Floozy FAQ Gets Drunker Than Usual, Eats Cheetos

Christine and I went out to a birthday party one night in rather loud outfits, and returned home with a bag of Cheetos and some Floozy FAQ questions we solicited from other patron's at the bar. I was rendered too drunk too form proper sentences, and opted to repeat the same word over and over again in an attempt at clarity, and Christine was wowed by the convergence of the coloring of our late night snack and her outfit. Clearly something was afoul, and I'd like to think our curious stupor was not brought on by the GIANT bottle of Dogfish Head's Fort that we quickly consumed- no, I blame it on the cheetos.

Please watch the first installment of our most recent filming, and stay away from the Flamin' Hots!



Don't forget to mail new questions to den.webber@gmail.com- it gives us an excuse to live and punish our organs.

Words

I had to go to the bathroom, and suddenly the fragment "a prodigious shit" popped into my head. What a wonderful combination of words, but what would a prodigious shit be- what would be the experience of said shit? Is it's prodigiousness measured in size, volume, or some other criteria? Why the hell is something this foul entering my brain, the reasoning of absurd scatological word pairings?
"A prodigious shit"
It could also work as a fun description of a person. I should like at some point in my life to meet a scrapper who I could easily sum up as a "prodigious shit". Looking back, I'm sure that I've met a few.

Last night, Grant said that he was "fucking splendid". "What a cute adjective", I replied, "I haven't heard that in a while." "Yeah it's great", he said, "but I only like to use it with something profane- dirty it up a bit." "Good call. Splendid on its own would be a bit too twee." nI'm surprised I don't use the word more often- it's a very "me" adjective, if, in fact, an adjective can be a "me adjective".
Somehow this devolved into a chat about getting the word "splendid" tattooed on your forehead, but suffering massive burns on your face or having a dog chew off your nose, leaving "splendid" permanently snarking at your fleshy facial misfortune in a suspended state of unsettling sick corporeal humor.
"Splendid!"

On the train I watched an overweight middle school girl play fighting rather aggressively with several male classmates on their way home. Clearly this was a result of the failure of language, the impossibility of communication between these kids- a punch instead of a flirt. The boy will hold her hand only when he is restraining her surprisingly hard blows, a touch that otherwise would not happen.
I imagine two well dressed people sitting having a conversation in which what wants to be said is never said- a confession or a plea is whitewashed by tersely breezing through the mundane. Suddenly the pair start violently pummelling each other, and are somehow more satisfied for it, even though the proper words are not spoken.

Possible Histories: A Chain Reaction Leading to The Latest in an Unending Barrage of Video Series from a Mister Dennis M. Webber

Ok kids, my ex saw this amazing movie/short/thing on Turner Classic Movies, and had to send it to me and my pals.

Apparently it might have been me in a past life, which I wouldn't shrug off, because it was sort of what my parents wished I had been as a child, since I was a youngin' gifted with the precious gift of song.
Anyway, this video intersected with my love for this flickr account that has heaps of old French paper toys you can print out, and my work boredom, which frequently results in my printing and assembling these chintzy wonders (much to the confusion and amusement of my coworkers). This intersection collided with my Moleskine notebook, and resulted in this super amazing diorama:


So this diorama, which I think elicited even more curious stares from my coworkers (the image of toy soldiers gunning down an oversize child starlet is totally not weird at all!), collided with the tail end of a marijuana high, which resulted in the creation of the following video and new AMAZING VIDEO SERIES from yours truly, called POSSIBLE HISTORIES! Watch and enjoy!

New Birthday Floozy & Dennis' Enchanted Evening With Marc Jacobs' Butt Boy

Christine and I turned 23, threw a party, and filmed a new episode of FLOOZY FAQ!


Enjoy, and don't forget to send in new questions to den.webber@gmail.com


In other news...


It's IML in Chicago this week, which I was completely clueless about. My queries for my queer brethren asking what the hell "IML" is, were met with a sort of "if you have to ask, you'll never know" attitude. Finally, I learned that the rather sterile sounding "IML" is an anagram for International Mister Leather, which is basically a giant fetish beauty pagent.

Imagine Living Dolls with a lot more grunting, and a cowhide smell in the air...

Anyway, this curious competition brings all sorts of queer riff-raff to this town, including good ol' Erik Rhodes, who I wrote about recently. I saw the sad porn star mess while I was out at a bar last night, and proceeded to flap at my friends to direct their attention to the massive orange skinned dude in the corner.
"It's Erik Rhodes!"
My cry was met by a gaggle of confused faces.

You know, this dude.

"He's the porn star dude who was fucking Marc Jacobs- I've skinned off to him like a million times?" -a statement that confirmed that I probably spend too much much time checking gossip sites and watching porn.

My friends still had no clue who he was. "I only watch amateur", chirped a cronie. "Yeah x tube is heaven", piped another. And then they all proceeded to babble about grainy home porn, while my eyes remained stuck on Rhodes. I had to say something to him- I mean he has helped me through some rough times, his blog is a fascinating trainwreck, and he totally schtupped Marc Jacobs, how could I not pick this dude's brain for a second...as much as you can pick somebody's brain when you've had a few too many manhattans and you're in a loud crowded gay bar.

But just like that, Rhodes vanished- rushed away by a gaggle of twinks!

I returned to my group, who were still chatting it up about the glories of self-produced porn, and commenced my evening. But my chances for a mini-interview with Rhodes were not spoiled! While walking around later in the evening, I spotted him at a corner table being swarmed by a bunch of twinks who were probably looking to share diseases with him after the bar closed. I grabbed my friend by the hand, looked him in the eye with a curious manhattan fueled fire and said, "We're having a conversation with Erik Rhodes!"

With said friend in tow, I charged over to Rhodes' table breaking through the wall of gelled hair pretty boys to the man-mess himself, and offered my hand.

"You're an inspiration."

"Uh, thanks?"

"I'm Dennis and this is my friend Nick."

"I'm Dean." (or dan or something...I forgot which name he used, but he used a fake name or a real name...who knows with porn stars)

Dude was actually quite nice, very genial, down to earth- it was sort of like talking to the benevolent high school QB, who happens to like it up the butt.

We asked him what brought him to Chicago, and he said he was here for IML, which he's been coming to for a while, "I got nominated six times, and I still haven't won anything!" To which my friend quipped "You're like the Susan Lucci of leather." He just looked at us with a vacant smile, "who's that?" So Nick and I, who were pretty surprised that he knew nothing of the spurned soap star, told him all about Susan Lucci.
Then he told me, "You remind me of my friend Cazwell!"

I'm not sure if being linked to a bratty gay rapper is for me, but whatever...

This spiraled into me mentioning that I love Amanda Lepore, who's in Cazwell's music videos and he told some Amanda stories, which somehow made me want to talk about Leigh Bowery, but for some reason I couldn't remember his name. After trying to remember his name I gave up...and henceforth gave up on Erik Rhodes. What else was left to discuss? His stellar performances? I didn't dare ask him about the Marc Jacobs stuff, for fear that he'd deck me... What does one chat about with a porn star?

He smiled and said "I'm really drunk."
"Me too" I chimed, and scurried away.

It was sort of amusing, but not as funny of as a recent hello I had with Pulitzer Prize winning composer David Lang after a Chicago Symphony contemporary music concert. I approached the wee composer and said:

To which he replied:

Thank you, David, thank you...

Ubiquitous Bedding: Grappling with the Complexities of the Universe Via Petty Plagiarism and Ikea Omnipresence

My brain is melting after watching the universe fold onto itself like a neverending oragami piece in the latest episode of Pot Psychology.

Please note the convergence...

Although, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see that bedding given that I've seen the same duvet cover on ANTM, Project Runway, and I've heard its on some other reality trash. But it's like a strange collision taking place- the show Christine and I basically copied, mirroring us with featured home decor...has a new dimension opened up? I don't understand....

Does this mean choice is defunct in the modern consumer world? My unique sleepytime experience is in fact a grand nothing? Am I thus closer with Tracie "Slut Machine" Egan? Do I have the same dreams as Top Model Fatima when I enter my REM cycles?

My head is spinning- I think I need to go lie down on my mass produced linens...

NEW URBAN ADVENTURES: THE CRP

The Chicago River Project

On a day in the summer of 2008, a small number of explorers will converge early in the morning at the spot where the Chicago River meets Lake Michigan. From there they will explore the river and the areas surrounding its banks by making a trek on foot away from the river’s ending toward its unseen origin. These curious journeyers will document their voyage in whatever way they see fit, noting whatever details, large or small, that strike them. For the moment the structure of this project will remain relatively open; the constants are simple: the day, the intent of discovery, and the river.The results of this expedition will culminate in an exhibition, performance, or some other form of presentation that will best represent the work that results from the participants’ observations.

Please email me at den.webber@gmail.com let me know if you are interested in taking part in this project or know anybody else who might be as well.

LATEST FLOOZIES

Here are the two latest episodes of Floozy FAQ.


Floozies tackling animal issues:


Floozies solving the restless leg mystery:


Be sure to send in new questions to den.webber@gmail.com so we can give you the bestest birthday edition of Floozy FAQ EVER!

James Pants Presents: Italo Disco Surprise!

The super wonderful Stone's Throw podcast just put up a swell eclectic mix from recent no-so-hip-hop signee James Pants. Like most people, I had never heard of Mr. Pants before, but I'm totally jumping on this hype-wagon. Frankly, after three years of hotly anticipating the new Jamie Lidell album and being really really really underwhelmed by its offerings (Portishead, however, totally wins the long wait payoff album of the month with 3), the promise of a new electronics-whiz-soul-singing-nerdboy who can deliver something exciting that's not a giant ball of Stevie Wonder pastiche instills a drop of musical hope and excitement into my heart. Also, please note that he is the whitest whiteboy ever and he shares a label with madlib! Madlib!
This dude:






HE'S IN A WOODEN TEEPEE!







I'd venture to say that this is the most exciting signing ST has done since they brought their first lady on board, the very very talented Georgia Anne Muldrow (why haven't you listened to her yet?).

And boy does he deliver (in that whiteboy making r&b in his bedroom kind of way)- LISTEN TO SOME TUNES:

Check out the downtown81 conga shuffle prom of "I Think We're Through"

&

Listen to this bit of Andre-3000-goes-to-a-wobbly-underwater-mall called "Kash"

I'm officially sold.

I hope you are too.

But, what really sold me before I even heard his own tunes was his inclusion of this song in his podcast mix:

Ok, I need you to close your eyes, listen, and pretend you never saw Giorgio Moroder and his stache-o-kings while you listen to this song, and subsequently fall to your knees, head over heels in love with it. It's like somebody sucked the strings out of a Kelley Polar song, and stuck in a whole lot of awesomeness. Before looking up the playlist, I could not stop repeating this song, thinking it was some gem from some new up and coming myspace darlings...

I was wrong.

Very wrong.

This bit of shuffling wonder came from the one and only poppa Georgio!

SURPRISE!

Anyway, this bit of mix-trickery only makes me love James Pants even more! Thank you James Pants! Thank you for your awesomeness! I hope you stay dry in your wooden teepee!

The Magic, The Pain, and The Itch of Youth Theater

Does anybody remember that odd trend in popular 90s cinema, where a movie would open or close with some inspiring school/kid-ful musical/stage performance? I believe it had something to do with the wild success of Sister Act (or maybe it was just a product of that culture wave?), featuring crowd pleasing musical numbers that managed to evoke this mythical spectatorial joy in which the audience is gratified by the performer's joy in production as well as the simple pleasure of song. It's a manipulative storytelling gesture, because these scenes either come at the gooey introduction of a film or at the height of its narrative catharsis at the end- and don't forget the sweeping shots across the players to swirl these multiple joys in a cinematographic tilt-a-whirl, enciting both inexplicable giddiness and a feeling like one could vomit up a pound or so of cotton candy.

Watch this shit and tell me that you didn't get a whiff of elephant ears at 1.35.

Ah magic!
Some suit/evil screenwriter/hackneyed took this formulaic moment and crash landed it in the elementary school auditorium. Sappy kiddieshow moments are cerainly nothing new (old musicals abound with this shit), but as any veteran of the forced school production knows, the shit that wound up in these movies couldn't be further from the awkward unprofessional slopfest that makes up some musical reivew based on past presidents of or Halloween chintz.
You may have seen this clip I posted earlier from homo-lite stinkfest The Object of My Affection:

Ok.

Gross.

Apart from the overwhelming amount of insincerely sincere sacchrine sentimental trashy terrible overload brought on by the adults (I can forgive Paul Rudd because he's soooo cute and inexiplicably endearing even when he's playing an asshole/obliquely making fun of the gays with his "gay dancing" in this clip), there is a whole load of horse shit going on with the kids on stage. Have you ever seen this many kids excited to sing a song for their obnoxiously supporitve families (who apparently need to learn how to be respectful audience memebers...get a load of those endless cheers)? The answer is no...or if you have you went to some kiddie performance camp. Congrats.
The real tell is that kid who pops up around the 40 second mark, who simply cannot conceal his enthusiasm for the literal choreography.

If this moment were real this kid would be standing there bored as hell or with outward defiance of his forced performance. This is probably a more appropriate image:

Now that we set that record straight, I do have to give them credit for keeping something real- that cute little rodent of a girl who hops out to give her solo, which sends Jennifer Aniston on a joygasm she probably hasn't equaled since that very moment. That girl is totally the annoying chipmunk voiced overachieving performer that eveybody in the class totally hates. She gets the parts with the most lines, she gets to do her dumb solo in the desiree song, and Paul Rudd tooooootally loves her. Most kids hated this kind of girl, not so much out of jealousy (like her mom would have her believe), but because she is super annoying and her infantile voice makes your eardrums want to overdose on muzak to kill the pain it inflicts.

Regardless, I don't think anybody has been to such a disgustingly falsely uplifting kiddie review such as this.

Although I must admit, dear readers, that this bit is nothing...things can get a whole lot worse...a whoooole lot worse....

Ok, so this opening clip from Toys isn't actually a depiction of a school production, but it's basically the creepy uncle to that trend. I guess this is supposed to warm your cold heart for the holiday season, but it just makes me feel inexplicably uncomfortable...The tree singers? The dumb Wendy and Lisa song? The reindeer humping at 1.28? What the hell is going on?!?! This has to be stopped!

Finally I wanted to prove a point that Hollywood would also stir up the laughable fantasy that school productions had enormous budgets to lavish on extravagent sets and lighting, like the performance of Peter Pan at the beginning of the movie Hook, but I cannot find a clip of that scene on youtube. So I'll make it up to you by showing you the most nauseating moment of movie song EVER featured in that movie.

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Something tells me this consistently flat breathy nightmare of a pixie might be related to nasaly jumpy pants from the Desiree clip.


So where am I going with this?
Well, an old teacher of mine sent me a DVD of a musical version of Treasure Island that my 8th grade class did. Re-watching this video made me recall all these lousy aformentioned clips, and how in actuality kiddie performances are mostly awkward low budget marathons of generally unenthusiastic youngsters powering through pieces of performance poo.
I'll be throwing together a few videos detailing the uncomfortable product of sticking a bunch of pimply mid-adolescents in pirate outfits and making them sing to a midi back track.
Before I dish out the pain, I decided to make a nice homage both to the stage magic of my youth and this terrible cinematic trend...sort of a heartwarming intro before the embarrassed tears begin to fall.

BEHOLD, NARRATIVE CATHARSIS! PEG LEGS!

You Gotta Be Bad...Bad At Regularly Updating Your Blog...

I'm sorry, blog. I've been sort of a deadbeat dad to you lately. I've been busy, overworked, broken down, and partying too much to really give you much thought. So I figure I can make it up to you with a brief life lesson, before I can actually be a good e-parent.

Ok, kiddo...This is what its like when the mid-nineties blows an enourmous load all over your face:


I hope you have a wet nap on your person...