the homosexuals

been tryin to figure out where that last post came from, and then i remembered my recent exposure to the following:



watching it, it all came back--my surreptitous neo-adolescent visitations to the library tryin to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me, reading the bullshit in scholarly tomes and prematurely consigning myself to hell.

because back then, all you could find on the subject was shit like this--and, of course, this.

can't you see?  i was doomed.

towelhead

[don't ask where this one came from--couldn't possibly be the vodka]

the grownups used to tell endless stories about that brief period in mkf's early childhood when he insisted on having a washcloth or dishrag on his head at all times--none of 'em could figure it out, but they all agreed it was hilarious.

i've since debated whether i should tell my mother it was probably just my inner girl tryin to come out, but decided instead to let her cling to whatever's left of her illusions.

but here's the message for the rest of you who still don't get it:  we are born, not made.

sober update:  just for balance, here's one from the same roll in which mkf is obviously workin his inner boi:

and yes i was sweet, dammit.

because it's lonely in the modern world

.
i have no reverence for most shelter rags--architectural digest, metropolitan home, elle decor, better homes, whatever--i flip through 'em quickly, tear out the one or two pages of interest and toss the rest.

dwell, of course, is different--each pristine, archival-quality edition of that purist paean to the harsh goddess of modern architecture is given the white-glove treatment from the moment it hits my mailbox in its protective plastic sheath until, once carefully perused, it's reverently slipped into the bookcase alongside its predecessors.

and never mind that the goddam things are multiplying like tribbles and taking over--they're just too pretty and perfect to rip to shreds, right?

apparently, not everyone sees it that way:







all the grim pomposity of the modernist ethos turned on its head--fuckin' priceless.

there's something in unhappy hipsters' ruthless skewering of dwell and all it represents for everyone--if you despise modern architecture, every bitingly re-captioned photograph is validation; if on the other hand you're a disciple, you get to chuckle knowingly and imagine yourself inside the joke.

win-win, right?