Investigative Discovery TV: The Comfort of Nonstop Murder

Posted on January 28, 2018 by Sister Wolf

I heard about the Investigative Discovery channel when ads began touting a new Jodi Arias series. I will never have enough Jodi Arias, and I’m not alone in this. Jodi brings it, every time. As you may know, I am Team Jodi, still firm in my belief that Travis had it coming to him.

Anyway, the Jodi rehash was nothing new, but it introduced a new past-time for me. Now I can watch violent murders, hour after hour, from the comfort of my couch, which is beginning to sag in the place where I park my ass. You can’t imagine how many crimes have been documented and reenacted for this channel. Every one different but somehow the same.

I think it’s the sameness that I find comforting. There is a certain order to the grisly murders, with elements that that repeat like the stanzas of a poem.

Every victim has the sunniest temperament! “She always had a smile on her face.” “She was nice to everyone.” “She was just a really good person.” It’s an amazing coincidence but a reassuring one: No one will ever murder me. I don’t fit the mold.

The bad acting is interspersed with recorded footage, often including interrogation scenes. There are narrating talking heads, who turn out to be the victim’s sister or mother or best friend. They are sad, but not too sad to appear on TV. They all have bad hair.

When the victim is male, the motives are more diverse, but the players are consummate douches, even if they are doctors or lawyers or the guy next door. The perps are either violent losers or psychotic Jezebels. There’s a lot of messy blood, and there are forensics, missing bodies, lies, confessions, trials and prison sentences. It all works out in the end.

Once in a while though, the crime is so heinous or weird that I have to google it, to see if they made it up. Reading about it is not at all pleasurable though, especially in the case of the guy who shot his father with a high powered bow and arrow.

I’ve cut down on watching the news and I’ve stopped looking at Twitter. Giving up Twitter is a huge relief, and you realize almost immediately how liberating it is. You don’t actually need to know who is mad in response to what microagression, and who is being cast as the day’s villain. The tides of rage can go on without you. If something important happens, you’ll find out eventually.

Real life will slip away if you let it. Some of it is just too painful or frustrating. I’d like to hang on to the good parts but the older you get, the easier it is to feel the good parts are behind you. Maybe it just takes more energy to move forward and for that I need more sleep.

In fact, I’ve reached the age when you and your friends start talking about pillows and mattresses with the same fervor you once had for live music. We still like to have fun and get high, but mostly what we’re looking for is a great pillow like the one that guy on TV invented, only not as lumpy.

A good pillow, a good murder case, maybe some chips and salsa, that’s all I’m asking for as I walk the line between choosing life or oblivion.

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, News | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Denim Doldrums Over at Last!

Posted on January 24, 2018 by Sister Wolf

denim doldrum over at lastLike a bracing slap in the face, denim has returned with a vengeance for 2018, starting with this brilliant Denim Waist Belt by Unravel Project.

Designed to appear like it’s been sliced from the top of your favorite jeans, this faded blue version has frayed edges and exposed pockets. It looks even cooler with a slim leather strap over the top.

I’d say it’s not “designed to appear” like the top of some jeans, but actually IS the top of some jeans. Should we run out to Goodwill and buy some jeans for $9 and cut off the  top?? We would be saving $441!  Here’s how to wear it:

denim doldrums overSee how cute??

What couldn’t you wear this with, you know? Imagine transforming a dress or coat with this Denim Waist Belt. Or, if you have no imagination, you might just wear it over the same brand’s Distressed Oversized Jeans:

Made in Italy from rigid denim, they have an intentionally baggy, oversized fit and are shredded through the front for a ’90s grunge feel.

After 50 million versions of shredded jeans, they still expect us to bite? At $675? You could just get these on a sale rack at Sears. Together, these two “pieces” would cost over $1,000. I like their chutzpah at Unravel Project. Good for them.

These look fresh for spring, because ruffles:

I love that they’re asymmetrical, and I can only hope they bounce around when you walk. $522.50 at Saks.

Pushing the ugly, excessive overkill aesthetic, Dolce & Gabbana brings us this:

Cotton blend denim with painted floral and leopard motif

Ew. Are they really painted? They’re nearly sold out at $1,875. Are they made with Kylie Jenner in mind or what? Is there still a segment of Eurotrash who would wear these at a club in Las Vegas? I need more information to grasp the brand’s concept here.

Finally, brought to you by Greg Lauren, our go-to guy for the truly audacious and reprehensible, a jacket:

denim doldrums over at lastGreg Lauren’s snorkel flight jacket is crafted of light blue heavily distressed cotton denim and trimmed at the butterfly hood with faux fur.

Haha, Greg, what’s a snorkel flight jacket? There is so much going on here, I can’t even itemize the features that add up to $3,125 worth of eyesore.  But I’ll try.

Fading. Paint splatter. Bleach stains. Holes. Rip details. Button-and-loop storm placket. Butterfly hood with faux-fur trim. Rib cuffs with chewed edges. Fake blanket lining. A shitload of buttons or rivets or whatever they are.

The rear-view is a nice coda:

denim doldrums overBAM!

You can get this on sale at Barneys if you hurry.

 

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Mrs. Caliban and The Shape of Water: The Green Stranger

Posted on January 21, 2018 by Sister Wolf

the green stranger

When I first heard the premise of The Shape of Water, I immediately thought, “Mrs. Caliban!” Sharing this thought with others, I was forced into an explanation that got me nowhere.

When I read Mrs. Caliban in 1982, I had friends who were reading it as well, and I remember finishing it in one sitting, that’s how compelling it is. At 110 pages, it’s not like I’m bragging. I just don’t see how you could stop once you start.

The shared premise is a woman who falls in love with an amphibian.

I’m not saying that the movie drew from the novella, because there are so many other cinematic and literary instances of inter-species romance. But still. In both cases, the gigantic green creature is everything a woman could long for, especially a lonely woman in a dreary marriage or one who herself feels like a misfit.

I loved the creature in The Shape of Water, who also had an ET thing going for him. His weird gurgles were so poignant! Even though he’s so slimy and fishy, when he stands to his full height and wraps his whatever-they-are around his enthralled love object, he is Cary Grant, and then some.

Mrs. Caliban’s green lover, Larry, is also irresistible.

What is it we want, ladies, that resonates so effectively in the Green Stranger?

Is it the innocence, the purity of purpose, the gentleness? Is it the otherness itself? Or is it that he’s a good listener?

In the movie, he can’t speak. Think about it. No mansplaining. Ever. No criticism! No one to say, “Could you please remember to put the cheese back in the fridge and seal the bag properly?”

Is it the fact that he’s probably never had a woman before you, so you are the best fuck ever? I’m just throwing that out there as I explore this, okay? I already know I’m the best fuck ever, but some people might worry about that kind of thing.

Let’s get back to the listening. A Green Stranger who stares into your eyes and understands you, isn’t bored by you, isn’t checking a device or butting in with his devil’s advocate shit…how good is that?? He is a child, a lover, a protector, a best friend, and he’s able to love with his whole heart.

I am thrilled to report that Mrs. Caliban (by Rachel Ingalls) is now back in print, and a million online reviews are calling it a lost treasure. I didn’t know it was lost, but now it’s back and I think you should read it. After all these year, it remains in my memory like a haunting, glimmering dream. A bonus for completists is that her other books are good, too.

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Oh My God, What an Awful Year!

Posted on December 31, 2017 by Sister Wolf

William Blair Bruce, 1901

Maybe if you aren’t American, 2017 was about something other than Donald Trump. I can barely imagine that. Here in the US, we wake up every morning in a state of dread. What did he do now? Who has he insulted? What inch of progress has he dragged back by a yard?

Some of you are able to go about your day without watching the news, and I envy you. I know I could wait until evening to find out the latest breach of decency but I want to get my hit asap, while it’s still fresh. I want to see the modulated horror on the pundits’ faces. I want to see them try to contain their disgust. I like knowing that I’m not alone in this.

My personal life seems inconsequential, and it literally is, more and more. I have lost friends to distance or apathy or Because cunt. My community is a long way from where I used to live, and I’ve stopped driving. I feel like a shut-in even though I do get out occasionally. I’m not expecting anything to happen, like a new job or relationship or project or vacation. I’m just coasting.

I’m trying to learn how to stop ruminating about the same old shit. Walking backwards is supposed to help. I’m taking probiotics and calcium when I can remember them. But in general, I don’t feel present in my own life.

Politics is another matter.

The Trump situation is an all-consuming and immediate vortex of fear and rage. Why can’t anyone make it stop? Why has the Republican party gone crazy en masse? Why aren’t they terrified of that fucker destroying the world in a crazed nuclear strike, just to distract us from his Russian business ties? Why do we have to go around embarrassed by his blustering stupidity and childish outbursts? Why do we have to see that fucking hair????

In 2018, I hope to march against my government to show solidarity with sane people. I think that’s my only plan.

Last week I had a three-hour phone conversation with a dear friend who told me that meditation would cure my depression. We both grew frustrated but we kept at it. He insisted that his depressed friends had found relief through meditation. The ones who didn’t were to blame for not trying hard enough. If only everyone would listen to him! he exclaimed. At one point, I sneered that I was further than ever from wanting to meditate.

He was proselytizing because he believed he had the answer. I resisted his belief-system because, in his words, I can’t surrender. Depression is complicated. Surrendering to a higher power is just not for me. I will surrender to medication or trans-cranial electric stimulation or a guiding philosophy that makes life less painful.

I reminded him that the universe is indifferent to us, clearly. I mean, it’s obviously not benevolent. He found this line of thinking exasperating. “You’re just like Max!” he said. And despite everything, I was proud to hear that. I’m going to drink a toast to Max tonight, to his beautiful stubborn soul and his loving heart.

Goodbye to 2017 and the horse it rode in on.

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, News, Rants | Tagged , , , | 15 Comments

Hideous Denim 2017: The Last Gasp

Posted on December 27, 2017 by Sister Wolf

I can’t say goodby to 2017 without offering one last gift of hideous denim. I have been shirking my duty for weeks but I hope I can make it up to you with this baffling monstrosity by Sacai.

There’s always an element of surprise that comes with Sacai’s signature cut-and-paste technique – nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems. Take this denim jacket for example, which can be transformed from classic to statement-making in seconds. It’s been skilfully made in Japan and is detailed with zipped panels along the sleeves that can be unfastened to create a cool cape-effect silhouette.

It’s hard to argue with the “element of surprise,” as in “Oh my god, what the fuck is going on with this jacket!” Is it trying to look like a manta ray or a vagina?

What do they mean it  can be “transformed from classic to statement making“? How do you get this thing to look classic? Maybe it looks classic to a sea creature or in a parallel universe.

Let’s try the rear view:

hideous denim 2017Less disturbing from the back, it gives the impression of an accident, like something ripped open. Looking like you’ve been in an accident is probably a good conversation-starter. I don’t know. I feel sorry for that naked vulnerable arm.

$850 dollars feels just right, doesn’t it? But hurry, it’s low in stock.

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This Be Some News For Philip Larkin

Posted on December 19, 2017 by Sister Wolf

Liyu+Liubo

Everyone I know and everyone you know can quote the first line of This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin, a poem he wrote in 1971.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

That one line has served as gospel for at least two generations.  It validates adolescent resentment like nothing else. See, a famous poet says you fucked us up, you fuckers. It’s official.

And of course they do, your mum and dad. Because everyone is fucked up, and everything starts at home, where grown ups can make random rules because you are powerless.

If only they’d been more affectionate or less affectionate, more involved or less involved, more attentive or less smothering, if only they’d fought less or fought more. Or as Larkin complains,

They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

Philip Larkin followed his own advice and didn’t have kids. So he never discovered a consecutive truth that parents learn the hard way. They fuck you up, your kids.

They fuck you up in small ways or in ways that crush you. They rob you of sleep and peace of mind, for starters. You will never rest easy, once you’re a parent. Every fever, illness or broken bone, you’d do anything to take their place. If they’re not home on time, you will be worried, then frantic. Every hurt they experience, you experience with them, but magnified. They own your heart, and they don’t care if they break it.

They didn’t ask to be born, you know. So fuck you. Did you make sacrifices for them? Too bad, that was your job.

I wish I’d had more compassion for my mom, even though she was so unfit for motherhood. I wouldn’t budge in my resentment until she got cancer. I could list the ways she failed me but never put myself in her shoes.

I used to urge my childless friends to have babies, if they asked my opinion. I told them that motherhood was so transcendent, so sublime, that life would be eternal high school without the experience. They would never know the scope and magnitude of pure selfless love. That part is true, I believe, but I regret my sales pitch now. I didn’t factor in how much they fuck you up.

Most of you parents would do it again with no hesitation, right? I would too, because those happy years were the best! But the downside, oh my god, it is terrible. I once considered setting myself on fire – it’s the method most available to women in India, and I thought the physical agony might cancel out the emotional distress. I got over it, so don’t freak out, alright? I’m just trying to illustrate the downness of the downside.

You expect your kids to love you back. You have all kinds of expectations.

Philip Larkin, I’ve always respected your English miserabilism. You were no match for Beckett, but who is? Anyway, not being a poet I can only offer this haiku I just made up.

You poor angry boy
If you don’t feel I’m your mom
You won’t get the house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Show and Tell

Posted on November 22, 2017 by Sister Wolf

The first time I saw an erect penis it was crammed down my throat before I could say “Ew.” I was a reckless kid who nobody loved, so I agreed to go behind the neighborhood bowling alley with an awful redheaded boy, hoping he would let me wear his Saint Christopher medal. His name was either Kenny or Ted; both names make me gag.

A couple of years later, still reckless, I hitchhiked everywhere, and the guys who picked me up were usually friendly, even the ones who managed to unzip their pants while driving. Suddenly, out sprang their dicks and the offer of a dollar to touch “it.” There was no way of guessing which guy might do this. Well dressed or slob, jalopy or brand new Cadillac, it was a crap shoot. No one ever stopped me from getting out. They were disgruntled, the ones with their dicks out, but they handled their disappointment pretty well.

Now, with Louis CK in mind, I have to wonder what drives men to show their dick to women who’ve expressed no interest in seeing it. In Louis CK’s case, the idea was obviously to shock or cause discomfort. But that seems like a genuine perversion. It’s hard to believe most men think of their penises this way.

But since women don’t go around forcing people to look at their genitals, I think it’s fair to call it a Man thing. What is behind this behavior? I tried thinking about it from a Freudian perspective. Maybe, when little boys first see their dad’s penis, they are overwhelmed by its size. This instills a worry about their own tiny penis. Will they ever measure up? The worry permeates their entire existence. Then once their own penis is full grown, they feel a need to say, “LOOK! ” They are proud, but still there’s that fundamental insecurity. All women represent Mommy, as we know. So he’s saying, “See, Mommy? I’m as big as Dad!”

No? Not buying that? How about a primal fear that the dick will somehow disappear. They have to keep presenting it for approval. It’s still there! Yay!

Or, is it just the physical version of mansplaining? Instead of clobbering you verbally with their superiority,  they want you to shut up and look at their dick. “Get a load of this, sister!” It’s an explanation that needs no explanation.

Having seen my share of penises, both willingly and otherwise, I think I have a healthy appreciation of them. One in particular, as I am happily married. Scrolling through Tumblr, when a dick pops up on my dashboard, I admit to feeling slightly offended. My feeling is mostly, “Go away, I didn’t ask for you.” I wonder if teenage girls are immune to images of dicks? From the sound of it, dick pics are a form of communication among our youth. Maybe when these teens grow up, the men will be less likely to use their dicks Louis CK-style, as an instrument of horror.

I believe I speak for most women when I say, Please keep your penis in your pants unless we specifically ask to see it and/or consensual sex is about to take place. Is that so hard, ahem?

Men, can you enlighten us on the mystery of your show and tell behavior? Ladies, your thoughts?

Posted in Disorders, News | Tagged , , | 11 Comments

What’s Wrong With Me, Volume 500

Posted on November 15, 2017 by Sister Wolf

what's wrong with me, volume 500

All my life, I’ve wondered what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m curious and reflective by nature, and relentless about trying to figure shit out.

I find it amazing that other people aren’t consumed by questions about their own psyche but I accept that most people are focused on other matters. Good for them.

Me, I know I’m fucked up. Chronically depressed is one way for me to understand why I’m always sad, tired, hopeless, and easily annoyed. But it isn’t enough. There is also a complete lack of will to do anything useful.

As a teenager, I was thrilled to discover the term neurasthenic. What a romantic-sounding Victorian condition, and one that seemed to cover all my bases. I could think of myself lying on a velvet fainting couch, one pale arm dangling listlessly toward the floor. Neurotic doesn’t sound as appealing. That goes double for Fibromyalgia.

So imagine my excitement at discovering a WHOLE NEW DIAGNOSIS that doesn’t even exist yet in the US. Ready? It’s called PDA, or Pathological Demand Avoidance. It’s considered “a behaviour profile within the autism spectrum.”

Those who present with this particular diagnostic profile are driven to avoid everyday demands and expectations to an extreme extent. This demand avoidant behaviour is rooted in an anxiety-based need to be in control.

Well, I wouldn’t have thought of myself as autistic, but the description feels so right, so resonant, so me:

    • resists and avoids the ordinary demands of life
    • uses social strategies as part of avoidance, eg distracting, giving excuses
    • appears sociable, but lacks understanding
    • experiences excessive mood swings and impulsivity
    • appears comfortable in role play and pretence
    • displays obsessive behaviour that is often focused on other people.

Furthermore, “People with this profile can appear controlling and dominating, especially when they feel anxious. However, they can also be enigmatic and charming when they feel secure and in control. It’s important to acknowledge that these people have a hidden disability. ”

Godammit! I have a fucking disability! I would like one of those things for my car. I want everyone to know that IT’S NOT MY FAULT. Instead of regarding myself as the laziest person on earth, or some kind of incurable renegade, I can explain my entire life with PDA.

It’s the reason I didn’t go to high school, didn’t learn a trade or profession, didn’t want to apply for any job unless it was absolutely imperative, and managed to get fired from nearly every one of them. It’s a feeling of NO, I WON’T that is underlaid with a profound sense of BECAUSE I CAN’T.

PDA diagnoses are split equally between the sexes, unlike other ASD’s. Maybe having a Girlie Brain is another feature of PDA, for all I know. Or maybe it has helped me to work around it.

When we look at our own behavior, or the behavior of others, we tend to see it through a particular lens. If we don’t believe in psychology or genetics, we label rude people as assholes. We can label reclusive people “unsociable”. If you’re in Al-Anon, you view people as “enablers” or Co-dependent. Using a lens informed by a wider understanding, you might suspect that someone is autistic, or bi-polar, or suffering from social anxiety. The more you know about brain science and genetics, the more you can appreciate the complexities of personality and behavior.

Just as we know that Donald Trump is a monumental cunt, we understand that he is driven by pathological neediness and insecurity. It doesn’t help us, but it’s just good to know.

Now I’m relieved to know (i.e., believe) that I’m not a lazy underachieving piece of shit, but rather a poor thing with a Disability. So there, haters.

Thoughts, arguments, or counter-diagnoses?

 

Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, Words | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

What, There’s Another Hadid Sister??

Posted on November 8, 2017 by Sister Wolf

Godammit, why am I the last to know EVERYTHING? Did you guys know there’s another Hadid sister besides Gigi and Bella? This is too much. Or rather, too many. Three too many, actually.

Until recently, I knew next to nothing about Bella. Gigi was the one I thought of as the blight on youth culture and fashion. Her soft butterface is everywhere. She always has the same expression, like she’s not quite awake. She looks like a spoiled rich kid from some obscure Eastern European republic. And she’s often pictured with Kendall Jenner, striding down a street pretending not to notice the paparazzi.

what theres another hadid sister

She is also the face of Maybelline or Cover Girl, tainting all my magazines with her sullen pout and weirdly arched eyebrows. She makes me remember that I used to watch the Housewives of Beverly Hills, which featured her mom, a giant blonde gold-digger who I suspected of being a man.

I was vaguely aware of Bella, who is kind of the consolation-prize sister, not blonde and not as pubescently squishy. It turns out that Bella is a big deal in her own right. She’s probably dating an important hip hop artist or NBA star.

My adopted daughter Ali told me about an interview Bella did with Complex magazine that had caused a ruckus. When I hesitated, explaining that I was detoxing from  celebrities, she assured me that it had deep cultural relevance, and she was right.

Bella is the stupidest girl in the world. You will cringe and you will wish you were never born but you will thank me for posting this video.Without it, you just can’t grasp what the world has come to.

So that’s Bella.

But why do we need Alana? What’s the point of her? Why doesn’t she change her name and move somewhere out of the spotlight? I think she’s pretending to be a designer of some kind but I want to not think about her. You can read about her here but don’t come back and tell me anything.

What if there’s a fourth sister?!??

These Hadid girls are a symbol of our decline as much as Donald Trump is, all of them nails in the coffin of civilization.  Thoughts and prayers to all us.

Posted in Celebrities, irritants, Rants, Words | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

Has This Happened to You? *TRIGGER WARNING

Posted on October 29, 2017 by Sister Wolf

You’re getting ready to go to a Halloween party and you’re going as Axl Rose. You’ve got your bandanna on and a t-shirt and you’re struggling to get your leather pants zipped up.

They fit okay a couple of years ago when you wore them to a Thanksgiving dinner where you brought a hand-crafted turkey centerpiece made out of Popsicle sticks and colored paper. But now you feel like a bursting leather sausage. So you say, Fuck this, and you go find your other leather pants, the looser ones, but the waist is tight and the rest is too big.

So now you don’t even want to be Axl. Fuck him and fuck everything. You’re a fat whale with no reason to live. None. You have reached a precipice; you should take your leather pants and jump off it. Or if not a precipice, then a milestone. The one where you turn your back on leather pants and relax in a cotton floral housecoat, your legs mapped with varicose veins and your swollen feel stuffed into slipper socks with the non-skid soles.

You can go around like that old lady in a (trigger warning!) Woody Allen film croaking “I was once a great beauty” to anyone who’ll listen.

But then you pull yourself together. You have to go to the party. Your partner is going as Slash. You’ve RSVP’d. So you decide to default to (trigger warning!) Slutty Axl. As long as you have fishnets you can be Slutty Anything. So you put on the fishnet tights and find the tartan skirt you promised to send to a friend in her 20s because Grandma Schoolgirl is just not your preferred self-image, even for Halloween.

Now you’ve pulled it out. So to speak. You still feel a little tragic. You had to compromise, and you know that you’re a pregnant-looking orca but at least now you can wear lipstick and mascara, Because Slut. You jab the mascara in your eye but still valiantly walk out the door on time.

You get to the party and have a drink, feeling your self-hatred fade away like a dream as you behold a girl dressed like Mia from Pulp Fiction, with a bloody nose and a giant syringe sticking out of her chest.

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