and encourages the audience to see the word as beautiful, powerful and sexy rather than disgusting, degrading and ugly. In one of the most powerful pieces of theatre I’ve seen, the audience is invited to chant the word “cunt” back at the person delivering the monologue.

God. I had no idea.

That’s theater, yelling ‘cunt?’

Not a day goes by that I don’t yell Cunt, several times in fact, either at the TV or my computer. I can’t believe that cunt is still such a big deal. But it is, according to the Guardian:

“Cunt” is still regarded as the most shocking word in the English language. Its consonants are acerbically hard, its meaning unequivocal.

Its meaning is unequivocal?? Not at all. Often, it just means “dude” as in “some cunt took my parking space.” Other times, it might mean bitch, like “Look at what that cunt Hillary just said about Bernie.”

If the Guardian thinks it means “vagina,” that’s just stupid. No one uses ‘cunt’ that way. And if they did, so what?

Why is ‘cunt’ worse than”pussy?” I guess I’ll never understand the negative power of a word I find so useful and even fun!

Getting back to “lady” though, ugh, horrible. Remember ladyboner? Horrible. Ladyboy is kind of cute, though, because it’s confusing or because Amy Winehouse used it, but otherwise lady-anything is just grating to my ear and somehow repulsive.

Here are the other words that have bothered me this week:

jettisoned (used by a blogger who meant ‘threw away’)
China (as enunciated by Donal Trump)
crossbody (a type of handbag)
sneaks (for sneakers, ew!)
substantive (quick. try saying it 3 times)
intersectional ( pc gibberish)

Your turn, if you’ve got anything.

 

 

 

Posted in Rants, Words | Tagged , | 4 Comments

I Am Risen

iamrisen

A few days ago, I got up from the deathbed of my flu to see about the sawing noise from my backyard.

A guy was building something right next to my fence, a wooden thing that towered around three or four feet above the six-foot fence.

As someone who has had enough of neighbors and their fucking fences or add-ons that block the sun like a nuclear winter, I was immediately incensed.

I demanded, “What are you doing?” in a hostile tone and the guy pretended not to speak English. Another guy who I couldn’t see also pretended to not speak English until I yelled, “I’ll bet this isn’t legal!”

The invisible guy asked me what my problem was, and the fact that he spoke English made me furious. He said something like, “What’s it to you?” My feeling was, I don’t want to see a thing towering over my fence because I just don’t, motherfucker! How dare you!

I issued some nebulous threats and stomped back inside. I was ready to kill. I nearly peed. I looked up the local building codes and found a complaint form and some phone numbers.

A couple of days later, still wearing the same smelly pajamas, I decided to go over there to get the address. A couple of people milling around refused to speak to me.

Then an old guy appeared and said, I’m the owner of this building, what’s the problem?

I told him that I was concerned about the huge shed he was building and he insisted it was nothing for me to worry about. He asked me if I wanted to go back and look at it.

We went back and I could see that he was adding on to a storage shed for one of his tenants, and we discussed the property line. He said he’d been there for 35 years, as if to say, Back off, newcomer. I retorted, “Well, my husband was born in this neighborhood, and he’s 65!” I felt an atavistic aggression coursing through my veins and I also felt like a big angry baby.

I said, “What are those nails sticking out for?” in an accusatory tone, and he explained that he was hoping to grow some beans but it didn’t work out.

Maybe it was the failed beans.

Something shifted in my deranged territorial psyche and I realized that he was just a human being living his life.

He assured me that he planned to paint the shed to make it look nicer. He told me that he came here from Cuba, where he was an accountant. He told me that he likes to build things. He revealed that he had gone to school with Fidel Castro and had fought along side him in the revolution. But of course the revolution tuned bad, so he had sent his wife and kids to Miami before fleeing for his life.

I asked him what he thought of Ted Cruz (hated him but likes Rubio) and we talked about our mutual contempt for Donald Trump. He’s a Republican like many exiles but it was all good. He showed me his mango trees and we shared our disappointment in our attempts to grow lemons.

His name is Felix and he’s 87 or 89, I forgot which. I apologized for getting off to a bad start with him. I said I’d enjoyed talking to him. He said something like, “Yes. I like to talk, sometimes too much!”

I turned around to look up at him and said, “Me too! But that makes the world go around. We need to communicate and connect!”

His smile was so unexpected, his first smile, and lit up his face like a happy child’s.

I went home and announced, “Well, I have a new best friend.”

I don’t want to lose my edge, okay? I still want to start fights and hold grudges. But people are starting to worry about me. This is the third time in the last year that I’ve laid down my arms, so to speak, and found something better.

It’s still Easter Sunday here in California. Maybe I’m Jesus!

Posted in Disorders, love, revenge | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

Let’s Not Forget Shoes

gucci spiked sneaker

It’s been quite a while since a pair of shoes stopped me in my tracks, so I’m feeling a real sense of occasion tonight.

Will you just look at this fucking shoe? And Gucci managed to capture the horror by calling it the Titan Spiked Glitter Web Sneaker.

It feels like multitasking just to behold it…there is so much to take in and it’s all so conflicting.

It’s a sneaker! It’s  weapon! It’s a ballet shoe! It’s from Mars!

At $695, it is sold out in every size except 40, so if you’re a US size 10, this is your moment.

Here’s a review from a satisfied customer:

Love them…almost feels like a shoe more than a sneakers…so I can dress them up or down.

Haha, that is so nuts, right? How could you dress them up, and how could you dress them down? Those concepts don’t even apply.

gucci spiked sneaker 2

Okay, that’s it. Go back to what you were doing and let me know if you see any fashion this momentous.

Posted in Fashion | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

Hooray For Rape Victims

lady-gaga-absue-survivors

When Lady Gaga sang her song about sexual abuse during the Academy Awards show, I couldn’t help calling out to my husband, “Oh look, they actually have rape victims onstage!”

He came to look and smiled appreciatively at the awful showbiz spectacle of rape victims raising their arms triumphantly. Some had written anti-stigma hashtags on themselves like ITS NOT YOUR FAULT.

So I was surprised to read all the praise heaped on this performance, everywhere I looked. “Stunning,” “Powerful,” Brave”!

I may be walking on this ice by using the words “rape victims” instead of “sexual assault survivors.” I guess victim is now considered too victimmy. And rape is too rapey.

Some websites are calling the song a “rape anthem” but others are trying to avoid calling it anything but “empowering”.

Rape is terrible, okay? I have experienced it as a reckless teenager, more than once. I guess I have experienced a lot of bad things. I consider myself more traumatized than the average person.

But I never like to see public displays of self-righteousness. I don’t like seeing victims of some horrible societal ill become a poster child for whatever it is – gay suicide, bullying, fat-shaming, you name it.

Rape, incest, murder, racism, Sharia law, child abuse, hate crimes, it’s all bad. Except for Donald Trump supporters, we all agree.

But these issues are too serious to be cheapened by a Vegas floor show or an Oscars shout-out. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t instinctively recoil from the Hollywoodization of human suffering! I don’t know why everyone doesn’t register disgust when social problems are shrink-wrapped in sanctimonious, self-congratulating sound-bites or hash-tags.

Where are the eating-disorder people, the clitorectomy survivors, the child soldiers of Africa, the middle school sexting suicides? What about the unemployed Veteran amputees? Will they all get their turns for a standing ovation at the Academy awards?

Nothing is too sacred to be fodder for pop commercialism or pious condemnation. Today, celebrities are falling over themselves to confess that they’ve been sexually abused, too. One had to clarify that it was “child abuse” in her case. Let’s hope she wasn’t run out of town for speaking out of turn.

I asked my husband to help me understand the difference between Common and John Legend performing “Glory” at the Oscars last year, and the Lady Gaga performance. “Glory” didn’t piss me off. It was a polemic but it was magnificent!

He answered, “One was good art, and the other was bad art.”

So there’s that, too.

Thoughts, anyone?

Posted in Art, Rants | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

Grammys 2016 Exegesis

grammys 2016

Even when you expect the worst, the Grammy Awards show surpasses anything you could possibly imagine. It’s hard to know where to begin with a menu this egregious, but I’ll just jump in with Lady Gaga.

Once I heard she was chosen for a David Bowie tribute, I braced myself. She would turn it into an awful showcase for her androgynous mugging and strut around like a Vegas act for people who vaguely recall Ziggy Stardust. Check, check. But it was so much worse.

Even David Bowie’s son couldn’t contain himself and tweeted in exasperation. Please go away, Lady Gaga. You’ve already tainted poor Tony Bennett, your work was done long ago.

Now for Taylor Swift. Her performance of that awful song with woods and wolves was all about her sparkly unitard and scrawny giraffe-like physique. Her come-hither gazes into the camera were disturbing enough to make my stoic husband recoil. Where is that washed-out fake country girl we used to not love? Can she come back? I am begging.

Then, when Taylor won her award, she began, “As the only woman to win two Album of the year awards…” as though accepting the Nobel Prize for discovering the Time Space Continuum. She went on to urge girls to own their success, evidently a coded message to Kanye West to stop fucking with her. As if!

Kendrick Lamar or Lamar Kendrick performed a gripping rap that made one aware of how corrosive racism is in America and I’m being perfectly serious. He is to Kanye as Richard Pryor is to Kevin Hart. I think. Because I may be too white for any of this.

Demi Lovato sang something very loudly but I like her for her struggles with mental health issues and her great eyebrows.

On the Cute Guy front, we had the always dreamy John Legend, Dave Grohl looking fresh and eager, Miguel and Bruno Mars easily making up for their diminutive stature (or statures plural) with great style. Justin Bieber was also kind of hot, in a clueless rent-boy sort of way.

If like me, you were waiting for Adele to come out and justify the whole torture-fest, you were stunned and baffled nearly to tears. WHAT HAPPENED TO HER PERFECT VOICE?! We cringed at the bad notes, wondering if our last beacon of hope for pop music has suddenly gone dark.

However, it seems that technical difficulties, like a mic falling into the piano, had fucked her up. This makes sense. I am going to accept this explanation and cling to it for dear life. We’re counting on you, Adele. Don’t leave us alone in the wilderness of auto-tuned screeching and jazz hands!

Finally, the debut of Johnny Depp‘s band, the Something Vampires, featuring Joe Perry and Alice Cooper and also Duff Something from Guns And Roses.

I wondered what millennials thought of this stupid throwback attempt at hard rock at it’s most posturing and pointless. Why can’t these guys indulge themselves in their home studios and leave us out of it? For anyone still on-board with Johnny Depp, jump. Even if there’s no lifeboat.

Where is Madonna when you need someone to roll around on a bed or just trip on a cape?

If it gets any worse, I will have to watch the Grammys blindfolded, with earplugs.

Okay. What did I forget?

 

 

 

Posted in Celebrities, News | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments