Archive for the ‘It Could Be Worse…’ Category

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

February 14, 2012

If you really love me, you’ll know not to buy me these pants.

I am ashamed of whomever designed these.

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?”

New Lows I Have Reached Recently

February 8, 2012

In the past two weeks I have:

1. Injured my shoulder while SLEEPING

2. Taken a nap during my lunch hour at my boss’ house

3. Not even bothered to hide the Vanity Fair I was flipping through while sitting at my desk

4. Thoughtlessly forwarded an email in which I copped to ogling diamond rings to my boyfriend (who is a champion and only made fun of me for 5 minutes)

5. Touted my own email writing skills (“Seriously, I write the most charming emails.”)

6. Ate two bagels in the course of 15 minutes.

7. Drank a sake bomb (though it took me wayyyy more gulps than it did in college)

8. Read all of three pages of Anna Karenina –– this wall is brutal!  Help me get through it!  I must finish!

9. Stayed in bed until 3 PM –– twice

10. Put my foot in my mouth at least three times –– once when I called the idea for liquor-infused baked goods “gross” in front of a girl who just made them, and once when I made some joke about Staten Island in front of a girl from there.  The first statement I totally retract.  Guinness-infused cupcakes with cream cheese frosting are delicious, so thank you for proving my dumbass self wrong.  The second statement I don’t really take back.  Staten Island is kind of wack, and she was a little too snippy with me even after I told her she could make fun of me for being from Connecticut.  LOTS of material there, I promise you.

Feeling Cracked, but Obviously Things Could Be Worse!

February 6, 2012

I took a 6:30 AM bus from DC this morning and still feel a little out of it despite the fact that I got more sleep than I would have if I had taken the bus last night.  My skin also feels dry as… I was going to make a really tasteless joke about Madonna here, but I’ll pass.  Anyway, as you can tell, I’m not really up to this whole WORDS thing, so I will instead excerpt from this pretty amazing article about Courtney Love posted on TheFix.com.  There are many gems in here, but this sentence, bolded, is perhaps the most outrageous:

How she deals with her cravings and addiction:

“I go to twelve-step meetings from time to time, though I have to be careful when I’m selecting meetings. My interest in Buddhism and chanting helps as well. I just hired a Tibetan woman whose entire job is to help me chant. And there are people out there like Tony Robbins [the popular self-help author, life coach and motivational speaker] who I rely on and who get me centered and stable. I don’t think there’s just one right way out of this. I try everything I can.”

Lord help that poor little Tibetan lady.

Not My Market

February 3, 2012

I get a newsletter written by a perpetually cheerful (euphemism) North Carolina woman named Hope Clark called “Funds for Writers.”  It’s a pretty good newsletter, actually, but sometimes I wonder, who has money to pay for stuff like this?

 

BIRDS AND BLOOM BACKYARD BLUNDER CONTEST

—

NO ENTRY FEE

Do you have a funny birding or gardening story to share from your backyard? We want to hear it! Send us your best “backyard blunder,” and the winning story will receive $500. To enter, email your true story (no more than 400 words) to contests@birdsandblooms.com. Please put “backyard blunder contest” in the subject line. Deadline March 15, 2012.

––

 

Alas, I have no backyard blunder stories… or maybe I do, but they certainly don’t involve birds or gardening.

Staging an Intervention for Someone I Don’t Know

February 2, 2012

RG: oh btw

i got this message from someone today on that website last.fm (music website)

“Hey…

I’m not totally sure why I’m writing you. We talked a couple times at x College years ago. I knew J at the time, visited people there. We talked about languages I think. I was really struck by you, maybe. I think you gave me your email because I remember your screen name… but I’m not sure if I emailed you or, I don’t know. Anyway, I thought I’d try to contact you again. I’m still using the same email address, at least for now. My life is actually really terrible right now, so its probably a bad time to write you but… I followed my dreams and my ideals and that really didn’t work out, so far. But I did remember you. Yeah, write me if you like, hope things are well.

P”

9:55 PM

ID: what!??!

RG: yeah

ID: do you remember this person?

RG: not at all

ID: i can’t believe he said his life is terrible right now

RG: I KNOW

what do i even say to that?

i followed my dreams and ideals

haha

i dont mean to laugh

it’s kind of a cry for help

ID: “AND IT DIDN’T WORK OUT”

i’m a little worried about him

way to be defeated

you’re what, like, 26?

you’ve got mad time

if everyone who was kind of a failure at 26 gave up

… we’d be pretty fucked

RG: right

ID: everyone i know is a failure

and you can quote me on that

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?

The Most Titillating Thing I’ve Ever Read

January 25, 2012

The synopsis of Monday night’s Intervention, which I will be watching tonight:

“A woman who lives in an extravagant mansion contends with alcohol addiction and a boyfriend who believes that locking her in a closet will prevent her from drinking.”

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!  This is going to be Laney “drives across the country in a limo so she can hang out with her cat Puttentat Ashworth” The Alkie ALL OVER AGAIN!

God Shall Strike Me Dead Shortly

November 29, 2011

A conversation that occurred while watching Jesus Christ Superstar one evening:

Me: God, Mary Magdalene is such a fame whore.  She’s not holy at all, she just wants to be close to Jesus so she can get attention.  She’s just like Kris Humphries.

B: But if Mary Magdalene is Kris Humphries, then Kim Kardashian is ––

Me: OH LORD NO!

 

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October 13, 2011

At least you didn’t get goosebumps from listening to the “Bed Intruder Song.”  Not me.  I swear.