The Bill S. Memorial Movie LifeList 2008

It's been a while since I posted, and instead of coming up with a thoughtful, enlightening post about what I have been doing with my time, I decided to do a list! Yay, lists! I'm posting a movie from every year of my life, based on the lists provided by that bastion of blog-friendly linkage, Wikipedia. (In the interest of full disclosure, I'm copying the meme from Scott Tobias' similar list on The AV Club blog.)

One thing I noticed while doing this is how few movies I have actually seen. I'm sure there are some movies that I just don't recognize because I saw it so long ago, or because the titles are so unmemorable, but even for years where I was going to movies very regularly (1992, 1994, 2001, 2006) I still only saw a handful of movies, and I'm always surprised by which movies I still haven't seen. Also, the lists I was searching through don't appear to be comprehensive: foreign and independent films, in particular, seem to be represented sporadically. I know that, this being a wiki, I should add those titles, but I am pretty lazy, and don't really feel like dealing with it right now.

All of which is to make a note that these are by no means the best films, but rather just films that I enjoyed. Believe me, The Cat From Outer Space is no one's idea of what "good film" is, but I loved it as a kid, and it represents my childhood pretty well. Some years, it seemed like I was just choosing the film I could stand the best, as opposed to the one I enjoyed the most; 1991 seems to be a lean year for good films. And there are some years that seem chock full of choices -- 2002, I'm looking at you! It also served as a reminder that most of the films I have seen in loved were made well before I was even born; I am, and perhaps forever will be, a fan of the Golden Age of Hollywood!

With that said, I present The Bill S. Memorial Movie LifeList for 2008!

1973: Charlotte's Web, dir. Charles A. Nichols & Iwao Takamoto.

1974: Female Trouble, dir. John Waters.

1975: Love & Death, dir. Woody Allen.

1976: Carrie, dir. Brian De Palma.

1977: That Obscure Object of Desire, dir. Luis Buñuel.

1978: The Cat From Outer Space, dir. Norman Tokan.

1979: Monty Python's Life of Brian, dir. Terry Jones.

1980: 9 to 5, dir. Colin Higgins.

1981: Lola, dir. Rainer Werner Fassbinder.

1982: The Thing, dir. John Carpenter.

1983: Dark Habits, dir. Pedro Almodovar.

1984: Gremlins, dir. Joe Dante.

1985: Pee-wee's Big Adventure, dir. Tim Burton.

1986: Pretty in Pink, dir. Howard Deutch.

1987: Evil Dead II, dir. Sam Raimi.

1988: Hairspray, dir. John Waters.

1989: Do the Right Thing, dir. Spike Lee.

1990: Metropolitan, dir. Whit Stillman.

1991: Thelma & Louise, dir. Ridley Scott.

1992: The Crying Game, dir. Neil Jordan.

1993: Short Cuts, dir. Robert Altman.

1994: To Live, dir. Zhang Yimou.

1995: Clueless, dir. Amy Heckerling.

1996: Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie, dir. Jim Mallon

1997: Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, dir. Jay Roach

1998: Run Lola Run, dir. Tom Tykwer.

1999: All About My Mother, dir. Pedro Almodovar.

2000: Cecil B. Demented, dir. John Waters.

2001: Moulin Rouge!, dir. Baz Luhrman.

2002: Far From Heaven, dir. Todd Haynes.

2003: The Station Agent, dir. Thomas McCarthy.

2004: Shaun of the Dead, dir. Edgar Wright.

2005: War of the Worlds, dir. Steven Spielberg.

2006: Volver, dir. Perdro Almodovar.

2007: Ratatouille, dir. Brad Bird.

What's your list?

Sucker For A Meme

Kevin tagged, well, y'know, whoever, over at his blog:

"List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they're listening to."

I'm a sucker for a meme.

Bettye Lavette: "Sleep To Dream" -- So, I honestly never heard the original of this song until after I heard this version. So to me, this is completely the definitive version. The arrangement if very much in keeping with the Fiona Apple original, albeit slightly more organic, but the difference is in the delivery. That voice -- that voice! -- gives it a hard edge of scorn mixed with pain.

Cristina: "When U Were Mine" -- Yeah, so I am a complete sucker for cover songs, this time a version of the Prince classic. His version of the song was always one of my favorites of his, and to have a woman singing it just makes it that much more subversive:

When u were mine, I even let you wear my clothes
I must have been blind
Maybe that's the reason why it hurt me so
I know that you're going with another guy
I don't care 'cuz I love you, baby, that's no lie.

Aw! Hags in love!

Heaven 17: "Hands Up To Heaven" -- A dance floor stomper that makes me want to roll down my windows when I'm driving and hoot and hollar like an idiot. It's post-Daft Punk disco, just great House music from a group who knows how to make really good dance music.

Los Campesinos!: "You! Me! Dancing!" -- Los Campesinos! are like if Belle & Sebastian decided to concentrate on punky dance music. The lyrics are just as minutely observed as Belle & Sebastian, but the songs themselves are pumped up and joyous, as it is with this song, an homage to the gleeful spunkiness of the late band, Bis. This is from one of my favorite albums of the year.

The Polyphonic Spree: "Section 23: Get Up and Go" -- Who knew The Polyphonic Spree could rock? Who knew that they could also write songs that consisted of more than choruses? It still traffics in the grandiosity that their sheer size makes so easy for them, but that doesn't get into the way of the velocity of the song, as it has tended to in the past. I downloaded this album a while ago, and have only started to really get into it fairly recently.

Santogold: "Lights Out" -- This song has a slinky 80s vibe to it that I like a lot; it doesn't traffic in the sort of obvious nods to New Wave that you would expect. It has a spacious funkiness that evokes something that I can't quite get a handle on. There's a little The Cars in there, the breathiness and the occasional hiccup evoke Missing Persons. Pixies is even there, somewhere in the harmonies. It's a pretty, slightly melancholy song. There's been a lot of decrying of Santogold as a M.I.A. clone, but songs like this put the lie to that.

Taana Gardner: "Work That Body" -- An almost 8 minute disco workout, mixed by seminal DJ Larry Levan. Funky and sexy and interminable. The percussion skitters about nervously as the bass sets the priorities and the keys accent and evaporate. I have no idea what that means, but I like the song, and I will not apologize for that! Sorry.

I don't know that seven people even read this blog, but if you do, feel free to post this meme.

By the way, by coinciedence, all of these songs (sans one! Guess which!) are available through eMusic. eMusic rules!

PS: I have uploaded all of the songs to my Muxtape, so go and listen to them yourself, if so inclined!

Eight Plus

Well, I wasn't exactly tagged specifically, but Tom @ The Fortress of Soliloquy had a sort of open tag thing going. So I'm more of a self-selected tagee.

- I have to post these rules before I start.
- I have to tell you eight facts about myself.
- I have to tag eight people to participate. HA! Go ahead, make me!
- I'm supposed to leave a comment telling them they're tagged and to read my blog.
- And the tagees need to write their own blog post, telling us eight things and posting the rules.

1. I have never been to California, nor have I ever been to New York City, at least not outside JFK Airport. I have, however, been to Toronto, Berlin, London, Athens, and Rome.

2. Whenever I write something, be it an assignment or a piece of fiction, I actually write it out longhand first in my notebook, and then input it into the computer. This is actually the reason that I've written so little fiction: the process is so laborious for me that I frequently find my enthusiasm dissipating fairly early in the process. That's why I have a notebook with a quarter of a novel written in it, packed away somewhere. I have a lot of trouble writing directly on the computer: I usually use the transfer of my writing to the computer as a was to edit the text, and if I don't have that, I feel like the writing is incomplete somehow. I think this is because when I first started having to type papers, I was using an actual typewriter, and writing it out beforehand was just par for the course. The only time I don't do this is when I blog, but I frequently feel the need to repeatedly go back and alter and correct the text in those instances.

3. I was in the Boy Scouts for many years, and got as far as attaining the level of Life, which is the last stop to becoming an Eagle Scout. My family thinks that I didn't make an effort to become an Eagle Scout because of the controversy regarding gays in the Boy Scouts -- "morally straight," and all that. My motives were far less noble: I had, by that time, decided Scouts were uncool (as if that was news), and I couldn't be bothered to put forth the effort to advance any further than I did.

4. The first concert I ever saw was The Monkees, with The Grass Roots and Gary Puckett & The Union Gap opening up for them. I was really into The Monkees for a while there, and I somehow cajoled my mom into taking me to the Pontiac Silverdome to see one of their reunion concerts. I think I must have been 12 at the time. The second concert I ever went to see was Echo & The Bunnymen; I was 14, and I went with future best friend, Julie.

5. In 9th grade, I was kicked out of AP English by the teacher, who justified it by saying that I wasn't smart enough to continue in Advanced Placement. Personally, I think he had a vendetta against me because I said Duran Duran was my favorite band, something which he proceeded to deride me for. The following year, the two English classes I took were among the most miserable and hateful courses in my high school career, with the other students haranguing me mercilessly, and the teachers ignoring the fact that I was being harassed. (Junior and Senior years were much better, as I took elective literature courses in Science Fiction, Creative Writing, and Mythology.) I of course eventually graduated from my university cum laude with a BA in English, for all the good that's done me. The teacher who had me removed from AP English later ran into controversy himself when it turned out that he had propositioned one of his male students. Evidently this teacher liked having his nipples tweaked.

6. I have the second season of Wonder Woman at the top of my Netflix queue. The last movie I saw was The Station Agent last weekend, which I enjoyed very much. The last book I read was Soon I Will Be Invincible by Austin Grossman. I'm currently reading Jasper Fforde's The Fourth Bear and Jack Kirby's Fourth World Omnibus. The similarity of the titles there is totally coincidental.

7. In elementary school I played the French horn; in junior high, I switched to the baritone, because I was told my lips were too big for the French horn. I was never very good, but I stuck with it until graduating high school, playing in the marching band as well as concert band.

8. I make a mean gazpacho. It occurs to me that this is more than eight facts, but facts come in packs, like dogs or chewing gum.

Tag yourself, please.

10

More taggery via Minge, this time in regard to my favorite films. Instead of the 20 films he did, I've chosen just the top 10; this list can change from day to day, so this list should be not thought of as in any way definitive. I also had a lot of trouble putting the films in order, so I chose the arbitrary alphabetic order. I also tried to avoid using the same directors over and over, in favor of casting a wider net.

All About My Mother. Nuns. Transexuals. Performance art. Hookers. Lesbians. Drugs. Birth. Death. Acting. AIDS. Hope. The most complex and ambitious expression of Almodovar's melodramatic aesthetic, weaving the influences of mid-century Hollywood directors like Douglas Sirk (see below) into something modern and monumental and wholly his own. This followed a long period of critical neglect for Almodovar, and a full recovery from something of an artistic slump for him that persisted throughout the 1990s. I think the surprise of finding a film of his so entertaining and thoughtful helped resuscitate his career internationally. He has yet to disappoint us by making another Kika. Plus, this was the first time I wondered if Penelope Cruz might actually be a decent actress. Who knew? Evidently, the Spanish. They never cease to amaze.

An American in Paris. So many people claim to prefer Singin' In The Rain to this movie, but I always thought that one didn't flow particularly well, and I prefer the studio-bound evocation of Paris that you get in this film, particularly during the much-derided ballet section. Plus, y'know, Oscar Levant, so bonus.

This is the movie (well, this and The Pirate) that made me fall in love with Gene Kelly: his muscular acrobatics seemed the perfect expression of a certain post-war restlessness, just as Fred Astaire embodied the fantasies of ease and affluence for Depression-era audiences. Plus, I just love Vincent Minnelli's musicals. (It was either this one, or Meet Me in St. Louis, but this movie flows a little smoother for me.)

Fight Club. My inner straight guy digs this movie. I think my inner straight guy might have the hots for Helena Bonham Carter. My outer gay guy has the hots for Edward Norton, so everyone is happy! Plus, any movie that includes a talking penguin...

Only dark spot: Meatloaf's tits. Ick. But at least he's not singing.

Hairspray. Yes, I'm a poseur. But in terms of sheer entertainment, this is the John Waters movie that does it for me. It balances precariously between earnestness and irony. It is clearly a subject that means something to Waters: he wrote about the model for the fictional dance show in Crackpot, and it evidently stuck with him. The colors are pretty, the performances are perfect, the hair is elaborate, the cameos are just right, and the music is great. And it was Divine's last film.

The Heiress. This movie is on the list solely for the performance of Olivia de Havilland. The moment her performance changes -- and it does take just a moment -- from the naive optimism of the beginning of the film, to one filled with by bitterness and lost opportunity -- is one of the most chilling moments in movie history. It is made even more chilling by the fact that you can't even see her face when that moment occurs, and that the change is clear only by the tone of her voice. This, then, is acting at its most sublime and elemental. And anyone who has ever been burned, who has ended up chiding themselves for the stupid decision they made by making themselves emotionally vulnerable to someone who ended up betraying them, will be touched by the ending, one that manages to be both tragic and triumphant.

Letter From An Unknown Woman. Evidently I love weepies. They don't get much more weep-tastic than this. Ophuls' continental melodrama is witty and maudlin, and occasionally you get the urge to grab Joan Fontaine and shake her until she gets over it. But you know she won't, you know that this fatalistic scenario can only be resolved one way. And even with foreknowledge, I still always cry. As above, RE: the tragic and triumphant. A classy, elegant melodrama.

Orpheus. Ah, the inscrutable French. The post-war landscape adds to a sense of desolation in Jean Cocteau's retelling of the Orpheus myth. As with Beauty & the Beast, this movie is chock full of surreal images that linger in your memory long after you've seen the movie -- the emissaries of death, for instance, uniformed and astride their motorcycles, seeming not unlike Nazi predators, prowling the countryside. Unlike the earlier movie, the story isn't particularly escapist. It's brutal and depressing and so gorgeous. Much like the eponymous hero, as portrayed by Jean Marais.

Run Lola Run. The film itself is so packed full of action that you don't even get a chance to consider the themes that underlie it all until you've left the theater. Stuff about the nature of reality, the nature of cause and effect, why techno music is the best music to use when you're cleaning the house. It's a smart film that isn't particularly interested in convincing you of how smart it is, it just does what it does, and you fill in the gaps. You get out of it whatever you're willing to put in, and I love that. Plus, the image of a red-haired Franka Potente running through the streets of Berlin have become sort of iconic.

Shaun of the Dead. It makes with teh funny. I don't tend to be a zombie-movie fan -- or, in fact, a fan of much of what passes for horror movies in the past 30 years -- but I love this one. Partly because it can be viewed as a gory metaphor for growing up, for taking responsibility for your own life, your own happiness, and those that you care about. The passing away (in this case, literally) of former things, and making a life for yourself, unencumbered by the past. Plus, there's a happy ending, something you don't often see in your run-of-the-mill zombie flicks.

Written on the Wind. Let's see: it inspired Dallas. It features Rock Hudson at his dead sexiest. Oil drills simulate sex throughout the Texas landscape. Russell Metty's beautiful lighting, which does not correspond to any light that occurs outside of a Hollywood studio. Dorothy Malone kills her father with a masturbatory dance to the frenetic strains of "Temptation". Gorgeous Technicolor. The fact that the protagonists are cyphers, and the antagonists are the ones you want to triumph. And check out this dialogue:

Kyle Hadley: "You filthy liar!"
Marianne Hadley: "I'm filthy -- PERIOD!"

Dude, this movie is genius, my favorite piece of camp, ever. And yet, every time I see it, I end up crying be the end. In spite of the irony, which Douglas Sirk always insisted was intentional, it still touches something in me, and that's why I love it. It's why I always name this, when asked to name my favorite film. Which then explains the look of confusion from whomever asked me in the first place.

Meme-ories Are Made Of This

Blame Minge.

What is the earliest memory you have as a child? Think far back.

My earliest memory is when my parents were moving from their first house, and into the house we lived at until I was 12. They had to go back to the old house to retrieve my sandbox once all the furniture had been moved, and the new owners were really nice to me. I suppose they probably thought that I was adorable, since I was only 2 years old. I don't remember ever living in that first house, but I remember moving. This fact that I can remember that far back has resulted in my being designated "the one with the good memory" within my family. Except when they think that I'm not remembering things right, in which case, and in spite of all evidence, I am declared a complete nitwit.

What is a special memory you have about someone? It could be a grandparent, family friend - not including your parents - that you knew as a child. What do you recall about them that makes the memory special?

My grandfather once paid what I thought was an obscene amount -- $6.00, if memory serves -- to get a library card once while I was staying with him and my grandmother one summer. They lived outside town, and had to pay to get the card. I was a little surprised that he didn't already have one. I ended up using it to borrow James & The Giant Peach for the umpteenth time -- my second grade teacher had read it to our class, and I became obsessed with reading and re-reading it. I dunno: I don't much cotton to "special memories".

What was a favourite game you played as a child?

Hide-and-go-seek in the dark. Our basement had no windows in it, so that meant that when you turned the lights off, it was just about as dark as you could possibly hope for. Plus, there were rooms and closets to hide in. The only time I ever played it seemed to be when my cousins were visiting, so that also might have something to do about why I enjoyed it so much: I always liked seeing my cousins. I was never particularly good at it, because, even then, I was the biggest and most uncoordinated of all of us. If I ever moved at all, to try to make a dash for "home base" -- the stairs upstairs, which, if you reached it, meant you were safe -- I was as good as caught. Not only that, but to this day I am incredibly prone to giggle fits when I get excited, so that meant that I would always be hunched over in the darkness, my hands clamped over my mouth, trying desperately to stifle my laughter, hoping that my brother or cousins would give away their position or get caught before my peals of laughter would erupt uncontrollably from beneath my fingers like the lava and ash from Krakatoa.

What was a memorable trip that you can recall being a little kid and what did you do that makes you think about it even now?

My family regularly drove out to Colorado to visit with my father's family in the summers. One summer, my brother and I flew out a week early, and my parents were going to drive out (in the Chevy Citation) and stay for a week themselves. The flight itself was memorable, because my brother kept on chanting "I WANT FOOD" and banging his little fists on the tray table. I was so freaking embarassed. But the stewardess did take us up to the cockpit to meet the pilot during a stop-over, which was neat.

The week progressed fairly dully: we were staying in my aunt's family's trailer up on a mountain, and it was sort of irritating. My family is theoretically Christian, but this family was the born-again, evangelical kind. The kind where being Christian is an active pursuit, rather than a state you are born into. I think at the time the father was actually a preacher in a church that was essentially a pre-fabricated aluminum building with dirt floors. These were people who named their children after characters in the Old Testament. (Eventually the entire family -- mom, dad, two kids -- went completely off the rails, started doing massive quantities of drugs, indulging in affairs with people they met on MySpace, declaring themselves Sovereign Citizens and not paying taxes, and getting involved with the mob. Seriously.) But the "holy roller" bit was completely new to me, and I did little to ingratiate myself to them by insisting that The Book of Revelations was one of my favorite pieces of science fiction. I entertained myself by reading Bobbsey Twin books, which my mom had bought me a stack of in anticipation of the vacation.

So, the day my parents get there, the adults decide to go out to eat. Fair enough: some of my favorite memories are of the times when my parents went out to eat without us. We had a babysitter and her sister from the trailer park taking care of us. Well, at some point while we were washing dishes, someone broke a plate. Hey, it happens. So we toss it in the garbage, nobody thinking too much of it. Then the sitter asks if I will take the garbage out to the dumpster. I think I was a little put out that I was expected to do chores, but I held my tongue. I'd just complain to my parents later, citing laws against child labor, or whatever.

So I'm dragging this gigantic bag of garbage through the gravel driveway of this trailer park, because this bag was enormous, and I could under no circumstances lift it off the ground. I was wearing flip-flops, because it was summer, and I have never been a fan of wearing actual shoes. Suddenly, I just topple to the ground. No, not topple: I just collapse. Crumple. Deflate, almost. As I was dragging the trash bag along the ground, the shards of plate had worked their way down into the bag. I have no idea how, but one of them cut through the bag, sliced through my skin, and severed my Achilles tendon.

You have no idea how freaky it is to look at the back of your foot, and see a yawning gouge, with blood pooling in the bottom of your foot. Not only that: something was it their. Something white and organic and horrible. I prayed at the time that it was a piece of Styrofoam that had been in the trash bag, but I knew it wasn't. I was looking at my retracted tendon.

As you may expect, I just started wailing. I don't remember the pain at all: you have to expect that I was just in complete shock. What I was crying about was that I was going to have to have stitches. Something about being sewn up was just so horrific, so Frankenstein. That was my big fear at that moment: stitches. I think that helped me, just not thinking about what the hell was happening.

As I was howling, an old man was on the porch of the trailer right in front of me. I say old, but keep in mind that 30 was old to me then. Just rocking, rocking, in his rocking chair. He never got up. I couldn't understand why he wouldn't get up, why he wouldn't help me. It seemed like hours, me sitting there, unable to stand, or move, for fear of major blood loss, and he was smiling at me. He was smiling. Never moving. It was like a fucking horror movie: for years afterward, that memory has haunted me. That face became the face of death to me.

Thankfully, the rest of the trailer park reacted to my screams. I remember that poor babysitter, assuring me that I probably wouldn't need stitches. Sure, it was a lie, but it was a good lie. People were trying to keep the blood from pouring with clean towels, and everybody was really nice. The sitter didn't have a car, but a man next door offered to drive me to the urgent care facility down the road: we were in the mountains, remember, and driving to the hospital would mean driving all the way into Colorado Springs.

Once I got there, I was sedated, or maybe I just passed out from shock, so time sort of got wonky. But it turned out that my aunt and uncle didn't leave a number with the sitter of where they would be, or even the name of the restaurant. This was pre-cell phone, and so parents always had these elaborate rituals to help the babysitters contact them if anything went wrong. So I was stuck for hours in a darkened room for hours, face down, waiting for my parents to show up and give any sort of clearance for treatment. When my parents finally did show up, they were told what bad parents they were for not leaving the info with the sitter, when it was my aunt and uncle's fault. My parents always left the information with their sitters, always left it written down, and would call if their plans changed. My parents were (and are) the good parents. Unfortunately, I was too out of it to mount a thorough defense. My mom still feels guilty for that.

Long story less long than it possibly could be: I ended up having to wear a cast, which meant that driving home in the Citation was a pain in the ass. They ended up having to put down the seats, and put all the luggage in a car-top luggage thing that they had to buy.

The scar has faded, and now I'm almost proud of it. Hey, Achilles never did recover from the wound to his heel!

Did you ever fall in love as a child?

No, but I tended to treat all my male friends like a jealous lover. I demanded to know where they had been, and who with. But I did get one of them to kiss me in Kindergarten.
I did, however, have a MASSIVE crush on John Schneider from The Dukes of Hazzard.

Morbid Much?

A meme foisted upon me by a more-morbid-than-usual Minge.

What do you think happens after you die?

You decompose. People forget you.

Do you believe in heaven?

Not as such, no.

Do you believe in hell?

Not as such, no. You make your own heaven and hell right here on earth.

Do you think you will be judged after you die?

Minge said it best: "Yes, by all the people I've left behind."

How many people will attend your funeral?

Depends on if its on a weekend. If I died now, I'd say... 18. 18 that I would expect to come, possible more, depending.

Would you rather that people cry or laugh at your funeral?

I know my friends and family, so they would cry a little, and then start making fun of all the stupid things I did -- like when I almost burned the house down while making falafel in high school -- and laughing until they cried again. Which is fun. I'm not big on emotional displays, and I think it would dishonor my memory to have anybody wailing with grief, throwing themselves on the casket. That isn't how W.A.S.P.s do these things.

Actually, I really want people to dance at my funeral: get out the disco ball, start playing the Marshall Jefferson 12" mix of "Being Boring", or Womack & Womack's "Teardrops". That would be a great funeral.

What's better? A shot in the head or downing pills?

Neither, both sound messy. (Always remember Lupe Velez...)

What should be written on your tombstone?

"Whatever." (My dad and I actually discussed this last night.)

Would you rather die childless or divorced?

Hey, if I die divorced, then that means gay marriage was legalized! But I certainly don't want to contribute to human overpopulation. Is "both" an acceptable answer?

Do you want to die in the morning, afternoon, or night?

In a warm, cozy bed, at night in the middle of winter. Preferably during the first snow of the season.

If you had a million pounds to leave, who would you leave it to?

I dunno. Probably a charity. Maybe some to my parents, to pay them back for being an economic burden. But I honestly doubt that I would ever have that much money and not spend it.

What kind of flowers do you want at your funeral?

Calla lilies, because I have liked them ever since I saw Robert Mapplethorpe's pictures of them.

On your deathbed, which moment will you most remember?

All of them. I have a good memory. Of course, with my luck, I'll only remember when I was typing this.

Have you ever watched someone die?

No.

What's the most gruesome death you can imagine?

The Bacchae, bitter from having been spurned by me in favor of "hot men" -- although, in my defense, who can blame me? -- first throw sticks and stones at me as I play my music, but my music is so beautiful that even the rocks and branches refuse to strike me. Me and nature, see, we have an understanding. Enraged, the lucky bitches tear me to pieces during the frenzy of their Bacchic orgies, and toss my head and lyre in the river, where they still produce beautiful music to this day.

How often do you think about death?

A few times a day.

Is fear of dying your number one fear?

Naw, my fear is of everybody else dying. Dying is easy, it's surviving the loss that's hard.

Do you believe in reincarnation?

Not in a strict sense of my soul coming back in a new body. But we're all a part of the circle of life, we're all of the earth, and to the earth we return. This life is only borrowed.

Have you ever wished someone you loved were dead?

Not in the sense of actually wishing they were dead. I said it to be mean a couple times, because I am a complete asshole.

Do you consider life short or long?

Life is what it is.

Do you think you have a soul?

If I do, then it is located in my appendix, because the appendix is the seat of the soul.

Assisted suicide for a terminally ill person is:

A choice that should be respected.

If you were cremated, where would you like your ashes?

I want the urn containing my ashes to be set adrift on a flaming raft in the middle of the Atlantic, with gold statuettes of various Norse, Greek, Egyptian, and Hindu deities at each corner of the raft. I figure the Judeo-Christian angle will be satisfied for whatever funeral of memorial service my family has for me, and I'd like my affection for goofy mythology to be respected. The raft sinks to the bottom of the ocean, like our lives sink into the waters of the sea of time, forgotten and beautiful.

Would you choose to be immortal, if you could be?

FUCK NO.

What do you think of ouija boards?

They'd look good hanging on the wall.

An Interview with the Indominatable Sir Spendrick Hogsbottom

Who are you?

Sir Spendrick Hogsbottom.

The phone rings. Who do you want it to be?

My manager, saying that Shirley Bassey has finally consented to sing a duet with me of "Islands in the Stream".

When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart?

I prefer to frequent the local market, carrying an attractive-yet-manly basket to put the groceries in.

In a social setting, are you more a talker or listener?

I don't have the time to spend my life listening to the nattering of other people. Besides, I am generally much more interesting than them, anyways.

Do you play Soduku?

I rely on my band to worry about the instruments. Although I don't know if we've ever used a soduku. Is that oriental? I'll see about having it on my next album: it sounds intriguing.

If abandoned in the wilderness, would you survive?

Probably not, unless someone else was with me that I could eat.

Do you like to ride horses?

I learned to ride side-saddle in the orphanage, as instructed by a nun. Someone accused me of being a poof and I gave it up.

Did you ever go to camp as a kid?

Does the orphanage count as camp?

Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you?

Religion, as they say, is the opiate of the masses. That being said, I have never been one to turn down opiates, so I don't see why dating a Papist would be that big a hullabaloo.

Do any songs make you cry?

Only the wretched remix of my version of David Bowie's "Heroes". The original version was recorded at the BBC for a celebration of Mr. Bowie's artistic accomplishments. I was pleased with it, I mean, it's a pretty good song, y'know? A bit pretentious, but then, that's Bowie, right? And heaven knows I sang the hell out of it. But those poseurs at the Beeb said it wasn't up to their standards. I mean, did you ever even listen to Peel's show? Any Kraut with a keyboard could get his atonal noodling on that. But, y'know, what have you. Their loss.

But then some Kraut (probably the same one with the keyboard!) found the recording on some bootleg, and thought it might be a kick to remix the entire song. Which, y'know, I'm hip, if it gets me played in Ibiza, so much the better. But you can't even tell what I'm singing! The bloody idiot fed my vocals through a distorty thing! Granted, the lyrics are all bollocks (sorry, David! Honestly, what do dolphins have to do with the Berlin Wall?), but really, people don't buy my records for the lyrics! You can barely even tell it's me singing at times, it's just noise! I just have to assume that its tenure at the top of the charts throughout Europe was due to name recognition, because why else would anyone have bought the thing?

Oh, and "The Way We Were". I mean, Babs just tears your heart out, know what I mean?

Are you continuing your education?

The world is my school, and life, my education. Unfortunately, I seem to spend a lot of that life waiting outside the metaphorical headmaster's office.

Do you know how to shoot a gun?

I've been known to shoot a few animals. We're at the top of the food-chain, people! If God can't get off his arse to save a few foxes, who the hell am I to impede the circle of life?

If your house was on fire, what would be the first thing that you'd grab?

My gold records. And my Viagra.

Do you think more about the past, present of the future?

What day is this?

What was your favourite children's book?

Green Eggs and Ham.

What colour are your eyes?

The same

How tall are you?

At least 6’ 2” depending on which pants I’m wearing.

Where is your ideal house located?

Somewhere with lax extradition laws, low taxes, and a low age of consent.

Seriously?

A Hawaiian-style house in the South Pacific, with all of the above.

Have you ever taken pictures in a photo-booth?

I'm not a big fan of photos. They steal your soul, and I've found it's better in life not to leave a paper trail.

When was the last time you were at Olive Garden?

I always thought olives grew in groves? Or is it orchards?

Where was the farthest place you've travelled?

Physically or mentally? My body has been around the world, my mind has been much, much further.

Do you like mustard?

Not since I almost gassed myself and Lakshmi while trying to make yogurt soup one night. Who knew that you couldn't substitute yellow mustard seeds for black ones? Yeah, okay, so the recipe might've mentioned something like that, but I didn't think it would be that bad!

Do you prefer to sleep or eat?

I'm into all sorts of scenes, mate!

Do you look like your mom or dad?

I don't right know, being abandoned and all. They found me in a piece of luggage in Waterloo Station; nowadays, the luggage would probably be detonated by the bomb squad, with me in it!

How long does it take you in the shower?

I prefer to be bathed.

Can you do the splits?

On purpose? My hips aren't what they used to be: if I did, I might never be able to get up. In any sense of the word.

What did you do for New Year?

It must have been wonderful, because I have no memory of it at all.

Do you think The Grudge was scary?

I assume you mean my grudge with Leon "Itchy" Pensonhurst. Or his grudge with me. Whatever. It'd be a lot scarier if I thought he would ever make it out of prison, but the blighter just keeps on slapping the guards when he feels like he's being disrespected. Which, apparently, means that they deign to breathe in his presence. You produce a couple of gimmicky reggae records, and suddenly you think you're Phil fucking Spector. The cheek! Besides, it wasn't my idea to smoke a bowl on my bloody Christmas record, it was his. The fact that I did the smoking -- well, I wasn't the one out on probation, was I? And I am not known for my self-restraint, eh?

Do you own a camera-phone?

Is this like those video-phones that they used to tell us everyone would own by the year 1980? Because, honestly, those were never a good idea, and I can't say that I would ever want to own one.

Was your mom a cheerleader?

Possibly, see above.

What's the last letter of your middle name?

X.

How many hours of sleep do you get a night?

What day is this?

Do you like the Care Bears?

I'm not a big fan of the Gays, although they seem to love me, but those burly ones do seem a bit more manly than the marys you usually see running the antique stores. They remind me a little bit of myself, except for all the cock-and-bum fun.

What do you buy at the movies?

I'm not a big fan of movies. At least, not the kind of movies where you traditionally can expect to find concession stands.

Do you know how to play poker?

Yes, but whenever I play my guitar player seems to end up with all my loot and then we don’t see him for two or three days.

Do you wear your seat belt?

Only when I’m not driving.

What do you wear to sleep?

A cocktail, a smile, and the latest lass to grace me pillow.

Anything big ever happen in your home town?

London? I hear the Blitz was considered fairly significant.

How many meals do you eat a day?

Far too many, I'm afraid.

Is your tongue pierced?

That sounds poofy. Why would I need my tongue pierced?

Do you always read MySpace bulletins?

What? Whose space? Who are you?

Do you like funny or serious people better?

What other kinds are there?

Ever been to LA?

More times then you’ve wanked, junior.

Did you eat a cookie today?

No, but I nibbled a receptionist.

Do you use cuss words in other languages?

I've lived in 23 countries, and the curse words are the only ones I ever bothered to learn. Which always made speaking to the butcher a challenge, but I am not one who has a great facility with language.

Do you steal or pay for your music downloads?

PIRACY IS KILLING THE MUSIC INDUSTRY. And besides, some Kraut might find an unreleased track and BUTCHER IT MERCILESSLY!

Do you hate chocolate?

So you’ve heard the rumors. I try not to hate.

What do you and your parents fight about the most?

You sure are fixated on my parents, eh? In my fantasies, we fight about why they left me in Waterloo instead of Victoria. And also, why they chose to lock the suitcase they had me stuffed into.

If you could have any job, what would it be?

Plastic surgeon. I’d love to make the world a better place, one breast implant at a time.

Are you easy to get along with?

I think so. Which is odd, considering how many enemies I seem to have.

What is your favourite time of day?

What day is this?

Adapted from the fabulous Minge, and his wonderful interview with Billie Trix.

With some assistance on the harder questions from the other half of The Spendrick Hogsbottom Experience, Ryan.

Where Were You In 1992?

Go to www.popCulturemadness.com and select the year you became 18. Paste the list of the top 75 songs. Bold the ones you liked; strike the ones you disliked; and italicize the ones you know but don't exactly like nor dislike. The ones you don't know will stay common text.

My year wasn't nearly as horrible as I expected. Lots of Nirvana and Mariah Carey -- talk about schizophrenic!

1. Baby Got Back - Sir Mixx-A-Lott
2. I'm Too Sexy - Right Said Fred
3. End Of The Road - Boys II Men
4. Move This - Technotronic

5. Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

6. Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
7. Save The Best For Last - Vanessa Williams
8. Come As You Are - Nirvana
9. Jump Around - House Of Pain
10. I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston
11. Twilight Zone - 2 Unlimited
12. Mysterious Ways - U2
13. Boot Scootin' Boogie - Brooks & Dunn
14. November Rain - Guns N Roses
15. I'll Be There - Mariah Carey
16. Lithium - Nirvana
17. Rump Shaker - Wreckx-N-Effect
18. Masterpiece - Atlantic Starr
19. Achy Breaky Heart - Billy Ray Cyrus
20. Caribbean Blue - Enya
21. Baby Baby Baby - TLC
22. Finally - CeCe Peniston
23. Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough - Patty Smyth & Don Henley
24. Mr. Loverman - Shabba Ranks
25. If I Ever fall In Love - Shai
26. Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me - Elton John & George Michael
27. To be With You - Mr. Big
28. Always Tomorrow - Gloria Estefan
29. Tears In Heaven - Eric Clapton
30. The Hitman - AB Logic
31. One - U2
32. Give It Away - Red Hot Chili Peppers
33. Life Is A Highway - Tom Cochrane
34. Even Better Than The Real Thing - U2
35. Beauty and The Beast - Peabo Bryson & Celine Dion
36. Everybody'd Free (To Feel Good) - Rozalla
37. Trashy Women - Confederate Railroad
38. These Are Days - 10,000 Maniacs
39. Ain't 2 Proud 2 Beg - TLC
40. How Do You Talk To An Angel - The Heights
41. Sexy M.F. - Prince (& The New Power Generation)
42. Remember The Time - Michael Jackson
43. Layla (Unplugged) - Eric Clapton
44. Jump! - The Movement
45. All 4 Love - Color Me Badd
46. Nothing Else Matters - Metallica
47. Under The Bridge - Red Hot Chili Peppers
48. Bang Bang - David Sanborn
49. Make It Happen - Mariah Carey
50. Little Miss Can't Be Wrong - The Spin Doctors
51. Can't Let Go - Mariah Carey
52. Right Now - Van Halen
53. Friday I'm In Love - The Cure
54. Scenerio - A Tribe Called Quest
55. Humpin' Around - Bobby Brown
56. Constant Craving - k.d. lang
57. My Lovin (You're Never Gonna Get It) - En Vogue
58. Hazard - Richard Marx
59. Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover - Sophie B. Hawkins
60. Am I The Same Girl - Swing Out Sister
61. Jump - Kris Kross
62. 57 Channels (and nothin' on) - Bruce Springsteen
63. This Used To Be My Playground - Madonna
64. Symphony of Destruction - Megadeth
65. I Love Your Smile - Shanice
66. I Wanna Rock - Luke
67. Free Your Mind - En Vogue
68. Keep It Comin' (Dance Till You Can't Dance No More) - C+C Music Factory
69. The One - Elton John
70. Galileo - Indigo Girls
71. Just Another Day - Jon Secada
72. Juice (know the ledge) - Eric B. & Rakim
73. Tennessee - Arrested Development
74. Take A Chance On Me - Erasure
75. Good Enough - Bobby Brown

Via.

(For some reason, Bloglines is screwing up the format. It seems to be OK on the blog itself. I apologize if you're reading this sentence with a line through it!)

* * * * * *

Appropos of nothing, I give you this link, as well, to a profile about Tim Biskup, one of my very favorite living artists. It calls him a Pop Surrealist, which makes it sound like he's more significant than he is; I like him for his bright colors, hard edges, graphic sensibility, and rampant goofiness. Plus, he sells prints for cheap enough that I can afford to have his prints framed and hanging in both my bedroom and my living room.

The profile itself isn't that fantastic, but the pictures that go along with it are absolutely fabulous.