One of my roommates commented about how I must be super patriotic about sports, seeing as I get so excited for the Olympics.
This is super untrue.
I have a different national team that I root for in soccer because I know I will only be disappointed in the American team.
which is why van persie’s betrayal to man u CUT DEEP, YA’LL, IT CUT DEEP and the reason the only man u player i ever liked was van der sar American rugby isn’t a thing, American soccer makes me want to cry, and I have only recently found a team to latch on to in the NHL (the Admirals are AHL so I haven’t had a big kid team to root for until I decided I could break the No Rooting For Illinois Sports Teams rule of any true Milwaukee native just this once), I don’t watch other sports unless bribed by alcohol or food or both. Except for MMA fighting because I would apparently be well suited for being an ancient Roman spectator
I just like the Olympics. Ice dancing is equal parts amazing and hilarious (who the hell names something that technically difficult a TWIZZLE, for fuck’s sake?), snowboarders make me smile (“fakey” is a technical term in that sport, there is hugging and bro cheek kisses, they are all a gift to humankind), and the men’s hockey starts in two days, which I will apparently have to get up at 7 AM for, and I have seriously considered getting up at 3 AM to watch hockey, these are real thoughts I have. I don’t actually care who wins. I just like watching it/laughing at it/crying at the commercials where olympians talk about how awesome their moms are.
If there is brawling on the ice between the US and the Russian team on Saturday, it will be all the sweeter.
Fuck them fuck them FUCK THEM AbilityOne completely shuts down during this FUCK ALL OF THEM, and the National Council on Disability (which has so many problems but goddamn they are SOMETHING) loses over a third of its workforce according to the 2011 contingency plan and they are closing national museums and FUCK ALL OF THEM, why does their douchebaggery mean important, needed shit doesn’t get done and people don’t get to see art and artifacts and instruments of learning? The NEA (national endowment for the arts) will be at less than 5% staff— do you know how many nonprofits rely on those grant getting to them in a timely fashion? The notification deadline is in November, there are still thousands of grants to process, fuck all of them.
You know who suffers during this? The public. The people you are trying to do something for OH WAIT I FORGOT YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT PEOPLE. For fuck’s sake, NONE of those assholes on capital hill care about the people of this country.
Fucking prove me wrong.
Let me preface this with saying I donated. I donated as soon as I could; I tossed my money at them, paying thirty-five dollars for a digital copy of the movie, a t-shirt, and a digital copy of the script. I would have done the fifty dollars, but I found another campaign I wanted to finance, which needed twenty-five dollars, so I somewhat split the difference.
I then called Meg, flipped out at her answering machine, and spent the rest of the day watching numbers climb. Last I checked, they were somewhere around 2.6 million dollars. We freaked out, planned Veronica Mars rewatch live-texting with each other, and Tumblr exploded with more Veronica Mars fans than I ever knew I followed. It was lovely.
And then, of course, the other natural Tumblr reaction began.
The most oft-heard argument I heard was “why didn’t you put that money towards fighting world hunger,” or, to paraphrase many different arguments, towards providing funds for an NGO or non-profit organization in order to fund charitable work in X place, for X reason. The fact that the money was going for a movie (a movie about a straight white woman, etc.) was what made the gathering of money invalid. It should be going to helping people.
And there is where we start the argument: it is helping people.
So I’ve been seeing all this art and music and dance and theater lately, and a lot of it has been modern and protest-based or at least working through issues that the artist has with society, and it’s always both fascinating and alienating for me to watch these things, because what we’ve seen of this kind of art so far has been very recognizable as what is is. It’s like, “LOOK AT ME I AM PROTEST ART.” There’s no way for it to be anything else.
And that’s cool, and power to them, and people should see more of it, but I tend to feel disconnected from it, somehow.
I fucking hate National Coming Out Day.
Some of us are selectively out, sort of out, or don’t care enough in most situations to be out. Some of us can’t be out for safety and financial reasons. Some people are still hating themselves for their gay, or their queer, or their trans, or whatever, and they are a LONG fucking way from coming out.
Not everyone needs to be waving a flag, for fuck’s sake.
Could we have a National Queer Hugs Day? National Congrats On Your Personal Acceptance of Your Own Damn Sexuality That is No One’s Business But Your Own Day? National Even If You Hate Yourself We Still Love You Day?
Day of Silence and National Coming Out Day are like, my least favorite fucking things.
This is Erica. Say hello, everybody.
Erica is from Teen Wolf, that one show that I’m ruining everybody’s life with. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about today. Today, we will be discussing chronic pain/illness, choice, and teenage angst that can be fixed via werwolf bites.
Erica, pre-werewolf, was severely epileptic, with her epilepsy either not totally under control with medication or unable to be controlled enough for her to be totally safe. In the show, she mentions several scenarios where it was out of her control, including at last one time where she had a serious seizure and wasn’t helped by her classmates, and ended up pissing herself in front of them. This is probably not an isolated incident, and she is clearly bullied and left as an outsider because of her disability.
Then, she gets offered the bite, that can make all of it go away.
I JUST WANT TO WATCH MY DRUNK KITCHEN AND LET MY NAILS DRY.
Also eating a sandwich right after using nail polish remover? Bad idea.
The most honest three and a half minutes of television, EVER… (by James Bouder)
You know what? No. The heartfelt, swelling music accompanying the tale of the era of the awesome and perfect America— which can’t be historically pinpointed by the speech— doesn’t make it real. America is a country founded on genocide, built on the backs of slaves. The white middle-or-upper-class man at the top of the heap can say we used to be great, because he’s always been at the top, with everyone else underneath. America has never been the greatest country in the world. Politicians have always lied to say it was, or is, or can be, but how do you measure the “greatest country on earth?” What makes a country great? Exports? Low infant mortality? Life-expectancy? GDP? Diversity? Lack of prejudice? “Freedom?”
America is a country made of people. People are not just good and bad. Countries can’t be either. There are high points and low points, steps forward and backward, and people yelling at each other about the good old days that weren’t so good for others.
There is no greatest country, but if there was, America never would have been it. Inspired yelling can’t make it so.
Ya’ll know I love me some haute couture. I’ve done serious Dior, Chanel, Valentino, etc. spams. I even liked Valentino’s Spring 2012 line, which (admittedly) mostly consisted of dresses patterned like wallpaper and heinous matching shoes, except for that one white dress that everyone and their mother wore to every red carpet event/magazine spread ever. Seriously, it was at the Oscars AND the Met Gala AND in Vogue AND In Style AND Elle. That was enough of that dress.
But this season is so disappointing I could just cry.
The big story this season is the Dior show, with a new show runner, Raf Simons, and how amazing the fact was that he a) harked back to ‘50’s and ‘60’s classic Dior silhouettes and b) paired them with cigarette pants. The big thing in the collection was a heavily beaded, blinged-out peplum shirt or blouse with black silk cigarette pants.
Ya’ll, I saw one of the girls working at the Limited wearing that last week. The only difference was the quality, and the fact that she was wearing a huge statement necklace instead of beading. That’s it. It isn’t revolutionary. The silhouettes aren’t new, and neither is their pairing. I’ve seen it in street fashion for the past year, since peplums came back out last fall. I loved the line— except for the weird trend of sheer over the boobs that everyone seems to love, because McQueen and a bunch of other people did that ages ago and it was weird then, still weird now— but it wasn’t anything super revolutionary. It was interesting and fun, but it didn’t quite feel couture to me.
Jacket reconstruction as the other big hot thing? Bitch, please. We have seen those jackets before. I own one with contrast material piping and a statement lapel from White House Black Market. You aren’t surprising me with that. You surprised me, Simons, by using some fucking color in your line, because apparently Valentino and Chanel and Givenchy didn’t get the memo that something other than black, gray, and navy can be nice, sometimes.
What the other big hitters also forgot about was basic construction to fit the female form. I know they were working with European models, who are the thinnest of the thin, with hardly any hip or boob to work with, but you aren’t designing for men. Only Gaultier does that for couture weeks, and his men had more feminine silhouettes than Chanel did. The women were wearing boxes— in Chanel’s case, ugly, tweedy, patchwork boxes that look like an inexperienced quilter vomited up a coat— that weren’t swingy or even well constructed. This is haute couture, ya’ll. Step up your game. There’s making a boxy swing jacket or mod dress, but even those have darting to fit backs and shoulders and careful measuring out of the hem to allow for booty and hip and still hang straight. There is attention to detail.
Ya’ll, couture is not supposed to bore me to fucking death, but it did. I’ve seen more sumptuousness in Marchesa’s ready-to-wears. Most designers seemed to forget the spirit of haute couture, in which is opulence and daring, a place for art to overwhelm reason. Couture is where you can do what you want, make wearable art in place of fashion, use strange colors and construction and fabrics in order to create something new. It’s an artist’s dream, and the biggest designers this year squandered it.
In fact, I think that the rules of the couture game need to be changed. Lately, it seems that some designer’s ready-to-wear lines— McQueen and Marchesa, mentioned earlier, come to mind— are more in the spirit of couture than the actual couture lines are. There is intricate, obsessive beading in white-on-white for Marchesa, experiments in sheer and volume and how-much-before-it’s-too-much. Sarah Burton (and previously Alexander himself) have achieved grandeur enough in ready-to-wear gowns to already be archived in museums. The line carries enough artistic weight to have it’s own Met exhibition after not even being a line for more than fifteen years, and maintains two standing pieces in the V&A’s much smaller but equally as prestigious Costume exhibit (an entire ensemble, from dress to shoes to bag, from a 1996 fall show and the huge feather dress from Burton’s first show, Spring 2011). What does it say that Ready to Wear has eclipsed couture shows in grandeur?
The best shows, I think, were Dior, with very interesting fabric and beading use as well as COLOR, thank you very much, Giambattista Valli, with an interesting forest nymph concept that actually played out well in florals and volume, and Ulyana Sergeenko, with a somewhat fifties silhouette and a fun play with drama, texture, and pattern. Versace wasn’t bad, and had some great beading, and I always love Gaultier, who really seemed the only person to get the memo for extravagance. Valentino and Chanel were boring as all hell, Elle Saab was okay, and Margiela used the face mask motif that McQueen did better in Spring 2012 RTW.
We will be spamming the Dior, Valli, and Sergeenko shows nearly in full, with favorites from other collections pulled in (Andrej Pejic walked in the Gaultier again, for instance, and we will always have Pejic on this blog). This will be followed by the McQueen and other resort collections, because resort will always be my favorite season, bar none.