Look how pretty! Click to read the pdf!
Of course, such intense Eyely pride made me remember that I've been an absolute lump when it comes to cross-posting the many words I've logged in its service. So, for any & all interested in what I do with my Clark Kent self—that is, the shy, bespectacled newspaper persona, who fills the hours between my righteous badassery (AKA, Blogsmanship)—here's what I was up to last semester, while, you know, going entirely AWOL hereabouts:
In which I profile the site of my fabulous fall internship—the Maysles Cinema, a nonprofit documentary cinema in Harlem, founded by Al Maysles of Grey Gardens fame—& give it some well-deserved love. (Everyone should go there! Always!)
“Excuse me, can I interest you in some information on upcoming screenings at the Maysles Cinema?” This phrase tumbles out almost mechanically after hours spent repeating it, my handful of fliers dutifully thrust forward into a stream of oncoming pedestrians. As the Cinema’s new graphic design intern, I initially imagined myself more on the crafting than the distribution side of the promotional process—but, after only a short time behind the scenes, I know I’m exactly where I want to be: on the steps of a local Harlem church, making sure everyone I can possibly reach knows about the cutting-edge sociopolitical discourse going on only blocks away at 127th and Lenox...
In which I interview Big Freedia, queen diva extraordinaire of the Bounce scene—which was amazing, because it's Big fucking Freedia, but which was rough, because we had to talk over the phone, & my deafness did not mix well with her somewhat overpowering drawl.
So, I’ve heard that, even within Bounce itself, you’re in a sort of subgenre called “Sissy Bounce”—which I find especially cool because I feel like, in the music industry, there isn’t often a platform for genderqueer artists, and it seems like Sissy Bounce represents a place for that.
Well, we don’t separate it here in New Orleans. There’s no such thing as “Sissy Bounce.” It’s all Bounce music and we have a few gay artists that work within the Bounce culture, but we don’t separate it. That just got misinterpreted through an interview that was done a while back, and they named it “Sissy Bounce” or whatever, but here in New Orleans we don’t separate it at all. Everybody just calls it Bounce music—and, you know, myself [and] Katey Red, we represent a part of that, and we’re gay artists...
From Stage to Screen.
In which I traveled to a swank-ass midtown screening room to see Roman Polanski's latest cinematic foray, Carnage, adapted from Yasmina Reza's Broadway smash The God of Carnage—& then subsequently compared it at length to Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, thus nudging at the question of what makes these simple-seeming plays cinematic.
“I believe,” oozes Christoph Waltz, in the same sinister drawl that earned him an Oscar for Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, “in the God of Carnage—the God whose rule has gone unchallenged since time immemorial.” Dressed as a modern American lawyer in a Paris-shot-for-Brooklyn parlor, he’s lending his villainous appeal to Carnage, the latest cinematic foray of infamous auteur Roman Polanski, which opened this year’s 49th Annual New York Film Festival. The film, based on Yasmina Reza’s Tony Award-winning play The God of Carnage, chronicles a conversation between two bourgeois couples—the Longstreets (Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly) and the Cowans (Waltz and Kate Winslet)—as they confer about a violent dispute between their young sons...
Abnormal Halloween Costumes.
In which I collaborated with the lovely & talented Margaret Boykin to dream up some creative solutions to the year's most intense outfit dilemma.
Sexy Feminist: Think Susan B. Anthony & Simone de Beauvoir…if they were in Mean Girls. These two feminists are already rolling in their graves at the sight of knee-highs and push-ups, so why not bring the empowerment-through-sexuality to a head? Simone loved black turtlenecks—but how about going backless, American Apparel style?...
In which I ask the question no one wants to ask—that is, "Should there really be an Arrested Development movie? No, but really—think about it..."—&, in the process, drag in David Lynch, Joss Whedon, & Exiled: A Law & Order Movie.
“No, I don’t see it as a series,” acclaimed director Ron Howard says in the final moments of Arrested Development—a surprise cameo that is a typically tongue-in-cheek move for the show he narrated through three seasons. He pauses, fingers tapping. Then: “Maybe a movie?” This hanging question has gone on to haunt diehard fans and entertainment news outlets alike since the show’s 2006 cancellation, through an agonizing five years of will-they-won’t-they pre-production turmoil with enough ups and downs to inspire its own Lifetime miniseries...
Health Over Weight.
In which I rehash America's body image crazy, focusing specifically on the new documentary America the Beautiful 2—whose director, Darryl Roberts, savvily debunks the BMI myth—the Adipositivity Project—whose photographer, Substantia Jones, may just be one of the coolest people in the history of ever—& the controversial children's book Maggie Goes on a Diet—whose author, Paul Kramer, then kindly took the time to yell at me in the comment section.
“So, who do you want to look like?” The question catches me off guard. She smiles sympathetically, folds a stray piece of honey blonde hair behind her ear, and rephrases: “I find it's helpful to have a goal in place—a physical role model.” She grabs a dog-eared People from behind her desk and opens it. “What about Kate Winslet? She’s pretty healthy-looking, don’t you think?” I’ll admit, when I entered this nutritionist's office I was hoping for something a little different—given that none of the previous three had produced lasting results. Despite layers of meticulous meal logs and food pyramids camouflaging my fridge, I remained a significantly overweight (and therefore significantly distraught) 13-year-old—weary of feeling socially inferior to my classmates because I was physically larger. So when the doctor brought out her pictures of Kate, I smiled back and nodded and prayed silently that this plan, please, would stick.
Best of 2011: Best All-Nighter.
In which I recount the "best" of my many hateful study experiences—which can best be summed up by three key terms: "Immanuel Kant," "cockroaches," & "Valentines Day."
As a college student, consummate procrastinator, and incorrigible coffee fiend, I exhibit all possible risk factors for a user and abuser of the All-Nighter. Though my year has thus seen plenty of these harrowing 20-plus hour library entombments, one in particular sticks out: At 10:30-something on a Sunday night in icy February, I enter Butler to begin a five-page essay on the Categorical Imperative of Herr Immanuel Kant, due Monday afternoon...
Then, of course, I also edited a few articles—including one on aging punk rockers (called "Crusty Punks") & another on knitting culture (entitled "Yarns & Recreation").
...&, scene. End shameless self-promotion. (But, seriously, y'all—read the Eye!)
Today's Headphone Fodder:
More rumbly, mumbly acoustic boys, perfect for rumbly, mumbly brain-brambled girls, hacking away at keyboards long past the point of sanity.