As a young mother, I took my daughter to the library for story hour at least twice a week for years. Without a doubt, it was the best way I could have ever helped her get a head start on just about everything. One thing always stood out for me most on our trips to the “Museum of Books” — the signs hanging all over the children’s section that told them to: “Read Banned Books.”
It was a brave thing, I thought, and a great point. If we don’t read banned books, we’re not living in a democracy where Freedom of Speech is respected. So, yes, at all costs read banned books!
Recently, reports surfaced that Republic High School (Republic, MO) banned Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. Well, alright. That’s one way to get high school kids off of Facebook long enough to bend the spine of a GREAT piece of literature. After all, the fastest way to convince a teenager to try something is to label it “forbidden.”
I know it’s a stretch for a MATURE AUDIENCE to actually be a MATURE AUDIENCE, so instead I’ll just ask Mom’s Bible study friends to skip this entry, along with anyone under the age of not-yet-out-of-junior-high-school. You know who you are and you’ve been warned.
Now…
I managed to neglect this gem from way back in August. To be fair, timeliness has never been one of my celebrated virtues.
What your mailbox looks like when nerds collide: the same present on the same day from NYC's Suckadelic.
After the whole excitement in July with the Great Westboro Baptist Church Summer Visit, the part of my brain bent toward vinyl toy-hoarding fixated on how cool it’d be if somebody produced a line of Westboro figs. From that, a series of endless conversations with likeminded pals erupted. We had some ideas, but lacked wherewithal.
Thinking Suckadelic and his bootleg appeal would be a good match, we barraged him with emails. He was a good sport about asking for the specific details we had in mind, so we delivered. Reading through some of the rapid replies from that thread, it seemed like the Phelps family and its Westboro yelling and screaming army was limitless in its never ending well of playtime options.
always visit: www.suckadelic.com
The highlights — verbatim from my inbox — are as follows (feel free to credit yourselves):
“Phelps with Barbie-style separate outfits: one gay bondage, one KKK outfit, one nice church suit that says “hypocrite” on the back jacket when it’s dropped in hot water (this is probably unfeasible but I have a big imagination);
“Phelps in a prison jumpsuit being sentenced to hell by Hitler;
“Phelps naked with his pants around his ankles, fucking a sheep;
“What about a trailer or van their action figures can ride around in….to show their behind the scenes life (so you could view from the top inside)….the van is full of empty beer bottles, containers of lube, rebel flags, kiddy porn, the kids are actually kept in cages rather than seats and forced to watch little video screens with Westboro propaganda…….you get the point;
“How about the Phelps Compound! It would look more like a cross between internment camp and terrorist training camp. Hostages would of course be segregated according to their sins. ”All Jews line up for your bar code tattoo!” I could shout as I moved the Phelps family around. “All fags report to the sanctuary for confession and waterboarding,” shouts Mamma Phelps. It would come complete with a secret bunker Fred uses to keep all his gay porn, kool-aid, pink panties, and of course Twilight posters cause he is team Edward all the way. The accesories would never end and offer hours of hate filled fun for kids of any age.”
After perusing the official Westboro website, etc., Sucklord opted for the, er, gentleman’s response to our psycho-religious freakout:
“These people are cockroaches and even a disparaging figure of them by Suckadelic is an honor they don’t deserve.
“That said, I will be there for those epic 45 minutes they are dedicating [at Comic-Con 2010] to this fools errand, and I plan to make them as uncomfortable as possible. (There will be video.)”
Comic-con ended, and Suckadelic made good on his promise, alright. When I asked him to send video, I was thinking he might grab fifteen seconds on a cell phone. I guess I should have known better after watching what he’s done on the Original Villains Network. Whatever the case, I don’t think he and Fred Phelps are going to be best friends any time soon, but I’m not ruling out rash judgment on my part, heh.
Clap-clap-clapping. Thanks, SL. Many hails from your friends in the Lone Star.
A few years ago, Russell and I cozied up under the covers and opened a slew of French Dunnys. It was like making out and binge eating and 9 and 1/2 Weeks and fantasy spree shopping all rolled-up together for two nerds in love.
Then Russell opened a blind box with a golden ticket enclosed, and everything came to a stand still. That was a great day.
A year later, KidRobot mailed our super-limited, totally awesome, completely radical prize: the 8″ Supakitch/Koralie French Dunny. When I unpacked her accessories — earbuds and a special Dunny iPod — I forgave KidRobot for anything they’ve ever done to irk me. High five, that was a great day.
Supakitch and Koralie have just finalized their mural for the Swedish Gothenburg Museum of World Culture, and, thanks to elr°y, there’s an outstanding film clip orchestrated to a track by D*L*i*d. It’s a great day. Again.
Here’s Supakitch, where you can “listen to [his] pictures.” And here’s Koralie’s equally entertaining web domain.
This concludes my American billet-doux for my favorite le billet cache squad.
Rare is the anticipated Friday night spent seated next to this motliest of crews:
Mom;
Mom’s super duper Republican, ultra-conservative Sunday school teacher;
Mom’s liberal, neighboring friend and photographer;
Bella;
Bella’s Hot Topic-loving, fashionably nerdy, film club BFF;
Russell, who’s got to be up the next morning at 6 a.m.;
Protestors.
This is what happens when Ken Burns comes to town.
Famous for his decades’ worth of stylized, American documentaries about the subjects and characters who’ve molded our culture, Burns was lauded by noted historian Stephen Ambrose, who said, “More Americans get their history from Ken Burns than any other source.” Ken Burns has so efficiently worked his way into my subconscious that there’ve been times when I’ve realized I was thinking in Keith David’s voice…about whatever I was doing at the moment…and in third person. Ken’s a Jedi.
Of course, every Jedi has to have his battles. After numerous years spent whipping out documentaries many reviews charged as more focused on the persecutions of different races by white Americans rather than what the critics deemed more relevant to subject matter, Burns recently was labeled oppositely as a racist for the interview selection of his 2007 series about World War II. According to Burns, the filming team reported complete lack of involvement and response from Hispanic veterans, and, rather than seeking further cooperation, filmed the candidates who did respond. The outcome generated a massive outcry in the Mexican community for all public funding to be revoked from future filming. Burns responded by inviting empathetic, fellow filmmaker Hector Galan to film thirty minutes of additional footage, which focused on Latino involvement in the war. He defended the 900-minute documentary:
“We were not seeking any specific ethnic group. We were looking for universal experiences about battle. We spent five years in the four towns. We [...] advertised our presence. Everyone who was possibly within our earshot knew we were there, and in the course of it not a single Hispanic came forward, nor did a single WAC or WAV, nor did a Submariner, nor did a Filipino-American or a German-American, who had a difficult experience — a much larger, in fact, one of the largest ethnic groups. We weren’t looking to tell every story. We wished to have [...] forty people, really ten people, who would stand in for all the experiences. The Hispanic veterans who we found said, ‘We weren’t Hispanic; we were American.’ “
The New York Public Library hosted a fantastic, in depth conversation between brainiac storyteller Professor Robert Stone and Burns on FORA.tv. In the segment, Burns answers questions posed by Stone and the audience regarding everything from his musical selection processes to accusations of racism. If you’re not joining my multifarious army this evening, you should definitely check out the following video (if for no other reason than it took me forever to upload the monster in its entirety, heh).
Ken Burns, NY Public Library
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Although tickets for the north Texan event were completely swiped up earlier this week, KERA is filming the onstage discussion with Think moderator Krys Boyd. Information about the nationally televised broadcast (and how to snag a no-show seat) available here.
I’ve arrived at a domestic intersection in my life where I enjoy doing stuff that would’ve made my stomach turn when I was fifteen. For example, now that I don’t have to spend nine billion dollars on super-important necessities like NaNa skull buckle boots and ten years’ worth of clown makeup every week, I can really wile away my adult existence “bargain hunting.”
Shiver.
I can’t be the only one who’s cut back on hair-dying in the bathtub with Kool-aid packets; my generation’s clearly been tagged as grownup consumers.
And, apparently, we shop at TJ MAXX for pet clothing.
this one from zazzle: http://www.zazzle.com/punks_not_dead_dog_shirt-155532375727855320
I didn’t buy this for my punk rock kitten kats, but, man, I feel badly about making fun of Mom’s generation for selling out to Nike now. We were gonna televise the new revolution, but I never envisioned it quite like this.
What further proof do we need? Punks iz dead. (Don’t forget your matching pooper scooper when you take Fido on his fashion walk, friends!)
Yesterday I spent about two hours shopping for important things we “needed” around the house:
Ralph Lauren hand towels for the cats’ bathroom;
recycled newspaper basket for the arts and craps room;
coordinating throw blanket for the living area;
magnetic reminder board for Bella’s room;
scented wax potpourri.
Pfft, what a douchebag list.
While debating between the two decorative pillows I was holding, my brain experienced a weird synapse and exploded into a vortex of the yesteryear spent Crash Worship-ing.
Really, Crash Worship couldn’t be any more on the opposite end of the spectrum from Ralph Lauren Hand Towels for the Cats’ Bathroom. As I stood in the middle of the home furnishing store — staring at those pillows in my hands and unexpectedly remembering the uncertainty of loud, indoor fireworks and body paint and scary masks and percussion until the end of the mind’s eye — I wondered, How the hell did I travel the roads between point A and point B and wind up at Decorative Throw Pillows?!
Clover can't believe the hype.
Don’t get me wrong: I never wanted to spend my life wearing blue and red body paint in the nude, but I don’t think I ever wanted to experience the kind of frivolous stress reserved for folks who look forward to joining AARP either. There’s gotta be a happy marriage somewhere that comes in the form of something unlike Crash Worship novelty pillows (somewhere on Etsy, such blasphemy surely reveals itself).
In the meantime, wet kitties everywhere deserve a dry towel and a soft pillow…and a little Crash Worship from time to time.
It says it’s got more than enough room left for you to download Catherine Davis‘s score for Hubbard/Birchler’s short film House with Pool.
Although I’m familiar with only a small portion of the work for which Teresa Hubbard and Alexander Birchler have partnered over the last two decades, something about House with Pool stirred up dregs from my adolescence. Davis’s accompanying musical composition Annunciation affected urgency: I wanted to fix whatever was missing or wrong between the female characters not only in the film, but also in my own life.
If you’re fortunate enough to be a student in Austin, you should investigate available courses in which Hubbard is involved, amongst many other things, as an associate professor for University of Texas.
[Original video source: http://www.hubbardbirchler.net/works/housewithpool/]
…but you’d sneak a camera into various modern art installations.
The Bell in the world won't listen entrance, 2008
At some point in the past decade, Dieter-y pretentious art films collided into that end of Generation X-sters who collect things like first-edition, autographed Douglas Coupland novels. And thank god, I guess. It’s exactly the kind of snobby downgrade I needed in order to dig the genre.
I pretty much moved into Phil Collins’ the world won’t listen installation [cur: Suzanne Weaver] when the DMA lurched out of the dark ages with that acquisition. I flipped out for a few months straight: “Did you hear the DMA has freaking Smiths’ karaoke choreographed on three screens? No kidding!”
In the middle of the exhibit’s neverending loop, a supercool Asian couple sing the best version of “There is a Light” — available nowhere unless you’ve got some direct line to a modern art miracle.
At 00:16, Bella’s fourth grade voice spells it out, “You’re really recording this?”
I’ve spent a lot of time listening to the last half of that clip since the installation packed up and disappeared. The girl in that snippet owns the song. That said: Phil Collins, what’s up? Isn’t there a deal you can strike for rights to release this as a DVD? Or something? I’m sure this has been causing hair loss for those rabid Smiths’ completists out there unable to sleep since the project’s launch in 2005, heh.
Last night, I finally bought the book. Then Bella framed the show poster for me this weekend. Today’s my birthday. Someone out there in the vast netherwebz has got to have a super-secret, complete recording of Awesome Asian Karaoke Lady. Send me a present.
“I will trade you one Doktor A yo-yo from the Steve Brown Gallery for that third Baroness you pulled — with the lipstick accessory.”
If you understood that snippet from the lunch conversation with my fossil-hunting, DJ pal Michael Hernandez, we’ve got some trading to do. If not, never fear. There’s always room for conversion into the dark, dark world of Toy-spotting.
Here’s what you’ll need to get started: an extra garage for all the boxes you’ll “have” to save, the ability to assemble IKEA’s DETOLF display units at a rate of speed compensatory to your growing collection, lack of anything resembling buyer’s remorse, and, duh, a dealer. Preferably several.
Michael and I’d been meaning to visit a newish store called “We Are 1976″ on Henderson after hearing good things from others, so I decided to finally go ahead and scope it out yesterday afternoon with Russell and The Bell.
The inventory, unlike many stores that sell art toys and the like, was eclectic with a complimentary blend of local and international items. A large, repurposed cabinet by the entrance stopped us for some time as we browsed screenprinted flatstock within its drawers. I noticed copies of local artist Khalid Robertson’s book I’d just ordered online next to a truly nice, varied selection of other artists’ publications. Also available: Tyson Summers‘ circus punks, large prints by Tony Bones, pottery, handmade greeting cards, purses, unique baby items and children’s bento boxes, t-shirts, and many other fun things we enjoyed looking through.
The owner, who says he’s co-owned the store since November along with two other partners, was a really friendly guy, chatting with guests and friends alike as he worked and generally lent a warmness to the store’s already welcoming aesthetic. By that point, I was really just looking to buy anything out of appreciation, but when I found the Noferin figures on a top shelf, the deal was done. I only had to decide which one I was taking home that day.
Noferin, a couple who makes whimsical sustainable wooden toys after fictional characters from their paintings, isn’t the cup of tea you’ll find just anywhere. Their art is on the more sophisticated end of the niche, yet still appeals to people who collect popular vinyl and plush from companies like Kidrobot. Really excited about finding a store that stocks several types of Noferin toys, I narrowed my decision down to a colored first edition of Fanelli.
So obviously I’m going back to We Are 1976 because Fanelli will need cohorts. Plus, I’m gonna have to drag Michael up there ASAP. You should go, too. They’re open 7 days a week: 1902 N. Henderson Ave., Dallas, TX, 75206. Telephone: (214) 821-1976. If you can pull yourself away from Facebook for five seconds, visit them online at weare1976.com where you can read about the store’s workshops, gallery events, and more:
This Friday, July 23rd at 8 p.m., We Are 1976 will host its first photography show with Jeremy Sharp;
Saturday, August 7th from 11 a.m. until 1 p.m., Paper Nerds will be conducting a paper marbling course (call for info and registration);
August 8th, Sunday from 2 to 5 p.m. Mike Arreaga and Brian McCorquodale host a screenprinting workshop (call for info and registration);
Felt tote making with recycled leather and other materials: Lizzy Wetzel on August 14th from 11 a.m. ’til 1 p.m.
***I also recommend the fairly priced boutique as an excellent gift store. A-hem. Gift. Store. As in: My birthday is next month, and there are lots of things inside that place I probably need for such an occasion, er, Russell.***
Dude, Clover B., I didn't call for hair and makeup yet. Pfft.
Every once in a while an artist so terrible, so horrifying, so unbelievably untalented emerges. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t waste my time delivering page hits to morons of this magnitude, but . . . rats . . . I’m lying. I love drawing attention to this sort of whatever-it-is.
His name is Dahvie Vanity. Say that like you’re an emaciated vampire rights advocate who just graduated from Toni and Guy’s Fantasy Hair Boot Camp (I give VH1 or Bravo about five nanoseconds to pick that up). Basically, he’s the brains behind Blood on the Dance Floor — the group every tween girl without iPod-policing parents is listening to as I type.
"Does this guinea pig on my head make me look fat?"
(Pause.)
*Side note for collectors: If you don’t like the above version, Dahvie *is* available in other colorways.
"This is my special limited edition 'KTHXBAI' style. Bid with confidence."
I am so glad I’m not young enough or ignored-by-my-parents enough to find this douchebag attractive. Of course, looks aren’t everything, I know, I know. There’s so much more to Dahvie than mall hair and underaged girlfriends. I mean, who could resist this Romeo’s lyrical wordsmithing? Behold, I give ye the BOTDF masterpiece “Bitches Get Stitches”:
Stop the hate congratulate,
You know my name so eat some cake.
Party Hardy
Grab bacardi,
Talk your shit watch you get hit.
Save the drama for your mama
What’s up with that awful gossip.
Don’t be mad ’cause my hair is so rad,
Life is good up in my head.
Bitches get stitches they end up in ditches,
So get the riches
Bitches get stitches, end up in ditches
Get the riches.
Bitches get stitches they end up in ditches,
So get the riches
Bitches get stitches, end up in ditches
Get the riches.
Check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Oh My God! Blah blah blah!
I’m rated X, for explicit sex,
You can talk your shit,
You can run those lips your only
Making me famous, you ignoramus.
I’m so dangerous, so so so so dangerous.
Oh, my goodness gracious! Let me fan myself. It’s as if Dahvie is speaking directly to me — those words penetrating deeply into my prepubescent past. I can almost see his writing process: quill pen in hand . . . papyrus wadded up around him from earlier, less eloquently drafted versions of “Bitches Get Stitches.” Is it even possible for mi amor to be more multi-dimensional after something so divine?
Yes.
Hold me back. Is that a rape charge from a fifteen year-old girl? Wow, this guy has everything I’ve been looking for in The Perfect Tween Crush. I can’t wait to run my fingers through those Hot Topic extensions!
Wait, wait, wait. What if his music sounds like something my mom would like? That might be a deal breaker.
I HAVE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR MUSIC THIS AWESOME. I am joining his cult on MySpace right this second. Pinch me. I wonder if he likes drama? The only thing that would make this better is if he, like, hung out with fifth graders who start rumors on Stickam about having slept with him.
(This is where I’d post the footage, which has now come to be known as the “Ya Dun Goofed” video, of a pissed off dad yelling into a webcam about how he’s sick of the Dahvie rumors ruining his daughter’s life. I’d be cold hearted for exploiting a minor with a link like that. Her parents have already provided a total disservice by allowing their young child to do pretty much everything any reasonable parent would never permit.)
So, let’s review, k?
Cool ass name? Check!
Takes OMG <3 self-portraits of himself? Check and check again!
Has EPIC hair? Check times ten!
Writes amazing lyrics? Check!
Arrested on rape charge of a minor? Check!
Rocks my iPod’s face? Check!
Pisses off parents and creates a viral feeding frenzy? Dude, check!
Has a cool zine, er, blog (fell through a time portal, sorry)? Wait for it . . .
Be still my heart. There’s a blog? Talk to me, Dahvie. Talk to me.
“SOME PEOPLE JUST MAKE ME SICK!!!!!! How dare you be so low and just ungrateful. I happily shut off Garrett’s phone today with such joy. You see .. Garrett has been THROWN AWAY FROM BLOOD ON THE DANCE FLOOR.. Just like that! Let me give you a little history behind BOTDF.. I Dahvie Vanity created Blood On The Dance Floor and no I will never give up my dreams.. BOTDF is my life’s work.. I have bled.. I have sacrificed and I have given my whole entire life existence into this movement. My fans mean the world to me. I composed all of my music that brings utter happiness and I even wrote all of Garrett’s so called parts. HAH and what’s so funny is when he would come into the studio all drugged up from the night because he’s a druggy loser.. I would still be so kind to write and direct his parts while he slept on a couch all day. I should’ve removed him than and there but didn’t because
I am a monster… But I do have a heart.
I just didn’t want to disappoint my fans. You guys deserve the best! And when relationships fall apart it just totally sucks.. But the show must go on…
It’s funny how things work out. How people can just back stab you.. Not anymore! It’s time for a change.. Let me shed the truth..
I had to cancel some shows due to personal reasons.. False accusations we’re made against me! ME.. I am so kind and legit..I give everyone R-E-S-P-E-C-T And When I was gone Garrett decided to steal my trailer with all my gear..(((GRAND THEFT AUTO + Robbery = 5 to 10 years in prison))) and trust me Garrett would not survive in prison. He than performed a show with my music.. without me.. I’m sorry but that ain’t right.. I CREATED BLOOD ON THE DANCE FLOOR! ALL THE LYRICS AND SONGS WE’RE CREATED BY ME.. You just don’t try and take another man’s work.. That’s called grand theft dreams.. Garrett also tried to steal my debit card and access my accounts.. That’s called fraud and If I do believe so that’s a felony with a 10 year sentence to prison.
HOW DARE YOU! He’s so fortunate I didn’t press charges..” [SIC]
Let’s try this again, then:
Has a cool blog? Check, check, check, check, and tooooooootally bookmarked!
That pretty much sums it up. If GQ doesn’t name this guy its Man of the Year, I have a feeling the competition’s been rigged.
