Okay, I pretty much hate big concerts… live music in a club is fine, but hanging out in a field a few hundred yards from a stage while some drunk fuck bounces around nearby and shouts incoherently is not my idea of fun.
With that said, Garbage, Alanis Morissette, and Liz Phair are going on tour together, so… I’m afraid I don’t really have a choice.
We’ve watched them all today, and I’d rank The One Where Ross Got High and The One With the Rumor at #1 and #2.
But arguably the best single bit from all of them —and probably the smartest Joey joke of the series— is in The One Where Chandler Doesn’t Like Dogs: “it’s a moo point.”
Started watching Deadwood (thank you @bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls ) and turns out my dream job is working in a wild west brothel 💃🏻🐎🍻🤠
“I need to fuck something! TRIXIE!”
This is everything I’d want my perfect dream relationship to be 💗
Everybody wants to be Trixie. But don’t sleep on Dolly. She’s dumb and empty-eyed, but she’s a good little cocksucker.
Fuckin’ hoopleheads.
This has been the Week of Disappointing Sequels for me. First El Camino was a pointless waste of time, and then Zombieland 2 was… I don’t know what the fuck that was.
I’m reminded of Gene Siskel’s maxim, that a movie should be more interesting than watching the same actors eating lunch together. It’s a low bar to clear, but far too many productions never manage it.
The End of the Fucking World is back?! Damn you Netflix, I never know how to plan around your release schedule…
Hi yeah I’ve never seen this movie and I just wanna say, What the Fuck
I sat in a darkened theater one night in 1986, watching Howard the Duck.
It would be reasonable to ask me “why?” I have a few answers:
I was in love with Lea Thompson. I was a teenager, and had seen virtually everything she’d been in, including fucking Space Camp. And when she crawled across the bed in her panties in Howard, I was as happy as a horrible movie was capable of making me.
It was my birthday and there was no school the next day, so my friend and I were doing a double-feature… Howard and Aliens. As with every other weird, white, writerly boy in America that summer, Aliens had a huge impact. If you’re a nerd of the right age, it’s painfully clear that every Strong Female Character of the ‘90s and early 2000s flows from exactly two sources: Chris Claremont’s late ‘70s/early ‘80s X-Men, and Jim Cameron’s version of Ripley. We were a hive-mind.
I had situationally inattentive parents, who allowed a very young me to read the Howard the Duck comics of the ‘70s. Which was… probably not a good idea. The whole premise of the book —a belligerent talking duck falls through a door in space-time and ends up fucking the shit out of a hot human chick as he wanders the earth complaining about the human race— was probably too grown-up for me. And I suspect that the way Beverly kept getting kidnapped all the time may have had some small impact on my sexuality. (Ahem.) But for grade school me, it had everything… a pretty, damaged girl who spent half her time in a bikini top tied up somewhere, a cranky, outsider antihero, the most ridiculous arch-nemesis of all time, occasional excursions into funny/sad horror —Hellcow!— and Steve Gerber’s thoughtfully cynical, incredibly un-Marvel-like sensibility. (Decades later, the young internet gave me a chance to email Steve and thank him for teaching me the word “grotesque” when I was six. His response was lovely and kind.)
In hindsight, I think I was born kinky. Or at the very least, born with the personality traits that lend itself to being kinky. I remember loving to play damsel in distress. The first time I was tied up, it was with jump rope and I was around 9. It gave me a thrill that stuck with me for a very long time. In my tweens and teens, I would swoon over classic films that had some sort of power struggle between the love interests, especially when the female was strong and had to be broken or put in her place.
I don’t know exactly when or how, but at some point, I became aware of BDSM. I think the horror film, Waxwork definitely tipped me off to it all. There was a fictionalized version of de Sade in it and I found bits of it a huge turn on. By 14, I was checking de Sade out from the library. I read 120 Days of Sodom and found bits of it scintillating but most of it was appalling.
Secretary was the first time I found a version of BDSM that I could relate to, that felt almost normal and healthy. The Mister and I started to dabble in it without any real discussion or goals.
All of that was the foundation for me, but it wasn’t until I joined Second Life and started to explore, that I truly realized what I was.
Holy shit, more of my peer group showed up. 👋
So, just yesterday I was telling someone about Waxwork, and how it tweaked my brain. It wasn’t the first time I thought about coercive, controlling sex, but it was the first time I thought about violent, coercive, controlling sex.
And I mean… it was Deborah Foreman! Valley Girl was getting her back whipped by de Sade! And the bitch was in to it! And proto-Bobby Briggs was being hunted by werewolves! Hot sluts were being fed People Tartare! It had it all really. Except production value, a script, or a reason to exist beyond Deborah’s titties.
For some reason, I barely remember Howard’s End. I watched it, but the proceeding 27 years have wiped the details from my mind.
Pretty sure I spent the evening finger-banging someone while watching Remains of the Day during its theatrical release, so at least I know why I don’t remember much about that.
But Room With A View? That came along at the dawn of my Cinephile Period, and I watched it at least five times on VHS. Helena Bonham Carter was my Erratic Pixie Dream Girl for a few years there. (Well, her and Sherilyn Fenn.) It’s thus the only Merchant-Ivory joint that I recall with clarity and affection.
Which makes me feel slightly guilty, as my younger self would be appalled at how much bullshit I know about Downton Fucking Abbey.
