It's been about six years since I've seen Velvet Goldmine, which I watched again on Thursday night. The "glam" movie. I've loved this movie on the sense that it fulfills an older definition of glamour rather than "ham" with the first letter switched out with a "g" and an "l."

"glamour

1720, "magic, enchantment" (especially in phrase to cast the glamour), a variant of Scot. gramarye "magic, enchantment, spell," alt. of Eng. grammar (q.v.) with a medieval sense of "any sort of scholarship, especially occult learning." Popularized by the writings of Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832). Sense of "magical beauty, alluring charm" first recorded 1840. Glamorous is 1882 (slang shortening glam first attested 1936); glamorize is 1936."

A popular, simpler definition of glamour is as an illusion (and this is usually the context that I've seen glamour used in faerie tales), and the film is a curious type of illusion that is constructed from actual events mixed in with Todd Haynes' own extrapolations and inventions (Iggy/Lou & Bowie were not butt-buddies, for example...that's something that Todd brought in because.....well, he's gay) to create a movie that reflects the perception that this music was lavish, decadent, and sensual (tell that to any third-rate, B-League glam band which were just "bricklayers in make up"), ambiguous, and strange.

It got me thinking about the constructs that people build around themselves to reflect who they are: I am normal because I have a wife, house, job, 2.5 kids; I am conservative because I masturbate to Ann Coulter, live through bumper stickers; I am liberal because I listen to NPR, live through bumper stickers; I am goth because I love the appropriate records as approved by Central Control, I have the right clothes; I am Industrial because I own band t-shirts and BDU pants, I love the appropriate records as approved by Central Control and so forth and so on.

So a central idea is that people construct often complex identities that is "who they really are" without it necessarily getting to the core of their being. One idea that was always appealing with glam was the sense of constructing an obviously false/invented identity to allow the real self to come out, that it is a vehicle to discovering the true self outside of ready-made constructs available through one's own cultural milieu*. Glam as a look and as a music genre was a magpie collection of pop culture trash, high culture artifacts, genuine emotion and pretentious posing all mixed up, all at once.

I don't dress up much nowadays, I barely listen to the music anymore, but in my own outlook and tastes I find that out of interest in that genre of music, that outlook is part of a "core fibre" of my being. So for all my efforts, all the make up, all the CDs and records being put away, I still have that.

Is that glam? I don't know. My view and tastes of that genre don't really make room for bands like Kiss, Slade, Gary Glitter, Alvin Stardust, and later bands like Hanoi Rocks, or Poison or revival acts like some Cobra Verde albums, the Makers, and The Turn-Ons. It's always been more of the "high-brow" artsy end of the style and find my interest in artists and musicians who started off with it as their background and then moved forward with their own extrapolations (as long as it doesn't suck) so that would explain why I would take a more philosophical view rather than a "DUDE! MAKE UP! BUY EVERY BOWIE ALBUM NO MATTER HOW SHITTY IT IS!" view.



*Oh god...someone shoot me.

An oldie but a favorite:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2vnP-jA-Oc

Cabaret Voltaire, "I Want You"

Happy New Year's!

Given the international incidents of people not being able to sleep (judging by my LJ's Friends list), it is quite obvious that squid sandwiches need to be offered on more menus.

Second, there is increasing proof that Sputnik is behind the phenomenon of UFO abductions. Prior to Sputnik, encounters with aliens were peaceful exchanges. Mostly the aliens said "save the earth, no war, blah blah blah." About four years after Sputnik, the Betty and Barney Hill incident occurred in which the aliens performed many painful experiments.

The reason is that Sputnik broadcast into the depths of space a message. That message? "Hot Earthlings Take It Up The Ass! B97XJQlaaaa." By 1958 they were observing human society and concluded that humanity does indeed, take it up the ass. Given the observation samples, they did not differentiate between genders and had to give anal probes to everybody. By the mid-80s, the alien demand for virgin asses led them to rural America, where rampant homophobia guaranteed pristine anal probing. Of course, the aliens neither know, nor care why this is so, but have only observed that this is so. This is why if you don't like things going up your ass, you don't live in trailer parks in the middle of nowhere.

Mystery solved.

Sky Captain and the World Tomorrow

Fucking. Awesome.

(See, I had free passes on Tuesday to the preview screening of the flick at the Cinerama in Seattle...)

The film looked beautiful. More than any other "genre" film that's come out over the past few years, this one has got to be the closest to getting that 30s/40s serial feel with 21st Century production values and the 60+ years of movie making lessons therein. The film looked BIG, but wait: There was a Q&A with the director, Kerry Conran, afterwards. One of the questions was the cost of the film. Someone asked if it was $50 mil, the director's reply was "I wish we had that much money." Definitely one of the most entertaining Q&As I've ever been to. Lots of scifi geek Easter eggs, but there isn't that "Ooo! Look how clever I am" attitude or "BUY OUR STUFF" feel either (hell, they've only recently signed a merchandising deal and it's going towards the collectors' side of things). One hell of an adventure.

I. Love. This. Film. Needless to say, my head exploded when I found out that it is Kerry Conran that's doing the "John Carter of Mars" films next. YAY!!!

Nice 40s fashions, cool surprises, and I actually liked Gwyneth Paltrow.

Plus: ROBOTS!!!

I feel Geektastic!!!

So, a couple nights ago, I had the most curious dream. In the dream, my girlfriend and I were heading up to Canada. That's when waves of memory hit me. I remembered that I had gotten some girl pregnant years back, and how she put the baby up for adoption and we both signed agreements that we'd never see the child again. A ton of sadness, longing, and regret fell on me, thinking I'd love nothing more than to see this kid again.

Thing is, I've never knocked anyone up, and don't want kids. I hope this isn't the ticking of a biological clock or anything. Then again it does make sense that I saw Six Feet Under a few days before which touched upon the same kind of theme. Yeesh.