The Cunty Tote, just what we’ve been waiting for, now available from Patricia Field.
What an unusual, ahem, online site it is! I can’t tell if it’s trying to make me sick or what. However, I actually want these sequin shorts, just because Chanel made some, remember? Thank god they’re out of stock.
Last night, the entire Sister Wolf family got off our asses and went to see the Dresden Dolls perform at the Wiltern. The Sons were intent on standing right by the stage, and did so.
The Husband and I chose to take one of the few tables in the back of the theater, the better to have a drink and sit our two asses back down. It’s not like I can’t stand up for hours and scream my head off if I want to, but last night I didn’t want to, and here’s why: Because god in his infinite wisdom wanted to let me cast my eyes upon Morrissey, who stood just a few feet away from me!
If you don’t revere Morrissey, it may be due to your lack of cultural literacy, i.e. you haven’t heard his masterpiece, “I Know It’s Over.” I admit that until I heard it, I just thought of Morrissey as an interesting songwriter with an arresting persona.
Then, I heard Jeff Buckley’s version of I Know It’s Over, and my heart nearly imploded from its beauty and intensity. It is one of the most exquisitely poetic songs of all time. You can read the lyrics here.
So there was Morrissey, but one can hardly go up to him and bother him when his whole deal is about being alone and asexual. For an asexual man, he is pretty damn unbelievably attractive.
So, shit, I now wish I could have taken a photo or kissed the hem of his robe. But he’ll always be there when I close my eyes.
The Dresden Dolls were terrific, and they basked in the love of their hardcore fans, who tended toward the Disenfranchised…..the strange, the fat, the emaciated, the ambiguously gendered and of course, the Queer. God bless them every one, and Jeff Buckley too, may his soul rest in peace.
I was intrigued by a review in the Los Angeles TImes of Matthew Barney’s latest performance piece, called REN. The two hour event took place in a car lot, and featured the destruction of a 1967 Chrysler Imperial.
The car was dragged by “four dozen dirt-smeared laborers” into a showroom, where it was smashed by a backhoe. The shattered glass injured three people in the audience, but hey, they came to see Art and they got it!
After the paramedics left, the audience was ushered into a fake tomb where Lila Downs sang to a corpse and – this is my favorite part – “a menstrual shroud was extracted from the loins of a masked nude woman.”
Is Matthew Barney a fucking genius or what?!
If you’re not convinced, how about this: Just last month in New York, Barney used another Chrysler to fascinate a crowd of 200, wearing a dog on his head. A legless athlete in a silver ballgown and a marching band in terrorist masks were there to bring Barney’s vision to life, as were a pair of semi-nude girls who peed in an arc onto the floor. Then a bull was led over to the Chrysler but refused to mount it.
I’m not too good as symbolism, but I think it’s obvious that the bull was a witty reference to shit. Right?
Poor Bjork!
For a long time, I’ve been thinking about introducing some of my more obscure Objects of Hatred, for anyone interested in post-graduate Hating. I’m talking about raising the bar for those who seek more people to hate besides Chloe Sevigny or Selma Blair. That kind of hating is child’s play, after all. Everyone hates those two, it doesn’t take any brains or discernment.
My first Object of Hatred in this advanced curriculum is the one and only horror known as Liz Goldwyn. She is the granddaughter of film mogul Samuel Goldwyn and therefore has a huge trust-fund. She has used her buying power to divest eBay and the auction houses of all the best vintage gowns on the market.
So unrelenting is her hunger for more vintage finery that she courted some aging burlesque artists in order to get to their priceless spangled costumes. In her documentary about them, she pretends to have some kind of sociological interest in stripping. What she really wants is to get her hands on the clothes. The best part of the documentary is when a savvy old stripper tells her to forget about getting any of her outfits. She sees right through the horrible greed and manipulation.
I hated Liz Goldwyn before the documentary and I hate her each time I see her name. She recently “sourced” some crappy vintage sweater clips for the shop Opening Ceremony in Los Angeles. When I saw them, I sneered to the sales person, “Did you know you can get these at the VIntage Fashion Expo for around ten or fifteen dollars?” Liz has priced them at something outrageous but I’ve forgotten the figure.
Now to make matters worse, I’ve come across a video clip of Liz visiting the guest house of Tony Duquette, a brilliantly over-the-top designer whose close friend Hutton Wilkinson manages the Duquette estate. If you watch the video, you can see how much Liz wants to keep the jewelry Wilkinson shows her.
She has ‘designed’ her own jewelry for Barneys, and it looks like Duquette-on-a-budget. I fucking hate her. Too much money in the hands of an acquisitive narcissistic bitch like Liz Goldwyn makes the world a tiny bit worse for the rest of us. She has plundered the earth’s finite stores of Vintage treasures, and now she’s messing with Tony Duquette.
I hate Liz Goldwyn and now you can, too!
This is a clip from an episode of This American Life, currently playing on Showtime. It’s called ‘Never gotten a break’ and it’s the story of a young man with a degenerative muscular disease that leaves him nearly paralyzed and connected to breathing tubes. We meet Mike at age 27.
I watched the show with my husband, both of us transfixed in horror at Mike’s situation. At this point, Mike is no longer able to speak and uses a cursor to laboriously type out his thoughts. We noticed that Mike had a pierced eyebrow and wore purple nail polish. He literally coudn’t do anything, but he still wanted to effect an ‘alternative’ style.
We were even more flabbergasted when we learned that Mike has a girlfriend. I guess she answered an ad he placed online. So here’s this guy, for all intents a vegetable, but he has a girlfriend! It was fascinating. Then our TV froze and we couldn’t watch the end of the episode. For awhile, I whined to my husband, “Get me the cripple back!” but it couldn’t be done.
Then last night we were able to see the rest of Mike’s story. His girlfriend broke up with him and he became deeply depressed. He didn’t know if it was worthwhile to keep living. He nearly became addicted to pain killers but his mother manged to wean him off of them.
Then, Mike agreed to take out his breathing tube so that he could speak for a minute or two. With great difficulty, Mike answered a question. Suddenly, I saw that Mike was a person, not a thing. He seemed to have a nice personality….a cool guy, in fact. He told his girlfriend, who had come back to him, that he loved her.
I was devastated. It was easy to mock him when he wasn’t a real person. Now I see that this guy has lived his life with more courage and determination than I can even imagine. He is a fucking hero of the first order. Try to see this piece and renew your sense of humility, gratitude and wonder.
I just came across these new fashion items and I’m wondering why both Moschino and Karen Walker want us to look like clowns.
No one really likes clowns. Most of the people I know are either afraid of them or repelled by them.
I will never forget the time I was shopping in a supermarket, and a little kid sitting in his father’s grocery cart shouted out as they passed by me: “Daddy, did you see the clown?” The dad was embarrassed but I had to laugh. I had blood red streaks in my hair and a pair of big gold 50s sunglasses.
It’s never good to be mistaken for a clown. Sometimes you need a little kid to critique your style.
I don’t plan to see either of these movies but I have thoughtfully reviewed them for you anyway!
Indiana Jones 4:
This is a very loud exercise in nostalgia that you might enjoy if you’re over 50 or a tween who thinks Shia LaBeouf is a hottie. Harrison Ford does his best to prove he’s still an action star, and his nose is still tragically crooked. All the clothes are masterfully weathered, like Harrison’s face. Lots of huge noisy things come hurling at the camera as if in 3D. There are many close-calls but the heroes prevail, in order to justify a sequel. If you still love the theme song, you won’t be disappointed, as it is blasted at every opportunity. A tiresome adventure film that nonetheless is a thousand times more palatable then Sex in the City. Bring earplugs.
Sex in the City:
What can one say about this movie? SJP’s narration is incessant and irritating, like the toe pain she experiences from her celebrated shoes. The plot is rudimentary and predictable. The four actresses struggle to look young and vibrant, with Kim Cattrall vamping it up more than ever. Every character says the word “clit” at least 5 times. SJP’s face is beginning to resemble Abe Lincoln, but she’ll be damned if she gets plastic surgery just for you! If you love aging Cougars and the streets of Manhattan make you feel homesick or the word “masturbate” makes you feel sophisticated, then this is your movie!
Hello Icelanders! I wanted to reach out to you guys, since my google tracker thingy reveals that none of you visit me here at Godammit.com. I love Bjork, especially her swan dress by that designer with the funny name. I love her full eyebrows and her website is amazing. I love that her boyfriend is that nutcase Matthew Barney, who made a 12 hour film about his testicles.
I also love Sigur Ros! Their sound is so weird and haunting! Is everything in Iceland weird and haunting, actually? Let me know!
Not from Iceland but still of interest, take a look at these leather shorts by Camilla Staerk. I could never wear them and yet I feel deprived by not having them. Go and buy them at Oak, but then I’ll be mad at you.
Seeing this photo of her at the Met gala, I finally reached the tipping point with Tilda Swinton. Enough with the androgyny and ugliness! You’ve made your point, whatever it is! Now it’s time to put on some make-up, grow out your hair and dress normally!
I know how important Tilda is to so many factions. If you’re gay, hip or arty in any way, you totally adore her. I know, I know. You think she’s the epitome of beauty, you LOVE her daring style! You love all her movies. You love the air she breathes.
But you need to get over it. If her Oscar look wasn’t horrible enough, get a load of this awful matronly dress she wore to the Met. I don’t care who designed it, it’s still awful. Her choice of Justin Long as an accessory is really repugnant, UNLESS they are best friends in real life and she doesn’t have a ‘partner.’ It seems to me that she’s just pandering to the GLBT vote.
Everybody can stop pretending that Ugly is Beautiful, and that Less is More. It’s only More if there’s Less of Tilda Swinton.
