When we started this blog for the documentary, I promised myself I would never go more than two weeks without posting. I also promised myself that I would never start a blog post with something lame and apologetic like, Read more
I don't flirt. Ever. Not because I don't know how, but because I just don't like to. Being funny had always been my technique as a server and it was more profitable and less exhausting to maintain than keeping Read more
It's 2012. I hope I don't need to remind anyone (other than Conservatives and misogynists, if you'll pardon the redundancy) that women are so much more than their looks. We are capable of anything we set our minds to Read more
A couple of weeks ago, my brother Dan came up for Mum's 75th birthday celebration with his five kids (Paul, 18, Em, 15, Lauren 14, Jon, 12 and Briana, 6), all of whom reminded me of what is was Read more
I stand before you, a sinner. I have broken my word. I have not practiced what I preached. I have failed!
Contrition was a big thing in the 80's. People were always apologizing for something or other and apparently it Read more
Sometimes I think too much. That is not to say they’re coherent or even interesting thoughts but they do run round and round in the spacious corridors of my post-concussive interior world. Incessantly.
Some people spend an enormous amount of energy, in a variety of ways, trying to silence these internal debates: Yoga, television, meditation, OCD apartment cleanliness, drugs, sex, drugs with sex, food and the ageless standby– drunken sottery. With the exception of Yoga I have indulged in all of these, to some degree. My current crutch is too many hours spent in front of fiendishly clever games. And it’s interesting how often people will cite these activities as an escape from their external existence when usually all they are is another set of activities to negotiate. Read more
When I spent summers as a child at the cottage with my grandparents I had a simple routine: wake up, put on my bathing suit, cover it with a t-shirt and I was ready to GO! Sunscreen? What’s that? Sandals? For amateurs only. My feet were like leather, tanned and thick-soled from days of running down the dirt road to the tuck shop and from wading in the shallow, rocky beach. My hair was either wet or about to be wet. My Miss Piggy bathing suit was tied tight around my neck and sagged at the bum. I was equally happy playing with Amy and J.C., who were there every year, or with the kids who only showed up for a week or two. I had sunburned cheeks, and freckles and tan-lines and mosquito-bite scabs, and bruises from tripping on that one tricky plank on the dock. I was in bed by sundown, every night, and slept the sleep of the feral, lake-soaked angels. Read more
Essentially this is about what is real and what is something other. It seems like the lines that once delineated fantasy from reality have vanished. More significantly real, live people have begun to distort themselves in ways that are, to me anyways, alarming. I’m going to give an extreme example and then try to work back from that.
Hard to believe these are real people, isn’t it? (In one case, and I’ll let you guess which one, there is some real doubt as to the actual existence of the person represented in the picture.) What I find alarming though is not the degree to which both these images are constructed or even if they’re actual pictures of actual people who actually look like this. Actually.
No, the alarming aspect is these people are now absolutely plausible. Whether they exist at this moment or not is irrelevant– because sooner or later they’ll be our neighbor or even us. Presently they exist as outliers but that won’t last long I don’t think. These body types are becoming more and more prevalent every day. Just look around. Read more
For me, writing is kind of like sculpture. There is an image underneath the stone and my job is to find that image and give it shape. Meaning as well. And yes, I realize in that metaphor my head is made of rock. Inelegant but accurate.
Clothing and fashion can often create the illusion of evolution in both an individual and a culture. Illusion because the movement, the ‘progress’, is often contrived and meaningless, a ploy to create an artificial and banal ‘revolution’ — a tale told to idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Like tattoos or other consumer purchases, fashionable items cannot bestow real value or meaning, cannot graft that onto you not matter what they cost or who created them. At best they are an expression of who you really are, at worst they are a mask for an otherwise empty existence. But like all other forms of self-expression their value is irrevocably tied to who you are as a person and are an accurate reflection of your character.
Clothes are, after all, one of the first created articles that humanity produced with its big brain and opposable thumbs and tilted pelvis (pelvii?). Hunting implements and funeral ornaments, clothes and shelter: these are all primary and essential pieces of early homo sapien’s toolkit. Read more
It’s been over a year since we started this project and now that I’m in the home stretch I’m less excited about getting to shop again and more excited about not having a camera following me around. I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. What I didn’t expect was that I would be so goddamned sick of myself.
For many, many years I had to look good for a living. I also had to know how to mix a killer martini, carry a tray weighed down with fifteen pounds of glass and alcohol over my head through a crowd of inebriated morons trying to grab my ass, help drunk, crying girls use the debit machine, tell the party of fifty civil servants to quit switching seats so I can keep their orders straight, sell about $3000 over the bar in four hours without screaming and still balance my cash and credit card receipts at the end of the night. But mainly I had to look good. All those other tasks are secondary in the bar industry, which you already know if it’s ever taken you half an hour to get a drink from a ridiculously good-looking yet completely inept bartender. A bar’s function is to make money by selling alcohol. In order to do this successfully, a bar will try to keep the patrons in the premises as long as possible. An easy way to do this is to hire pretty people that are paid to be nice to people they would normally cross the street to avoid.