Archive for the ‘Conspiracy Theories’ Category

I Have Officially “Made It” as a Blogger

February 14, 2012

… because I have to welcome my dear friend, the Doyenne of Dumbo, as my first GUEST BLOGGER!

I wanted to post a montage of heinous pants, but I promised her she’d get to be post #600.  Faithful readers will immediately be able to figure out which part of this piece I am currently OMGing over.  And here we go!

My Name is Not Susan

By DD

Upon waking up from my disco nap on Saturday, I found out that Whitney Houston died. My dear friend who introduced me to colorful resin ’80s vintage earrings and who does not shy away from spontaneously belting out a R&B classic fittingly broke the news of the latest celebrity death via mass text message. My husband was excited for the Whitney tribute! Everyone was talking about Ms. Houston on the Lower East Side that night.  “Did you know that Whitney Houston died?” a loud girl exclaimed obviously on the corner of Ludlow Street. Who didn’t?  Each of Whitney’s songs was memorialized with its own hash tag; Twitter was exploding as were the cramped quarters of our BYO sushi spot with a spontaneous restaurant-wide dance party.  Someone had propitiously switched the iPod to a medley of the late chanteuse’s greatest hits!

Needless to say, waking up too early on Sunday morning hungover with no cell phone and another dead pop star was not pleasant. Luckily, Whitney Houston left behind a moving collection of music videos that helped ease the pain of my loss. My neighbors probably wanted to kill me (or maybe they too were having a rough morning?) as I watched Whitney’s greatest music videos lying in bed on full volume.  I was mesmerized by the power of her voice and 1980’s fashion statements. In her 1987 hit, “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” Whitney, resplendent in her signature floppy silk headband (leopard print), rocks a perm, neon knits and multiple shades of pastel eyeshadow.  Her beautiful voice conveys a deep longing, which, as evidenced by last night, continues to move many a drunken party girl to gleefully engage in some embarrassing throwback choreography.   Rewind to 1985: I watch a hardworking and earnest pop star, juxtaposed with an aspiring young performer (meta Whitney?) in the video for “Greatest Love of All.” The message here:

“I believe the children are our future/

Teach them well and let them lead the way/

Show them all the beauty they possess inside”

is all about learning to love yourself. Probably not a hard concept for Whitney during the decade of excess. She shines in a big gold hoops and a black leather motorcycle jacket fringed in copper, then dons a flashy silver sequin gown with elaborate rhinestone earrings/earmuffs for the final scene in which she sings to throngs of adoring fans. Whitney Houston was at the helm of the billboard charts when I was an uncoordinated 3rd grader taking hip-hop dance in the 1990s.  I was very surprised when my tough middle school crush was moved to tears by Whitney’s performance in The Bodyguard.  Yet, I’m still empowered by her rendition of Chaka Kahn’s “I’m Every Woman,” a much-needed message of girl power in the R&B canon. Whitney Houston brings us back to a time when pop stars could really sing and songs were true musical productions, rich with instrumentation (check out Kenny G’s cameo in “Saving All My Love For You”) and synthesizers.

Whitney’s 4-Octave vocal range and soul legacy upbringing were the true marks the world famous singer. Yet by the 1990’s we see our sweet Whitney embroiled in an identity crisis (“My Name is Not Susan”), and attempting to cross over to hip-hop with material that is not exactly hardcore and white overalls that could pass for a painter’s uniform. The hardworking singer’s marriage to bad boy hip-hop legend Bobby Brown is a surprising pairing of industry names and does little for her image.

The day after she passed away, as I watched Whitney Houston in the video for her 1999 comeback single, “It’s Not Right but It’s OK,” I began to feel a little better.  Whitney, looking pretty with a sleek new do and smoky eyes, had fought hard her to restore her pedigree. This diva, post-divorce, was not taking shit from anyone. While I could not stop myself from singing off key throughout my homemade video tribute, I was perhaps most excited to see Whitney shine in “My Love is Your Love,” a song which never fails bring me back to my first taste of freedom: spending the summer in Paris with my best friend, hanging out on the Champs Elysee and watching a very zen Whitney, in a trench coat and afro, pay homage to 70s style and rule the charts on MTV Europe.

Fast forward to 2005: Whitney Houston’s hits are relegated to the playlists of our 80s themed parties in college but she finds her way back into our discourse with her erratic behavior on her ex- husband’s reality TV show, Being Bobby Brown.  In light of our own habits, we had no doubts our beloved Whitney was on drugs. We knew she had recently sojourned to the holy land of Israel where she was hosted in the middle of nowhere desert town of Dimona by the African Hebrew Israelites, a vegan polygamist group who believe a former bus driver from Chicago was their messiah.  (He is currently mourning the passing of  his “spiritual daughter.”)  Whitney’s bizarre attempt at spiritual rebirth before her 40th birthday did little to save the troubled star. We continued to see her in the tabloids, her expression, which in the ‘80s may have signified a glorious high note, stuck in a grotesque and messy manifestation of her alleged crack habit. Whitney tried to be a better role model for her fans during an interview with Diane Sawyer.  “First of all, let’s get one thing straight. Crack is cheap. I make too much money to ever smoke crack. Let’s get that straight. Okay? We don’t do crack. We don’t do that. Crack is wack.”

Whitney’s vast fortune could not save her from herself and rumors of her bankruptcy were not so hard to believe (drugs are expensive!). Sunday’s New York Post headline “Queen of Pop” places Whitney on the same pedestal as Michael Jackson, whose drug habits also proved insurmountable.  Will we continue to be “So Emotional” over Whitney Houston’s passing? Most likely not. I’ll let ID elaborate on the theme of losing another mega-star to addiction, a time honored tradition in our society, yet one that keeps us asking, “Didn’t We Almost Have It All?”

My Boss Is Really Cool

February 14, 2012

I suppose it would be pretty easy for me to be fired for writing things about my job here a la Dooce, but my boss aspires to transparency, so I think he wouldn’t be sad at all if he knew I was posting this.  Besides, this text was already in a book, so it’s not like it’s a secret anymore:

Peter Mayer was Salman Rushdie’s courageous publisher at Penguin Books, and he received many death threats, including one scrawled in blood. An anonymous telephone call told Mayer that “not only would they kill me but they would take my daughter and smash her head against a concrete wall.” Cohen takes up the story:

Far from rallying to defend an innocent girl and her innocent father, the parents of her classmates demanded that the school expel her. What would happen, they asked, if the Iranian assassins went to the school and got the wrong girl? And Mayer thought, “You think my daughter is the right girl?” The same cowardice greeted him when he applied for a co-op apartment in New York. “There were objections that the Iranians could send a hit squad and target the wrong apartment. As if I had done something wrong.”

Currently Obsessing Over…

February 12, 2012

Prologue to Carl Theodor Dreyer’s 1927 film The Passion of Joan of Arc:

Shot in France in 1927 by Carl Th. Dreyer, The Passion of Joan of Arc was the victim of several ordeals.  Censored before its release in 1928, the original negative was soon destroyed by fire.  A second negative reedited by Dreyer from alternate takes was also thought lost to fire.

For more than a half-century, this great classic of silent film was known only in mutilated copies, or in a sonorized version which made numerous changes to the original.

Then, in 1981, an original Danish copy, complete and in very good condition, was miraculously discovered in a closet of a Norwegian mental institution.  Thanks to the aid of Ib Monty, Director of the Danish Film Museum, and of Maurice Drouvy, who reestablished the French text, the Cinematheque Francaise has been able to reconstitute this French version, probably very close to the original.

Flaneurette

February 7, 2012

I just read a very interesting article on the never-quite-risen “cyber flaneur” and the death of wandering through the Internet at the hands of everyone’s favorite scapegoat, Facebook.  (I say that without rancor –– I loathe Facebook, and realize that now I sound like a bandwagon hater/bleeding heart Luddite, the latter of which I am, the former I am most certainly not.)  I don’t even want to share the article with you because the writer does his job so well that I feel guilty even about recommending anything to anyone, virtually or otherwise, but I will point to the adorability of the fact that, “there were reports of flâneurs taking turtles for a walk.”  Can you imagine, Andre Breton walking little Skipperdee?

Do I deign to call myself a cyber-flaneur?

One thing the writer sort of fails to mention, though, is that unfortunately, a lot of the flaneuristic (neologism alert) works that came out of the surrealists (and various fringe groups) were just pretty bad.  They lacked the same thing that Facebook and Twitter do now: a narrative arc.  God grant me a plotline!

Seven People I Wish Weren’t Scientologists

January 31, 2012

In order of how much I wish they weren’t.

7. Anne Archer

She is the sweet brunette mother to Glenn Close’s psychopathic blond stalking opera lover in Fatal Attraction, and I just want to root for her in all things, but I can’t if she is a Scientologist –– and not only is she, but her son, Tommy Davis, is the head spokesperson for the whole shebang.  In the novel-length article on screenwriter Paul Haggis’ defection from the church in The New Yorker, Archer actually sounds reasonable and NICE, and then she goes and does something like “describe Hubbard as ‘an engineer’ who had codified human emotional states, in order to guide people to ‘feel a zest and a love for life.'”

Wait… who am I kidding?  Archer is cool, but the real Fatal Attraction cast member I’m rooting for is the adorably transgendered Ellen.  “RABBITS!”  Whatever happened to that little muffin?

I’m guessing this is when she discovers Glenn Close slaughtered her bunny.

[Digression: ANSWER!  Here’s her bio from IMDB:

“Discovered at an open call at age six, Ellen was chosen from well over a thousand children to play Michael Douglas’s daughter in Fatal Attraction. She continued acting full time until she left for a VT boarding school at age 15. After graduation, Ellen took some time off to travel, and later began studies in glass at an art school in Oakland, CA. Her mother Anne, lives in New Rochelle, NY, her father Bob, step-mother Lorrie, and 10-year old sister Elena live in Roslyn, NY, and her 26-year old sister Amy lives outside Denver, CO. Ellen has little plans to get back into acting, though will always reflect fondly on her past achievements.

According to another website, she is an “account executive” and while she wishes she could be in Show Biz, she has no immediate plans to return to it.  “Plus, it’s kind of cool to be considered a has-been.  And kind of sad, too.”  Spoken like a true burn out.  Remember, Ell, it could have been worse –– you could have tried to clear the difficult puberty hurdle in show business and, in a moment of desperation, visited the Celebrity Center and taken a few courses and before you could blink, you’re rapping about Thetans to your closeted gay husband.]

6. Elisabeth Moss

Like most everyone these days, I enjoy me some Mad Men.  Now of course, it would be much more devastating if Jon Hamm were a lover of Xenu, but it’s still sad that Elisabeth Moss, who plays one of the most interesting and multidimensional characters on the show, is just that.  And it sucks because Moss is just so good as the kind-of-unattractive, dissatisfied but whip-smart copywriter Peggy Olson, and when I think about her talent, I start to wonder if maybe her ability to act has something to do with her faith and then I get the willies and turn off the TV and go shower.  Some other blogger (not worth it) wrote something along the lines of, “It doesn’t change the way I view her or the show” but frankly, I’m either just not that good at compartmentalizing or Scientology is just that toxic that it ruins everything it touches in even the slightest of ways.  So, in the name of enjoying television more, I suggest Moss consider Zen Buddhism.

5. Rita Wilson

I know!  I know!  Crazy, right?  There isn’t much out there on her affiliation, but here’s my proof: a few years ago, my family friend, who works as property master on movie sets, had the privilege to work on the cinematic masterpiece Old Dogs (I think.)  Now, Kelly Preston, a well known Scientologist, is in the movie, and so is Rita.  They were apparently BFFs.  At Christmas dinner the year the movie was being made, my family friend regaled us with a story: one day, they were shooting a scene in which someone was supposed to close a car trunk on Kelly Preston’s hands.  They had somehow rigged it so that there was a gap her hand could fit into so that the door wouldn’t break her fingers, but Kelly didn’t properly gauge her finger placement and so BAM!  Trunk comes down on fingers.

“Now what you may not know about Scientology,” my family friend continued, “is that at a certain high level, they believe they can heal people’s pain by touching or by waving their hands over the wound, and so Rita Wilson comes frantically running up the hill and yells at everyone to BACK OFF and begins waving her hands over Kelly Preston’s fingers and looking deeply into her eyes.”

And this aspect of Scientology has some back-up, also in the (now infamous) Haggis article:

“Brolin says that he once witnessed John Travolta practicing Scientology. Brolin was at a dinner party in Los Angeles with Travolta and Marlon Brando. Brando arrived with a cut on his leg, and explained that he had injured himself while helping a stranded motorist on the Pacific Coast Highway. He was in pain. Travolta offered to help, saying that he had just reached a new level in Scientology. Travolta touched Brando’s leg and Brando closed his eyes. ‘I watched this process going on—it was very physical,’ Brolin recalls. ‘I was thinking, This is really fucking bizarre! Then, after ten minutes, Brando opens his eyes and says, ‘That really helped. I actually feel different!’ ‘ (Travolta, through a lawyer, called this account ‘pure fabrication.’)”

The thing is, Rita Wilson is sort of scarily Botoxed now, and I don’t really care for her all that much, but if she’s a Scientologist that means Tom Hanks is probably a Scientologist, and like everyone else in the world I think he just seems so great and “normal” (the highest compliment one can give a movie star) and like he’s not repressing any homosexual tendencies (NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT, but if Tom Hanks were gay, I’d just want him to live his tye-dyed-hot-pants reality!)

4. Jason Lee

Just like most brainy and self-conscious adolescent girls growing up in the age of Kevin Smith, I had a minor thing for Jason Lee.  He was always the friend of the token hunk, which I related to as I always had a really hot best friend, and he had a quick wit and a cute little gleam in his eye.  Who could forget his deep and philosophical explanation of rock ‘n roll in Almost Famous while Billy Crudup produces a few head-turning twangs on the guitar in the background and steals William Miller’s attention?   “Some people have a hard time explaining rock ‘n’ roll. I don’t think anyone can really explain rock ‘n’ roll. Maybe Pete Townshend, but that’s okay. Rock ‘n’ roll is a lifestyle and a way of thinking… and it’s not about money and popularity. Although, some money would be nice.”  Lee, desperate to be heard, always the dorky best friend.  A tragic figure, really.   Unfortunately for me, I think I may have fucked up this list –– I forgot Lee starred in My Name is Earl for four years (!!!)  He and Elisabeth Moss should definitely switch spots.

3. L. Ron Hubbard

I mean, honestly, the guy was a fucking genius –– how many people can make statements like, “The money isn’t in writing books, it’s in starting religions” and afterward CONTINUE to attract followers and make money?  Fucking ridiculous.

2. Beck

This one’s a no brainer.  Everyone’s still and constantly brokenhearted over this poor virtuoso, probably the single person on this list you could say was “cool,” and the only consolation we seem to have is that he was raised a Scientologist (mom was Warhol star Bibbe Hansen, dad Canadian musician David Campbell), may have attended a Scientology-run elementary school, and thus didn’t have much of a chance.  Beck has only once really gone on record about his involvement with Scientology (New York Times, 2005, in which the journalist writes that he’s so aggravatingly polite “his courtesy acts like a moat”) and he did so in such an incredibly ineloquent way, but again, we’ll excuse it as sometimes savants lack skills outside their chosen fields.  Regardless of your past, Beck, hear this: you’re the one we want the most!

Although your mom seems pretty cool, too…

Andy Warhol, Edie Sedgwick and Bibbe at Max’s Kansas City, 1965. I never get to do anything cool.

And finally…

1. Jett Travolta

For his sake.

Too soon?

PSA

January 25, 2012

It’s upsetting to me that I have to say this as it’s so incredibly obvious, but to celebrities/the Hollywood machine: FYI, “exhaustion” is not a diagnosis.  A person cannot be hospitalized or “treated” for it.  If a normal person (or anyone, for that matter) went to the ER and claimed he/she was “exhausted,” the doctor on call would advise them to take a fucking nap.  It is quite apparent to everyone that when you or your client are “hospitalized” for “exhaustion,” you or they are either in rehab or at home cooking up some cough syrup/gasoline concoction.  Your options, as I see it, are either to admit to a problem with the rock, or to lie.  “Pneumonia” is good cover-up, as is anything relating to digestive issues (people don’t want to hear a thing about issues of that particular bodily canal.)  For more information and to request the second edition of The Excuse Handbook, please contact me at itinerantdaughterandson@gmail.com.  Thank you, and we appreciate your effort to help make the society we live in a less shifty and moronic one.

Fun-ish Fact!

January 23, 2012

My colleague HW sent me this interesting tidbit from a book with a most titillating title, the seventh edition of Deviant Behavior by Alex Thios:

“Country music can also exercise a significant influence on suicide. As research has shown, the greater the radio airtime given to a country music, the higher the white suicide rate is. Country music tends to promote suicide by reinforcing preexisting suicidal moods in suicidally inclined listeners. This is because country music conveys many suicide-related themes, such as marital strife and dissolution, alcohol abuse, financial strain, and exploitation at work. A content analysis of 1400 hit country songs reveals that nearly three-fourths deal with the travails of love. Hopelessness further pervades most country songs. while country music cannot by itself drive people to suicide, it can increase suicide risks among those suicidal tendencies (Stack and Gundalach, 1992).”

If the case against Ozzy weren’t already dead…

Fat People

January 11, 2012

So I am decidedly apolitical, but this picture, beneath a Times headline “South Carolina Voters Weigh Priorities,” caught my attention for just a moment before I realized that sadly, the article wasn’t about fat people voting.

I mean, cmon now...

Do you think that the photo editor has a sense of humor?  I do hope so, because G-d knows, politics would be way more exciting if people in the arena were funnier.

TWO THINGS

December 20, 2011

1. I forgot in my dream snippets “poem” to include:

Back in Paris,  which had WATERSLIDES!

My own studio there –– teeny tiny, containing one big bed and seven fluffy armchairs

Sneaking into a gorgeous apartment and finding a lamp made from butterfly wings

2. Reaction to Last Week’s (?  I don’t even know what my name is anymore) Article in the Times about Facebook:

MT: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/14/technology/shunning-facebook-and-living-to-tell-about-it.html?hp

kind of a weird article, like the angle it takes

me: i don’t feel like i miss shit

from not being on facebook

MT: yeah neither do i

doesn’t mention the kind of stigma experience ive had

me: oh like

too cool for facebook?

MT: at a bar, was very well hitting it off with this girl who was a friend of a friend

when she was heading out

i was like, can i have your number

she said she would just look me up on facebook

i said i didnt have facebook, and she gave me a look like i had a rap sheet or something

me: what!?

that’s crazy!

MT: like i must be somehow untrustworthy that she can’t look to see if im not crazy

i feel like its become this weird semi social litmus test for people, being able to survey facebook before gearing up actual interpersonal relationships

its like “nope, i want to find out everything about you before i actually have a conversation”

me: yeah

it’s socially sanitizing in a way

i’m pissed someone wrote this article before me

MT: haha

i think you may take a little different route though

and its been written before

maybe not in a major publication though

me: totes

i’ll think of my own spin maybe

?

MT: yeah

well, you’d also have to include the fact that you wanted to get rid of your cell phone and replace it with a landline that can’t dial out

me:  yes

i would certainly include that

that is good info

MT: yep

 

 

 

*As always, Gchat conversations are edited for clarity and content, aka to make me — and occasionally the other chatter — look better/smarter than is the case.

The Worst Sales Pitch Ever

December 15, 2011

Not surprisingly, I am not on LinkedIn, but of course they send me tons of emails asking me to join (or suggesting that, without my knowing it, I am already a part of it.)

Here is one they sent me this morning, with possibly the least enticing hook line of all time:

“ID, see who you already know on LinkedIn.”

But… I already know them.  So… why do I need LinkedIn?  Well, lovers of social networking would say, perhaps it’s an easier way to keep in touch?  But LinkedIn digs its grave even deeper!  It continues on to say:

Now it’s easy to connect with people you email.

But… I ALREADY EMAIL THEM.  WE’RE ALREADY CONNECTED.  So if LinkedIn knows that I already know these people and also that I already email with them… then what exactly are they offering me?

PSA announcement to, oh, everyone: Just try harder, okay?