Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Krautastic Tuesday (Or, Luomo)

Well, this feature has long hit the skids, but here's a sort-of-half-assed attempt at reviving Krautastic Tuesday from its cold and lonely deathbed.

I've long been a fan of Luomo (see above: a video for his song "Tessio") and although he's Finnish (and also goes by Vladislav Delay and Sasu Ripatti), he's currently living in Berlin.

His new album Convivial just came out...I highly recommend it as well as The present lover (hands down one of my all-time favorite albums).

So there. A sort-of-krautastic Tuesday it is.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Automated (Or, Bergman Never Meant It To Be This Way)

I went uptown today to see two amazing Museum exhibits (Morandi and Calder) with my friend Rob. We ended up taking a long walk to do some other art devotion (Assouline).

Along the way, a family of fancy tourists got uppity when a Volvo station wagon drove out of a parking deck. The youngest of them - a lovely young girl - ran into traffic to snap a photo of the exiting wagon.

Rob and I were amazed at the sudden burst of interest in the mundane sight of a beige Volvo making a wide right turn.

ME: That was fucking crazy. Who was in that wagon?

ROB: I have no idea.

We then turned to look again at the family ahead of us on the street. They were still engaged in a shameless display of eight shades of shits-and-giggles over the car sighting. The young girl who snapped the picture was jumping up and down with glee, showing her parents the image she'd captured.

ME: Jesus. Enough with the Volvo. What is wrong with them?

ROB: Oh...they're Swedish.

Now, I've certainly had my days abroad being considered the forever-provincial American (see also: T$ The Barbarian) but I never went apeshit seeing a Chevy.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Citizen Allison (Or, I Wish I Had Inhalants)

I have long been a fan of A&E's addictive real-life melodrama series Intervention.

Above is the insatiable inhalant addict Allison...whose catchphrase "It's like I'm walking on sunshine" got mashed up into this delicious rehash.

I can't take it...

Hat tip: It's Pattesia Bitch! Love, Amber-Tawny

Monday, October 20, 2008

Son of a Bitch (Or, My Boy)

Despite my yearnings to get all cheesified and Dog Fancy up on this piece, I have restrained myself from going nutso with postings about my dog.

However...I feel compelled to do so today.

Yesterday my boy Bobo turned 1.

Although his name is simple and thoroughly whitetrash, Bobo has a catalog of nicknames that he responds to:

Mr. B
Bobbity Jones
Bobo Santangelo

His official full name is Bobo Bojangles Bostoferson. As evidenced by the photograph above, Bobo's got a wonky lazy eye that I love to pieces (hence "Bojangles" after Mr. Sammy Davis, Jr.).

I should have named him Mr. Sandy Duncan...or Wheat Thins.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Mary, Mary (Or, Know Your Demo)

Over the course of the last few months, my street has been plastered with posters like the one above. I was enchanted by the handwritten type and looming neon portrait...before I read what the posters actually said.

The above sample talks about "the devil [making] bats of 2 million people, children every year in America."


There have been more than ten different versions of these - I happened to pull this one down and take it home with me this week...I'm kind of dying to see the loon that does these and posts them. Given the demographics of my neighborhood and its proximity to a large concentration of art galleries...I keep thinking (er...hoping) it's a joke.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Cindy the C-Word (Or, Cuddles McCain)

Not to throw more hate around the internet...but...

I don't like Cindy McCain.

There, I said it.

She's bald. She's weirdly robotic and vacant. She has delusions of Christian grandeur and - the kicker - should be in federal prison for using her probably fake foundation to procure illegal prescription drugs for herself. (see also: the New Yorker profile on her a month or so ago).

I guess I shouldn't feel so bad about hating Cindy.

Apparently, her husband doesn't like her either.

Check this out (quoted from rawstory.com):

Three reporters from Arizona, on the condition of anonymity, also let me in on another incident involving McCain's intemperateness. In his 1992 Senate bid, McCain was joined on the campaign trail by his wife, Cindy, as well as campaign aide Doug Cole and consultant Wes Gullett. At one point, Cindy playfully twirled McCain's hair and said, "You're getting a little thin up there." McCain's face reddened, and he responded, "At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt." McCain's excuse was that it had been a long day. If elected president of the United States, McCain would have many long days.

Nice work, Senator McCain.

I didn't realize slutty make-up was an option for male octogenarians. Who knew?

Pretty Branding (Or, Hey Lady)

Like all red-blooded and constantly-consuming Americans, I'm a sucker for products and things I don't need. Whenever I'm out of New York, I'm amazed by the breadth of newfangled products that don't seem to make it to my local retailers...it's like I'm in another country. I feel so out of touch and confused. I find myself buying things just because they're new to me...or have interesting branding elements.

Shopping for groceries last week, I had a different sort of consumer moment at my local supermarket. In the produce section, I found a brand of grapes (if grapes can be branded) called Pretty Lady (see above). Now, I'd understand if this logo/brand identity were for a line of hairnets or stockings or mascara or nylons or panty shields...but grapes?

Of course I had to buy them just for the logo.

Even now as I gaze into Pretty Lady's eyes, I wonder what the motivations of the marketers responsible for her existence were thinking when they dreamed her up.

MR. MARKETING: We need a new concept for the grape line.

MS. MARKETING: I agree. Who is our target consumer?

MR. MARKETING: I say men. And women. And children. People who like food.

MS. MARKETING: Yes. I agree. Our target audience is people who eat.

MR. MARKETING: Should we be concerned with the bulemic market? What about people who eat and don't digest?

MS. MARKETING: Research shows they are more interested in processed sugar products...not fructose based natural-oriented snacks.

MR. MARKETING: Got it...Let's ideate. Grapes are fresh. Not frozen. Let's think about that.

MS. MARKETING: In the food sector, I see that characters have a great deal of success. Aunt Jemima, Mrs. Butterworth, Pilsbury Doughboy, etc.

MR. MARKETING: Genius. What do you associate with grapes?

MS. MARKETING: Sex. Roman orgies. Peeling grapes for lovers.

MR. MARKETING: So a Caligula theme?

MS. MARKETING: How about Sweet Orgiastic Sweet Bite-Sized Bits?

MR. MARKETING: Hmmm...seems long.

MS. MARKETING: Sexy Time Bits? Sexy Time Pops? Sexy Time Grapes?

MR. MARKETING: I like it...I like it...I like it.

MS. MARKETING: Sexy Lady Grapes?

MR. MARKETING: YES! It says "be sexy with this product" to women...and "you will get sex with this product" to men.

MS. MARKETING: What about the child demo?

MR. MARKETING: Ok...tone it down just a bit.

MS. MARKETING: Pretty Lady?

MR. MARKETING. A subtle feat of perfection.

Helicopter Cop (Or, Helicopter Copping)

A few weeks ago, I was talking on the phone with my friend Torrey. An innocent conversation about current Broadway shows (ah...the joys of middle-aged homosexuality) suddenly broke down into a discussion of 1970s pornography (ah...more joys of middle-aged homosexuality). The topic chain went something like this:

Dianne Wiest on Broadway in All My Sons...which segued to...
Dianne Wiest in general...which segued to...
Dianne Wiest in Footloose...which segued to...
The entire cast of Footloose...which segued to...
"But if Dianne Wiest played Lori Singer's mother, who played Kevin Bacon's mother?"...which segued to...
An imdb.com search...which segued to...
A discussion of Frances Lee McCain (aka Footloose mama)...an underknown workhorse of late 1970s/early 1980s entertainment...which segued to...
A discussion of the early 1980s genre of "hot macho cop detective show"....which segued to...
Matt Houston.

We then watched the intro to the show (see below) and were beside ourselves. It seems to have been filmed by Colt Studios in 1978.

No wonder I was glued to this shit every Friday night as an overweight sixth-grader in 1983.

Be sure to catch two things in the clip: the helicopter controls and the champagne cork. It's...uh...really subtle what the show's producers were trying to get at.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Family Plot (Or, Divorce, Media Style)

M: So when should we launch the divorce? With my new album? The second single?

L: Let's push it back a few months. You're on tour in the fall. October divorces are so pretty what with the changing leaves and all. Plus both films are coming out the second week of the month.

M: Hmmmm....before or after the film premiere?

L: Which one?

M: Umm....

L: I'm sorry. Of course I meant yours. I say after.

M: Better pictures.

L: Totally.

M: Ok...let's book it.

L: I'll email the memo.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

The Church of M (Or, Membership Renewal)

Yes, I know I'm nearly a month behind again in posting anything...despite a flurry of activity and an ocean of story on my end. I'll start attacking the backlog with the easiest and most typical tale to tell.

Here's a statement that can always provoke a good eyeroll from heterosexuals and discerning too-hip-but-secretly-envious gays:

I saw Madonna in concert this week.

And here's a more detailed statement that can turn that eyeroll into a bonafide "oh-lord-what's-her-problem" mouth-agape-silent-gasp:

I saw Madonna in concert this week...twice.

And with those back-to-back shows, my membership in the clan known as Freespending Urban Homosexuals is now guaranteed for another few years.

I will let the pictures I took do the talking.

On a sad note, just prior to the start of the second show I saw, some poor devotee passed out and was hauled out by four security guards. I was waiting online for a deliciously warm $8 Bud Light when his Italian suited ass was dragged by. There was a mini-souvenir stand right next to the bar line and the woman working the stand expressed the dismay of everyone in line:

"Oh that sad son of a bitch! He passed out even before the show started...and I know these seats ain't cheap. He must have been an alcoholic or something."

The Souvenir Lady then held up on of the items on sale at her stand - a giant shotglass with "MADONNA" printed over and over again in hot pink letters.

"See...check this out. This is supposed to be a shot glass? I bet that kid was doing shots from one of these. When I first saw these, I was like 'Dang...is this a shotglass for alcoholics? This bitch is huge!' I mean, you do a few shots out of this motherfucker and you're going to get dragged out on your ass no matter what."

Not one to pass up an intro like this, I pointed to a ceramic "MADONNA" coffee mug on her stand.

"Maybe he was doing shots from this." I said.

The Souvenir Lady howled with laughter.

"Ooooh! If he was, he must have been a professional alcoholic. You got to wake yourself up with a fucking drink, that's how bad you are."

The Souvenir Lady then yelled out to the rest of the line:

"You all be careful! Don't be drinking shots out of these glasses tonight...and enjoy the show with out falling down drunk!"