Odds & ends #1

A 26-sided shape is known as a small rhombicuboctahedron.

Sep 23, 2022

I generally like to pretend I’m one of those people who’s above keeping up with celebrity gossip, mostly because I’m old and I don’t know who anyone is anymore For example, people on Twitter kept bringing up somebody named Tricia Paytas in connection with Queen Elizabeth’s death to a point where I felt vaguely gaslit — obviously I’m supposed to know who this person is, but I don’t, and it feels weird, but also not weird enough to bother just Googling her name to find out. It’s a sort of lazy act of rebellion: I won’t find out who Tricia Paytas is, and you can’t make me!

ANYWAY, I have been having some fun with this Adam Levine thing, however. For those of you who actually do have legitimate academic and/or artistic pursuits that keep you away from this kind of thing, Adam Levine, frontman for Maroon 5, (arguably one of the worst bands of the 21st century, yet inexplicably also one of the most successful) was outed for sliding into Instagram models’ DMs and sending the kind of sexts that a teenage boy who’s never actually touched a boob would send.

Levine, who, it must be noted, is covered in so many bad tattoos that he looks like the bathroom wall of CBGB, is married, and supposedly told one of the young (though at least of legal age, thankfully) women he DM’ed that he wanted to name his unborn child after her, which if, true, would earn him a spot in the Douchebag Hall of Fame. I don’t actually consider this to be a cancellable offense, though, since there’s no evidence that he actually took anything further than a few cheesy “nice butt, babe” text exchanges. That’s minor league when compared to these other offenses:

Coming up with the lyric “the girl with the broken smile,” which far too many grown-ass women used to describe themselves on LiveJournal
Making that face directly into the camera in most of Maroon 5’s videos. You know, that face, the one that’s supposed to look like he just had sex 35 seconds before filming began, but it looks more like he’s stoned and a little dumb? You know what I’m talking about.
Being that guy who claims that doing yoga makes you better at sex (though not better at sexting, amirite?)
Being that guy who claims that men are biologically wired to cheat (though not to be good at sexting, can I get an amen people?)
Having a giant CALIFORNIA tattoo across his stomach like some kind of fucking asshole
Just sweaty all the time
Writing “Moves Like Jagger,” the least Jagger sounding song of all time
Going out in public looking like this:

Now of course, the pendulum is swinging in the other direction and people are perhaps taking this all a little too seriously, referring to the (adult, consenting) women he sexted with as “victims” and his very bad sexting to be “predatory,” and maybe I might be starting to feel a little sorry for him, which is, really, the most unforgivable sin Adam Levine could have committed against me.

The week in Gena

On Kill by Kill, we talked about the underrated Psycho II, in which Norman Bates is kind of almost the Final Girl of his own story this time, without even having to put on women’s clothing. Dennis Franz is at his greasiest best here, Meg Tilly is such an ethereal weird girl that you can almost see through her, and we both just love this movie so much.
Over at The Spool, I reviewed the completely unnecessary American remake of Goodnight Mommy, which I watched a week ago and have already mostly forgotten about. However, if it encourages you to watch the original, do so, but only if you have some time to sit in a darkened room and just stare at the ceiling for little while.
A piece I’m particularly proud of a 30th anniversary retrospective on Cameron Crowe’s Singles, the rare piece of Gen X pop culture that doesn’t make you grimace so hard your cheeks hurt.
I reviewed the not-at-all-controversial Blonde, which absolutely no one has strong opinions about. It might be the longest, most conflicted review I’ve ever written, and I’m still not entirely sure what I thought of it. Ana de Armas is incredible, and there’s some really beautiful visuals in it, but you also get a vomit scene shot from the inside of a toilet, a very long on-screen beejay, and two (2) abortion scenes shot from the inside of what’s supposed to be Marilyn Monroe’s vagina. I am not kidding, and I am not sure what any of it’s supposed to mean, other than the viewer should feel guilty for ever watching a movie, since if it weren’t for show business Marilyn Monroe wouldn’t have suffered so much.

The week in links

I’ve been obsessed with this story since it came out in 2018, and now it’s been announced that it’s going to be adapted for Netflix by Ryan Murphy, who I dislike almost as much as I dislike Adam Levine, but we’ll see what happens.
I just learned that a follow up to The Vow, the true crime series about con artist/cult leader/harem keeper Keith Raniere, will be coming out soon. I’m also obsessed with this story, mainly because I have no idea how a total dork like Keith Raniere managed to get so many people to buy what he was selling, and why haven’t I started my own “I have the second highest IQ in the world” cult yet?
Shaking, crying as the kids say over the announcement of the Criterion Channel’s 80’s Horror collection coming next month. Prince of Darkness! Cat People! Near Dark! Q: the Winged Serpent! What a wonderful excuse to never leave my house for the entire month of October.
Movie lovahs in general, we’re eating good over the next couple months. What are you most excited to see? Nu Hellraiser? The Knock at the Cabin? Triangle of Sadness? The Menu? Decision to Leave? Tell me in the comments! You could also tell me you’re most excited about Halloween Ends, but I wouldn’t believe you.
Bright Wall, Dark Room, a film writing site with stuff so good I kind of hate myself a little, ran a terrific piece about Todd Haynes’ The Velvet Underground, one of my favorite documentaries from 2021.
Longform has, sadly, ended their invaluable aggregator service for some of the best culture, politics and true crime writing on the internet. But their archive is still available, and includes this treasure: a profile of Marlon Brando written for The New Yorker in 1957, by none other than Truman Capote. It’s not exactly the most progressive piece of writing you’ll ever see, but it’s a fascinating window looking into a time when culture writing was it was more of an opportunity for a writer to turn a phrase than to get soundbites from a celebrity to be taken out of context and argued about on social media.
Finally, rest in peace, Scott Adams, finally murdered by Joe Biden (along with the writers of Snuffy Smith, Zits, Baby Blues, and near 80 other comic strips you forgot were still around).

That’s going to be it for now, but I would be remiss if I didn’t leave you with one last gift, courtesy of my friend Chris, a video that dares to ask “Do you want to make love to a sad old man?” Well, do you?