Myriam’s One-I’d Arts and Literature Column: spEnt!

Wow! I write this column with the same regularity as the cycle of a gal with polycystic ovarian syndrome!

Spottily!

Anyways, this episode of One-I’d brings you my reviews of two books, both of which came to me not psychically but electronically, through the compooter. The first book, Antonia Crane’s SPENT (Rare Bird Books), spins the truthiest reality, one where a hooker is a hooker is a hooker who does not wind up headless and in a dumpster behind a Sbarro’s by the second to the last pagina (that’s page in Spanish and the word gives foreign language students PLEASURE). Instead, she winds up…spoiler alert…alive! And still a hooker! The other (t)werk, Kate Durbin’s E! (Wonder) spins multi-tales that oppose reality: they are her transcriptions of reality TV! Yum. Reality tv is my favORITE junk food, and you know what, womyn can subsist on junk alone.

I paired these two suckers up for review because I love to infect people with a good case of duality. Juxtaposition and polarity can be fun! Vikings can eat mangos! Cholas can have bright blonde hair! The real can make love to the phantitsmagoric! Life is a black and white cookie! Oh, the yin and yang of baked goods!

So first, SPENT.

ALWAYS JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER

Some losers will argue that SPENT ought to come with myriad trigger warnings but to them I say, look, sluts, life doesn’t come with trigger warnings. Also, trigger warnings kill my buzz. Plus, Crane didn’t get any trigger warnings so why should you, dear potential reader of her memoir? Take a risk, audience member. Allow works of art to surprise and discomfit you. That’s their job. Don’t leave art jobless. Don’t leave art funemployed.

SPENT details Crane’s Norcal girlhood, adolescence, carear as a sex werker, and relationship with her mom. Crane writes with beautyslashradiance. Crane’s writing IS a dirty peacock fanning its tail at you whilst winking, giving you the gift of realization that her pretty bird is made more splendid by his STD. STDliness.

Despite, or maybe because of its darkish subject matter, SPENT is infused with a certain sense of wide-eyedness and dare I say fun. The writing itself expresses this energy, there’s an impetuousness in sentences that do to your brain what Rice Krispies do to your tongue. These sentences are totally my type. Let me set you up with four of these hotties:

“The women in my family were not bisexual strippers with a tendency to cut and an appetite for speed.”

“The orchid breeder must’ve painted my pussy seventy times.”

“I fucked Shawn until I felt something and the thing I felt was fucked.”

In that last sentence of Crane’s, revel in the dark joy elicited by its redundancy. Exquisite.

And this next one is such an understated oxymoron:

“In a moment of clarity, I enrolled at Mills College to do a B.A. in Women’s Studies.”

Crane swings back and forth between executing very constructive and very destructive life choices and one such constructive moment comes when she morphs into a labor whorganizer at her place of biz, the infamous peep show The Lusty Lady. She becomes Sally Fieldsesque, a Whorma Rae. Then, a few pages later, Crane lets us catch her stealing from customers. She shows herself being so human. A lover of humanity and a thief. Jesus and Dismas. Crane swings from job to job like she swings from pole to pole to pole to pole to a harm reduction program housed at the Polk Inn. There, she’s able to keep her clothes on for a while while working as a residential assistant serving mentally addled, drug-addicted HIV pozers.

For those who plodded through San Francisco in the 90s and early 2000s, Crane’s descriptions will scratch at a nostalgic scab. Underneath it will be the geographic memory of a place where a bisexual could rent a little home for cheap and make enough $ giving hand jobs and/or babysitting AIDS patients to have ample adventures in sex, drugs, and -isms. This San Francisco now lacks a pulse AND some asshole in a pair of GOOGLE glasses is dancing upon its lifelessness.

SPENT smolders till its last words, it never extinguishes, and this is espesh because Crane unflinchingly exposes her shit, all of it, all her issues, and she lets you live them with her. She gives you a taste of her disordered eating and lists what she, as a hooker, thinks about when doing her job:

“Cancer markers, T-cell counts, DNR, DNI, chemo, radiation, infection, five abdominal surgeries, PEG-tube, remission, metastasis, septicemia, organ failure, hospice care, and morphine drip…”

Sometimes, when hookers are working, their mothers are dying.

A sense of smell overwhelms SPENT and smell’s a sense that writers don’t use enough. They get stuck trying to appeal to the eyeballs but what about the nostrils? Time travel often happens through smell since smells are woven into every moment: the smell of childbirth, the smell of your first period, the smell of the old folks home, the smell of cremation. Open SPENT and smell Crane’s mother’s dying body. Smell Crane’s bulimia. Smell what is happening to the enamel of her teeth. It’s unavoidable.

Smell is the most intimate sense. You can reach out and touch someone without knowing what they smell like but once you’re close enough for a whiff, that’s it. You might as well be one. This sentence of Crane’s proves this:

“New Orleans is a sweaty pussy that sticks to your face, soaks into your skin and stays the night.”

I’ve been to New Orleans and it did take a while to wash that bitch off.

SPENT’S introspective narrative reminds me of this chunk from Carson McCullers’ THE BALLAD OF THE SAD CAFE: “…and a face will look down on the town. It is a face like the terrible dim faces known in dreams-sexless and white, with two gray crossed eyes turned inward so sharply that they seem to be exchanging with each other one long and secret gaze of grief.” Crane’s third eyeballs gaze deep inside her Craneness and as you’re reading the story of her life, your eyeballs begin turning inward, too. They beg of your soul: what do I smell like? What did my report cards look like? When was the last time I smelled barf? When was the last time I watched somebody die?

As the body count increases and Crane taps forty, her narrative becomes less and less redemptive. I like that. I NEED that. We all need that and it’s a gift to receive a narrative about a hooker that doesn’t have a happy ending or an unhappy ending but just an ending that is open-ending.

***

In the WHATareTHEYupTOnow episode capping off the virgin season of THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF ORANGE COUNTY, cast member Jo De La Rosa discusses her race during her exit interview. De La Rosa does not describe herself as Peruvian, mestiza, Latina, or even American. She states that she belongs to the race of housewives.

Kate Durbin would probably agree with her. Housewives are a race, magically and domestically so, and Durbin explores the goddesses and demigoddesses of this race in her pinkly-paginated gift, E!

PRETT E!

I’m actually a whore for wives, wives shows that is, and I initially became addicted to reality TV when the genre as oui know it premiered while tenth grade was torturing the shit out of me. MTV gave me THE REAL WORLD: NEW YORK and once THE REAL WORLD: SAN FRANCISCO came on the seen, and it let me watch a gorgeous young Cuban die beatifically of AIDS, I figured the least I could do was live a vibrantly neurotic life as my school’s official undercover teen lez mascot.

These days, I’m really invested in reality shows because I use them to recreate, as in experience deep recreation, recreation as in recreational activity, reality TV is my RV, but through reality, especially its wives shows, Durbin recreates, as in re-creates for the sake of her art form, which is, as yet, UNNAMED AND WHAT IS MORE TERRIFYING THAN THE _____________ (those parentheses and space serve as a filler for the _____________ (nameless))?

So, E!

Eeeeeee

Durbin dedicates E! to Marilyn Monroe, a hologram, and tosses out this truthful disclaimer: “This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or televised, is entirely coincidental.” Instead of chapters, Dubin titles E!s segments “channels.”

The presence of channels implies the presence of a remote control, and this is cool, since while I’m a whore for wives and Lindsays and Annas, I’m not a whore for Speidis. And a Speidi creeps through E! Which I can squash it with my remote.

Transcriptions of select “shows” –certain wives shows, Lindsay Lohan’s stolen necklace trial, Amanda Knox’s murder trial, MTV’s THE HILLS, Kim Kardashian’s wedding to a very large man, some chunks of Anna Nicole’s demise, E!s THE GIRLS NEXT DOOR, and a dash of Dynasty– make up each of E!s channels. You might be like all a transcription of a TV show? What’s the point if you’ve seen these shows before? Well, if that’s what you’re asking then why not light books on fire after you’ve read them? Why bother putting Gilligan’s Island into syndication? WHY SUCH PLEASURE FROM RERUNS? AMERICA LOVES RERUNS BECAUSE THE EXPERIENCE OF REEXPERIENCING A STORY OR STORYLIKE SUBSTANCE ALWAYS DIFFERS FROM THE MAIDEN VOYAGE. Often, rediscovery enhances flavor. Sharpens it.

The wives channel takes the wives genre from campy to creepily surreal, and Durbin does this by using the word Wife as title. Instead of writing about THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILL’s Kyle Richards as Kyle or about Lisa Vanderpump as Mrs. V, she dubs them Wife Kyle and Wife Lisa. This Stepfordifies the narrative. These are not women. They’re Wives. And all aspire to Wifedom. Wifedom displaces all other the ideals.

Eyeing the Wives’ channel, I find myself wanting to see pictures of the women from shows I’m unfamiliar with and I google them so that I can have their faces. I want their faces because I know they’re so close. They’re famous. They want everyone to see their faces and remember them. Durbin helps them in this mission. Helps with their deification (a word so close to defecation).

I notice how as the Wives shows become textual objects, their details become sticky. While watching the shows on TV, my brain filters out what the Wives are eating or wearing, whether or not they have cilantro stuck between their teeth or which way their lap dogs are looking, but Durbin grabs these details and makes them stars. Makes these details, even ugly ones, Wives in their own right. Durbin’s texuality thickens reality. Puts every shard into focus.

The Wives’ channel writing yields scenes that are lush paintings that could hang in a gallery. They feel like baroque somethings, they have the drama and color and the high-resolution artfulness of Rococaine still lives. The stillness derives from the frenzied staging. The shows are staged and scripted. Just like still lives of halved citruses, hunters’ quarries, and bouquets of fresh cut European flowers.

As I read, I’m almost expecting something new, something that didn’t really happen, to happen, but it never does. The rerun never deviates from the original and Durbin’s textuality creates an anticipation even though she’s merely giving bibliophied servings of stuff I’ve already watched.

Oh, and back to that remote control. Its like I realize I’m not holding the remote. Durbin is. Her transcriptions press pause or fast forward or slow stuff down. Moments get reborn. I get reminded of how the literary arts can have an alchemical effect on time. However, when Durbin uses her alchemy to transform something that is already unreal, reality TV, the result is unnamable.

You can’t slow down time where time doesn’t exist. Yet Durbin does. She’s a witch.

I flip to THE GIRLS NEXT DOOR channel and find no girls. Instead, I find sentences about the presence of girls. Their suggested lives are enough. The girls who live in Hef’s mansion are and are not objects furnishing his home:

“In the pool filters are tangled balls of hair in stages of blonde.”

“The aristocratic hand carved oak door opens onto a two story great hall flanked by ornate dining rooms on one side and a large living room with a fireplace that has hand carved nude female figures, and a library filled with classic novels and replica books, on the other side.”

“There is 
a Murano glass chandelier above the bed, which has thirty-two pairs of women’s underwear hanging from it.
 In the corner of the room is a large fish tank with a Little Mermaid figurine and pink rocks.”

Gross. Funny.

It’s in the Playboy mansion that Durbin really lets herself get seriously silly describing things and settings and it’s a good time. EVERYBODY wants to know about the doing it part of the mansion but what about the mansion? She gives the mansion a life. She gives the mansion a Wife. Instead of tits and ass, its doorknobs and dust bunnies. LOL.

In KIM’S FAIRYTALE WEEDING, Durbin refers to Kris Humphries, Kardashian’s groom, as the Not-Husband. Sometimes, people are best defined by what they are not.

Rob becomes Brother Rob and Kim’s sisters become Sisters and this implies a Kimcentric universe. Heavenly bodies revolve around K.

The build up to the fairytale wedding reads like an act of apartheid against the Not-Husband who is Not Kardashian. In fact, people inhabiting this channel receive uber-peripheral identities given their proximity to Kim: Jungle Print Woman, Stuttering Man, Blonde Mullet Woman’s Assistant, A Guy. Kim and Mom assume Persephone and Aphrodite-y proporitions. Mary of Nazareth and Jesusita. A she-Abraham and a she-Isaac.

The ghost of Kim’s father, Robert Kardashian, enters during a tuxedo fitting. He weakly haunts through pained references. The Sisters whispering about what their father wore and liked.

Rewind. The nastiest part of this channel isn’t its sex tape with Ray J. It’s its dedication: for Kanye West. What a bitchy thing to do and bitch, well, that’s my race.

Skip ahead to Amanda Knox’s channel. Her channel is a bunch of odd haikus haikukus haikouture:

“Amanda Knox is in the courtroom. Her hair is in a greasy ponytail. Her forehead is furrowed. She is not wearing makeup. Her skin is blotchy. She is smiling. Her mouth is closed. She has on a blue shirt. There is a yellow sun tattooed on her upper back.”

Given these descriptions, the Knox trial is about what she looks like. It has nada to do with, allegedly, holding down her roommate so that she could be stabbed after something sexy went awry.

Anna Nicole’s channel is super sad and disturbing, and it’s hard to follow, just like her drugged speech.

Let’s skip it.

Durbin tosses in a chunklet of Dynasty to remind us that we are reading Greek mythology.

The last channel is something I really don’t like: THE HILLS. Its one of the few MTV reality shows I could never get into. Give me a teen mom from Kentucky or an asshole sweet sixteener any day over Speidi.

For me, the best thing to come out of THE HILLS has been Montag’s plastic surgery disasters (monitoring celebrity plastic surgery disasters is one of my hobbies) and Lauren Conrad’s couture line at Kohl’s. Kohlture. THE HILLS has fighting, confrontation, but I prefer physically aggressive, mature women with too much plastic surgery fighting. Perhaps if THE HILLS’ cast were to reunite now, equipped with an excess of alcohol, I could get much more on board. There is too much processing, not enough slapping, but that’s only problematic for me because I’m an animal descended from people who consider cockfights acceptable entertainment for toddlers. Who needs a babysitter? Just drop the baby Mexicans off at the bullring.

Please don’t feel like I’m spoiling anything with E!s final words: “Shot switches to wide, still panning, Hollywood sign viewable on distant hills.”

(And PS…if Andy Warhol were to meet E!, he’d cast it in a movie and then Valerie Solanos would shoot the bitch)

ACTION…

CHANNEL 1  WIVES SHOWS

CHANNEL 2  THE GIRLS NEXT DOOR

CHANNEL 3 KIM’S FAIRYTALE WEDDING

CHANNEL 4 LINDSAY’S NECKLACE TRIAL

CHANNEL 5  FOXY KNOXY

CHANNEL 6 ANNA NICOLE SHOW

CHANNEL 7 DYNASTY

CHANNEL 8 THE HILLS

$

$

$

$ILLY

QU33R Comics Anthology- ON SALE NOW!!!

Hi, my name is Rob Kirby. Through the grace of the Radar Goddesses I’m here to trumpet the publication of my nice big new all-color comics anthology QU33R, from Zan Christensen’s Northwest Press, successfully funded on Kickstarter in late fall 2013.

QU33R had its genesis in a little queer comics zine I did from 2010 to 2012 called THREE, each issue of which was comprised of three stories by three creators or groups of creators. Seeking to expand the scope of the project, sometime in 2011 I approached Northwest Press about publishing a book-with-a-spine collection of contemporary LGBTQ alt-comics, and a deal was struck, baby. Meanwhile, in 2012 Justin Hall had produced No Straight Lines: Four Decades of Queer Comics to awards and general acclaim. I loved how Justin’s book had shone a light on how queer-themed comics have evolved over the years and felt that QU33R could take the next logical step and make a statement as to the breadth and scope of queer comics in the present day. In particular, it’s interesting to see that many of the stories in QU33R are concerned less with basic issues of coming out and queer community and more about looking at issues of gender fluidity and questioning queer identity itself. 

Sasha Steinberg

QU33R is comprised of 34 stories ranging from a 21-page coming of age mini-epic by Eric Orner to other stories looking at a wide variety of subject matter: familial and primary relationships, gender bending, hooking up and dating, depression and recovery, celebrity crushes, and so forth. I didn’t ask the contributing artists for specific story content, preferring to work within a looser structure in an effort to create little serendipitous thematic cycles. I feel this really paid off.

Amanda Verwey

The cross-generational contributors range from longtime dyke inspirations like Jennifer Camper, Diane DiMassa, Kris Dresen and Carrie McNinch to hot gay boy talents like Justin Hall, Ed Luce, Jon Macy, and Sasha Steinberg, to non-cis gendered folk like Dylan Edwards, Edie Fake, and Christine Smith; not to mention the presence of several awesome grrrl cartoonists well known to Radar supporters and Sister Spit fans: Nicole Georges, MariNaomi, and Amanda Verwey. And so many more.  It’s an exciting line up.

MariNaomi

In the end QU33R is a testament to the fine work queer creators are contributing to comics, to the broader queer culture, and perhaps even beyond those realms. I hope that people who enjoy the anthology will continue to explore the work of the artists within and that of other creators -– there are many other artists I would have liked to have included in QU33R but space was already at a premium. I’ve said many times I could have doubled the number of artists and called the book QU66R.

 

Rob Kirby’s is the first post in our series Sister Spit Super Fans!  Buy your copy of QU33R HERE!!!

Myriam’s One-i’d Arts and Literature Column: GRRRBA and the GRRRL

I got turned out as a feminist pretty early.

I’m the one on the right. 

My parents never told me I was pretty and bought me books about science and women in leadership positions. On news programs that we watched as a family, I noticed that Benazir Bhutto led a country while looking like my mom.

 

Bedtime stories.

So, when I went to Mexico one December, and sat at the dining room table beside my abuelito, Guadalajara’s most charming womanizer, and heard him ask, “What kind of man are you going to marry?” my twelve-year-old mouth gave him a prompt response.

 

“I shall never marry,” I informed him. I paused, in order to give weight to my proclamation: “I am a feminist.”

 

In a condescendingly musical tone, Abuelito giggled. Then, as if I was a Chihuahua, he patted my bob.

 

“Don’t think so hard,” he advised me.

I wanted…to (Bikini) kill my abuelito.

Given my tween misandry, you’d think I’d have been 1000% on board once riot grrrl created its feminiche. I, however, was not. I climbed 50% on board.

From the RIOT GRRRL MANIFESTO.

I liked riot grrrl’s aesthetic.

I liked riot grrrl’s message.

I liked the using of yourself as a Post-it note.

I adored the tarantulas in the armpits.

I didn’t like the music. In my teens, I liked music that was faggier than what riot grrrl offered. I liked Wilde music, as in Oscar Wildean.

THE SMITHS FOR LIFE, ESE!

Now that I work in the classroom, attempting to dismantle the master’s house with his tools, I encounter riot grrrl descendants. These riot grandchildren tend to come out to me by scrawling Le Tigre or Bratmobile lyrics on my whiteboard, and as I foist my body in front of these words as the principal wanders into my room for a surprise visit, I wonder, “Was I this melodramatic as a teen queerdo?”

 

The Benazir Bhutto lookalike (my mom) would probably answer, “Mas.” In English, that’s more.

 

My teenaged bunnysitter, Salina, is one of these neo-riot crrreatures. She recently cared for my buns while my similarly-sexed lover and I went to Turkey (that’s what I call Thanksgiving: Let’s just semiotically cut to the chase) at my parents’. As part of her bunnysitting payment, I took LB’s local Tavi Gevinson to see the documentary THE PUNK SINGER, a film directed by Sini Anderson. THE PUNK SINGER tracks the career of Kathleen Hanna, her big ass contributions to riot grrrl, and her tribulations with Lyme disease. What follows is an electronic consciousness raising session (online interview) that Salina and I had about THE PUNK SINGER, feminism, and stuff.

GRRRBA: You identify as a feminist. I know this. Tell me what giving yourself that label does for you. Like what does it mean to you, how do you embody being a feminist, and what kinda shit do people give you for using the F word?

 

NEO-RIOT GRRRL SALINA: I’ve had people try to come burn my home down, pop the tires on my bike, and steal my skateboard. It definitely hasn’t made life easy. But on a lighter note, when, somehow, someone finds out I’m a feminist, or I tell them, it usually puts people off, and then they think I’m some crazy man-hating bitch. And that’s probably for the better anyways. To me, being a feminist, or identifying as one, pretty much means empowering womyn as they should be, but aren’t. Doing shit that isn’t looked upon as the norm, because it isn’t “lady like” or “pretty” and that’s okay. There isn’t any way for a womyn, girl, or female, to act necessarily. Too many females are looked down upon for things that men are praised for, and that really sux.

 

GRRRBA: I love the ironic story of how you got involved in riot grrrl. Tell me again.

 

NRGS: Like the little group I do stuff with or whatever? Well, I was with my dad one day in the car and he was dropping me off some where, and then later that evening he texted me to look up LBriotgrrrl (which you can also check out if you’re into that), and HE said they were mentioned on the radio, and they’re a group of feminists in the LB (obvi), and it’d be good for me to get into, because I have no friends. Oh, and my dad disapproves of my feminist behavior btw.

 

GRRRBA: Riot grrrl has been accused of being a racist movement. Something for white bitches. Tell me about Long Beach riot grrrls since white people are outnumbered in this town. How does this affect riot grrrl?

 

NRGS: Typical GRRRBA question. Well it’s a pretty multicultural kind of thing I guess (I hope I used that word right………………………….), there isn’t really a large amount of any race in the group, from what I know of. There for sure aren’t very many black grrrls, well, none that I’ve seen.

 

GRRRBA: What do you do at riot grrrl meetings?

 

NRGS: Pretty much talk about the general public’s view of women, feminism, and things like that. Also discuss shit like the fact that one lady from [CHARLIE COUNTRYMAN] was retaliated against [by the MPAA for] having a scene where she receives oral sex…and like it doesn’t make sense that in movies there are always those types of scenes where a men is receiving oral but when a lady has it done, it’s like gross. Also, we do bike rides, tons of workshops where you can learn new stuff. That sort of thing! Basically do things that a feminist might do.

 

GRRRBA: What feminists, and womyn in general, do you look up to? Why?

 

NRGS: None really. Not because I don’t think there are any worthy or whatever, but because I’d like [a role model] to be someone I know and hands on learned from. But I like a lot of like DIY feminist ladies, like who make feminist art and stuff. I like Frida Kahlo a lot, too, especially because she was the first lady I knew of at age like 6 or something, that was into ladies and shit. And also the way she viewed and carried herself is like constantly being redone now among the feminist society, and that’s kinda cool.

I really like Debra Harry, she was someone I grew up loving and was really into. I liked how she hated the whole r&b trio thing that’s really cool, and how she didn’t wanna be some whiny brokenhearted bitch. And she wasn’t. Joy De Vivre, Eve Libertine, Vi Subversa, Jane Fonda, Joan Jett, Liz Phair, and some other people I can’t think of. I’d say you, but that’d be too cheesy.

 

GRRRBA: Okay, so we watched the movie the PUNK SINGER the other night. Did you enter into the movie theatre with expectations? What did you learn about riot grrrl, Bikini Kill, or Kathleen Hanna that made you think: “Whoa?”

 

NRGS: I thought the movie would actually go more into Hanna instead of glorifying her, not to take away from the credit she deserves I guess. But it was supposed to be a documentary, and usually documentaries have the good and the bad. And they talk about the person in a way we feel we can relate, or at least believe they’re a real person. And in the movie that never really happened. They just kept saying how great Kathleen was. I didn’t really learn anything besides the fact she had that lyme disease, which they didn’t even explain at all. [It]…disappointed me and lead me to believe that Hanna wasn’t all she is cracked up to be…

 

GRRRBA: Do you feel a personal connection to Kathleen Hanna. Do you feel like she is somehow connected to you through her art and activism?

 

NRGS: No. Sorry.

 

GRRRBA: Let’s discuss Hanna’s bossiness. I don’t like bossiness because I’M THE BOSS. I enjoy bossing people around. Do you think Hanna’s bossiness was critical to her success? Do you like bossy women?

 

NRGS: That’s a very honest thing for you to admit! Hm, well, no and yes, I think Bikini Kill ended because of her bossiness. But I think it did play a huge part because that’s what made people so aroused by her, she was some little half naked youngster screaming and dancing around and telling boys that these bitches can’t hold her back, and that’s like huge. I don’t like when someone is rude, so if you’re bossy in a good way I guess I probably wouldn’t really notice or care. But I do like people with stern attitude and backbone. I like a lady who knows what she wants and isn’t worried about getting it or afraid to.

 

GRRRBA: If there was to be a rematch between Courtney Love and Kathleen Hanna, who would you put your money on?

 

NRGS: REALLY… Courtney!

 

GRRRBA: How did you celebrate no-shave November?

 

NRGS: I don’t shave, so I should’ve shaved, but I just stayed fury as usual.

 

GRRRBA: What do you think the future of feminism in America is?

 

NRGS: I think right now it’s a thing to be into, so if it stays this way, a lot of angry teens and ladies embracing and talking about being on their periods and shit like that. A lot of men hating women, I don’t think feminism should be about hating men, I’d like to say that! There are some cool guys, and there are some really fucking terrible ladies, it goes both ways. And I wish that was acknowledged.

 

GRRRBA: What do you think is the future of riot grrrl?

 

NRGS: A not as cool reenactment of what is being done and has already been done.

 

GRRRBA: If you could say anything to Kathleen Hanna, what would it be?

 

NRGS: Be honest.

 

GRRRBA: Any final thoughts, you furry little weirdo?

 

NRGS: I DID THIS INSTEAD OF CLEANING MY ROOM AND NOW I GOTTA CLEAN MY ROOM AND ITS SO DIRTY! AND I REALLY FREAKING SOUND DUM AND SUK AT THESE THINGS! AND THNX FOR A GR8 TIME!!

To help fund Salina’s war on men, please go to her ETSY shop. It’s full of great stocking stuffers for the man-hater in all of us: etsy.com/shop/gizmoliansforestt

Amanda Verwey’s ART MONDAY (on a THURSDAY- GASP!!!!!!!)- Drop Everything and See Laurie Lipton!!!

Today’s very special ART MONDAY is an URGENT MESSAGE that you absolutely MUST rearrange your schedule to see Laurie Lipton while she’s in town!  Her new book The Drawings of Laurie Lipton, published by local heroes Last Gasp, provides the most comprehensive survey of Lipton’s work to-date with beautifully reproduced images of her incredible, large-scale graphite drawings.  

Released on the tail of Lipton’s recent move back to the states after many years living in Europe, her new drawings represent a new perspective on the American cultural condition by depicting Los Angeles’ beauty, youth and car culture in a manner that is equal parts outsider/insider and rendered with dark satire in her signature BEYOND meticulous style.

She has THREE Bay Area signings this week- Don’t miss out!  Click HERE for more information!

Thursday, December 12th
Paxton Gate
824 Valencia St
San Francisco, CA
6pm – 8pm

Friday, December 13th
Artist discussion & signing
Pegasus Books
2349 Shattuck Ave
Berkeley, CA
7:30pm – 9:30pm

Saturday, December 14th
Exclusive Varnish print release
Varnish Fine Arts
16 Jessie St #C120
San Francisco, CA.
5 – 7pm

Sister Spit 1997 Tour Diary Flashback #2!

In honor of the SISTER SPIT 2014 FUNDRAISING CAMPAIGN, I present another offering from the 1997 Sister Spit Tour Diary!  This entry was written from a CYBER CAFE by one of the Valencia directors Samuael Topiary!!!

DAY 4 or 5, from topiary

Hello and hope you are well. We are now on day 4 or is it 5? Driving all night through major heat and find ourselves in Tuscon.

After nice opening shows in Santa Cruz and LA, we really hit our stride in Las Vegas, out-performing ourselves to a rowdy and diverse Vegas crowd of locals, a mix of heckling straight men and appreciative dykes and many others in between. Our most excellent and talented host Dave had hooked us up w/ free rooms at the illustrious Stardust Casino and even got us a grant from the Nevada State Council on the Arts. The free “ass juice” the bar kept doling out definitely heightened the energy. Heckling was raised to a new level. And believe it or not, we even did a second set!
I think it’s safe to report that we all had a blast in Vegas especially after Ali treated some of us to her expert slot machine techniques.

It’s fucking hot as hell here in Tucson and we’re all a bit punchy now after driving all night from Vegas to Tucson. Am writing you from the cyber cafe next to the Hotel Congress.

Hit a traffic jam in the middle of the desert on the road from Vegas to here at about 3 am. We wondered about the alien abduction possibilities, but it turns out there was a murder…. probably by human hands, though. The landscape is surreal here.

I lost $3 to the nickel slots. It’s very hot in the van. We have to drive at night and sleep by day. Wish we had more time in Tucson, it seem so interesting, picturesque.

The tour is really starting to get rolling now. I can feel us as a show gelling, getting the hang of it, getting funnier and easier and less precious with each other. The traveling is harsh, though.

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