I love museum gift shops. I know, I know–this isn’t too much of a surprise after I’ve continually admitted my undying love of the worst of late capitalism, including yes, corporate Pride. But unlike that rainbow colored free-for-all, which comes around only one month a year to tickle my frantic shopping spree fancy, museum gift … Continue reading
Dear John, forgive us our sins…Dear John, forgive us our sins…Dear John…Whoa! What’s that? Oh, I’m just praying to the Father–no not Father who art in heaven, or John Wayne like Lana Del Rey in Tropico. I’m praying to our ultimate filth elder John Waters, hoping he’ll guide our way into filthiness, like a beacon … Continue reading
Dedicated to the man on East Houston Street snapping his fingers while holding a rainbow Hollister bag Pride isn’t a brand. Has commercialization ruined Gay Pride? Pride month–awareness or cash grab by major brands? These lines should feel familiar–they’ve been culled from the copious yearly editorials decrying the commercialization of Pride. Ho hum. Every Pride … Continue reading
Nothing says instant cinematic classic like a climactic moment involving shitting on a bus. Or is that an instant trash classic? Either way, Netflix’s The Perfection blasted its way into my heart like an explosive bowel movement, with the alternately shrieking and whimpering dialogue: “If I move, I’ll shit! I’m going to shit on the … Continue reading
I live with Trumpy Bear. Yes, the “I come when the Trumpet sounds. I am the Storm!” Trumpy Bear with a comb-over, a tragic tie, and an enormous American flag built into his back. The one from the commercials airing on Fox News that seem like an SNL skit (what doesn’t anymore?). My relationship with … Continue reading
I hated Gina Beavers’s paintings the first time I saw them in MoMA PS1’s Greater New York in 2015. Detested. I was revolted and repulsed by their thickened physicality. Completely turned-off. I wanted to rip her depictions of rippled abs and bloody meat right off the wall. However, I have certainly come around in the … Continue reading
If Charles Ludlam thought Susan Sontag did a number on camp, I can’t imagine what he would have thought witnessing the camp tragedy that occurred on the pink carpet (pink being, apparently, the color of camp) at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Monday. Whew! Mary! It was a camp catastrophe, a camp calamity, a … Continue reading
