Pop culture treasure, high culture trash.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

This is really not okay

Miranda July couldn’t be exploding any faster if she were a WWI zeppelin. It’s been stunning to watch, totes def, but also ominous and sad in that excuse-me-while-I-go-cry-in-my-bedroom kind of way that is peculiar to indie kids watching their hero(in)es being gobbled up by the mainstream media--like seeing Huggy Bear in Newsweek, or hearing “Teenage Riot” in the Gap. She's not going to pull a Sassy on us and start collaborating with Jerry Bruckheimer or anything, but my stockpile of queer feminist DIY filmmaker role models is not all that big, so I dunno if I appreciate Esquire and Elle getting their sweaty hands all up ons when they didn't give a shit about July a year ago and juxtapose their Me and You and Everyone copy w/ ads for price-gouged hair dye and barely artsied-up jerk-off nudie books.

The right thing to do now is calm down, follow Jessica Hopper's wise-as-usual advice and revel in this rare win for the home team. But I can't. Maybe it's a DC thing and the Dischord/Fugazi indie pride has been soaking into my pores since birth. Maybe it's just b/c I am not in the finest of moods today. Somone stole my staple remover from my desk at work, the house is hot like a desert inside an oven inside a microwave on the "baked potato" setting and it turns out that my late adolescent musical guru really is the snivelly, misogynist basketcase I pretended he wasn't in order to justify listening to "Frail & Bedazzled" so many times:

Usually when you meet someone new, there is a whole dance that you have to go through before you become an actual couple...a ritual that demonstrates that the man is interested in the woman...he must prove his desire, willingness to be faithful, and individuality as a solitary spirit offset against all the other suitors...and she must prove her purity, desirability, and overall softness.

I'ma forget feminism & queer theory for a sec and just say--fuckin' fuck, Billy. What?

Luckily, the world is not all neo-Jungian emosploitation. The computer lab in which I sit also holds tiny physics-taking ten year-olds debating Stephen Hawking's wormholes theory and the difference btw. "possible" and "plausible" in breathless adenoidal gulps. Take it away, dears.

"Stupid symmetries A, C and T aren't right. Can a wormhole have more than two endings?"
"Do you mean could there be different branches of the same wormhole?"

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