Whaddaya know, it turns out I was prescient about Natalie Portman. There I am trying to lure readers with silly, lurid post titles like Natalie Portman Carrying Satan’s Child, and the next thing you know, Repube presidential candidate Mike Huckabee is jumping on my bandwagon and attacking her, too. The difference is, he’s serious.
Or Huckabee was serious until he back-pedaled and then said he was glad that Nats was marrying her boyfriend, as if the impending marriage made it all okay and legitimized the pregnancy and the relationship and crap-wallah-wallah-crap. Okay, Mike, let’s forget for a minute how offensive that comment is to the underclass ten percent (at least) of this nation who can only legally marry their fag hags. Actually, let’s not forget. Cleverer political commentators than I can poke more accurate holes in you and your idiocies. I just need to underscore how outrageous this whole marriage thing is, period. Why don’t we simply ban the whole institution, already, there’s bound to be something unconstitutional about it.
I wonder if, before his interview with Michael Medved, Huckabee did what I did and looked up the IMDb Starmeter to see who was on top and who would get him more press and hits online and, like me, chose Nats. I’ll bet I’m not far from the truth there. The Repubes need all the press they can get before they irrelevant themselves permanently.
Given that this a Pure Film Creative blog post, the tone of which is set by the graceful, carefree dancing commedia dell’arte characters on the header, I would like to keep it light and examine Huckabee’s statement from a fashion point of view:
“People see a Natalie Portman or some other Hollywood starlet who boasts, ‘we’re not married but we’re having these children and they’re doing just fine’…I think it gives a distorted image. It’s unfortunate that we glorify and glamorize the idea of out-of-wedlock children.”
I have known a few out-of-wedlock children, formerly known as bastards, in my day and they were always just as glamorous as the next person. My grandmother Iris, who taught me how to swear, for instance, was born out of wedlock. She was known as “Lizzie’s Shame.” Great-grandma Lizzie later married the bastard who knocked her up, but the stigma of being her mother’s shame certainly didn’t stop Grandma Iris from being hyper-glamorous. She was a model, in fact. She modeled regularly for the Cecil Beaton of Australia, as I like to reference him, a photographer named Athol Shmith, and she then married his first cousin/best friend, Archie, my grandfather. I would insert a hyper-glamorous shot of either of my grandparents because they both modeled for Athol, but I’d have to run back to New York, raid my mother’s rogue’s gallery and scan the images, so you’ll just have to settle for whatever I’ve Google Imaged of Athol’s work and take my word for it: out of wedlock doesn’t mean out of glamour.
But let’s scrutinize further as to the way in which the press picked up on this story. According to the media, Huckabee said that Nats “often glorifies and glamorizes out-of-wedlock pregnancies.” In fairness to the Repubes, who are forever crapping on about how the liberal media distorts things and is in general satanic, there is a difference here, because while out-of-wedlock children like Grandma Iris can be just as glorious and glamorous as anyone else, pregnancy is never glamorous, in or out of wedlock, Rodarte gown or not, Oscar in one hand, hunk in the other or not. Pregnancy is uncomfortable, it looks funny; both the pregnant woman and the person looking at the pregnant woman want the damned thing out.
Huckabee is clearly playing to his constituency with this, not to the fashion-conscious, who are either liberal or, most likely, don’t give a tinker’s damn about politics. No matter how many stories the New York Times runs about Michelle Obama’s fashion sense and how she is influencing women, the fashion world really doesn’t give a shit. Or that’s about as close as they come to giving a shit about politics, and then they lick their fingers and turn the page. Does Galliano look like he even knows what the New Hampshire Primary is? He’s not even aware there is a New Hampshire; he probably thinks the old one is boring enough as it is.
Indeed, whether he meant to say out-of-wedlock pregnancy or out-of-wedlock children, Huckabee knows his voter. Only a redneck hick from the deepest Ozarks would find a severely pregnant woman glorious. “Whoa! Lookee over that there mother-to-be. Looks like a blue-ribbon Holstein mooin’ to be milked. Glory be!”
This is my first somewhat political posting so let me make one thing very clear: I am an equal opportunity offender when it comes to Repubes and Democraps. Yes, both the nicknames I have given them are so puerile they would only make my nieces giggle, but sometimes when you step back from the fray of politics, you have to agree that puerile humor is the only way to keep a relatively sane perspective on things.
You will find me hitting on the Repubes more often than Democraps because Repubes are soft targets, low-hanging fruit, much more often so gloriously wrong in the most unglamorous ways, and that makes for better humor. The Democraps’s biggest sin is they are just plain disappointing, and you really have to take a fine comb to them, like trying to pick out head lice one by one, to find something truly wrong with the way they behave. Repubes are wonderfully grotesque 24/7.
Today we are launching the Schizo Of The Week, a regular feature. I was going to take a picture or, even better, a video of someone I have seen on a bus or in the general Hollywood neighborhood, like the woman today on the Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame fishing cigarette butts out from the cracks in the sidewalk (there is too much poetic symbolism there to comment on), but this one takes this week’s crown from anyone roaming these streets:
My friend Tuttle, who is a far superior Googler to me, found the correct information about the kid who broke into Moby’s house, which I blogged about in the Shithole piece. I apologize to Robbie, the intruder, for having called him a junkie when in fact he is just an acidhead. And Moby wasn’t so super cool as to let him stay, but he did give him a sweatshirt and money for breakfast. Indeed, Moby is correct in his post, he is lucky that Robbie wasn’t a violent person who might have stabbed him in his sleep. We all remember what happened to Sharon Tate. But, Moby, you live in a frickin’ castle, you lucky bastard. Raise the drawbridge, close the gate, do something. Sheesh. Tuttle and I were admiring Wolf’s Lair from another hill today, by the way. The scaffolding is down. Great work on the roof and the refurbishment in general, Moby, you lucky, lucky bastard.