Has anyone besides me noticed that too many episodes of The Simpsons lately have the same theme: Marge is hot for some guy other than Homer but somehow ends up back with him.
One of the things which I felt always made The Simpsons really work was that Marge and Homer had a good relationship. Lots of sitcoms have had similar themes and jokes, but they were mean-spirited and short-lived. The Simpsons boasts more than 400 episodes, so they had to have something right to start off. The animated family at Evergreen Terrace was perhaps a bit of a menace to the neighborhood, but they loved each other. Marge kept Homer grounded and Homer gave Marge excitement. Homer might mess up extravagantly from time to time, but he’s still a good provider. How many men, in 2008, can support a stay-at-home wife and three kids and own their home and two cars?
Lately, Marge seems to be finding Homer more and more of an oaf. Tonight’s episode, rewrote the history of the Simpsons family in order to mock Kurt Cobain’s legacy. As part of the stupidity, Marge miraculously gets a retroactive college degree and a radically different set of values. And a crush on her womanizing womynist professor. She does this while Homer is working at his father’s Laser Tag establishment (which we’ve never heard of before) in order to pay for her college. For the moment I will leave aside the part where FOX’s send-up of the 90’s makes the VH1 I-Love-the series look positively academic in its depth and accuracy.
Just now, let’s look at how much Marge has stopped appreciating Homer over the last few years. In January, she had an affair while Homer paid for her …
Special occasion nights in Hollywood generally involve a lot of party-hopping. Sure, there are the people who have to get back in their car and go to the next event every twenty-six minutes because that is how long it takes for the last bump of cocaine to wear off. But it really does make sense to hit as many shindigs as possible in an evening. First of all, Los Angeles is such a vibrant city with so much going on at once, at any given time, especially on a holiday like Halloween. I know I don’t want to miss a thing. The hardest thing about going out at night in Los Angeles is blow-drying my hair. And the whole having to wear pants when outside of the house thing. Once I’m not naked and I’m wearing eyeliner, I feel like I might as well get full value out of having gotten dressed and a lot of my fellow Angelenos feel the same way.
Los Angeles tends to have a dress code where it is important to look good but not to look like you tried too hard. This means club-goers do not dress up as much here as I might enjoy. Happily, when it comes to any special event like Halloween, the dress-down rule goes out the window and everyone is encouraged to really do it up.
For this past Halloween, Blue Blood sponsored a whole lot of parties, in a whole lot of cities, in addition to doing a full on media sponsorship arrangement with the Hex Halloween event in Hollywood. My old housemates Perish and Eden Muse (pictured above and in our Halloween picture galleries), were the flyer models and Perish’s costume concept was to embody the future. “For …
The West Hollywood Book Fair has received a California Park and Recreation Society Award of Excellence for three years in a row now. The Fair deserves it for throwing such a successful literary event year-after-year in the somewhat arid soil of Los Angeles.
The West Hollywood Book Fair features panels, workshops, performances, and exhibitor booths including local bookstores, small presses, literary non-profits, literary journals and arts organizations. My favorite part of the Fair was getting to see authors I know speak and discover authors I didn’t know.
The panel discussions and such were sectioned off into various niche pavilions. The pavilions of most interest to me were the Mystery, Crime & Suspense Pavilion, the Comics/Sci Fi/Horror Pavilion, and the delightfully-named Queer, Hot, and Avant Garde Pavilion. I missed the LA Noir: Crime Fiction Close to Home panel I wanted to go to in the Mystery, Crime & Suspense Pavilion. I was mostly interested because the brilliant Gary Phillips was scheduled to be speaking. I adore his gritty crime novels with characters so vibrant and real and frequently badass you want them to succeed, even as you note the ways they may destroy themselves. He co-edited a pretty cool cocaine anthology too. I’d like to give some really great reason why I missed this particular panel, like maybe traffic was so congested from the hugeness of the event that it took a while to find parking. But, let’s face it, a reading even in Los Angeles, even an awfully big one, is going to lay on tons of free parking and the location for this event is a really easy location to drive to. It was just the whole getting up that early in …
Cloverfield opens this weekend. Even though I requested their normal press releases, the Cloverfield people inexplicably did not get them to me in time. But they were kind enough to give us money, so I thought I’d post their trailer here. Watch the trailer and see if you can tell me what this movie is about. Anybody?
I was going to make a post about the usual New Year’s resolutions, but I realized that my main goal for this year is improved communication.
Communicating on the internet is daunting because too often scope is difficult to define, words are stolen, honest journalism is undervalued, tone is misunderstood, and readers will be oversensitive to their own feelings and wholly insensitive to the feelings of others. I’m not one to shy away from a formidable task, though, so this year I aim to cut through the internet culture’s impediments to real communication.
If there is anything you have been wanting to know about Blue Blood or Blue Blood philosophy and how Blue Blood fits into the world around us, or even the world around Blue Blood, please feel free to respond to this post with your question. Feel free send your question via Personal Message to me or Forrest Black on the BlueBlood.net forums or any of the other sites Blue Blood or its reps are on. If you ask via a less public method, please mention how/if you would like to be credited for what you’d like to know. Each month, we will answer some of the most intriguing questions. If you ask a question which is chosen, we might even send you cool swag from the Blue Blood Boutique.
Over the coming weeks, I also plan to write about each of the issues which I think cause a lot of great thinkers to be silent online. I plan to report honestly on newsworthy topics, even if, heaven forfend, I step on a few toes. I’m going to look for the good in everything, but I’m going to tell it like it is and so are other Blue Blood writers. Expect more funny anecdotes, …
The vibrant Michelle Aston, as photographed by Blue Blood photog Justice Howard, adorned a giant sign in the front of Meltdown Comics as part of the Dangerous Toys art show. There was appropriately a tattoo shop next door, which you can see in my snapshots of the event. Dangerous Toys was a joint art show collaboration between photographer Justice Howard and toymaker and painter of toys Jim Koch.
I really liked Jim’s toys which seemed perfectly suitable for dressing up one’s cube at work. There were complex original pieces on display at the Dangerous Toys art show and Meltdown Comics also featured some semi-mass-produced versions of his design.
Jim and Justice worked on a few joint pieces, such as a skateboard with Justice’s photos worked into the textured design. I’d never want to skate on it, though, because they are so beautiful.
Justice decided to forgo framing her individual pieces for this particular show in order to be able to display more work. Although this creative decision, in some respects, made individual pieces come across as less important, I personally enjoyed it because I love Justice’s work, but I am very familiar with it. So getting to see so many different pieces was a pleasure.
The thing I love best about photography is the way it can capture and preserve a moment.
Most of my ephemeral moments have gone unrecorded. When I got to college, it was my twelfth school in twelve years. Moving that often gave me many qualities I like about myself, but it also meant that there were so many people, so many communities, so many adventures, and so many times in my life which evaporated with nothing to show they ever took place. Just my memories with no one to share them with. People who do not move can at least have conversations about “remember when . . .” but my friends and compatriots were scattered across dozens of countries.
I always loved when people showed me their photo albums and yearbooks and explained the most important images. Oscar Wilde once famously said, “After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see them as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, which is the most horrible thing in the world.” Oscar was speaking of absinthe, but pictures are a lot like the green fairy that way. Sometimes a flattering photograph represents a loathsome situation and sometimes a hideous photograph is a reminder of something wonderful.
I reminded myself of what is most important about a photograph, while going over the scans for the two most recent photo galleries by Forrest Black and yours truly. These galleries are bittersweet. While I was going over the final edit to put the pictures in the BlueBlood.net system, one of the people pictured instant messaged me to tell me she had just had a nasty break-up with the guy, also pictured, who she was …
What if you threw a fetish party and nobody new came? The same rugged stalwarts from the last five years were present, sporting hardened and stained latex wardrobe, silicone lubricated, lipoed, botoxed expressionless and very drunk. BDSM and drugs/liquor don’t mix but its Hollywierd and the weirdo onlookers, unhappy married couples, and pervy old white dudes in black leather were all in attendance. At least there weren’t any melancholy hipsters or smelly hippies. Then again they know how to party and should have been there.
My editor sends me a mysterious online message about a job should I choose to accept to cover it, a fetish event in said Hollywierd, wedged between X-Mas and New Years. I opened the message on myspace on my nearly defunct once puzzling newfangled phone that will let me navigate online but only in something smaller than 8 pt. font. I ventured to the address via the Red Line at the Hollywood and Vine Station and I was really ready to see something interesting whether it be puke or piss.
The club was situated at The Henry Fonda Theatre and has been known to deny entrance to those that have been placed on the list before, but I was miraculously let in, and my bag barely inspected. I should have smuggled a flask. It was cold out. So I was wearing something odd, not latex, but one of my fav old drag queen outfits from someone that had a much bigger bust and ass than me, that I scored in a Silverlake thrift store. Twas pink satin, and about 8 sizes too big, but I pinned it to my leotard with safety pins and felt fabulous. Underneath my skirt I had two pairs of stockings, and leg warmers, …
I live in Los Angeles, so it is probably no surprise that a lot of people I know are making resolutions to either become stars or achieve bigger stardom.
It doesn’t seem like it is much fun to be famous in 2008 though. Entertainment Weekly’s entire year in review issue was all about how much it sucks to have the eyes of the world on you. When I recently went to my OB/GYN, I was reading either Esquire or GQ in his waiting room and there was an interview with Michael J. Fox. The interviewer asked him what his thoughts were on like Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears or Paris Hilton or maybe all three. Michael J. Fox was a young Hollywood star in the 80’s, but he still has a pretty squeaky clean rep. Perhaps because he played a wholesome character on TV for a while. At any rate, his response was that he was soooooooooooooo glad the whole tabloid and paparazzi thing did not exist when he was young because it was his opinion that he did a lot of the same dumb things and they just were not recorded for posterity.
When I was a teenager, I lived overseas, mostly in countries where (a) it was legal for me to drink and (b) I had diplomatic immunity so what was legal was not that much of a factor. I am pretty certain that I would cringe at photos and video taken in many of the situations I got myself into. But there aren’t any. Actually, I wish there were more photos of me growing up. But the point is that I could be young and experimental and even a little wild, without it going down on my permanent record.
Three very deviant ladies whose work I know well just perked up my holiday season like a handful of little blue pills and a mason jar of Alabama moonshine.
This may come as a shock to those who don’t know me, but the holiday season and I are not exactly sympatico. (Those who know me, however, are rolling their eyes: “We know, we know!”) I’m not sure at what point during my misspent childhood I turned into a Grinch, but knowing me it probably involved finding out that the Thompson submachinegun I’d just received under the tree wouldn’t, you know, kill anyone or anything. In fact, the damn thing was made of plastic.
Since then, I’ve developed less and less of a taste for the holidays every year, especially after working in the sex toy business where budgets lived and died based on the number of Class V Mister Fuck Double Dongs you move before December 24. I understand it’s the same with plasma televisions. The advertising blitz designed to make you cough up your hard-earned for that new sweater, or in recent years The Next New Shiny Thing, used to begin the day after Thanksgiving; then it was some nebulous date in early November; nowadays, the pumpkins are shredded in storefronts across the nation in the desperate race to get the damned Christmas trees up. “Bankrupt yourself,” the ads seem to say, “Or your Wife/ Husband/ Girlfriend/ Boyfriend/ Kids/ Dog/ Gynecologist won’t like you any more.” It’s Guilt Trips for Jesus, and I’m havin’ none of it.
The only thing that gets me through the holidays is all the Christmas themed smut that’s out there. I will admit, I am a sucker for the irreverent trope-orgy satisfaction of a themed photo shoot or …
Has anyone besides me noticed that too many episodes of The Simpsons lately have the same theme: Marge is hot for some guy other than Homer but somehow ends up back with him. 
What if you threw a fetish party and nobody new came? The same rugged stalwarts from the last five years were present, sporting hardened and stained latex wardrobe, silicone lubricated, lipoed, botoxed expressionless and very drunk. BDSM and drugs/liquor don’t mix but its Hollywierd and the weirdo onlookers, unhappy married couples, and pervy old white dudes in black leather were all in attendance. At least there weren’t any melancholy hipsters or smelly hippies. Then again they know how to party and should have been there.
