But just barely. You know how everything invariably comes together all at one time, rather than spreading itself out into convenient bite-sized chunks? Yeah.

kleenexwoman and I went and saw Crispin Glover's new-ish movie, It Is Fine! Everything Is Fine!, on Saturday at Oberlin. She came and picked me up, because I don't really trust my car over long distances and also it's not very pleasant to ride in because it leaks when it rains. We saw an attractive blond daddy with glasses at the rest stop on our way up. (That's not important at all, he was just cute.)

So Crispin's thing was playing at Oberlin College, which is a private school that is both snooty and incredibly liberal. (No offense meant to Oberlin, as what I saw of it was very nice, but I go to Kent State and so it was a bit of a culture shock.) What we saw of it was basically white liberal guilt personified, made flesh, bone, and science building, and it was sort of amazing. I was so impressed that I snagged a couple of copies of the student paper because it was hilarious (and gave one copy to hortonhearsawho because, in her words, they are "her people!")--and, of course, when talking about Crispin's event, it called him crazy. College kids are huge snots, basically. There was some kid who wrote about how he wanted to ask Crispin what the hell "Clowny Clown Clown" was, and I swear he sat next to me because I heard him talking about how he was totally going to ask (except he didn't, because he left after the slideshow).

( Further excitement... )

So then we were driving home. We stopped at a rest stop for some food, like after midnight, dawdled some, came out, and were just getting in the car when I spied a kitty walking by. I went up to it and he was talking to me but being standoffish at first, then after a minute he let me pet him some, pick him up, and take him into the vestibule inside. He and I sat together while Rachel went and asked the lady in Burger King whether she knew anything, but apparently it was a popular area to dump cats. :( I didn't know what else to do, so I had Rachel get a blanket and we wrapped him up and I got into the backseat with him and drove home. He's been in my room since then, except for when we brought him out for his excursion to the vet yesterday evening. We're calling him Jules because, like Crispin's character in Fast Sofa, he was found outside a rest stop/fast food place. Rachel has another picture up in her entry, which you should also read because it's a good account of the evening.



Still trying to work out what to do with Jules. I have four cats already, you see, so if you would like a very friendly kitty, I'm sure we can work something out...

P.S. Thanks to anyone who has already said they would take him in if only they could. I wish you could! But I know when things are not possible. And thanks to those who have been campaigning to try to find him a permanent home. :)

Today was Crispin Glover's 45th birthday, so a happy birthday to him, wherever in the world he may be.

Last night kleenexwoman and I had a surprisingly involved conversation about Crispin in which I realized how my feelings about him and about art in general have changed throughout the years, probably in such a way that they've become less fun but more artistically mature. On some level all this may sound very pretentious, but of course it's arising out of my own education in academia and in various cultural and artistic studies. If you don't care or if that's not your bag, I'm sorry.

What I began thinking about was Feral House and similar ventures, the status of the "atrocity tourism" industry, and the subculture's basic hostility toward "the other" even as they remain fascinated by it. The original train of thought was based upon the question of why a subculture centered around strangeness would be so hostile to members of outsider groups. But of course, in objectifying strangeness, it then becomes imperative that the observing group is as normalized as possible in comparison--aside from the whole gawking at strange or morbid things business, of course.

Which is an interesting little tidbit, especially since atrocity tourism sites (e.g. Portal of Evil) and publishers seem to be drifting off toward irrelevance as the Internet itself grows wider. It is somewhat telling that Apocalypse Culture II (which is the book that also contains Crispin's short essay "What Is It?") has an article on slash fiction called "The Pornography of Romance." It was written by Adam Parfrey of Feral House (also the editor of the book) and it describes slash writers as "middle-aged women, the kind you're likely to see pushing a cart at a Target outside of Des Moines" (147). The book's copyright is from 2000, and the convention he attended was in 1998. So, in this case, you can see that his concept of the subculture was woefully out of date even when he wrote it, as by the year 2000 young women in their teens and twenties were already dominating the slash and yaoi subcultures. They just didn't go to this sort of con. Gotta keep up, Parfrey.

So atrocity tourism has become not just less cool, but less meaningful and less socially relevant. How does this connect to Crispin Glover? The fact is that Crispin necessarily socializes with and gets lumped into the atrocity tourism subculture, because he often deals with the same images and appeals to a similar pool of viewers/consumers. Moreover, I think that for some people the act of atrocity tourism is as much about confronting the strangeness within ourselves as it is about confronting the strangeness in the world around us. I would venture this is how Crispin operates, rather than being a passive consumer of horrors. Well, I hope, anyway.

I'm not denying the cultural influence of underground publishing like Feral House, but I find it interesting to see how their era seems to be ending. What is the future? I don't know. Interestingly, this line of thought originally came up because I noticed that Crispin Glover--weirdo, crazy, out there, strange guy--has never had an actual gay role. And yet his father, Bruce Glover, absolutely and unambiguously did, when he played a gay hitman in Diamonds Are Forever. It's especially funny because it made me think of something an article said about Crispin: "Besides, in the age of AIDS, when most young male actors are trying to establish impeccably macho, more heterosexual-than-thou credentials (viz Tom Cruise, Charlie Sheen, et cetera), Glover's sexually ambiguous characterizations take guts." (Here.) Sexually ambiguous, really? Okay, Layne is. Sort of. And he did dress up as Olivia Newton-John for The Orkley Kid. But both roles are less gay than than his dad as Mr. Wint holding hands with Mr. Kidd as they walk off into the sunset in 1971. To me, that dichotomy really underscores the resurgence of homophobia during the eighties, even during a time of greater visibility. And let's not forget that Crispin played a character whose role was downright homophobic: his character, Lionel, in Where the Heart Is (1990), fakes being gay to get respect as a fashion designer. In the end, he's just another "nice boy," too shy to tell the girl that he likes her until the film's end. It comes off as a cop-out, as the character gets the girl he likes and appeases his obviously homophobic father. All conflict can be solved by being straight!

Then there's Crispin himself, in an interview done by Adam Parfrey (curiouser and curiouser): "There are people of this nature who are not into morbidity. Doesn't that sound gay? It's hard to say. Unusual? Not the norm? People who can see the absurdity of that which is considered the norm."

But hey, that was in 1992. People change. One of the wonderful things about being human and being observant is that you are allowed to change your mind over time.

I moved away from following Crispin too closely a couple of years ago as I started to realize that it's far too easy, as an artist and as an observer, to remain in the shadow of others. Artistically speaking, I don't want this. Sometime I feel like a child who is playing at being serious about the future when I talk about this, but I do think and I do produce art and writing and I do have ideas about what I want my future to be. I stopped following Crispin closely because I stopped feeling challenged by what he was doing. I outgrew him. It happens. But, looking back, I realize there are aspects of him and of What Is It? that I do find problematic, and did find problematic at the time.

I feel like, aside from the problematic use of the disabled in What Is It? and It Is Fine! (something I recognize as being potentially problematic but, really, have no firm opinion on), what is most lacking in the movies he's made is a kind of communication of depth and breadth of thought. Keep in mind, I'm coming out of art history classes, now, that are looking at modern and post-modern artwork. I feel like his emulation of art films and conceptual art in What Is It? basically lacked the kind of rigorous and central idea that more mature artwork has dealt with. In a way, it's almost discomfiting because the film almost resembles outsider art; but while Crispin may be something of an outsider to the fine arts culture, his Hollywood status assures him that he can never actually have that outsider artist identity. Perhaps it's not fair, but coming out of Hollywood the way he does imbues what he's doing with a different meaning, because of what Hollywood is, and I think this is an issue he needs to address and deal with in some way.

I'm also bothered by his coyness when talking about meaning or intent. He seems most interested in watching people's reactions to the film, which would be fine except that, by way of its subject matter and inherent strangeness, the film then hearkens back to the phenomenon of atrocity tourism or even "shock" images. Yes, trying to stir a reaction in the audience can be legitimate, but is it only meant to see who gets shocked and who projects meaning onto it? I would be more comfortable with it if in a lot of ways it didn't seem like he just wanted to push boundaries for the sake of pushing them. And I do think he has a cohesive meaning in What Is It?, but that's not what he chooses to discuss.

I've also been bothered by him referencing Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil and then admitting that he'd never actually read the work (this was at a Q+A). With something of this scale, you really need to do the research and be firm about your plan and your meaning. At the same time, I feel that what's he really interested in are the images he's taking--and there are some lovely shots in What Is It? But if that's the case, I want him to come out and say it, not obfuscate it with this "What do you think it's about?" nonsense. It's like he's trying to have it both ways, having a certain "depth" while at the same time remaining shallow enough for viewers to imprint upon, and it's the fence-straddling that comes off as amateurish.

As far as I know, Crispin never went to university or college (if I'm wrong, tell me). Being self-taught, then, and able to realize a project like this one is admirable, but at the same time I think he's hampered by not having gone through a formal art or film program of some kind. Or just a liberal arts education. Maybe this is my own academia bias or classism showing--although hell, you know he'd be able to afford it. Besides, Crispin has always been good for class-related pretension and snobbery. As in: "I feel that any music that has stanzas or refrains is procultural because it comes from a proletariat working class history that started at least from the serfs in the Middle Ages when they would sing in that fashion. It represents a middle class point of view and it makes people feel emotionally feel good about being a working class person. I feel that rock music is all procultural and people tend to get really mad about it." From this interview. Of course, Crispin's definition of "procultural" is often nebulous, and hampered by a lack of definition for the polar opposite: is it "counterculture"? "Anticulture"? What? Without strong, specific definitions, the term is meaningless.

I'm still loyal to Crispin, because he's been with me as I've grown up and he's been kind to me on the occasions when I've spoken with him in person. I have a lot of good memories centered around my enjoyment of his movies, books, etc. But life moves on, I guess. The people you had as heroes at age eighteen shouldn't be your heroes forever. I suppose that's the most meaningful thing Crispin taught me (though unwittingly)--aside from the fact that I'm not alone in my strangeness. And for that much, I do thank him and wish him well.

Don-John was all, "Don't miss the black humor in Titus Andronicus when you read it! If you think it's just ultra-violent and boring, you are reading it wrong! >:(" And I took like four pages of notes today, which is kind of insane, and my notes are a scribbly mess anyway, but still. I like to write down things that are interesting, okay. Now let's all watch some Shakespeare in Love and that one Doctor Who Shakespeare episode, and kleenexwoman's pastiche in which a bunch of characters eat Chinese and discuss gender. You know you love it.

Also, I wound up watching the first half of Beowulf finally, since I read it for Lit in English. I only really like Beowulf up until Grendel dies, but I'll stick it out till his mom goes down. But the whole dragon thing, no thanks.

Of course, Crispin played Grendel in the movie, which meant that Grendel was this whiny and pathetic loser monster... which I love. I love failure Grendel who runs home to his mommy. But then I start shipping Grendel/his mom, which is sort of weird because Angelina Jolie in spike gold heels. I do wish Grendel's design had been better, though. Keep the creepy weeping sore shit, but less human... still humanoid, but more monster-y. Less overgrown zombie. And what was with that shrinking bullshit?

I've also been watching episodes of Psych online, hurray. I guess. Psych was one of those shows where I'd seen a good chunk of the episodes but wasn't super into it... until "Lassie Did A Bad, Bad Thing," shame on me. I'm watching the episode where he shoots the Hummel figurines, which is pretty awesome. Oh Lassie. The episode also has the tranny plot, which is a little faily... but not nearly as bad as I expected.

And yes, Shawn is a psycho (generally) and extremely bi and Lassie is grumpy and faily and Gus would make an awesome boyfriend and Jules is adorable. And the fandom sucks. :( I was reading intellific last night and doing a lot of wtf-ing. Which was sort of fun, in a trainwreck-y sort of way.

Finally, I did write stuff. I wrote Re-Animator fic, which I haven't done in like forever but okay. Here's my Herbert/Dan one and this is, of course, the one that's sort of Herbert/the Bride. The one about Herbert and the Bride is probably the most straight-up unapologetically unsettling thing I've ever written and I went around being creeped out for like half an hour after I finished it. Extremely creepy Herbert, urgh.

There were a couple of other prompts I started working on, but didn't finish, and anyway most of them were drifting into less obviously sexy areas, so. Yeah.

OH CRISPIN WTF.

This calls for a distraction!



Picture tiiiiiiiiiiiiime! Big version here.

( Another picture of James Dean and Martin Landau! )

( Another picture of Marty as taken by Jimmy. )

( And another! )

I like that last one despite Marty's goofy hair and also Jimmy's finger on the lens.

I thought everyone should know, Crispin Glover has nipples.

And also, I've put up like 270-some screencaps from this godawful movie right here. What can I say, he's hot and he'd damn well better do something worthwhile in the near future to balance things out.

I mean, I love it, but I have horrible taste and I'm totally well-aware of this.

Nipples, ffs.

Okay, I just finished watching Simon Says.

... what. was. that. ("Was that him? Was that me? Did a prince really--" okay no shut up.)

The movie itself is horrible. But I was entertained, so... I mean, I guess it did its job? I guess? Or at least Crispin did. Even though we kind of got cheated out of twincest. I mean, hey, we know for sure he could play Pendergast now, I guess. :/ Oh, and his nipples kept me very entertained. Haha, little chilly there?

(Oh yeah, and that whole "I have to have sex with this crazy guy to save my life" scene... all I could think was: "WHY?! WHYYYYYY ARE YOU REACHING FOR THE MEAT CLEAVER YOU IDIOT ARRRGH SO STUPID!" Because, as is probably obvious, I would have let the crazy man who looks like Crispin do what he would and then take care of me, even if it meant being tied up among his dead relatives OH GOD I'd make the worst rape victim in the history of ever.)

So anyway, I'll try to take screencaps tomorrow.

P.S. I still live and all that jazz. HUUUUUUUGS! :D

( I drawed picture, here, you can see. )

( And some other miscellaneous pictures I like. )

Oh, and I've been moving some of my screencaps from my own site to the Livejournal gallery. Well, they give me a bunch of space and my site has gotten so haphazard and sprawling... the Crispin galleries are here and the Jeff galleries are here. Nothing new yet, but maybe someday.

So Brand Upon the Brain! Okay, kleenexwoman already made a coherent post about it here, which is good. Mine is coming a bit later because, well, okay. It was a lot of driving and a lot of stress and I've been sort of out of it the past few days. I'm a bit better now, but yeah.

Should I talk about Crispin or the film first? Or about how much I hate Chicago? And construction? Okay, no, I don't hate Chicago (but I do hate construction, natch). I lived very close to Chicago for about five years, until I was about nine; my dad taught at Governers State University. But I'm not generally a great fan of big cities with, you know, the congestion and all the people. It's the whole getting overwhelmed really easily. I come from a place where I drive by cows on my way to class, so don't judge me. Also, driving and having a car in the city is crap. Next time, I'm working out how to do this by bus or train or whatever.

But actually, here's an anecdote from the (chatty) streets of Chicago: ( go to it, men! )

But the movie... yay! ( Continue for plot/spoilers/thoughts )

( Okay, so onto Crispin... )

So then, afterward, Rachel and I went back to the car, made bunny noises, and then drove back to her apartment.

The only thing I regret is that I totally forgot to tell him it was my birthday. Maybe in six months I'll tell him, haha. Retroactive happy birthdays? Why not?

I stole this from vimeslady. Why must this be so incredibly hot?
Anyway...

In Crispin Glover news: What the Christ? No, Crispin, please... more tour dates of your own movie/s. :(

And... Oh Crispin. You could do better. liiiiiiiiike ME! :D

I like to link to stuff and this is cute, sortakinda. This is totally cute.(This, not so much. Read the comments.... and another 'ouch.' [ETA: Who is this person? And why does he find Crispin hot while simultaneously apparently hating all his movies? Kid, STFU. Too much playing of the "this is disgusting bigotry that no one should ever see or talk about" angle in this review and the review of What Is It? Please chill out, you self-righteous douchebag... and I liked Crispin's whistling 's.' Some of us have sibilant 's'es, all right? Jesus.] And an interview. Okay, I need to quit looking for stuff. I keep on meaning to set up a fan page thing for What Is It? and collect some of these interviews and reviews and everything. Yeah.)

QUESTION YOUR IDOLS
and love them even when they're human
p.s., mr. crispin glover, call me so i can bug you and avoid writing my grammar final exam/papers. or give me your number and i'll call you.
i don't really expect this, but i like to dream on the internet

I went to see Crispin in Chicago on Nov. 17th. I know I'm horribly late writing this up, I'm sorry.

But this time I got proof!



Poor guy was exhausted. The audience there was much larger than what it had been the other two times I saw him. Like 700 people, maybe? Big.

But, okay. So, Friday morning, I got up at around seven-ish in order to be at work by 8:30. I worked till noon, at which point I raced home, threw some stuff together, and started driving for Chicago in my shitty little car (which desperately needed an oil change and a new muffler, sigh). Drove for about six hours, got caught in traffic once I got to the city, totally thought I was going to be late and finally resigned myself to saying "Well, whatever."

But! I found the theatre and was a little startled to see a very long line snaking out of the doors. Turns out it was the will-call ticket line (yeah, that was me as well). So I parked, which involved handing over my incredibly cluttered car and keys to an attendant, ran across the street, and waited in line with mostly hipster twenty- and thirtysomethings. Got my ticket and was promptly met inside the door by talespin (Carmen) and Ophelia--met via the Pendergast board. And Ophelia's daughter was saving some very decent seats. Awesome. So, basically, I was saved from being late by virtue of the theatre starting incredibly late.

Now, I have to say, I think this was the greatest beginning to a slideshow that he's ever had. ( And here's why... )

( On the show itself... )

( Even Dwarfs Started Small )

( Talking to Crispin )

So then we did leave (after Carmen took a picture of the sign on which they spelled it CRISPEN), and Carmen drove my car back to Ophelia's where her car was because Ophelia's daughter had taken her car and left earlier. I had to shift things around to make room for people, god my car is such a trash heap. And Ophelia let me sleep at her house for like, oh, four hours or something, which was extremely kind of her. And then I got up, got dressed, was fed a little something and got directions and met her husband (they are all so nice)... AND THEN HAD TO DRIVE STRAIGHT BACK TO WORK.

And I was about forty minutes late. But they were forgiving, because they knew I was out of town. Also, it was kind of rainy. So, yes. That's about it, I think.

Oh, except for this conversation I heard in the bathroom in a service plaza on my home. Between a guy and his young son at the urinals: "DAD." "Yeah?" "Why do you go there?" "Well, because I'm bigger." "Okay... DAD?" "Yeah?" "Will I get bigger?" "Uh-huh."

It was cute, what can I say.

I drew a naked chick and didn't get any comments at all? I mean, I know it's not that great, but holy crap... if nudity can't get your attention these days, what can?

I ordered Drop Dead Sexy (yum Crispin), Bad Dreams (yum Bruce Abbott), and a book about mutation and deformity. It is my present for surviving illness and a 10 hour workday chock-full of selling shoes and rescuing bugs. And soon I shall be the last remaining bug-rescuer, as the only (other) guy there, Dejan, has got a new job and will be leaving at the end of October. I think.

In the world of amusing online developments, I've been friended for unknown reasons by myfandoms. And lily_lemony has investigated the site they are promoting and found it to be laughably MySpace-like and surprisingly high on Bruce Springsteen. If that doesn't just scream "high-class entertainment," I dunno what does. I mean, jeez, I must be incredibly lucky to have been chosen out of the thousands and thousands of... um...

But, seriously, it is pretty funny.

Now, please, if you could all just whip me into finishing my homework...? Okay, and answering emails. Rather than, y'know, screwing around online on the laptop that I just realized was actually working magically and stupendously, as if raised from the dead.

With picspam, picspam, picspam!

My contribution? Here it is, quick and dirty as usual...





HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CRISPIN!

Now, to read the holy texts and listen to the holy sermons... heheheheheheh.