Not bad Kesha, not bad at all. The Andre 3000 touch never fails.
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Dear Vybz Kartel,
It's bad enough that Gucci Mane persists on being famous in my household, not for formidable music making, but for having the ashiest lips in the business. Now you, Vybz Kartel, a formerly acceptable artist to listen to pre rave/carnival/one of those 'after-parties' that involve you riding around in a run down audi TT from Bar Rumba to actually find yourself sitting in a room with 3 people smoking high grade and wishing you were asleep, have fallen prey to the ashy black man syndrome. I fear you may never redeem yourself; the level of ashiness screaming self hatred from this picture emanates from a deep Freudian level my poor blogger's mind cannot even attempt to penetrate thereby cocoa butter and a black barbie aint gona solve your inner ashy issues are they Vybz?
Male self renovation (we've moved on from reinvention to whole racial overhauls, what can I say? status anxiety has grown to monstrous proportions in a dire economy) post 40 is becoming alarmingly macabre. Gone are the days of laughing at the male mortality whiplash that made films like The First Wives Club so amusing. I mean just check out old skool basebell star Sammy Sosa's ash stricken face for this naughties shift in the proverbial male pattern baldness. Witness how he chalkily cracks through the dry tension to smile a smile that says its ok to make yourself over into another colour half way through your life, it's not a political statement it's just the new sports car, the new penis enlargement, the new mistress with a more menial job than your wife's and better tits. Nobody wants to be a cliche and buy a Lambourghini when they feel close to death and distant from the young follicly acceptable man they once were. Similarly, nobody wants to or should necessarily have to be hemmed into an identity; it doesn't take an extensive knowledge of Michel Foucault and a bunch of french theory to understand that we are all increasingly resistant to the idea of complying to societal rules 'just because'. However, Vybz, you seem to be dabbling in what many would justifiably call race-change. But this so called race change all depends on how much you believe color defines race, rather than culture. In yours and Sammy's minds perhaps you are no less black/afro-cuban just because your skin is. From an intellectual perspective i can fully appreciate this argument, race is, in my view, more than shades on a sample board, we are not curtains people we are not curtains...so in reality maybe tanning and bleaching will one day become exactly what Vybez claims them to be; extensions of each other. Indeed maybe the political will be shrugged off the act of bleaching like an errant cardigan...However Vybz until post-racial becomes a reality (which btw is looking like a never so keep fighting the good fight) you're left looking like a victim of consumption circa 1809 who found himself a time machine. Either way, hello?... Vybez...you're just too damn ashy to be taking pictures and the like. Stay your ass inside. The light looks like it 's physically damaging your retinas! Check out the redness round the eyes! You look like an albino lab rat...this cannot be the great idea you thought it was, no? I know you probably half believe that statement you released that claimed bleaching "is tantamount to getting a tan" but a) I know you don't know how to use the word tantamount in the correct context never mind use it in a statement and b) it's looking more like an exercise in self mutilation than an exercise in civil liberty from my screen.
I assume Gucci was born with the lips of a gator who has been immersed in the desert or whose lips have dried up under a deluge of e numbers from the cool aid and gin he sipped on from the womb. Unlike Gucci you were not born with the face of the crypt keeper. Albeit you were never exactly a visual delight but who needs delight when your face isn't under the threat of imminent ruin. You just needed to remain facially consistent enough to not warrant quasi-intelectual outrage.
Wishing you a speedy recovery from what I can only "eat, pray and love" is a temporary bout of mental incontinence and general facial disrepair.
One of my favourite sections in one of my favourite publications is "Modern Love" in the NY Times. I Recently found this incredible article about one woman's yearning for love in a world of dwindling opportunities for it and the brave and yet measured decisions she makes to change her life. Nicole Hardy has also written two poetry collections including "This Blonde" just thought you should know just in case you can't get enough of her strange mixture of innocence and biting wit.
Friday, 21 January 2011
Can't wait to watch Paprika Steen in Applause! The trailer promises an excruciatingly truthful portrait of a fading actress whirling around in her own chaos...you know how I love watching a woman unravel a la Sunset Boulevard. Hopefully she finds a little inner peace that or her mind unforgivingly splinters like poor Natalie Portman's character in Black Swan...you know how I love a little spectacle.
SNL perfection. Conjures a potent and deep laughter from me every time. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE GROUND! Watch it and watch the day look infinitely more manageable. Every time your boss insults your intelligence or the guy at Costa Coffee looks at you like you're not competent enough to pick your own coffee when he's clearly not competent enough to remember your order or get a decent hair cut just 'throw it to the ground!' and refuse to be part of the system...any.
A Kind of Gender Genocide "Now the system is seen as a means for poverty-stricken parents to unburden themselves of daughters".
A film by Beeban Kidron about the continuation of the illegal devadasi system; a system which religiously justifies dedicating young South Indian girls to sexual slavery. Tune in on Monday 24th January @ 10pm. Essential viewing. It is the reminder of systems such as this that should challenge many a spoilt young woman's claim that feminism no longer means anything. It actively needs to stretch beyond the Western semblance of equality most of us subscribe to.
I'm like cat here, a couple of no-name slobs. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other.
Breakfast at Tiffany's is being re-released. Call it schmaltzy, call it untrue to the Capote's vision and be all righteously intellectual if you really feel the need to prove yourself. Follow in Emma Thompson and Time Out's footsteps and cluck and tut about how Miss Hepburn was woefully miscast in most movies but don't pretend you're not a little in love with the no name slob and her no name slob cat. She's as shiny as a Tiffany bracelet in Blake Edward's slightly bold tale of a rather naughty but naive socialite and you can't help but be drawn to her light. Hepburn, her modern vulnerability and tendency to eat very little and drink a lot and save zero money are timelessly charming.
I will be watching it at the Southbank BFI on a lazy sunday where it will be showing until the 3rd of February