Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I was tagged by long-winded Nicholas. There's no use pretending I'm too good for putting my business in the streets; I love these things.
I am obsessed with genitalia. HEAR ME OUT!!! Not in a sexual way, just in a scientific way. I have countless books on sex determination/behavior, ambiguous genitalia, and hermaphrodism and wonder with each person I meet if they were born with indeterminate sex organs. I mean, it's pretty common (one child in 100), so someone I know has to be on Jamie Lee Curtis status. I'd love to talk with them about it. I guess it's because I grew up the only girl and became acutely aware of how differently boys and girls are socialized. Plus, I've never bought that this random assignation of sex could really explain the huge gulf between men and women. I suppose I'm more of a nuturist. If I could redo my life, I'd change my major and travel the globe doing field research and writing about genitals. (Way to start with a bang, eh?)
I love eating. It really has to be life's greatest pleasure. The variety of tastes and textures and flavor combinations available to the palette is mind boggling. I wish to taste as much stuff as I can before I die of diabetes and stroke and heart attack. (Bugs do not count, even if some of them do taste like Tutti-Frutti.) For this reason, I really want to try human meat. I don't know how this will happen, but if some shifty, clearly terrible human being dies or some willing participant donates his or her body to culinary science, I'll be there with fork and barbecue sauce in hand. Don't judge me.
I've been told this a number of times, have mentioned it a number of times, and plan on executing it in tattoo form in a few months, but I really feel a kinship with robots. One of my favorite books is I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. Sometimes, I just don't feel the things I'm supposed to feel. If only therapy were cheap enough for me to afford it.
I have shitloads of gray hair (and a filthy mouth to match)!
I hate Oscar-bait and sad movies in general. My mom was reading through the Oscar (Golden Globe?) picks and asked why we hadn't seen any. I responded, “I hate crying.” Dude, I go to the movies to escape from sad-ass life through kung fu and car chases and shit-talking heroes. Screw that sappy, glaringly realistic, introspective shit.
I once had an amazingly country accent. I discovered this while viewing a dusty VHS tape of myself at eight or six or something. I wonder what happened to it? Did other kids shame me into getting rid of it? It sucks because I spoke to some Alabama fam over Christmas and she said, “Querida, you sound like such a white girl.” Great.
Up until the age of 25 or so, my dreams were exceedingly gory and disturbing. I mean, blood and dismembered body parts all over the place. I was constantly being chased by cult leaders and vampires and large monkeys and all manner of creepy personages. True, I watched a lot of horror as a kid, but wtf? I finally started “dreaming” like a real person in my late-twenties. It's so boring now.
My memory is terrible, like scary, early-onset Alzheimer's terrible. I once walked past my aunt on the street, looked her dead in the face and kept walking, not because I wanted to avoid her but because she simply didn't register. I can't recall simple details like what I wore or ate yesterday or anything before the age of, say, eight. I honestly think I've suffered some brain damage somewhere.
People who know me know this, but I really wasn't allowed to play outside when I was a kid. It was me and my Legos® and my silver portable radio and my brown plastic turntable. Sometimes I could sit on the porch and read, but that's about it. No wonder my social skills are horrible.
People tend to think I'm bitchy and mean, and while it doesn't really bother me, it is inaccurate. I'm just really reserved and easily annoyed. Actually, I'm quite pleasant and dislike conflict.
Consequently, I find it really hard to hate people. I can conjure up some dislike, but for the most part it always dissipates in a few weeks if not a few days. It's not that I don't find some people hateable, but I just don't have the time, attention span, or energy. Go over there ----> with that.
I can be objective about great cinema, but really, what's messing with Killer Klowns From Outer Space?
I get Aretha and all, but Patti LaBelle is way iller. Period.
I've always wondered what it would be like to be a dominatrix. A less uptight me would've found out by now.
There are exactly five varieties of empty beer and one half bottle of vodka in my bedroom as I type. I am not an alcoholic. Seriously. I've had that bottle of vodka since November of 2005.
Finally, uhhh... let's see...yes! About two years ago I was bald, like dude bald, and I wanted so badly to rock the ill Bobby Brown side part, but I was too chicken. Oh well.
This goes out to a few folks:
Monica - Because she loves these things. Right? Plus, I wanna know something I don't know.
My Brother Jimmy - Cause he types fast, and I wanna learn something about him.
Daniel - Because he's ridiculously interesting.
The Bakers (this counts as three)- Cause we family.
Rachel - Because I we haven't really communicated since she went back to Italy.
Danny - Because we fam, but I I don't know this grown version of him with the tattoos and rhapsodizing on women.
Chanda - Because you're awesome.
Ben - Because he "rocks the sweet daddy long fox minks." Not really, but he would.
Natalie - Because it'll be good to hear what's behind the "camera face."
Joanna - Because I haven't seen her in years, but think she's fabulous.
Eugene - Because he has great taste in movies.
Quentin - Because I want to know what my brother's up to. (You don't check your page at all, do you?)
Lakeiya - Because I missed you at Christmas, but you're hella busy, aren't you.
Andrew - Because you're hilarious and would undoubtedly make my day.
Monday, January 26, 2009
So ... last night marked the end of the latest adaptation of Wuthering Heights, another ITV version. Though no one has yet been able to find a non-white dude to play Heathcliff, and the pace was a bit too brisk, I enjoyed it. As with anything else I enjoy, I found myself yelling at the screen, especially at Edgar and Isabella's dumb asses. So yeah, it was good; I'll watch it again.
Now I love the hell out of this book, which is why I keep hoping for the definitive adaptation, but it chaps my hide when people think of it as romantic. This is not a romantic story; it's a great Gothic tale, full of horrible, terrible, stupid people, with a bit of redemption at the end. I'm more amazed by than attracted to Heathcliff's character, as I am by all insanely passionate people. He was able to sustain dangerous amounts of hate for decades (DECADES!) and killed people with it. He's like a super, extra archvillain--Haterman or something. I supposed chicks think his unyielding love for Cathy is especially sentimental, but they kinda forget that he vowed to make her suffer for it. And Cathy (the elder), she had no problem fraternizing with another man while married and actively pursues vengeance on her husband for decisions she, herself, made. Edgar and Isabella are spineless dolts (good people, but dumb as rocks regardless). The whole thing is a mess, a wonderful, terrifying mess. The lesson is, kiddies, hate destroys. If you find yourself wanting to damn people to hell, go see a movie, have a delicious burger, or seek therapy. It just isn't worth it.
-Tom Hardy did a pretty good job. I bought his vengeance, and I see why chicks dig him.
- That scene with Heathcliff cradling Cathy's skeleton? Beautiful, just wonderfully sick and fantastic!
-Charlotte Riley looked fantastic as Cathy and was much less annoying than Juliette Binoche.
-Cathy (the elder) needed to be much more of an asshole. She came off as a somewhat decent person, which she wasn't.
-Love Actually (the one who was in love with Kiera Knightly)was in it; he played Edgar Linton.
-I seriously dislike the Ralph Fiennes/Juliette Binoche version.
A fantastic deconstruction of our protagonists' psyches.
And now another satisfyingly creepy interpretation of Wuthering Heights. Go Kate Bush!
Oh yeah, I updated Knit Deez ... finally.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Nothing to say. These tunes say it all.
"Watch Roger Do His Thing" - Main Source
"Brother's Gonna Work It Out" - Willie Hutch
"What a Difference a Day Makes" - Dinah Washington
"Can You Feel It?" - Fat Boys
Wreckonize - Smif N Wessun
Monday, January 19, 2009
It's Milan Fashion Week, and while I usually don't care about the men's shows, I must applaud Gianfranco Ferré, Alexander McQueen, and Moschino for making menswear something I can actually covet.
Finally, a respectable funnel neck for dudes. Yes, fellas, I know you've been sitting at home, Vogue Hommes in one hand, shopping list in the other thinking, "I've finally found the perfect pant--slim-cut, slightly metallic, grazing my ever-so-perfect buttocks in just the right way, but where, damn you, are the funnel-necked coats?" Here, my manly men. Gianfranco has your backs.
Allow me to script a bit more internal dialogue for you, fellas.
"I've been working on my abs ever so diligently, but I don't quite have that Jesus-on-the-cross definition that I've been working for." It's fine, McQueen figured he'd give them to you in leather. THANK THE MAN!
Also, that plaid suit is amazing. I only wish that I can one day own such a thing.
While there's nothing quite so boundary pushing about Moschino's offering for the fellas, these are some seriously well-tailored suits. I'd like to think that if Hercule Poirot were taller and younger (oh, and real), he'd wear these. I do love a man in a v-necked sweater or waist coat.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
It's Sunday morning, and I can't leave my house for fear that the church-goers will steal my cushy parking spot. Once upon a time I was church-going folk, waking up at the crack of dawn to slip into uncomfortable clothes and stockings to get on a cold school bus to be annoyed by all but a few of my fellow busriders to end up at Calvary Baptist Church for Sunday school and service. I never really had my weekends to myself, and now that I'm older, I avoid church like the plague. However, I do miss those delicious pancake breakfasts. (I have never had a pancake so fluffy and buttery as the ones served for Sunday school breakfast. And those grits!!!!! People let me tell ya.) Oh, and the bus ride. Despite strongly disliking more than a few of my companions, there were a few people whom I enjoyed. We'd sing all sorts of secular devil music on the ride to church and later cut Sunday school to go to KFC. See? I was meant for straight sinnin'. Lastly, though, I miss the singing. That was always the redemptive part of having my Sunday morning ruined, those sweet, sweet tunes of redemption and admittance and weakness. Every once in a while, I like to pretend that I'm at church here at home, and I play a few tunes to carrry me back to those moments on the pew when I soaked up just a bit of spirit.
"Silver and Gold" - Kirk Franklin and the Family
"This Little Light of Mine" - Random Dudes in Washington Sq. Park
"The Old Rugged Cross" - Caravans (Loleatta Holloway on lead)
"Peace Be Still" - The Emotions
"Sinnerman" - Nina Simone
"Expect Your Miracle" - The Clark Sisters
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I've been in this funk/r&b hybrid phase for a few months. I figured I'd share some lesser known (maybe) songs from a few artists we all know and possibly love. That's my intro.
"Watching You," "Just a Touch of Love," we all know these songs. Some of us even hate them. (Me! I hate them.) Stone Love, Slave's 1980 album, however, was damn near perfect. "Dreamin'" is perfect. I haven't been able to go a single 24 hour period without bursting out into song with this one. Enjoy.
When Steve Arrington left Slave, I imagine people were worried. I speculate only because I was too young to care. He had hits, one being "Way Out," which, in all fairness, did get play. The problem is that I don't hear it enough, not nearly as much as "Weak in the Knees," so in my opinion it's forgotten. Pure retarded funk exuberance.
Most people knew "The Deele before Babyface went solo." Most people know "Two Occasions" and "Shoot 'Em Up Movies," but "Let No One Separate Us" suffers from relative obscurity. Poppycock! While this may not be a funk song, The Deele were funky, so it counts.
"Don't Disturb This Groove" -- The System. I'll wait while you count how many times you've heard this song in your life. Now count how many times you've heard "Lollipops and Everything." Whatever the number, I'm pretty sure it's a travesty. Here, enjoy some thinly- veiled innuendo for sex.
Now, I'm a huge fan of this woman. My mom played "I Want To Thank You" hundreds of times during my childhood, but Alicia Myers is more than that. She's "Appreciation" and "You Get The Best From Me (Say, Say, Say)" and these two songs --"Just Can't Stay Away" and "Don't Stop What You're Doin'."
Finally, there's Yarbrough & Peoples' "Guilty," a song I hunted down for years. I have a Tapemaster cassette of me singing my little seven year-old heart out to this. Note: I hate "Don't Stop the Music" more than I can ever express. This song, on the other hand, is adorably funky.
Just Can't Stay Away
Don't Stop What You're Doin'
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Nope, the title makes no sense. Moving on.
So, I've already broken in my dermis with one absolutely ridiculous tattoo--a dancing bacon man. Now, I feel I need to take the next step--tattoomania. I've decided that my right arm (above the elbow) and shoulder blade should be covered in sweet, delicious ink. Now, I was gonna get a food motif--a cannibalistic cheeseburger, an obese stick of butter with fangs, and a sugar cube on an IV, my favorite foods depicting what will become of me if I keep it up. (We keep it hella cheerful here at fatmeatisgreasy.) Then, I felt I should get a robot tattoo of some sort, since I've always been accused by various exes of being one (and kinda love the shit out of them). However, I got the feeling that these things wouldn't "match." If I was gonna cover a specific part of my body in inks and patterns, I figured said inks should make some sort of sense. So, after much discussion with Schmoe Diggla, I've decided on a thematic layout--an open wound that both exposes my robotic innards and bleeds food products. That's right, you've read correctly, I'm completely bat shit. Yay me!
I've found some inspirational photos on the net that will serve as loose templates for my work. Feast your eyes folks.
First, the wound exposing circuitry. It should be something like this:
Photo credits here go to www.sepiamutiny.com/sepia/AnilGuptaRobot.jpg and http://free-tattoodesign.blogspot.com/2007/10/machine-tattoo-designs.html respectively. (Please let me know if you'd like me to remove your pictures.)
I can't really find photos of the individual items I'll have spilling from the wound since they're kinda kooky, but put yourself in the mind of the angry veggies featured in this link.
So, yeah. I have heart burn from all the crap I just ate, so it's definitely time for bed.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
It's winter, which doesn't bode well at all for sustained elation; however, I'm feeling a bit lower than usual. It sucks. (Yes, yes, I know that my incredible talent for truly expressing the depths of my soul is astounding. No autographs please.)
No need to focus on the negative. Life is all about denial and delusions and repressing true emotions in favor of transitory, fleeting joys that follow you, sneering, to your death bed. In an effort to avoid self-reflection, I choose:
1. Turkey Burgers - Thank you, colleague, for your delicious, heavily-seasoned and onioned turkey burgers. Smothered in Sweet Baby Ray's, these have me too itised to care about any clouds that may be following me.
2. Venture Bros. - Thank you, Adult Swim, for introducing me to such a delightful diversion. Brock Samson is so unapologetically masculine and violent, it's hard not to feel joy when he snaps the necks of gangs of ninja henchmen. (Adult Swim, I do have a bone to pick with you, though. The lineup used to be golden--Robot Chicken, Venture Bros., Metalocalypse, Home Movies?--perfection. Now you're showing crappy shows that I refuse to give a chance. Please, do better.)
3. These Shoes - Roger Viviers, so beautiful, so worthy of sin. Plaid and platformed, you are all the things I'd sell children on the black market for.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Note the lack of appropriate exclamation. It's a new year, sure, but these arbitrary distinctions in time don't really excite me, especially since nothing has really changed for me.
Ha! Ha! (Mood change.)
No need to be all Eeyore in this piece.
So, just to kick things off all proper like, I figure I'd address those who apparently read this blog but do not comment. Thanks for reading ... really. It's good to know that Monica isn't the only one.
Next, a quick movie review. The fam and I saw The Spirit, which was godawful. I got the comedic turn on film noir; however, it was so poorly done that there were very few redemptive qualities. I mean, the characters were so flat as to appear wooden. The dialogue was stiffer than Ron Jeremy at an outdoor orgy. Oh yeah, the cinematography was pretty great to my untutored eyes, and Scarlett Johansson's wardrobe was pretty boss, but that's it. Other than that, wait for it to come OnDemand, if then. Sorry, Gabriel Macht, no star turn for you.
Finally, the jury is in. I'm 30, which means I need to stop being delusional about my core self. I hate parties. I do not enjoy the company of large throngs of strangers (unless, of course, we've come together for the mutual appreciation of some music act). My idea of "going out" is eating. That's it. Take my rapacious ass to a restaurant of some sort, place me in front of a platter of edibles, and get back. That, my dears, is what life is about, chasing diabetes and blood pressure. In honor of this recognition, I spent half of New Year's Eve enjoying the comforts of slightly hoity-toity foods with my like-minded buddies. For only 40 bucks, we feasted on chicken livers mousse, trout roe blinis, Sicilian tuna, seafood bouillabaisse, young chicken with chestnuts, chocolate date cakes, and honey panna cottas. It was all delicious. If in Chicago, check out The Bristol on 2152 N. Damen; I hear they have brunch, which I'm thoroughly looking forward to. I then went to a party, where I quickly retreated into an empty room to play cards then went out for more food. Ain't nothing like a BLT at three in the morning.
Blinis and chicken liver mousse
Sicilian TunaChocolate Date Pudding Cake and Chestnut Honey Panna Cotta