Far left: once puked out the door of Steven Kramer’s parents’ station wagon
What do The Waitresses, the delightful ’80s band whose bizarre history would have made a dynamite episode of Behind the Music, have to do with what went on in movies this week? I imagine that you, my superbly well-informed readership, already know, but what the hell, I need some kind of teaser for the latest installment of my newish week-that-was-ish column at The Auteurs’, and the darn song has been un-get-outta-ble of my head since I heard it again for the first time in many years in that stupid trailer. If that’s not enough of an enticement, said column also includes my Armond White-ism of the week—what’s yours? In any case, here you go.
I would respond to the “cultural proclivities of the Right” thing, but A) I’m getting bored doing that, frankly; and b) in all honesty, the Cultural Proclivities of the Right as represented on the internet do not make me terribly proud.
So anyway. My real question: did you pitch this column idea to the Auteurs, or did they come to you about it? Because you really seem to enjoy this side job. And I enjoy reading it very much.
It’s funny; when I concocted the phrase “Weird News of the Cultural Proclivities,” etc., the stress in my head was more on “Weird News” than on, well, you know. But that Derbyshire screed IS pretty, um, unusual, you have to admit.
The column was cooked up by myself and Auteurs’ editor Dan Kasman after a lot of agonizing over how to further solidify my presence over there. At first I was worried about biting David Hudson’s style, but I soon realized that I flatter myself to even imagine that I could ever do so, and that the real point of the column was for me to make even more of a jerk of myself than I do here, which gives the whole enterprise a feel that (I hope) is kind of intriguingly counter to the dignity displayed by the remainder of the Auteurs’ site.
Glad you’re liking it. Tell your friends!
Bruno might be cinema. Maybe. It’s probably worth seeing, at any rate, and the many problems with it (as a movie, as a satire) seem to be worth mulling over afterward. It’s certainly of more interest than The Hangover, which had only Zach Galifianakis and his beard to recommend it.