THE GREAT GADFLY: A Porn Utopia, A Cornucopia of Warm Fallopia
For those of you out there who aren't stupid (and I'm guessing that's quite a few of you - don't be modest!), I request you make it a top priority to find and purchase the new MC Paul Barman album, like, NOW. (I'd try to sound more patriarchally stern and forcible in order to emphasise my pushy enthusiasm, but you get the picture - this is a guy who rhymes Kirstie Alley with "thirsty valley". Too, too, too rich.)
And for those of you who don't mind inadequacy, well, I hear Eminem has a new movie coming out.
Though if yer in the mood for a movie, might I make a humble suggestion?
And if you're in one of them there fancyfied limited release cities, here's another suggestion.
Though if you wanna know which theater I'll be parking my sour-smelling butt tomorrow night, I can only direct you here.
To go to Peaches/Chicks on Speed/Tracey + the Plastics this weekend, or to stay home, save money, and put a dent into the freakish mountain of reading that's piling up in the corner of my apartment? I've seen all the gals in question before, so it's not like I'm denying myself a once-in-a-lifetime experience. No, it'll be a twice-in-a-lifetime experience. But they all rawked. And I could be one of those obnoxious music geeks who get to say, "oh yeah. I've seen them. TWICE." Gross!
Maybe I'll stay home, then.
Or, hmmm, maybe not.
It's scary that the whole Electroclash thing is getting a second wind, now that it's become almost-five-minutes-ago for the Billyburg kids and the craze has been tossed in the hand-me-down box for the fly-over states to peck at like hungry vultures...a certain Miss Michigan Ciccone being the most ubiquitous midwestern culture vulture of them all, natch. Which reminds me - hold yer horses, kids...a certain middle-aged sanskrit-talkin, Bond-theme-warblin', supermegastar is supposed to be turning out her own Teaches of Leeches early next year.
As far as my OWN pop culture obsessions are concerned, all my money (and a few sticks of gum and a couple of matches and, uh, what else is in my pockets...) is on the one, the only - PANK!!!
I'm sure I'm not the only one who experienced her kicking televised ass this week on the otherwise banal VH1 Vogue Fashion Awards, the secondary highpoint of which could only have been Eve accepting an award by thanking the person who does her nails...heck, even when Bowie was performing you could tell he was phoning it in, collect even, and not bothering to dial down the middle.
No, honey. It was all about The Pank. From the moment she was shown exiting her limo, her hair done up in a jet black Elvis coif, sucking on a cigarette (KLASSY!), I was convinced we'd be in for some performance art tonight. Then I caught a glimpse of her date.
Her performance was, well, "eh". Look a little deeper, however, and you saw someone who's gonna own the world that we can only live in, if she keeps it up the way she's going. Her voice is better than the songs she's been given. Her stage presence is way more powerful than she's being given clearance to project. Cher, Madonna, Courtney, Joan (Ms. Jett, if you're nasty), Janis, whoever. This girl's been taking notes. You wanna see what trailer-hard looks like on the red carpet?
And let me repeat: she did all this while rocking a jet-black Elvis Presley pompadour. When she tattoos a skull on the side of her neck and stops shaving her pits, I'm afraid I might have to fall completely in love with her. Right now, I'm merely smitten and agog.
So there ya go.
(Meanwhile...can someone tell me if the new Eggers book is any good?)
2003-10-14 - Last Haiku
2003-10-09 - Don't Cry Out Loud
2003-10-09 - Sit Down, You're Making Me Nervous
2003-10-08 - I'm Sure Miss Thing, I'm Sure
2003-10-07 - Carbonated Water, Caramel Color, Aspartame