Mere Duchess

Here I Stand in the Shadows

This one is a direct dedication to King Helene.

In high school, my best friend, who—in the grand tradition of my close male friends since kindergarten—turned out to be gay but-I-was-too-dumb-to-realize-it had this thing where we’d sit in the black leather seats of his deluxe SUV smoking Parliaments and belting pop songs together. By ‘together’ I mean to each other, wailing our hearts out, all the pathos of what we couldn’t have in life melting into the warm platonic nest of each other. Our favorites were ‘N Sync, Lil Kim, Britney, but then there was this song, which stood above all others.

In retrospect, I’m pleased as pudding that this was our song because it holds up nicely as a banner of fag haggery in its puzzling, dulcet complexity. There was the fact that both of us would fight over who would get to be the Christina in the duet (understand though: who can resist delivering the “lah-ooooonging to ho-old you” at 3:26?), there’s the campy drag queen/Orlando, Florida quality, there’s the way it’s a kabuki telenovela (yes there is a Spanish language version of this song), but mostly there’s the dominant flavor of this song and video, which is that of two sexually incompatible magnets passionately rebuffing each other in the dark (or actually in an Aladdin castle).

The non-chemistry of these two is the Vegas go-go dancer version of Don and Betty Draper: you’re hot, I’m hot, but I do not desire to put it in you, and there’s something lonely-making yet poignantly compelling about that.  Something that glamorizes and throws into relief the sex that happens for each of us, elsewhere, while purifying this space.  Something that makes us want to stand around in the vicinity of each other and writhe in a thwarted, masturbatory manner.

There’s the two dynamics: 1. the genial battle for diva-hood 2. the non-threatening mannequin sexuality. It’s a competition of two peers with nearly identical (societally marginalized) standards transposed over an essential apple vs. orange quality that saves each party from ever being subsumed by the other. Competition brings out the best in both without a phallic spear puncturing the bubble.  

Watching Ricky paw at nubile Christina makes me think of Holly Golightly’s “He’s harmless—he thinks girls are dolls literally.” Ricky, at the forefront of his maze (“the mind’s mazes”) is a minotaur of a different color, the bestial half stored offscreen. With these two only hand gestures make the scene; they pass among each other as CGI ether instead of into each other as grinding hip motions, which is I think where it’s at with gay/girl friendships—it’s this chance to duet enthusiastically beside one another, inviting only the better angels of each gender.

Pro Blush

I find this song to be extra fancy. Elegant and odd.

When I was in the UK for a while, this was for whatever reason a blockbuster on the dance floor. Discotheques stood in for fratty house parties for college students there, so it was the kind of thing where you’d be snockered off of e.g. currant juice and vodka under blinking cruise ship lights, and this song would transform the teeming crowd of Top Shoppers into a tearful, swaying mass of jubilance, the way, say, “Livin on a Prayer” does for the Natural Light crowd here stateside. It’s always been one of my more vivid personal references for the way culture decants unevenly over the earth.

The song’s not especially danceable (which made the Brits’ enthusiasm all the more charming) but it does have this lovely lachrymose quality that mimics that sliver-thin edge of inebriation that exists just between its best sincerity and its worst mawkishness. It’s the kind of song to usher in last call with—not a floor closer, but one to start the process where everyone left starts to hunker down and accept that they’re not going home with anybody.

Also, I’d like to do a redo of this song called “Kim Carnes Hair” that would go “She’s got Kim Carnes hair” and it would be about me. Her suit is fierce. Her bone structure and attendant makeup is a way that was only allowed/actively encouraged during Reagan’s first term. Every mannequin that ever wore a shoulder pad was modeled in some way on Kim Carnes. Makes me want a nice firm wedge of burgundy blush to joist my cheekbones.

This video is the common ancestor of “Don’t Come Around Here No More” and “Walking on Broken Glass.”

…And a Patridge in a pear tree….

This week, I finally broke down and watched VH1s mid-day marathon of “Audrina”.  This is what happens when you have Tuesdays off — you and the stoners and housewives watch multiple episodes of a second-string reality star’s spin off show.  I’m not complaining, though; it’s just what you do.  Anyway, obviously it’s horrible; but in so many ways that it may just have a chance.  At the very least, it’s not boring - and that makes it better than say, “Denise Richards: It’s Complicated”, which got TWO seasons!

First off, Audrina’s mom is a drunnnnnnk.  Like, perpetually blotto.  You’d think she’d clean up her act after the first episode was devoted to the embarrassment Ceiling Eyes had to suffer after Mama Eyes’ booze-fueled rant to the paparazzi the night she got kicked off “Dancing With the Stars.”  But you’re wrong.  No joke — Mrs. Audrina was drunkenly slurring her words as she apologized to her daughter for the very incident in question.  She could also barely keep her head still (drunk wobble-head.)  I don’t think we’ve heard this lady properly enunciate a consonant yet, and we’re like 6 episodes in. 

Also, Drunk Mom doesn’t get along with Casey, Ceiling Eyes’ tatted-up younger sister that we were first introduced to during “The Hills.”  I guess, more accurately, she doesn’t get along with Sister Eyes’ husband.  She’s “different when she’s around him”, according to Mama Eyes.  (I’m just impressed that she can remember anything, as I am convinced this lady lives in a constant state of brown-out.)  They don’t let her babysit the grandchildren, which is smart because you can’t really supervise kids passed out in your own vomit.  The three of them, Mama Eyes, Sister Eyes and Eyes-in-Law, have pretty cringe-worthy Jerry Springer level fights about how they can’t stand each other and Audrina and her dad just sit there, nervously grinning.  It’s all kinds of awesome.

Let’s face it - it’s impossible to watch this show and not compare it to “The Hills.”  Remember, the only reason Audrina isn’t still working as an Administrative Assistant at Quixote Studios is that MTV happened to move Lauren and Heidi into her apartment complex.  (Right before filming began, the producers scouted her at the pool and introduced her to Heidi, who introduced her to Lauren; that’s how she wound up on the series.)  What stands out to me, when comparing the two shows, is something that’s true about all reality shows, especially docu-soaps.  At the core of the beautiful cinematography, and designer outfits and bottle service are a group of incredibly lucky young people.  They’re “stars” due to nothing more than being blank canvases on which other young people paint their desires, dreams and fantasies.  Being a choreographed version of “themselves” is fun, and editing will take care of the rest.

We didn’t give a shit about Audrina’s past, or Mom or Dad or sister.  But she does, and wants to put them on TV too…’cause TV’s awesome ‘cause it makes you famous and famous is good, right?!  Wrong.  But it would take a sense of self-awareness to know some things won’t be edited out and don’t belong on TV. And Audrina’s charmed existence never let her have a chance to develop a sense of self, not to mention self-awareness.

Cardiac Arrest

I wanted to say something about how this is a poor man’s “Dancing in the Dark” meets “Boys of Summer” but it turns out this predates those by a good three years, which is impressive, somehow.  The dancer at 1:04 is great New Wave punctuation, like a clip art exclamation point (or maybe also a dog’s paw print?)

Also, just cuz:

And why not?:

Generally this cover is no improvement on the original, but the House breakdown part (“wa-oh ah-oh/wa-oh ah-oh”) has the perfect fashion catwalk sound like House of Style/twirling around on a platform heel as Naomi Campbell.

I also totally forgot that Paul Rudd has a role in this pic.   Pre-Apatow Rudd is such a dreamboat.   How fun to have been a love interest in the two best soundtrack movies of 95/96.

Speed Queens

So, Raja won, big whoop.  As you’ll notice in my previous post, I largely ignored her through out the season.  She’s like that ultra-type A kid in High School — they’re so far off the charts that the teacher doesn’t even take them into account when figuring the curve.  A big what-ever. 

But she had talent (although if I did something for 2 decades, I’d be pretty good at it too…) and simply outperformed the others.  It’s too bad she’s a bitchy robot.  I’m just really disappointed in this season in general. 

Why are the casts seemingly getting more and more catty with every season?  Remember the camaraderie of Nina and Bebe?  Tossing shade but doing so artfully, and never for the sole purpose of being divisive or clique-y.  This season, the Queens (fittingly, I guess) took the cattiness to ridiculous heights, going as far as creating a clique they referred to as “The Heathers.”  Now as much as I loved a feather banged Shannon Dougherty, seeing grown men go around being just plain mean to each other was a real turn off.  C’mon…this is one of (if not the) highest rated show on Logo and this is what we show of ourselves?  Going from being the bullied to the bully?  Seriously?!

I will say this, though…Manila handled losing waaaay better than Raven did.  Speaking of Raven, maybe she and Raja will get together and eat each other’s souls or something.  Wouldn’t that be fun?!