Love her! Witty, smart, fun, a good writer. I think you’ll enjoy this blog!
It’s July 2018, and I’m in love with my vintage wardrobe. Having given-up on finding romance with human beings, I looked to my closet for love. Moths, broken hangers and all! Now, this may sound like a rather depressing thing to say. You may be thinking, how can a girl be so love lorn that she’s reduced to forming amorous attachments with forty year-old hot pants!? However, my vintage wardrobe is exciting. They weather every turn with me. They are chivalrous protectors against the elements. And–unless I’ve eaten too many carnitas enchiladas with cheese– my wardrobe is always a perfect fit!
Well, as I embark on this serious relationship with my wardrobe, I try to think of a good place to take my 1970s high waisted pants, and 1970s crop top. In the spirit of time travel and true love, I settle upon a trip to one of my favorite…
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I love this man. He’s debonair (that’s a word we haven’t seen in a while). He’s heroic in height and stature. He’s beautiful and he has a gentle soul. He’s also thoughtful and intelligent—and I thought you’d enjoy this!
“I thought, Not only will I get to push myself,” Hammer says, “but I’ll also get to be part of something that really has something to say.”
‘Armie Hammer is a straight white man who made a name for himself playing such big-screen paragons of straight white manhood as The Social Network’s Winklevoss twins and the Lone Ranger. He went on, of course, to grow as an actor and cement his stardom playing a non-straight white man, opposite Timothée Chalamet, in last year’s Call Me by Your Name. Now he’s returning to type—and making his Broadway debut—in Young Jean Lee’s hilarious, scathing, and mournful play Straight White Men, which opens this month under the auspices of Second Stage at the Hayes Theater. Hammer trained as a theatrical actor but never pursued a career on the stage—so why now?
“The easy answer is that it scared me,” he says. “I’ve come to realize that the point of life is not to be comfortable—you should be in some sort of discomfort and pain at any given moment because that’s the only way to grow, as an actor and as a person. Plus, the play is so brilliant and prescient and timely—it deals so well with the concepts of toxic masculinity and white privilege, which we’re finally reckoning with as a society. And I thought, Not only will I get to push myself and do a play on Broadway but I’ll also get to be part of something that really has something to say.”
A theatrical shape-shifter with impeccable downtown credentials, Lee is making her own Broadway debut as a playwright—the first Asian American woman, straight or otherwise, to do so. For the last decade and a half she has been writing and staging works that are bold, experimental, spiky, genre-bending, and, above all, wildly imaginative and entertaining. Mainstream she ain’t—her plays have taken on Korean American identity politics (Songs of the Dragons Flying to Heaven), female identity politics (Untitled Feminist Show), and black identity politics (The Shipment), along with the patriarchy (Lear) and mortality (We’re Gonna Die)—but with Straight White Men she has written a conventionally plot-driven work that bubbles with the subversive wit and intellectual provocation that have become her trademark.
The Girl with the Hungry Eyes
Originally appeared in The Girl with Hungry Eyes, and Other Stories, Avon (New York, NY), 1949.
All right, I’ll tell you why the Girl gives me the creeps. Why I can’t stand to go downtown and see the mob slavering up at her on the tower, with that pop bottle or pack of cigarettes or whatever it is beside her. Why I hate to look at magazines any more because I know she’ll turn up somewhere in a brassiere or a bubble bath. Why I don’t like to think of millions of Americans drinking in that poisonous half smile. It’s quite a story—more story than you’re expecting.
No, I haven’t suddenly developed any long-haired indignation at the evils of advertising and the national glamour-girl complex. That’d be a laugh for a man in my racket, wouldn’t it?
Though I think you’ll agree there’s something a little perverted about trying to capitalize on sex that way. But it’s okay with me. And I know we’ve had the Face and the Body and the Look and what not else, so why shouldn’t someone come along who sums it all up so completely, that we have to call her the Girl and blazon her on all the billboards from Times Square to Telegraph Hill?omGv
But the Girl isn’t like any of the others. She’s unnatural. She’s morbid. She’s unholy.
Oh it’s 1948, is it, and the sort of thing I’m hinting at went out with witchcraft? But you see I’m not altogether sure myself what I’m hinting at, beyond a certain point. There are vampires and vampires, and not all of them suck blood.
And there were the murders, if they were murders.
Besides, let 3nme ask you this. Why, when America is obsessed with the Girl, don’t we find out more about her? Why doesn’t she rate a Time cover with a droll biography inside? Why hasn’t there been a feature in Life or the Post? A Profile in the New Yorker? Why hasn’t Charm or Mademoiselle done her career saga? Not ready for it? Nuts!
Why haven’t the movies snapped her up? Why hasn’t she been on Information, Please? Why don’t we see her kissing candidates at political rallies? Why isn’t she chosen queen of some sort of junk or other at a convention?
Why don’t we read about her tastes and hobbies, her views of the Russian situation? Why haven’t the columnists interviewed her in a kimono on the top floor of the tallest hotel in Manhattan and told us who her boy-friends are?
Finally-and this is the real killer-why hasn’t she ever been drawn or painted?
Oh, no she hasn’t. If you knew anything about commercial art you’d know that. Every blessed one of those pictures was worked up from a photograph. Expertly? Of course. They’ve got the top artists on it. But that’s how it’s done.
And now I’ll tell you the why of all that. It’s because from the top to the bottom of the whole world of advertising, news, and business, there isn’t a solitary soul who knows where the Girl came from, where she lives, what she does, who she is, even what her name is.
You heard me. What’s more, not a single solitary soul ever sees her-except one poor damned photographer, who’s making more money off her than he ever hoped to in his life and who’s scared and miserable as hell every minute of the day.
The critics hemmed and hawed—but don’t they always? I liked this one! Mirren does a great job as Sarah Winchester heiress of the Winchester rifle fortune; and the rest of the cast worked well too, especially Jason Clarke. The sets were beautiful. There’s an interesting perspective on the period costuming (see the DVD’s “Special Features”). The characters could’ve been drawn more deeply; and, although there was a nice little general-type substory flowing underneath the plot, it could’ve been a more sophisticated one and woven a bit tighter to control the tension better. And a few of the ghost pop-ups—a little blasé. But I got the DVD and I’ll watch it again. Mirren is a masterpiece—she depicts the fin de siècle spiritualist widow perfectly and with a compassion and vulnerability that are touching and believable. 3 skulls! ☠️☠️☠️
Click thumbnails to enlarge…
Winchester Mystery House is a mansion in San Jose, California, that was once the personal residence of Sarah Winchester, the widow of firearm magnate William Wirt Winchester. Located at 525 South Winchester Blvd. in San Jose, the Queen Anne Style Victorian mansion is renowned for its size, its architectural curiosities, and its lack of any master building plan. It is a designated California historical landmark and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It is privately owned and serves as a tourist attraction….
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Rock on brother. Rock. On.
My second Goodwill find of the weekend is this heavy gold bamboo-like lamp! I wasn’t sure about it at first—kidding—it was screaming ‘Buy me hippie sucka!’ from the moment I walked in. 😂✌️The shade even had a stain on it, but a friend brought it home in his truck and it started raining.
Stain gone. 🍀🍀🍀🍀