As part of a recent Fey Friends fact-finding mission to the United Kingdom, *we* discovered that, despite the nation's profound state of mourning over the tragic, untimely loss of its greatest treasure -- JADE GOODY -- many of the Queen's subjects took solace in this tune by the Teenagers. It may be a little old, but it's still totally OFFENSIVE.
I spent the better part of an hour trying to decide between calling the trampy, tattoo-loving tweens in this commercial "nymphets" or "whores."
Thanks to Darcy for the tip!
This weekend, Aaron Hicklin, the editor of Out magazine, wrote about the release of its Power 50 list — also known as the outing issue — One reason he gives for the magazine's policy is that the people on the list are "member[s] of a glass closet" who have "never publicly acknowledged [their] sexuality." While this semantically dubious label might offer him enough cover, under an appeal to a reader's sophistication (i.e., only clueless rubes still don't know that ______ is heterosexual), it doesn't really answer why Hicklin thinks it's up to him to take "the final step" to come out for those who he admits "are not willing to."
Two additional glass closet cases join the list, a distinction they may not appreciate. One has earned opprobrium from gays for his Republican-supporting positions, while the other is a married media mogul.*Hicklin goes on to suggest that being in the closet isn't really a personal choice or decision, but rather an anachronistic symptom of a collective, and as yet unfulfilled, struggle for civil rights (e.g., the legalization of gay marriage) — gay equality.
The first president to acknowledge gays and lesbians in his inaugural speech is now busy undoing years of Bush's political mischief. Perhaps my days of outing people will soon be over.But who else will coyly argue that gimmicky stunt covers that force people out of the closet by acknowledging that it is "so bullying and judgmental" without actually bothering to deny that it isn't?
*Answers: Matt Drudge and Barry Diller, respectively.
AKA: STEREOLAB R.I.P.
Stereolab--as I've already mentioned my favorite band of all time by like an embarrassingly wide margin--have finally called it quits, at least for the moment.
To anyone who's followed their loooong career this is no surprise: their albums have been diminishing in urgency and innovation for years; the music press has gotten bored with and sometimes even overtly hostile about their longevity;* and the once-married songwriting team of Laetitia Sadier and Tim Gane appear to have transitioned from being amicable ex-partners to visibly disliking each other.
I've never hid the fact of my Stereolab obsession from anyone--when my oldest friends think of me, the words that probably come most quickly to mind are Marlboro Reds, my onetime cigarette-brand; Pauline Kael, my then and probably still favorite writer; and Stereolab--but since about 1999 I've known letting that fact be known was doing nothing for my image. (I'd probably raise fewer "huh, really?" eyebrows if I claimed to love Celine Dion above all others.) Exactly what had made them so unique when they started out--the gnomic inscrutibility of their name, their song and album titles, and their self- and stage-presentation; the pretty, graphic impersonality of their album artwork; the album-by-album consistency of their sound; even the sheer prodigiousness of their output--became a liability to most listeners, a mark of creative exhaustion. This? Again?
My reaction to hearing new Stereolab material is actually the same as theirs: This, again, but in a sweet, slow, stepping-into-a-hot-bath-after-a-long-day "ahhhhhhh" way, not a dismissive "meh" way. Whatever the unique-if-tiny pleasure center in our brains that's only activated by listening to Stereolab is, it's a space or a button I've been all too happy to keep pressing, over and over and over again for the past fifteen years...a full half of my life!
Their most recent album Chemical Chords was a marginal return to form after the uninspired and overly familiar singles compilation Fab Four Suture and the sometimes brilliant but tinny and overcompressed-sounding Margerine Eclipse, but it had only one absolutely essential song on it: the seductively plodding and Brian-Wilsonesque "The Ecstatic Static."
But in the six or so months since the album came out I've probably listened to that one song upwards of 150 times, and I can honestly say its marriage of sound and lyrical content continues to teach me new things about life and beauty and courage and fear and death every time I hear it. Sadier sings: This beat, the purpose, in my heart, generates, infinite energy. Tim Gane has claimed to care nothing for song lyrics, even Stereolab's own, but surely he must recognize what Sadier's words do for that track: they explain, heighten, and manifest the beauty latent within it. The heavy, lockstep drum "beat" does "generate" infinite energy...that is, the freer play of the horns and strings and vocals above it. Sadier's lyrics for "The Ecstatic Static" are a beautiful diagram...of what is beautiful in Gane's music.
If the future albums they will now no longer go on to record would've possessed just one song each as good as that song, then their decision to suspend the group is a decision worth mourning.
* Poor critics! By producing so much gorgeous music and so little drama, Stereolab made the job of saying anything new about them so difficult!
Why is the person with dark features always cast as the sexual predator, and the blond the good guy? Does the bad guy only wear boxers while he's tanning, and a posing strap when he's robbing? What is the man on the horse being robbed of? Would the robber have waited until someone finally came along? Well? Shall we go? Yes, let's go. [They do not move.]
In the months since I last celebrated Claude Francois--France's onetime cheesebucket cover song king--a ton of amazing CloClo artifacts have been uploaded to YouTube.
Sticky dug up this clip of CloClo cancanning and singing about Rio yesterday, but they could as easily have featured his cover of "I'll Be There" or this creepy-kitschy clip of him seducing a four year old girl over the telephone. But the above clip, which is just an alternate version of the clip I already posted, best captures what I love about The Clo: his tireless, tight-hipped fuckability.
JK, his awesome dancing! I want lessons on how to dance like CloClo.
This is almost perfectly short and sweet, but as Bmad pointed out to me the makers missed a great opportunity for a final bombastic Miss Piggy sound cue at the end, a "Who, moi?!" or a "Kermie?!" or a "Surprise!" It wouldn't even matter what she said.
Wednesday night was the season finale of Important Things with Demetri Martin. The central theme for the episode was "Games." Here's the opening monologue about sports team names:
After the jump, a couple more examples of sketches with humor that hinge on finding it funny that Demetri points out the obvious fact that he isn't gay.
Wizards versus Heat: freaking awesome! Magic versus Jazz: that's a little too gay for me, I'm going to pass on that one.Um... didn't we go over this months ago? When you say, "That’s so gay," do you realize what you say? Knock it off. Also, as someone whose shtick consists of self-consciously clever and twee prop comedy, aren't jokes with a gay punchline lazy, boring and too old-school?
After the jump, a couple more examples of sketches with humor that hinge on finding it funny that Demetri points out the obvious fact that he isn't gay.
Continue reading Important Things with Demetri Martin: Gaymz.
I'm not one of those dolphin haters who think dolphins are overrated and/or actively horrible marine creatures. I like them! They are smart and magical and--according to a movie I saw once--they can save you from sharks!
But this harp-drenched tribute to a pod of Grand Bahama dolphin sluts is really disgusting. At 0:59, notice the sluttish way the dolphin makes eyes at the camera while going at it with the scuba diver...just like in a bad human-on-human porno! Or that whorish smile at 1:30. Or that whorish submission to human-to-dolphin cunnilingus at 1:59.
The whorish docility and shameless pandering for interspecies loving these dolphins display made me want to explode my eyeballs and pull my brains out through my vacant eyeholes. Seriously: this video is disgusting.
(h/t Slog)
Could this be the new Fey Friends mascot: a pink albino elephant calf that was spotted by Mike Holding, a BBC wildlife cameraman, in the Okavango Delta (northern Botswana)?
Here are some reasons why I think it should be considered as the animal to represent not just our low-budget brand, but gays in general:
- They say an elephant never forgets. As our icon, it'd serve as a very subtle metaphor that would remind us that feyness is more than just a (pink) color.
- After a string of humiliating defeats at the polls, results of which tied our
movement to an entirely isolated (read: out of touch) regional phenomena, a mascot like an African-born baby elephant could help us shed our image as an affluent (White) elite. - The calf seems like a natural survivor despite its rarity in the general population. Sound familiar? Its precocious savvy most evident in the ability to adapt to its harsh environment (e.g., protecting it's albino skin by caking himself in dark mud).
As for a name, I think the obvious choice is "Jessie."
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