I spent last week between jobs and attempting to organize my life. I wasn't entirely successful. I learned what I already knew: I have so much crap that I never, ever want to throw away. Below is some of it, scanned. Aren't you lucky, getting to look at my hoarding?
Now that I've made this post sound as unappetizing as possible (no cats were flattened in the making of it, I assure you!), the answer to a recurring question I've been asked more than once -- "What do you look like with hair?" -- is below, among many things that I think are actually interesting...
I believe "a mess" is the appropriate answer to the question above. These are both circa late-high school (1997ish). I remember getting in an argument over a gift certificate with a probably AARP member at the boardwalk bookstore where I worked, and just before she left the store in a giant huff, she called me, "Mr. Purple Hair." I was like, "I KNOW BITCH, I DID THIS TO MYSELF." Now I think her insult was totally justified. (You gotta give it up for the Jamiroquai shirt, though, right?)
Anyway, this is why I buzz my scalp -- I cannot handle myself appropriately around hair.
Here's Tracie and I at Disney World last year. She took Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin much more seriously than I did.
This picture of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls' Dolly Read is my favorite head shot of all time. Her expression is so remedial-class that it really conveys her acting ability. I could choke my younger self with the black sperm of my own vengeance for putting holes in this thing (if you enlarge the photo you'll see tack holes around the edges since I had to hang this and the lobby cards that came with it as part of an eBay lot up in my various dorm rooms to illustrate how cool I was). Also, it's so yellow from years of being around cigarette smoke billowing from as many orifices as I could manage. Photoshop is the next best thing to a time machine (and maybe the best best thing, as I don't really want to choke on my own sperm, and if it were black, I'd want to choke on it even less and probably need to visit a doctor).
This one's really good, too. He knows a lot about her family.
Remember when Nick Lachey got totally chunky? Me neither, really, but at some point, I tore these out of a Life & Style for posting:
Does anyone know if Nick still looks like this? I asked on Twitter last night, but I think everyone thought I was kidding. If anyone recently hooked up with him in a hot tub or spent some time on vacation and photographed it, please pass the documentation along. Or even if you just saw some pictures on a blog, please email me. I want to know how ardently I should be fantasizing about him. There's something so hot about giving up the boy-band body. Nick Lachey became a man before our eyes! We are culturally blessed. Also, the best thing I ever got out of The Newlyweds was that he liked having his ass licked. He was all embarrassed when Jessica mentioned it, so you knew it was true. God, this guy is just the best.
Right when Rock of Love hit, I saw Poison in New Jersey (I covered it for VH1).
It was the trashiest, and I have the backstage credentials to prove it. It would have been funny if I were working in the RuPaul sense of the word, but also potentially hazardous to my healthy.
Years ago, a nice reader by the name of Lara had these stamps of Winston made and then sent them to me. I never used them because all in tact, they comprise a piece of art, obviously. I love when people send me renderings of my cat in unlikely media!
Here is the original press release for the Glitter soundtrack. It was printed on vellum:
I find none of its claims ridiculous -- Glitter is a really underrated album!
(As with most of these, you can click to enlarge and make readable.)
Here is M.I.A.'s first official bio:
I find most of its claims ridiculous -- they are possibly all true, but was knowledge of her sister's typhoid really necessary context for Arular? Fetishizing her culture for the sake of a selling point always seemed particularly brazen to me. I guess her struggles really did earn her those truffle fries, though.
This was the suggested participation for a Showgirls screening to promote the DVD reissue:
I looked at that and said, "No." And then the theater went dark and my stance didn't matter anyway, as I couldn't follow it if I wanted to. But really, I do a fine job responding to that movie on my own, thank you very much. And "Call 9-1-1 Nomi" during the rape scene, seriously? Any fan knows that Nomi didn't need 911 -- she handled Andrew Carver with martial arts and some nipple lipstick (nipstick?).
This is something I picked up in the period of time that I spent hypothesizing what I would post on my not-yet-launched blog (it was a much longer period than it should have been). It went forgotten for years and years and now I've made good on my prophecy:
Now I only wish I'd attended.
And finally, here's a bonus picture of me with hair:
I'm about 3-years-old in this picture and in pig heaven -- more literally than in most instances. Miss Piggy opened up me up to loving long-haired women with short fuses and big mouths. I would not be the person I am today without her. She's perhaps the biggest pop cultural influence of my life, just ahead of Samantha Fox (who taught me the glory of sluts).