LOVE IT TO DEATH

...and a piece of art







While not exactly a light (summer) read, Christine Montross's gross anatomy 101 and it's philosophical and moral implications for the living is a must-read for those who wonder about what it takes to be a doctor, and the much larger implications of the way western civilization feels about death, and the body.
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Montross, a first time author with Body of Work, weaves an incredibly graphic yet tender look at
what is considered to be a necessary right of passage for medical students, but
which would make 95% of the populace gag.
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After all, carving up embalmed, leathery, mottled and downright grotesque
specimens of former human beings takes a special kind of (live) human being.
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The details described by Montross should bring out the horror factor in just about everyone who reads this treatise on the dissection of a cadaver that Montross named "Eve," but the triumph is the way the author turns a Frankensteinen subject matter into a gentle en joiner as to what makes us alive.
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Montross comes to have a real empathy for "Eve," a woman she never knew in life, but knows very intimately in death.
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Interestingly, although Montross and her med school class spent many months rooting through bodies and all major organs, few of the students would go on to have any surgical or internal medicine practice.
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Montross became a psychiatrist, and she writes that perhaps her inside knowledge of the body may help her understand the mind, the fundamental and basic humanness of the being.
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And since this is shaping up as a summer where already a lot of Baby Boomers have taken (death) on the chin-Farrah, MJ, Billy May, etc.-reading this book and reflecting on what it is to be living might just be a prescient thing to do.

BEAT IT

Shocked and stunned. very stunned.

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What is it with continuing bizarro troika of major celebrity deaths?

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Again, always, in 3's.

This week brought the demise of Ed McMahon, and then on the same day, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson.

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With the Jackson thing being the most shocking, or was it?

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Snowballing reports allege that MJ was heavy on the painkilling narcotic meds such as Dilaudid, Demerol, or stronger, and that obviously, a miscalculation or too high a residual dose could prove fatal, even to a healthy heart.

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In any event the King of Pop is dead, long live the King.

(When you as a child have 4 number one singles in one year, and sell 100 million copies of one LP, then you can call yerself just about anything you want.)

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Still, other media outlets were less than kind at the out-of-left-field news.

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Within hours of confirmation of MJ's death, The Smoking Gun website reprised some grand jury testimony from a young man who accused Jackson of molestation. Not even in death, etc.

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And some fans of the Beatles are less than shocked, and stunned, what with their noses still outta joint from 1985, when MJ bought up publishing rights to 259 Lennon/McCartney tunes for a measly 47 mill, whilst Macca and Mz. Ono failed to get on the same page.

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Regardless, an immense talent, no matter how weird and even distasteful is gone at 50, and that, is the real story.

EVEN MORE (ICKY) TRICKY DICKY

He never looked so good...





As I inch my way through Andy Warhol "Giant Size", a near 630 page biblical in scope tome on the pop culture art of Mr. Warhola, I keep finding images that must be shared with you. (My full review of the near 10 lb(!) book will appear soon at www.boomermediareview.com)
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Love Warhol or hate him-or anywhere in between-you gotta be impressed by the sheer audacious volume of his output.
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Case in point for today are the silkscreen images AW undertook in the 70s.
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Up top is Andy's take on Richard Nixon circa 1972. Charitable, really.
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Did you know that Dick and Andy go way back?
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Give a click on the scan of the letter, at left.
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It seems that Nixon, in keeping with his glib, Machiavellian manner was even in 1969 interested in recruiting Andy and some of his gang for the new administration.
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Good Lord. Guess the only Warhol Nixon knew about was the Campbell soup can one, and not the various other artrocities and Factory debauchery whom anyone within 100 miles of New York City had surely heard of.
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Actually, too bad Nixon never appointed Andy to the cabinet.
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Him and John Mitchell would have got on terrific!

TIME FOR AN OLDE NEW AGE RANT

ATTENTION: Snotty, whiny, brats!

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Last week, a major media outlet that may or may not have been the New York Times had a piece about how "today's kids" consider Holden Caufield-the famous phony-fighter from the Catcher in the Rye, to not only be an anachronism, but a whiny brat who holds no intrigue for "today's kids," that may if true, may make them be dumber than I ever gave them credit for.

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OK, forget the fact that Mark David Chapman basically used J. D. Salinger's masterpiece about teen and even young adulthood alienation as a loose template for the murder of John Lennon-and I very much doubt that "today's kids" have any friggin' clue who MDC is-and maybe just barely, who John Lennon is. (Besides, Chapman was/is nuts.)

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Oh, and don't even get me started on "today's kids" calling ANY other "kids" whiny!!! "Today's kids," of about 18 anums, many times behave like 8 anals. Spoiled little pisiform buggers that many are...

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Anyway, I'd bet me copy of If that most, that's most of the babies of Baby Boomers, are just pathologically narcissistic featherweights, who if they ever had to go through what earlier, tougher generations have, would have ended up with shitty britches.

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Sorry, "today's kids." As as a lot, me thinks you are mostly whiny wankers.

IRONY OF "THROAT" RUNS DEEP

Ahhh; 1972!
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Think-or say-what you want about heterosexual porn, it has, since Deep Throat, become almost (that's almost) mainstream with not much chance to shock or make one stand in awe of the superstars of filmed/videoed sex. VCRs and the Internet make it available 24/7, no questions asked. (Well, maybe your Visa number.)
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But, of course that proliferation came about (partly) to the innovations and sacrifices made by a small cadre of actors, directors and producers who turned "smut" into what was called at the time, "porno chic."


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And this is on my mind today after reading some of the incredible material contained in a 400 page plus FBI dossier on Deep Throat, just made public last Friday.
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To say that the FBI-courtesy of the religious right wing and Richard Nixon had a hard-on for the perps of porn, is to understate.
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The fact that Nixon and his gang of state Attorneys General tried to throw Harry Reems-the male lead in Deep Throat-in prison for 5 years should say it all. Even theatre owners were indicted in the "conspiracy."
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Not even sure the bearded black-robed boys in Iran would go for that one.
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And notwithstanding that porn was shown in (public) movie theatres back in the 70s, even at drive-ins, creating Jurassic pricks, Deep Throat, with only a half dozen rather tame sex scenes that seem almost quaint by today's standards and was considered by the authorities to surely be the end of western civilization as we, or they, knew it.
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Plus the delicious irony of Nixon being brought down by a Watergate informant who was not only a senior FBI agent, but whom also went by the nom de phallus, "Deep Throat," could not have been written by a dime store novelist worth his starving artist bona fides.
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But if you were not around during the day, and want to really get a flavour of what it was like to get eaten alive by a pop culture phenomenon, I highly recommend you seek out the 2005 video doc, Inside Deep Throat.
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Not only is the film itself superb, there are copious bonus features and two sets of commentary tracks that fill in gaps not discussed in the film. (Sadly, two relevant voices, Deep Throat director Gerad Damiano, and Behind The Green Door deb, Marilyn Chambers, have passed since the documentary was made.)
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My fave is when Reems recounts how after being led away in the middle of the night in 1973 from his apartment by beefy FBI agents, the cops actually asked for autographs and posed pictures back at HQ.
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Linda Lovelace, she of the film fabled clitoris in her throat was at the time of her death in 2002 still signing Deep Throat items despite having claimed in 1986 that she had been "raped" during the film.
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As I said, deep irony as well as throat.

BRUNO BESTS BORAT?

Oh, boy!

Homophobes, and even thin-skinned gays, get ready to have your gym socks rocked.
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Sasha Baron Cohen nee Ali G nee Borat nee Bruno is back next month with a second-well third if you wanna get real technical-satiric look at the human condition.

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And while it is tough to imagine how the effeminate (very) gay, Austrian faux fashion interviewer Bruno can top Borat in laughs, or especially box-office, we, shall see.

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Getting on the cover of GQ mag can usually impart a certain manly cache, yet unless you see the

man as a catcher, rather than pitcher, then I'll leave it you you'se to decide
which is up, and that which is down.

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But no denying that Bruno contributes mightily to the GQ July ish.

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Priceless dillio on do's and don't in the world of first rate fashionistas are the stock and rough trade of Bruno, and in this, mein hair does not disappoint, even if you are dirty arschenhaller, or even have one for that matter.
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And, words of wisdom straight from zee bleached blonde Boy Wonder about "bum bleaching":
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"If Bruno didn't get his schmutziger arschenhaller bleached twice a month, his shtinker would

resemble Dizzy Gillespie during a trumpet solo."

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Bruno also discuses his last boyfriend, Diesel, who "vas a genuine pygmy only three eight, so ich made (heem) vear heels so he could give me plow jops mitout me having to bend mein knees."

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As you may guess, Bruno's new movie due July 10 is gonna be a politically incorrect mouthful, or more. A mighty millstone, in the anals of gay history.

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Some nervous-nellie Gay Rights Rainbow peeps are on record saying that

they wonder if all proletariat wankers taking in Bruno will be un-thick enough to "get the joke."

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But from what I have seen and read about Bruno the movie, one would have to be quite retarded, or barring that totally beyond redemption not to get the joke.

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Heil Bruno, and be GLAAD!!!

FROM BEATLES TO BOWIE, 30 YEARS ON

Cor, those wuz the daze!

Readers have previously endured my shilling for UK music mags, so wot the bloody 'ell. why not more?

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I even have a news peg to hang this one on.

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Record Collector-as you can see from the upper toppermost of the bloggermost-started thirty annals ago as part Fabs, part others publication.

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Interestin' that, as 1979-save for the release of the Hollywood Bowl LP two years earlier-was not exactly the age of Beatlemania, redux.
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Yet here RC is, 780 fortnights later-look it up-still going strong.

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Beatle coverage is still top shelf, but Record Collector is also tuned in tightly to many other iconic pop groups and stars.

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This month, RC devotes a lot of script and pix-12 pages worth- to David Bowie's Hunky Dory album, itself now going on 38 years of age.

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Hey Beatle fans, did you know that former Abbey Road Studio engineer Ken Scott was Bowie co-producer on Hunky Dory?
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This is the kind of great factoid stuff that fans of classic rock can get when perusing RC, and I strongly urge you to seek out a copy-or even maybe a subscription-and get the full story, mate.
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Then find out first hand if there's Life on Mars?

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Maybe next month's RC, with Telestar Joe Meek, will let us in on the truth...