I was really looking forward to a comeback because I loved Amy Winehouse. She was the only “blue-eyed soul” singer whose music I not only listened to, but respected… and that’s probably because she was a druggie and fucked up so many live performances; she was such a badass. And I wanted a comeback so bad so to prove that despite all of the emotional baggage she was so obviously and unsuccessfully coping with, she could still win that battle. i was convinced she had it in her because her music was so dope.
I read what all the other journalists of reputable magazines and newspapers wrote of her life and death, and I get upset. I get upset because there is definitely an undertone that condemns her personal lifestyle, the choice she made, which somehow invalidates her talent and her inevitable success… like she drank and smoked because she didn’t care about her music or her fans… like she didn’t want to do well. In reality, those pretentious fucking pricks don’t know why she chose to live how she did… they don’t know why, you don’t know why, I don’t know why; and to be so assuming shows an obvious disrespect for the dead.
I realize that I was headed in the same direction when I started writing this post. I was, and still am, a little upset that she’s dead because I am a selfish and inconsiderate person. I was going to criticize her fashion debut with Fred Perry [http://www.fredperry.com/women/amy-winehouse-landing/]as an imminent foreshadow for what was to come. I expected so much from Ms. Winehouse and that was unfair. So, I blame myself for what happened and can do nothing more than celebrate her life and her music. She was such a beautiful person and will forever be a music icon. Besides, she’s so much more real than say a Duffy or Joss Stone… and the only reason anyone likes Adele is because she’s fat… think about it.
In the slap-stick comedy Victor/Victoria, Julie Andrews unconvincingly plays the struggling singer Victoria Grant who—in an incident involving a cockroach, a shrunken jacket, a closet, an aging homosexual stage performer and his ex-lover—plans to make a career impersonating a female impersonator. And of course this story takes place in France… all the men in France are female impersonators. Ahahah… I kid. Julie Andrews makes this potentially controversial film wholesome and lighthearted… because I mean, she’s the lady from The Sound of Music… you don’t get much more wholesome than that. Although, the original German Viktor und Viktoria must have been brutal to watch. I bet Viktoria had a mustache… but not like as a special effect or costume or anything… I bet the real live actual actress had a for real hairy upper lip. The only thing that could have made this movie more interesting would be if the actor playing Victoria was a man, thus making it a move about a man playing a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. I nominate Irish thespian Cillian Murphy who did an excellent job portraying a transsexual orphan searching for his mother in Breakfast on Pluto. Having run away from home, the ultra-effeminate Patrick (sometimes referred to as Patricia, most times referred to as “Kitten”) ventures on a search to find his mother; the Mitzy Gaynor look-a-like who was impregnated by the horny Father Liam. Kitten creates this sort of delusional and often comical fantasy land based on all of the fucked up shit that comes with being a wide-eyed transvestite from Ireland turning tricks in London during the 1970s. As with all movies of this sort, what Kitten is searching for is not her long-lost mummy, but herself and her place in the world; which was where it has always been… with the people who love her most. You can’t say the same thing about Chris Tucker in the sci-fi flick The Fifth Element… I don’t think anybody really loves him in that movie. Wait, that’s not completely true. The ladies actually really love the androgynous Ruby Rhod… on some like Michael Jackson, Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber screaming fan status. There must be something absolutely delectable about a svelte black man donning a sleek leopard print body suit with a kinky blonde cone sprouting from his head. Thank you Jean Paul Gaultier for once again permanently imprinting these disturbing images in my brain, and thank you Chris Tucker for helping them come to fruition. I love you both… unconditionally. Why are the outfits in every futuristic movie I have ever seen always so tight and spandx-y and the characters so androgynous? Hmmm… this is actually a future I can look forward to. I for one love the stewardesses’ slinky blue uniforms in the Fifth Element. I love Bruce Willis’s tight orange man-tank. And I love Mila Jovovich’s brightly colored dominatrix-inspired ensembles. Everything is so sexual it makes me giddy. If you got it, flaunt it, boy you know I want it… I know, those aren’t the lyrics to that Beyoncé song, but imagine if men were sexually objectified instead of women… that’s definitely how the song would go. Also, you’re going to have to just deal with my random access thought process. I have ADD apparently. Speaking of dancing queers, I LOVED Hank Azaria as the flamboyant Latin domestic in The Birdcage. Robin Williams and Nathan Lane are my favorite faux-gay couple ever! And Gene Hackman looks damn good in a platinum blonde wig. #imjustsayin
So far, only one person has left a comment on my blog (this is obviously outdated… thanks to the three other people who’ve commented since…), but in person and on facebook I’ve gotten plenty feedback; some good, some not so good. One person said “I sound like a white girl.” I don’t know what that means. I like to make fun of the way people “talk” when they write in “textese.” Yes, that is the actual term for the cultural phenomenon that is horrible grammar, awful spelling, and ridiculous acronyms. smh. Sometimes I’ll even say “lol” out loud… but never seriously. Most of what I write is written in a very sarcastic, but endearing tone because that is the sort of person I am.
Speaking of bad grammar, I asked a close friend to proof-read my blog for typos and what not. Her response after reading my first few posts, “I really like your blog. There are a few mistakes, nothing major.” Nothing major??!! No, not at all… just that I spelled the title of the blog completely wrong. FYI, “asterisk” is NOT spelled “asterick.” Thanks for telling me…
Other responses have been along the lines of “keep writing…” “It’s very informative…” etc, etc, etc. I’m just wondering why nobody has commented on the art that I so painstakingly created using the effin Microsoft Paint program. No, I didn’t steal those images from someone else online. No, I don’t know how to use Photoshop or InDesign or any other program well enough to make my work look anything less than amateur. And no, I don’t have one of the drawing pads you attach to your computer that writes like an inkless pen… I use the mouse. That means a lot of mistakes and a lot of editing and a lot of hours starring at the computer; which also means terrible migraines all day long. And not one person cares to comment… wait, no, that’s not completely true. A facebook friend “liked” my Jim Morrison picture. Thanks Cheyenne. I hope I spelled your name correctly, I know how creative black people can get with words and names and shit.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just want congratulatory feedback. That’s boring. While I appreciate the support, I adore constructive criticism. And don’t be vague, really explain what you love or absolutely hate about my blog. That way I can make it better … or just say “fuck your life” and move on. Truthfully, any kind of feedback is highly appreciated. I’m just saying, if you have any sort of sentiment about what I write, please leave a comment. #thatisall
disclaimer: this post is literally what I was thinking while in the shower… I thought it… and then I wrote it down. I occasionally write down my thoughts in attempt to find the original thought; the catalyst that causes the domino effect of thoughts that follow. I was basically trying to prove that I don’t have ADD… or maybe that I do. It’s an experimental piece, and will probably be the first and last of its kind.
I don’t remember which thought lead to me thinking about how much of a critic I am; about how there is nothing I don’t have an opinion about. Which lead to me self-editing my thoughts on behalf of my conscience, which serves as the conscience of public opinion, which lead me to paranoidly (I know, that’s not a word) self-edit my thoughts with lead me to think of my criticism as being above reproach and as being neither positive or negative; or rather both positive and negative… not negative, but constructive… or rather reflexive; something I can’t help but to do. Which lead me think of how all journalists or critics are just inactive thinkers; they [we] don’t do anything but comment on what other people do; which lead me to think that I actually do a lot, however unwillingly. I am not completely untalented and inactive. Or rather, maybe, I’ve [somehow] successfully tricked others into believing that I am not lazy. If I had my choice, I’d rather be by myself, alone, in a secluded location making art. And somewhere in all of this my thoughts drifted to John Travolta and Nicholas Cage… blog post coming soon; think Conair and Face/Off.
So, recently I opened a few cafepress stores featuring some of the artwork shown on this blog (content currently not available) as well as my new “GET ME BODDIED” campaign featuring some really great paraphernalia of great movie stills/fashion icons/music legends embossed with my new blog motto: “Get.Me.BODDiED!” As you know, I sign all of my posts as “M.BODDi.” It’s my pseudonym, although most of you who read this know me personally and know my government. However, you probably don’t know that I hate my surname… I absolutely despise my slave name and eventually will discontinue using it. I’m not trying to justify the fact that I like to play pretend sometimes… that is not the point of this post… I was merely trying to illustrate the origin of my new slogan. So, ’nuff of dat.
Due to my interpretation of the copyright laws, I make no profit from all of the products featuring the new slogan. It’s as if you saw an image on the internet and you thought is would look nice on a t-shirt or something. So you put it on a t-shirt and only you wear it so everybody can think you’re cool. You just paid for the production costs… and that’s is exactly what you’re paying for if you purchase an image from my cafepress shop[s] with the new slogan: the production price. If anybody is making money, it’s cafepress… and if they get sued, that’s their problem. suckaz!!! I’m only about 75% sure that all of that info is correct.
Anyway, if you like the images posted below… buy some stickers… or a poster… or a stadium blanket and spread the word!!! My goal is to eventually have at least one image available on cafepress that will coincide with each blog post. All my original artwork will be available at a mark up price so that I can make at least a little bit of money to upgrade my cafepress shop[s]… or… better yet… get my own website that will have its own online shop, blog, and what ever else I can think of. That’d be freakin’ fantasmagoric!! But in the mean time, if you have any comments about the shop[s] or would like a custom-made product… shoot me an email at email@example.com Thanks!!!
I cannot express in words how I feel about the Rocky Horror Picture Show, or even how I feel about Tim Curry who plays Head Bitch in Charge, Dr. Frank-N-Furter. I was first introduced to the Rocky Horror Picture Show while watching a spoof on The Drew Carey Show. I was automatically turned off because there is nothing worse than watching a fat white man dancing in the streets in his underwear. Despite the choreographed dance numbers in that episode, Drew Carey accurately depicted the Rocky Horror cult status as the midnight movie where fans dress up as their favorite character, go see the movie really late at night in the East Village or some other place where it won’t be weird for a man to walk down the street in heels and a negligee, and recite all of the movie’s lines along with the rest of the freaks.
I actually didn’t see the movie until about 2 years ago one starless New York City night. I’m not a fan of musicals. I hated Cats, I fell asleep during the Lion King, and I thought RENT was absolutely the worst thing ever made. But, this shit right herre… is quite possibly the most badass movie/musical ever made about transsexual alien hedonists… ever! The story revolves around the square couple Janet Weiss (Susan Sarandon) and Brad Majors (Barry Bostwick) who are young, dumb, and absolutely enamored with each other. They get lost somewhere, the deets are a little sketchy in the beginning anyway, because it’s not really important how they end up at Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s castle, but that they end up there and during the Annual Transylvanian Convention where Dr. Frank-N-Furter unleashes his mantastic creation, hot-body Rocky. All of this while occasionally singing and dancing… more oft than not. The excitement is interrupted by Eddie, a fat ugly version of Elvis; who crashes through the wall on a motorcycle. Frank-N-Furter furiously butchers Eddie with an ice axe and then calmly leaves the premises arm-in-arm with Rocky… his new play toy just like how a bad bitch is supposed to. The guests (Janet and Brad) are shown to their separate bedrooms. Frank-N-Furter attempts to individually seduce both Janet and Brad with his weird alien mind tricks, which only work on Brad. Janet finds out about Brad’s homosexual love affair… which you can’t really call gay because Frank-N-Furter is HOT! She runs off to Rocky and unleashes the beast in his birth cage while Magenta the maid (Patricia Quinn) and Columbia the tap-dancing floozy (Nell Campbell) watch from a hidden camera or something. After all of that love-making Frank-N-Furter realizes Rocky is missing, finds him with Janet, and all hell is about to break loose until some intruder scientist Dr. Everett Scott (Jonathan Adams) finds his way into the story. Dr. Scott also happens to be Janet and Brad’s old high school science teacher and Eddie’s uncle. Frank-N-Furter gathers his guests to the dinner table for supper. We soon find out it is Eddie’s carcass being served. Fed up with everyone stealing his spotlight (and Janet stealing his man), like a true diva, Frank-N-Furter turns Janet, Brad, Dr. Scott, Rocky, and Columbia into statues with his “Madusa Transducer.” He then dresses them up in corsets, high heels, teeny little black silk undies, ridiculously large boas and face paint. He then unfreezes them and they are forced to perform some sort of cabaret dance number. Magenta and Riff Raff the handyman(Richard O’Brien), fed up with the show, stage a mutiny which ends in the death of Rocky, Columbia and Frank-N-Furter. They free Dr. Scott, Brad, and Janet and take off in the castle/space ship.
It all sounds like some really fucked up version of The Wizard of Oz. Riff Raff, Magenta and Frank-N-Furter all make small appearances in the beginning of the film as patrons of the church where Janet and Brad just attended a wedding; just like all of the characters in Dorothy’s Land of Oz. Maybe they crashed into a tree while driving in the stormy weather and were knocked unconscious and had some crazy existential, soul-searching dream that alluded to the fact that they weren’t ready to be married and tied down to each other just like Dorothy realizes there’s no place like home. It makes sense. But then again, how do you explain the boas and the makeup… and the stink of hot gay sex?!!
It’s amazing how something so unorthodox when first introduced can become so mainstream as to be reincarnated in the atrociously white bread Fox TV hit Glee. The Glee version is even gayer than the original movie… and I didn’t think that was possible. I mean, Britney Spears and Lady Gaga are definitely not on par with Tim Curry… not even close. Even the “glee” club at my high school was gay… the members included the typical socially awkward, acne-prone boys who sometimes touched themselves in Spanish class when they thought no one was looking.
Maybe when it’s a little bit warmer (or when I’m nice and drunk and balmy on the inside) I will dress up like Columbia and venture out to the theatre in Chelsea to catch the midnight show. Who’s with? Men are definitely invited, especially if you look like a young Tim Curry. <33333333
S/N: Blog propaganda is now available for purchase on cafepress. com http://www.cafepress.com/rocky4mboddi. Due to copyright laws and whatnot, I am making no profit off of the products of images not my own. The prices listed are solely the cost of production. If you like my blog and want to spread the word… or if you just like Rocky, buy a poster or something!!!
If you keep clicking on the image at the top of the page, you will loop through all of my cafepress shops! Enjoy!
This film is listed under my favorite movies category in the “About Me” section on facebook, and has been there since I joined
facebook in 2006 as was requested by the college I attended. This is quite possibly the most underrated Clint Eastwood film ever… in fact, I didn’t even know he directed it until recently, or that his daughter Allison Eastwood played leading lady Mandy Nicholls.
I’m not surprised this movie wasn’t a box office hit… the title is too long, despite the book being a popular non-fiction novel, not many people know about the events it was based on, who lady Chablis is, or what the hell is an Uga. And this was all way before Million Dollar Baby and that other movie about Clint Eastwood beating up Asians in L.A. I mean, he didn’t really have the same reputation as a director back then as he does now. And the quality of his work hasn’t much changed, just the collective mood… I guess.
Anyway, you may be asking yourself, why is this movie “so gay”? Hmmmm… there is the plot for one. The story takes place in conservative Savannah, Georgia, actually more quaint than conservative… but still not tolerant of overt homosexuality, which is in itself very gay. Kevin spacey plays Jim Williams who murders his prostitute boyfriend Billy Hanson (Jude Law). This is the catalyst for a series of court sessions and events that writer John Kelso (John Cusack) is covering for the book he is writing. Cusack sort of goes on a little investigation to help prove Spacey killed in self defense and not cold blooded murder. His pursuit introduces us to some of the most interesting characters in the movie including local drag queen The Lady Chablis.
Despite the ominous theme of murder, the movie is very blithe in nature and very reflective of the people living in Savannah… it’s as if they’re all in on some secret joke that you don’t know and that has no obvious punch line. They’re a little sardonic that way. There is naturally some voodoo incorporated in the plot and a little mysticism regarding the existence of the afterlife… a revenge of the living dead sort of thing.
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil has all the makings of a great movie: a shockingly convincing transsexual, ghosts, murder, gossip, great court scenes (more humorous than Law & Order, but still very suspenseful and thrilling), antique art, and that good ol’ Spacey panache. I mean… my point is, Kevin Spacey rarely ever disappoints. Some marvel at his likeness to the actual Jim Williams… I marvel at his likeness to the Mr. Monopoly (Rich Uncle Pennybags) and the Pringles guy.