Hagen, Galas, Gaga: The evolution of the post-punk chanteuse
Like many witness to the Lady Gaga phenomenon, I saw the burgeoning celebrity popping up here and there in her eye-catching, show-stopping ensembles, and I had no idea what her music sounded like. I pictured a possibly screeching and borderline unlistenable (in the best possible way, of course) new incantation of opera-slayer Diamanda Galas: a … Continue reading
Bad (so bad that it’s good?) romance
As a youngish academic in English I should adhere to many cultural stereotypes. I should “use” my television as a decorative art piece and never actually watch it. I should sport shoes that promote foot health like a good pair of Birkenstocks, or a Dansko clog if I’m feeling fancy. I should revel in French film and have a taste for curious and inventive cuisine. And I should probably refrain from employing self-coined terms like “mo-mo” when proper names for such objects (“remote control”) already exist.
Although the list above is clearly exaggerated, it’s still difficult for me to not measure myself by an imaginary yardstick of academic propriety. Or by more general yardsticks like adult sophistication, for that matter. As a result, I feel ashamed that I consider Television a part of my family and that my favorite shoes are 4+ inches high and stained with the blood of tootsies intensely dedicated to sparkle motion. I feel guilty that I prefer watching the cartoon adventures of an orphan boy and his favorite pirate (they live in a whale!) to more edifying cinematic encounters. And while “Top Chef” remains a must-see program, I take more epicurean delight in mixing various other junk food desserts into my ice cream than in spinach foams and genius takes on ceviche (seh-whoochie?!). As for language, I love me a $10 word as much as a Rachel Zoe-ism. What’s a grown-up material girl to do?
