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Last week my previous journal style mysteriously disappeared. Sign of livejournal going tits up? {tm Nikki Wade} So I went back to the boring old style.

Now that Todd Haynes is done with Mildred Pierce, perhaps he could consider a movie version of Highsmith’s The Price of Salt? Angst, period outfits, and I’m sure you can work Julianne Moore in there somewhere (but not as Carol, please). Because after all the films I’ve seen lately, I could use a good lesbian movie. “They don’t exist, THI!” you will say. I think you may be right. There are gleans of hope here and there but—well, let me go through my recent experiences with ladies who munch in movies.

The Black Swan Gets a Room in Rome with Tilda Swinton But Isn't All Right )
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"OH MAH GAH, CARRIE! Thank u for messing up so I can be Miss Californi-ay now111!!!"

"Ur welcome. I have more important things to do, like save TEH WORLD from gay mariage!"

"Hey, u don't think--"

"No, I don't. Srsly."

"I mean, u don't think...ppl we're think we're teh gay cuz we r holding handz??111!!"

"OH MAH GAH, I AM A LATENT LEBANESE! Must talk this out w/Pastor Rick11!!!"
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A personal from a recent issue of the London Review of Books:

"Help! The lesbians are after me...I need a strong and happy man to rescue me from their soft but scary clutches. Persuade me once and for all that it's men I love."

I suppose this is meant to be funny (sometimes British humor is...well, Benny Hill, anyone?), but I'm rather tempted to email the individual and inform them that, on behalf of all soft and scary lesbians in the world, I hereby release said individual into the custody of the male gender.
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Fuck you again, California. (And fuck you too, Matt Lauer, for softballing the entire interview with her.)
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I'm on a roll.

I don't remember how old I was when I first saw Cruising. Thankfully not when it was first released, when I still a tender teen attempting to hash out my sexuality--but much later, and out of genunine curiosity. Unfortunately, others were not so lucky, including a chap at Entertainment Weekly who gives a very thoughtful review of Cruising's DVD release.
the new classics! )
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Remember Ernest and Bertram? No? Well, with all the recent chitter-chatter amongst the flist about The Children's Hour, I found a clip on YouTube of the scene that inspired E & B:

Oh, Martha. I see why you fell for her. That voice, the arch of her neck. I wish I had been there to make you a drink and say, Choose it, Martha. Choose that life. You needed a Mephistopheles on your shoulder telling you to knock James Garner upside the head with a milk jug, kiss that girl, and run off to Italy with her. She would've gone for it, sweetheart. Sure, she may have dumped you sooner or later, but hell, there are other frosty little brunettes in the sea.

Great way to end Gay Pride Month, huh?

Bonus item. Take two of my favorite things, the film A Touch of Evil and Nina Simone, and mash it up )
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You know it's bad when you cherish a tooth extraction, and a day lost to bloody gauze and daytime TV (I watched As the World Turns, no lie), over going to work.

On Friday morning I was sitting in the dentist's chair, listening to Billie Holiday (they let you choose your own music for the procedure; how cool is that?), when the dentist's assistant plopped a rather large teddy bear into my lap. Before that, the bear had been eyeballing me from his seat in the corner, coolly assessing my weaknesses: Sure, muthafucker, you said you can go with needles and the local. You don't want the doctor to think you're a pussy. Thing is, I think you're a pussy. A BIG pussy. Apparently the assistant thought likewise.

Over the hiss of laughing gas and Billie, I saw the glint of the needle.

"Squeeze the bear!" shouted the assistant.

The needle slid into my gums.

"SQUEEZE THE BEAR!" shouted the dentist.

Feebly, I squeezed the bear. I heard a drill.

The next thing I knew, the blinding light was off, the bear was in a very compromising position between my legs, and the dentist was grinning at me. "Well! Whaddya say?"

"All done?" I mumbled.

"All done!"

"Holy crap."

"That's what I say! I'm writing you a prescription for Vicodin and I'm going to give you a brief lecture about presecription painkillers..." Well, he didn't quite say that, but he did lecture me. So not only do I have WUSS written on my head, I have POTENTIAL DRUG ABUSER renting space up there as well. (I still have plently o' pills left. Come on-a my house, I'm going to give you Vicodin. Vic-o-din.)

And so I've been on a diet of oatmeal, yogurt, soup, smoothies, peanut butter out of the jar, and crankiness ever since. Because I am dying for a bagel or a slice, you know what I'm saying?

Now that I've bored you with dental talk, onto movie chitchat!

The Battle of the Bads )
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My Lord, I don't know how I missed this: Check out Ernest and Bertram STAT! It's Sesame Street meets The Children's Hour and it's brilliant.
theholyinnocent: (Default) you realize you are only six green beers away from being gay, you homophobic asshat?

I know you want it, baby.
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I can never get enough of gossipy books about literary/artsy-fartsy lesbians: Diana Souhami's latest. This one's about the relationship between Natalie Barney, the Ultimate Lesbian, and Romaine Brooks, the Ultimate Depressed Dyke. This book didn't get decent reviews at, but I'll probably end up reading it anyway; I did like Souhami's biography of Gluck.

And I realize I still have lots of Italy photos to post...perhaps in the coming weeks...
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Happy Birthday to the illustrious Mrs. CB, [ profile] stargazer1960!

A while back I mentioned that new fragments of a Sappho poem were recently found. In the current issue of the New York Review of Books, Anne Carson provides her own translation, which I rather liked, and in light of the fact that Mrs. CB & I are becoming old biddies (watch out, CB, it's coming for you too), it seems a tad appropos:

You, children, be zealous for the
beautiful gifts of the
violetlapped Muses
and for the clear songloving lyre.

But my skin once soft is now
taken by old age,
my hair turns white from black.

And my heart is weighed down
and my knees do not lift,
that once were light to dance as

I groan for this. But what can I
A human being without old age is
not a possibility.

There is the story of Tithonos,
loved by Dawn with her arms
of roses
and she carried him off to the
ends of the earth

when he was beautiful and young.
Even so was he gripped
by white old age. He still has his
deathless wife.
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Hmmm, a movie about a lesbian British bounty hunter. Potential, but it sounds like they fucked it up by making her hetero! Gah.

I may have to write bad fic involving Domino and Benson...Gun Fights! Sex! Gun Fights! Sex!

{ETA: Yes, in the light of O'Connor's retirement, I am trying to comfort myself with silly things. ::sigh::}
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The Times Literary Supplement reports--and translates--a "new" Sappho poem.
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Alice: Not all women are raving bloody lesbians, you know.
George: That is a misfortune I am perfectly well aware of.

~from The Killing of Sister George, Frank Marcus [whatevah happened to him?]
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...Punxsutawney Phil is gay? Clearly his little friends in the tuxedos are into some kind of scene.

[edited to fix typo]
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In a recent issue of the Times Literary Supplement, a biography of Mercedes de Acosta is reviewed. For those of you who aren't familiar with the name, de Acosta is this chick who, while a terribly mediocre writer by all reports, is best known for her affairs with Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo. (And the TLS reports that she ghost-wrote Isadora Duncan's autobiography; apparently Duncan was a tad smitten w/Mercedes as well.) Unfortunately Mercedes was rather the clingy sort and both Garbo and Dietrich ended up more or less despising her.

Anyhoo, the title of this biography is...That Furious Lesbian. Which kind of makes me a furious lesbian (well, I vacillate between fury and amusement...not an uncommon state) because it's kind of title is this? Is this the title of a scholarly book, a book we should take seriously? (It is published by Southern Illinois University Press. I guess the editors and the marketing folk there were using the bad crack when all pertinent decisionmaking occurred.) The bottom line is I'm not sure if I should be offended or not.

And obviously, I'm distressed that I cannot use the title for the biography of H-Bomb that I'm writing. Ahooohooohoooo!


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May 2013

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