Just like the title states.
…the “De Palma Lecture”…
- The lecture – if we’re getting the unabridged version – then goes on to compare and contrast his films in order to effectively illustrate La Mommie’s point. There is usually mention of Caine , Connery crawling across the floor dragging his vital organs behind him and possibly – if the dogs haven’t started any herky jerky – a mention of the “race against the sun” scene in Bram Stroker’s Dracula, which while not being a scene in a De Palma film, is one of HER favorite scenes, thus applicable to any discussion (even when it’s not).
“And the way Sean Connery just played that scene,” she might say, “he really earned that Oscar. He did win it for that, right? Still, I don’t think we needed all of that!” All of that, meaning the blood, the crawling on the floor, the vital organs trailing behind like streamers and the seventeen thousand shotgun blasts it took to win the Oscar.
- Like most black folks – at least in my fantagical version of the black folk narrative (said in a Booming Earl Jones voice), when really it’s probably just my sister and me – I came to know of Lumet through The Wiz and the giddy seven year old in me still gleefully mispronounces his name “LUM ET” instead of “LOO-MET” the correct pronunciation.
We used to chant “LUM ET LUM ET” while watching the opening credits of The Wiz and tossing Cabby (my sister’s CPK) in the air.
We also thought he was black.
He had to be, because in our childish way we assumed black folks had to be at the helm of shit this money. It would be years before we were introduced to Teena Marie, Hall & Oates, Roger Ebert, Young Americans era Bowie, racial and sexual dynamics in Hollywood or the concept of white folks and black folks collaborating to harness the power of pure awesome in service of pop culture.
…breaking up with past interests:
- I went through a Michener phase about ten years ago and haven’t really picked anything up since then. It tends to be a prop I seek in times of great artistic peril to make me feel expansive and important. Look at me with my Archie Double Digest and TEXAS. That’s right, bitches, I came to kick ass some and sing campfire songs, except I’ll all out of wood. Or something like that. Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be hanging with James any time soon.
…seeking divine (gym) intervention:
- That’s when I solicit intergalactic help in the form of funkateers Earth, Wind & Fire whose 70s costumes say to the world, “I don’t have to wait for flying cars and robot nannies to rock my BSG ‘80 space suits! I’m busting them out RIGHT NOW!” The very same disco spacesuits Phillip Bailey would later dismiss with a chuckle when presented to him by Phil Collins. I switch my phasers to Let’s Groove, flip the treadmill into hyperdrive and set a course for Boogie Wonderland.
- As for Criminal Minds, that dog most definitely does not hunt and barely feels compelled to scratch fleas off its back – and it’s riddled with fleas. And I’m with Mandy on the violence tip. The show is entirely TOO VIOLENT. And you know when a gal whose favorite movie is SHARKY’S MACHINE says something is too violent she’s not just trading in hyperbole.
…the secret of life:
- I’ll let you in on the secret of life. It’s not the Law of Attraction or the golden rule. It’s this simple truth. We are all living in the mind of ten year old boy named Tommy Westphall. All of us. All the time and twice on Sundays.
…new trends in sex work:
- Now, I know our ladies of the eve are much more Y2K and business casual these days, so really my inspiration is more 70s in nature and was chiefly framed by endless viewings of TV cop shows. It’s doubtful fur chubbies have been raged with any conviction or irony free since – oh – about 1978. But the big ass MacGyver bag is timeless.
…black lady judges on cop shows:
- I don’t know what their numbers are in real life, but daytime TV and Law & Order would have you believe the courts are filled with chubby, black, medium toned women with eyelids at permanent half mast and with lips perpetually in search of lemons to suck. They range in type from the Jocelyn Elders, “Overruled, but watch it, counselor, or I’ll find you in contempt faster than you can say ‘concrete suite at the steel bar Sheraton’. We clear?” to the C.C.H Pounder type who fight every urge in their body not to say, “I know you aren’t sitting up here asking me for bail?” and instead take a deep breath and calmly state, “Bail denied. Defendant is remanded to custody penning trial.” While generally fair and reasonable, they are not above demanding the lawyers approach the bench, covering the mic with a well manicured hand and threatening to snatch those knuckleheads bald headed if they engage in anymore courtroom theatrics.