Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus

Recently Tivo recorded a film for me based on my interest in art stuff and Robert Downey, Jr., and so I watched a movie I’d never heard of called “Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus. The main message that I took away from this film, loosely based on a book based on a rumor based on the photographer’s life, is

Q: How can one discover one’s own artistic voice and vision?

A. To truly discover oneself as an artist, but one must first befriend, fully shave, make love to, bear witness to the suicide of, and then wear a coat made from the hair of, a dog-faced boy.

Q. Do you mean that metaphorically? Like, broaden your horizons?

A. No. I mean it literally. Go find yourself a dog-faced boy.

Q. Okay…thanks.

It was weird, and coming from me that’s saying a lot.

Thinking on Canadian Goth


In the throes of postholiday depression, I was just remembering the majesty of Claude Tanner’s pre-suicide poem on Degrassi High. If Caitlin hadn’t dumped him, maybe now the actor David Armin-Parcells wouldn’t be a former Canadian child star working as a wine buyer in Troy, Michigan, and he’d be able to participate in the Next Generation Degrassi with Snake and Spike and the gang. Let’s take a moment to remember, shall we?

Autumn Leaves
Dying Leaves
Season of DEATH!
When winds blow cold
Thoughts of death creep in as I sleep
I dream I’m in a coffin
Safe from the life I don’t want to lead
I’m not afraid
Soothing, black and warm
SOOTHING, BLACK, and WARM!
Safe from the pain
And safe
From the fools
Safe, soothing, black.

Number 1 Crush!

Everybody has one, their first painful, awful, wonderful, unrequited crush? Right? Anyone? This is mine,Jeremy Schwartz.  In my Junior High yearbook, he was voted Funniest Boy.  He was active in drama and was a generally hilarious guy. I had never met a hipster before, or that many Jewish boys, and I liked him so much that I talked like a crazy person every time we met.

I know a lot of you are saying; “But how could you ever be socially awkward?” but believe me when I say: Late bloomer. Something about being raised by a man who had no friends kept my social skills weak. When the day came that I asked a friend of his what he thought of me, I got the answer, “He’s pretty creeped out.” This did not dissuade me from planning to name our first child Echo Schwartz, after Echo and the Bunnymen.

Fast forward twenty years, and I found his name in an IMDB listing for the fantastic Strangers with Candy, and dropping Viper-related wisdom on Sopranos, and I was thrilled to when Tivo fished him out of an episode of Walker, Texas Ranger as a snitch named Nicky. Spouse was vaguely horrified to see that I was looking at an episode of W,TR, and then said flatly, “Oh. It’s the guy from the yearbook.” When I heard him speak his lines, telling Chuck Norris’ friends that he would tell them anything to stay out of prison, I time-traveled back to 1987. I have maximum respect for his pursuit of his art, and I am so knocked out by some of the credits he’s racked up, I wanted to post his first dedicated fan page here, in an attempt to spice up his Google search.

Gus Van Can’t Stand Open Mike Comedy!

When I got to the Boiler Room last night for five minutes of open mike time, I sat down at a table with two other gentlemen, finding one of them kinda familiar. I assumed it was someone I had seen do stand-up, but then I noticed was that he was drinking a three-olive Martini, which I thought was a little Pearl District for Old Town, and then I realized that I was sitting with Oscar winner Gus Van Sant, and his suitcases, and his PA.

I tried to eavesdrop a little, and was surprised to hear that he was actually talking moviemaking with his compatriot while I tried to memorize jokes.
I was excited that the man behind a Drugstore Cowboy might see my five minutes of stand-up, and I thought that he might be impressed by a joke I was telling in German and decide to do a fantasy biography of my life, possibly casting Nick Cave as my husband, but when our esteemed emcee Kevin Michael-Moore launched into a version of The Girl From Ipanema where said girl is legally blind, my new famous friend found his legs and skedaddled, his attractive drinking partner carrying his bags. It was clear after his departure that every other comic had also noticed who it was, and most had prepared a joke for him, but then we just told them to each other, like usual.