Thoughts for the Future

I have an encyclopedic knowledge of impractical information, which probably makes me a fascinating person to know – even for a brief moment, at a cocktail party or on the bus – but generally pretty useless in the financially gainful areas of life that call for knowledge of things like calculus and Laffer Curves and rocket science.

Unfortunately, and unavoidably, Math bores me to tears. It’s just the same thing repeated over and over again, and yet somehow always yielding confusingly varied results. Science I like, but it has way too much math. It seems like many would-be interesting fields always do. Words, I like; but even their use can become very clinical and depleted. Growing up, schools and other developmental programs try to help us become as competent as possible in a very limited set of areas so that we can go on to succeed in a relatively narrowly defined set of socially acceptable jobs: doctor, lawyer, “business man,” engineer. Or, still socially acceptable as concise descriptions, though notably less lucrative: florist, plumber, swim instructor, dog walker, etc. It seems like we tend to define ourselves shallowly by what we do for a living – perhaps hoping that the implicit social ethos of this work will speak for our greater personal identity.

Needless to say, this limiting paradigm might work better for some than for others. Do I want to be seen as a florist, a lawyer, a “business” woman, or do I want to be something intellectually, emotionally, and experientially richer, to suit the richness of the way I experience the world? I am not sure I am willing to reduce this amazing place (this world, wherever I am in it), and such a potentially amazing life (mine), to one limiting categorical endeavor. I don’t have to, and you don’t have to, either. We are not just cogs. Let our helpfulness to one another come from joy and compassion, and not purely obligation or a hasty need to belong (you already do).

Now, before you write my thoughts off as those of a sky-gazing bohemian (guilty, sure), let me say that I have nothing against the doctors and the plumbers, the playwrights and the undertakers, etc. I have valued the work of each at key moments in my life. Still, sometimes people need to do what they need to do in order to survive, and those roles may not be the most befitting their natural interests. I understand that dialectic. But one ought not let the mind die a premature death while she passes through this life a capable body performing routine things, lest she loses her curiousity. Let’s not let memorized, pre-designated actions detract from the powerful and revealing imagination with which we are equipped (if you are willing to tap into it). Is that not the essence of discovery? Our actions proceed our thoughts, and our thoughts are the filtered energy of the mind. Therefore, embrace your free thought, and don't be afraid to wander.

A message attached to my tea bag once read something along the lines of, “The meaning of life is to experience yourself.” Narcissistic, yes – but freeing. I think I’ll give it a swing. – LM

"Huff" Season 1 Review by Maura Kelly

Hello. I’m Maura, your resident film reviewer. As I never aspired to be a film “critic”, what you’ll be getting from me won’t be the paradigmatic dissection of cinema (for that, check out the NY Times, or give Roger Ebert a ring). I watch films, and review them my way, plain and simple. How am I feeling today? Lonely, alienated, and real stoned? Then I say, Fuck you, “Pretty Woman” cause that shit’s never happened to no real girl.

But today I’m reflective – more sunshine than clouds – and only a tad buzzed off of a tall boy of Coors Light. I’m also super into “Huff” Season 1. The Showtime series debuted in 2004 and chronicles the life of L.A. psychiatrist Craig Huffstodt (Hank Azaria) and the characters that weave in and out of his life. Wait. Showtime…series? But Maura, I thought you were a film reviewer… Yes, but I can explain. TV development in the past half a decade has engendered an incredible amount of smart, character-driven, cinematic quality productions. “Huff” is one such show, and I am totally hooked.

The first episode begins with Huff at a martini lunch with his offbeat, vice-ridden, lawyer best friend, Russell (Oliver Platt). Huff’s phone rings: “Shit Karen, you can’t do that. Whatever, tell him I only have 15 minutes.”

Waiting in his office is Sam, a teenage boy who just came out to his parents. His father told him that he’s better off dead. Sam told them that if his mom hadn’t “tweaked his penis when he was 5” and “stuck her tongue down his throat and said that’s how French people kiss”, maybe that would’ve helped. Looks like the freak-show doesn’t brake for the gates of Beverly Hills. Comforting… I guess?

Huff assures Sam that he’s done the right thing, but reminds him, “The message Karen gave me said your father threatened to kill you, and that’s a lot different than ‘you’re better off dead’.” Sam becomes irate, flips his chair, asks Huff why he’s siding with them. At almost warp speed, he pulls a revolver out of his backpack and into his mouth. Before Huff can intercept, he pulls the trigger and blows his brains all over the room.

Most of the series centers around his family dynamic — their tensions, betrayals, and dirty little secrets, which I think is a whole lot more interesting than watching his patients bitch for 30 minutes (Ahem, “In Treatment”. Gabriel Byrne you’re a dreamboat, and I’m sorry, but that’s the only reason I still tune in).

We meet Beth, his wife, his voice of reason teenage son, Byrd, and my personal favorite, his mother. Izzy Huffstodt (Blythe Danner) is the live-in mother-in-law from the deepest trenches of hell. The St. John-clad, martini permanently in hand Izzy is chock full of WTF quips like: ”That’s one thing I’ll say for those Jews — their food is clean,” and “Where’s the Clorox. That little fella was a homosexual. Thank God you outgrew that phase.” She’s so out of touch, that you fall just short of hating her, and instead wait for what ridiculous stunt she’ll spring on us next.

I’m not going to lie: After Sam went out with a bang, I had to click the ol’ pause button and take a few moments. Where could this show possibly go from here? Structurally, things like this don’t usually happen until mind-fuck season finales, and we’re only at 14:49 here of an hour-long, 13 episode season. But “Huff “ is smarter than this. And its season finale also manages to give “mind-fuck” a whole new meaning. Story lines involve Huff’s schizophrenic brother, a patient-turned-stalker that tries to kill his wife, his best friend inviting the whole Best-Buy TV department over for an ecstasy party and knocking up a sales girl, his mother’s channeling of Dr. Kevorkian, Huff’s brush with infidelity, and his son’s coming of age.

The product of all this is a thoughtful and engaging dramatic series, full of jaw-dropping moments that, as it’s tagline reminds us: “Life. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of it.”

-MK

Anna's Thrifty Finds 1st ed.

Let’s face it -- I’ve been waiting all my life for the opportunity to showcase two of the greatest loves of my life: bargain shopping and women.  My days of waiting are over!  My goal in this edition is to successfully pair timeless clothing with the women – living, dead, and fictional – who blazed trails not only for our clothing, but for our rights to live, love, and fight.  Clothing has and always will effect women, and of course, women have and always will effect the clothes we wear. As always, I promise to keep the vast majority of the pieces included in Anna’s Thrifty Finds second-hand, as a reminder that we can blast apart the capitalist, sexist, heterosexist, racist, elitist system while retaining a vestige of its shell. 

Annie Hall

Inspired by the classically tailored style of Diane Keaton’s alter-ego Annie Hall, this outfit captures the whimsical and playful nature of that unforgettable character. Annie’s wardrobe consisted mostly of neutral beiges and muted tones – fitting for the streets of NYC – but these shorts are undeniably Californian, especially paired with a sun hat. 

Black sailor blouse: $15 from Wasteland (SF, CA)Pink trouser shorts: $35 from Wasteland 


Because the color and structure of the shorts are so remarkable, black provides the perfect compliment to enhance the main attraction without competing for attention. I think Annie would certainly approve.

Lolita

For as twisted as Nabokov’s Lolita is, the iconic poster for Kubrick’s film – Lolita wearing red heart-shaped sunglasses sucking a red lollipop – exudes a playful eroticism that is both intriguing and heartbreaking.  That poster, not the complexity and tragedy that Lolita herself represents, is the inspiration for this thrifty find. 

Heart-shaped sunglasses: $10 from Flashbacks (Encinitas, CA)

I fully admit that there is a sense of the ridiculous in a grown woman wearing something so silly as heart-shaped sunglasses, and that is precisely why I love them.  The sunglasses acknowledge the absurdity of reverting to childhood while simultaneously embracing the 12-year-old girl every woman holds inside – the girl about to fall from innocence into the heartache of adulthood.

Katharine Hepburn

In an era when Hollywood actresses (and women in general) were expected to prance around in dresses and skirts at all times, Katharine Hepburn refused to answer her gender’s call of duty.  Donning pants not only in her life off the screen, Hepburn insisted that her characters also showcase an unconventional wardrobe.  

Beige linen suspender trousers: $20 from Flashbacks 


These suspender trousers are an homage to her ferocity.  Perfectly tailored, light, playful, and cut with a woman’s body in mind, they are the perfected version of the sometimes-severe suits Hepburn and other “cross-dressers” of her generation wore.  The straw hat similarly pokes fun at the felt bowlers Hepburn’s male counterparts wore, and demonstrates the gender-bending power of ornamentation.

Lana Turner

Lana Turner is a little-remembered Hollywood femme fatale from the 1940s and 50s – the ultimate sweater girl of her day and age.  Her skirts and dresses were tight, and those sweaters were even tighter. 

Purple sweater vest: $18 from Flashbacks

This outfit (modeled by Caroline Coleman, for those of you who didn’t recognize her radiant face) provides a paradigm shift in the expectations of the “sweater girl.”  Not only is Caroline’s vest decidedly loose, her dress is similarly free-flowing; and yet both are form-fitting in the waist – naturally accentuating the female form without imposing strict (and unrealistic) dimensions on the body.  You might even say that, apart from the fitted waist, the sweater vest resembles the prototypical “Grandpa sweater vest.”  A close look at the details in the sweater, however, reveals the complex and uniquely feminine qualities of the piece: the lines that the pleats create, the perfectly-tailored sleeves, the sculpted collar, the deep indigo hue.  The dress similarly exudes a quiet but intent femininity in its playfully full skirt, capturing simultaneously the carefree and sophisticated nature of womanhood.

Annie Oakley

As we were all taught growing up, Annie Oakley was a willful woman from the Wild West who could shoot, wrangle, and ride with the best of the cowboys (at least you were taught this if your mother is a raging hippie feminist like mine is).  

Beige jacket with tassels: $25 from Flashbacks


This jacket embodies the time-specific fun and daring of the previously uncharted territory (both geographically and socially) that the West provided for those, male and female, who had the guts.  Paired with a similarly time-specific bracelet and American Apparel mini-dress, the outfit defies tradition and genre, and instead embraces contradictions.  The muted tones of both pieces allow the tassels, and all they represent, due attention without seeming costume-y or kitschy.  Yee-haw!

In a rampantly material culture, these truths about women and our myriad ways of ornamenting ourselves are turning into curses, burdens we must bear to properly perform the role our culture dictates.  In my own small way, I want to help reinstate the sense of feminine power that ornamentation can offer women.  Dressing up, whatever that means to you, doesn’t have to equate to an acceptance of the system that expects its women to look and behave a certain way.   I believe that by bringing out the best in ourselves physically, we can actually reclaim a sense of pride in our womanhood that has been taken away from us. 

Finding and creating beauty doesn’t have to come at a financial, social, or environment cost.  And so I leave you to enjoy my contributions to Curious Tastemakers Collective with these words from the mother of us all (Sappho, of course):

what country girl seduces your wits

wearing a country dress

not knowing how to pull the cloth to her ankles?

All photos courtesy of Lulu McAllister.

Lulu's 99-Cent Reviews

If you are looking for the next Radiohead, read no further. These are  the gems we found in the clearance bin at our local music store. That's right, 99 cents! These days, you can't even find a deal like that at a 99-cent store. Each album was selected at random (we closed our eyes, and pointed) and lovingly reviewed. Enjoy!


Trunk Federation – The Curse of Miss Kitty (1998)

This band name/album title combo is a real head-scratcher. Who is Miss Kitty? What is her curse? What is a trunk federation? And 1998 was such a choice year for music. I can't put the CD in fast enough.


And then the noisy “Devil in a Catskin” greets me with playtime accents, screechy singing, and garage-band guitars (the real kind, not the loops from the program). The song’s bridge makes me think they ought to have taken the time spent running into their amps with their guitars in creative ways to find a real keyboardist; it reads like a child interrupted by a spaceship landing on top of a guitar solo. This band is over its head in feedback and fuzz.


Fortunately, despite the fussy instrumentation, you can make out all the lyrics. “Truck Lover” is a tough read, but worth the extra attention: “She’s a truck lover; she loves her truck.” If you aren’t floored by that last one, then you might tap into the provocative “I Don’t Like Mondays,” which muses, “Beat no reasons because there are no reasons, what reasons do you need to be shown?” Good point. Got me there!


Just when you’ve gotten used to the weirdly moody change of pace at the center of the album with “Providence” and “Levitations and Disappearances,” the Trunk Federates throw in the ultimate curveball. Who can top the tortured, violin-inflected polka music of “Magnifico the Magician”? Who saw it coming? I sure didn’t. The things you miss when you only listen to the first three songs of a CD…


Trunk Federation on Myspace


Mark Germino – Rank and File (1995)

Here’s a deep cut from one of Tennessee’s undiscovered greats, Mark Germino. You will swoon at the honest acoustic guitar and raspy, introspective Bruce-Springsteen-Does-Bob-Dylan vocals. In “Poet’s Lament,” when Germino sings, “They stroked his pride and they kissed his gun,” you know exactly what he means – not because you’ve ever held a gun (you haven’t, have you), but because you feel the message in your bones. Is that an angel? No it’s Mark Germino.


My mom calls this “The Old Cow Died to It” music. Nearly every song begins with a mix of Wurlitzer organ and countrified guitars. Apparently this is the best way to ease into Germino’s preferred topics of small-town politics and subtle social ideology. In “Rosemary’s New Constitution,” he wails, “All the blacks own the food and the whites own the fuel.” What marvelous insight! Please explain? Meanwhile, “I’ll Always Be Your Man,” is a sweet, guitar-dappled tribute to man’s superiority to woman. You tell ‘em like it is, Germy.


Mark Germino on Myspace


Cyclefly – Crave (2002)

Nu metal got a just a little bit sadder the day Cyclefly’s sophomore album Crave came out.


What does stress sound like? The first few seconds of Cyclefly’s hit, “No Stress.” Rest assured, the anxiety ends there. The song quickly shifts to something more like KoRn on ludes – and without all of Jonathan Davis’ semi-redeeming angry scatting. This song is actually kind of sing-songy in some places, which seems accidental, judging by the way front man Declan O’Shea is growling every chance he gets.


But hold on, what’s this? Album namesake track “Crave” absolutely takes a page from the boy bands tonally and the album dissolves into textbook Emo from here out. Take, for example, “Fallen Wishes,” in which O’Shea whines, “Fallen wishes, fallen wishes\ take me away from here my dear it’s been dead\ for years” or moderately more digestible “Drive” in which he sings, “I dream of a place to go, dream of a place to hide\ Just get out and drive away forever, drive away.\ I’d feel no pain on an island far away.\ From your road rage and your slow drain and your human waste.\” Human waste? Ew, dude.


Cyclefly Official Website


Skiploader – From Can Through String (1996)

Skiploader’s band name almost made me want to skip loading their CD into my itunes, but that’s just not the name of the game. The music actually sounds like a more wholesome version of Cyclefly’s shiz. Think: your older brother’s band. These guys are hot nerds, which I know because I looked at the insert. And you can tell which is the lead singer – he’s the wide-eyed pretty boy with the converse sneakers and dark hair slightly longer than everyone else’s hair. Of course, they are all sitting on beanbag chairs (in 1996).


Why am I yammering on about the band’s look instead of its sound? The look is vaguely Weezer; the sound is vaguely… well, it’s just vague. The hooks are boring, the singing is mediocre, and the guitar and drums are numbing. The music isn’t much to sink one’s teeth into. In fact, I bet if you measured the sound waves for this album the graph would be an unbroken sinusoid (which would be really lame). The most inspired track is also the shortest: “Untitled,” five blissful seconds of a guitar's decaying chord. Easy boys, is this an audition for the Clueless soundtrack or is it rock ‘n’ roll? Your call.


Skiploader on Myspace


This Perfect Day – C-60 (1997)

Short of tribute or cover bands, it always puzzles me when bands name themselves after another artist’s work. Why would you want to compete with someone else’s established genius? Or, otherwise, attempt to live up to it? This particular band, whether or not they themselves know it, takes its name from science fiction novelist Ira Levin’s 1970 book, This Perfect Day. I doubt that Ira Levin would smile at being compared to such a mediocre late ‘90s band (even the album art sucks), but I will admit that I don’t hate them.


The sweetly simple synths, cool-guy guitar, and soaring chorus (“We could have been FRIE-EH-EHHH-ENDs… Forever”) of the opening track, “Could Have Been Friends” (really reaching there), are nothing you’d play someone you want to impress, but you would certainly offend fewer people than if you played Mark Germino’s opening track. And don’t think about letting the album play uninterrupted because, right away, the second track blows.


You think track three, “Dolphin,” could possibly be strange or ironic, and therefore possibly worthwhile; but nope, it’s really just about dolphins (“If I was a dolphin\lost and lonely\in the sea\would you go\swimming\beyond the coral reefs\looking for me?”) The intro synths are kind of edgy and intriguing in the track that follows, but the song quickly splashes apart into another saccharin aquatic-themed love song: “Fishtank.” What is this, a group of defunct scuba instructors with an excess of synthesizers and guitars? By the end of the progressively lame CD, you are missing the sea-pop of earlier tracks.


This Perfect Day on Myspace


-LM