This skirt makes me want to __________________________.
Genetic Denim, $220 at Shopbop.
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Bryanboy’s Christmas Miracle: Page 2
Illustrated by Tatyana T. (Click on image for full size)
Exciting Bryanboy Children’s Book!
Bryanboy and the Christmas Miracle will be a book to cherish for the whole family! Celebrate the holiday season with this heartwarming tale of loss, courage and the Lord’s love!
Here is the first page, illustrated by the brilliant artist Tatyana T, text by Sister Wolf. We are scrambling to have the book ready by December 25, our Lord’s birthday. xoxo
(click on the picture for full size)
Douglas Buck: What a Fucking Cunt™!
The night before last I stupidly watched a movie called Sisters, directed by some cunt named Douglas Buck.
I admit that I missed the beginning and since it was around 2 in the morning, I was somewhat medicated, ahem. But oh my god, what a piece of shit! Surely it rates as one of the worst movies of the decade and I don’t mean the kind of bad that’s so bad it’s good.
Who is this cunt Douglas Buck and why do people give him money to make films? Before we explore this mystery, let me give you a brief rundown on Sisters:
Lou Doillon, looking more like a horse than ever, is a nutcase who all but emits NUTCASE in neon letters over her head. A doctor played by Stephen Rhea as though striving for a bad acting award, is obsessed with the horse, as is Chloe Sevigny, who plays a reporter but looks like a lesbian college freshman. Weird flashbacks crank up the confusion, and the low budget is like a whole separate character, dominating every scene, Finally, Lou or someone stabs the doctor (or someone) and Chloe puts on Lou’s cheap wig to signify that she is nuts, too.
Back to Douglas Buck, the director. His IMDB credits are pretty sketchy. A forthcoming movie called “The Theatre Bizarre” features characters called “the Writer, Homeless Woman, Junkie Girl” and “Mere Antoinette.” He is credited as one of 6 directors. Even better, a movie he made in 2003 called “Prologue” has this logline:
A young woman returns home one year after losing her hands in a savage attack. She cannot remember who her assailant was, but a trip to the local post office leads her towards the truth.
Why, Douglas? Why are you so insistent on making awful puerile crap? Is this what you went to film school for? I can’t think of one good excuse for you unless you’re donating your fees to cancer research. I’m not saying you should lose your hands (in a savage attack); I’m just saying you’re a fucking cunt.
Abbey Lee, Baby Love
I don’t know about you, but I’ve figured out why I find Abby Lee Kershaw so irresistible.
She looks like a baby. You know all those studies that demonstrate the appeal of baby-like faces? Because we’re instinctively drawn to baby faces? Otherwise we might abandon babies when they cry for ten hours straight or something?
Abby Lee is a perfect baby. I love her. I wish I could open the front door tomorrow morning and find her in a basket, with a letter from the stork!
Powerless
There is nothing worse than feeling powerless.
Mothers always believe they have the power to make things okay for their children. If they scrape a knee, you know how to make it better. If they have a fever, you know how to lower it. If it’s something worse, you know how to go to the emergency room. If they hate a teacher, you arrange a meeting. If someone steals their bike, you get it back. Whatever the problem is, you solve it.
If your child jumps of a cliff, you vow to make sure he’ll survive. If he’s not breathing, you still believe you can blow life into his lungs and bring him back.
Then, you keep pretending you have the power to punish the negligent or to force an apology or to find a grief group or to sleep soundly, or to hang on to your friends, or to get anything done that needs doing. But you are powerless.
Then after six months you ask the ex-husband if you can have some of your child’s belongings from before he got hurt but the ex says No, sorry. BUT, you say to him, but this but that, but I’m the Mother! No, he’s not ready because he’s too busy because he doesn’t trust you and anyway he’s going away for Christmas, just No. Sorry, but no, he simply can’t. He’ll “look through” the stuff but not now and not with you.
A hundred years ago, I married a rigid controlling person who was wrong for me in every way except for the fact of our beautful son, and now I am powerless against his need to say no to me.
This is why I could never accomplish Step One. I can’t accept that I have no power, even when it’s so painfully and irrevocably obvious.
“I Say Grow That Shit Like a Jungle!”
Stop what you’re doing and listen to Amanda Palmer‘s brand new song “Map of Tasmania“…an ode to pubic hair. You’ll be humming it all day. God bless her.
~
Feminist Bullies
One thing I’ve learned since joining Twitter is that feminism isn’t dead. It’s alive and really irritable.
A post at frockwriter about American Apparel seemed perfectly reasonable to me, but caused quite a commotion among super-sensitive feminist tweeters. Frockwriter author Patty Huntington decried American Apparel‘s use of mannequins posed bent over, or spreadeagled in slutty positions. But the word “slutty” caused offense.
I watched Ms. Huntington patiently reply to the outraged tweets. Someone demanded that she retract the word slutty, arguing that it’s part of a larger offensive social dynamic called “slut-shaming.”
The angry word-prohibitionist got her friends involved. I discovered that many of the angered women were self-described fat women, and presumably they are more sensitized to name-calling.
But the preachy comments triggered by Huntington’s post were so annoying that I jumped in and called one of the prohibitionists “an ignorant slut.” GET IT?!? I thought it was funny, and figured everyone knew the reference to be a catchphrase from Saturday Night Live.
Well, all the irritable feminists went nuts. They got together to slam Huntington, over at a boring blog by Dr. Samantha Thomas, who refused to publish my very calm comment in defense of Patty Huntington. Read the comments though if you enjoy womyn congratulating each other for being mad.
Today, feminist’s launched a twitter attack on Michael Moore after a comment he made about rape victims was repeated out of context. Michael Moore is a tireless liberal activist who deserves better. I will let him speak for himself.
Finally, a miniwar broke out over a pillow needlepointed with the words of Kate Moss: Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. Feminist tweeters flipped out. Those pillows were “pro-ana!”
Here’s what I think. The December issue of Bazaar has an article about a woman getting a facial for her vulva. She goes into great detail but I couldn’t take it. It’s so stupid and depressing. It’s bullshit. It’s anti-pussy and it’s anti-woman. It’s a million times worse than the word slut or a fucking pillow.
Thoughts?
The End of Decadence
Here is a photo posted on a popular style blog today. The others in the series were NSFW. The handful of comments were enthusiastic.
A light finally went on in my head.
It’s the fucking decadence that I hate! Not really hipsters in general so much as the ones promoting decadence.
Nipple rings, blurred sexuality, tattooes, shaved heads, pseudo bondage, jaded topless girls with cigarettes, Gareth Pugh this and Gareth Pugh that, it’s all so tragic and played out. There’s just nowhere to go with this shit.
I’m aware that young people must shock their elders. But it seems like too many people aren’t growing out of it. I don’t want to call out bloggers because it’s not their fault. They’re just deluded. The images they’re purveying have been around in some form for centuries, but now it’s so joyless and commercialized. Just take it away.
I’ve been scrolling through paintings of angels and religious allegories for hours, trying to elevate my soul through beauty and sincerity but it’s hard to find a strong enough antidote to the sadness of everything tonight.
Just to keep hipsters in the loop, though, please enjoy this:
Goodnight Jane!
Okay, but don’t tell Clement Hurd.