Oh, HUBBA! Those pictures are so h0tt, I posted a few on my LJ! Thanks, Wendy!
Q: Do you feel like you're on old soul an a young body?
EW: I've definitely felt old as long as I can remember. But at the same time, you feel youthful as well in the sense that I'm constantly fascinated by the world and culture. When I first got into my 20's, I felt relieved because I was catching up with myself.
In his “younger days” interviews, he never struck me as being overly mature. He seemed like a kid having fun, but doing so in an abnormal situation. I hope he doesn’t look back years from now and feel like he missed a childhood. Somehow, I think his mother helped him have those normal, kid experiences, even though he missed going to school with a regular group of students.
When did the URL change for the site? Or has it always been theonering.com and I've just been asleep, content to let my bookmark find it all the time?
mechtild wrote:Eresh, is She a printed magazine or an e-magazine? If a real magazine, did you type it out to post it in the Reading Room? What would you think if I offered a link to it elsewhere? Or quoted it in part? Would that bother you? (Whew! What a lot of question marks!) I would like to send a link to Whiteling, if you haven't already done so. I am sure she would like to see what you wrote about her work.
P.S. I tried twice to leave a comment for your essay in the Reading Room, but both times it gave me a failure message and didn't post. What the...?
This one grandfather was yelling at me because no one told him to pick up the items, but today was the first day the items had come in. He kept insisting he saw people walking out earlier with packages, and I gently reminded him that I was the one who checked in the freight and I knew that it was impossible. I didn't press the point, because his little granddaughter was standing there with tears in her eyes, and perhaps the grandfather is suffering from early onset alzheimers (and is insanely agressive because of it).
As far as what I submitted to our reading room--this is not a scan, but my article as it appears on my computer.
Nothing makes sense unless you know who Iggy Pop was. back then, right around 1969, while the rest of the world was going psychedelic, he presided over quite some reign of perverted rock & roll terror. He would slather his body in peanut butter; barf on his audience; cut himself up with broken glass; wear silver-lamÈ evening gloves onstage; shoot heroin; make frequent use of his big, beautiful p***s; crash his car into trees; beg horrified record-label executives for drug money; pass out in bathrooms with the spike still in his arm; check himself in to a mental institution and score coke off David Bowie while there. Just in general, he lived the totally messed-up life and wrote the totally messed-up songs without which there could have been no angry punk-music explosion of the 1970s, much less anything that has evolved since, angry-punk-music-related.
[(...) Article details how he has cleaned up, drug-wise, in the last twenty years, loves his girlfirend, and seems fairly well-adjusted and happy.]
He looks grizzled and cheerful, his long face gaunt and weathered, wearing jeans and a tattered pullover shirt (...) Oddly enough, he's also wearing a thin-soled loafer on his left foot and a thick-soled boot on his right foot.
"Yeah, I know, I look like a f***ing freak," he says, in that gravel-pit-deep voice of his. "But one of my legs is shorter than the other and I was recently told to start evening things out or I'm going to be Fluffernutter Buttercups up later in life."
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