Friday, August 03, 2007

I have a lump in my throat and I'm really afraid it's my petrified twin trying to escape. She's never getting out of there!

Last night I had a lil' too much robitussin (to soothe my ills) which made me giggle uncontrollably like a Tammy Faye bible puppet (sniffle). And the residue coating my esophagus is probably what's causing my trapped embryo twin to think she can regain her liberty. Never! Hippie twin!

I made my class read some Flannery, Jerry Saltz and an interesting (albeit depressing) article about the state of the art world by Mira Schor. Lively discussions ensued, but in the end I got all "we are the world" and starting talking about how imaginative systems don't die and the ability of conflicting artistic approaches to coexist is really beautiful. Blah, blah, I really bore myself sometimes with my "all things are valid" liberal logic.

I did scare them a bit about the art world though, talking about the abundance of "bro-dudes" (phrase courtesy of Marie Lorenz---see Dash Snow or Zak Smith for further evidence) and the vapid nature of a contemporary art that panders to a fickle market. Tis' true.

It's hard. And if it's not hard, then it's easy. Which is boring. Like a Jim Jarmusch movie.

*Yes, I understand Jim Jarmusch is poetic and tortured and loves coffee and cigarettes. Yes, I understand his films are intentionally slow-moving and unravel like a beautiful strand of trite art-school yarn. I get it. Get out of my life, Jim Jarmusch!

On the other side of the spectrum (or maybe not...) we have John Waters, whose movie "A Dirty Shame" I watched last night for the first time. Shockingly, I am not the world's biggest Waters fan. I think his films are too much the same, and when I watch too many of them I just go numb. I do kinda love him for his melodramatic sense of the masquerade, but I kinda wish there was a more uneven cadence to his ouevre. Here are the John Waters movies that I do like:

Pink Flamingos---A shit-eating classic that you just simply can't discount.
Crybaby---One of the few times I've felt the Johnny Depp mania so often cited among geeky, unattractive people.
Seed of Chucky--a really amazing take on gender confusion through possessed dolls. Brillllliant.
Serial Mom---Kathleen Turner, please leave me your voice box when you die of being too cool.
Hairspray---I love Ricki Lake, and no, I will not see the new one even though the thought of John Travolta in drag has given me a pleasurable nightmare or two.

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