The generation gap isn’t taking quite the forms it once did, or so it would seem. Today’s kerfuffle involves a group of teenage girls in Sweden who didn’t see any harm in posing for a whimsical menstruation-themed group picture for the school yearbook.

Their principal didn’t see it that way.

According to TheLocal.se, students at a high school in the Stockholm area said that they thought of dressing up in fake blood, tampons, hygiene pads, and chocolate as a “fun thing” to promote free and open communication about menstruation.

The photographer hired by the school refused to take the picture, and then the principal agreed with him, banning the theme from featuring in the yearbook at all. So….. yeah. Lesson learned on the whole open communication concept, right?

Ida Pettersson, a 17-year-old student who was involved in the photograph idea, has taken to Twitter to express her irritation, tell her side of the story, and seek allies in the world at large. On Monday she tweeted, “Har fått så jävla mycket hat pga detta skolfoto men ännu mera kärlek och kärleken vinner alltid! Kampen fortsätter!!! (Has got so damn much hatred because this school picture but even more love, and love always wins! The struggle continues !!!)” (All translations come 100% unadulterated from Google Translate.)
 

Har fått så jävla mycket hat pga detta skolfoto men ännu mera kärlek och kärleken vinner alltid! Kampen fortsätter!!!

— ♀ida♀ (@idapttersson) September 21, 2015

 
The photograph went viral in Sweden after feminist television personality Clara Henry, who has long fought to break the taboos surrounding menstruation, shared it on Twitter. Many people supported the teens in their idea, but a great many also criticized the fake blood as “disgusting.” “Unfortunately we have received a lot of hatred but much, much more love from people,” said Pettersson.

The school refused the picture on the grounds of its policy that all pictures in the yearbook should be “representative and easily accessible to any beholder.” After the picture went viral, the principal told the Aftonbladet tabloid: “I wholeheartedly support what they wanted to highlight. But we have a number of opportunities to raise this issue—the school catalogue is not the right forum.”

Pettersson said, “We really did not think it would become such a big thing, but it did and it is so cool that our story has been spread so much and that we have been able to take up the space we have. We have received so much positive feedback and we are so happy about that.”

In the photo below, the teenagers are dressed quite differently, and the sign in the picture reads, “We are not allowed to have periods.” The text of the tweet translates as “So we took a class photo anyway because many changed their minds and wanted to anyway but we are still our thing and fighting.”
 

Så vi tog ett klassfoto ändå pga många ändrade sig och ville ändå men vi står fortfarande för vår grej och kämpar pic.twitter.com/ILz8fDNWDZ

— ♀ida♀ (@idapttersson) September 22, 2015

 
via Death and Taxes
 

 
It’s well-known that Carole King, along with her then-husband Gerry Goffin, wrote several of the Monkees’ biggest hits and best-loved songs, including “Pleasant Valley Sunday,” the achingly gorgeous romantic ballad “Sometime In The Morning,” the country stomper “Sweet Young Thing,” the groupie anthem “Star Collector” and Head‘s remarkable water-logged symphony “Porpoise Song.” Although her demo track for “Pleasant Valley Sunday” was released on her 2012 collection The Legendary Demos, the rest are less well-known to her fans.

Goffin and King were living in West Orange, New Jersey—total suburbia—in the mid-Sixties. Unhappy with all the conformity they saw around them at the height of the 1960s, the pair wrote a song named after a street there called Pleasant Valley Way:

“Serenade the weekend squire, who just came out to mow his lawn . . .
Another Pleasant Valley Sunday,
Here in status symbol land.”

“Pleasant Valley Sunday” demo
 

 
More after the jump…

 
This is from one of those outrageously bad drug scare films from 1969. It’s called Case Study: LSD and it’s so bad it’s funny. Apparently, if you drop some acid and decide to eat a hot dog, the acid could potentially turn your meal into a troll doll.

Honestly, if I saw this nonsensical propaganda back in 1969, I probably couldn’t wait to get my hands on stuff! I mean, talking troll doll hot dogs?! I’m so there!

The talking hot dog had seven kids and a wife to support. He deserved better.

 
With thanks to Rusty Blazenhoff

 
Jello Biafra, the sardonic front-man for the Dead Kennedys, both in his writing and live performances, was an expert at assuming villainous roles to reveal greater truths about society—whether it be as a serial murderer (as in the song “I Kill Children”) or as a military advisor (as in the song “Kill the Poor”) or as a stumping politician (as in his failed 1979 bid for Mayor of San Francisco).

In what might have been equal parts prank, publicity stunt, and actual desire to force social change, Biafra threw his hat into the mayoral ring in 1979, running against Dianne Feinstein, Quentin Copp, and David Scott, among others.
 

 
Writing in the 33 1/3 series book, Dead Kennedys’ Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables, Michael Stewart Foley describes the anarchic DIY nature of Biafra’s campaign:

Dirk Dirksen hosted a “Biafra for Mayor” benefit on September 3, and raised the necessary $1,125 in filing fees. Consistent with the punk ethos, the volunteers who made up the campaign staff ran it as an entirely DIY affair. Dirk Dirksen, Brad Lapin, Ginger Coyote, Mickey Creep, Joe Target Rees, Klaus Flouride and plenty of others held meetings at Target Studios on South Van Ness to plot strategy.

The actual campaign events were few, but got plenty of media attention. A “whistle-stop tour,” for example, started with a rally at City Hall, followed by stops along the BART line down Market Street. Kathy “Chi Chi” Penick, Dead Kennedys’ new manager, carried a sign that said “If He Doesn’t Win, I’ll Kill Myself.” Other inspiring placard slogans included “Apocalypse Now,” and “What if He Wins?” Biafra, led the procession, “kissing hands and shaking babies.”

 

 
Using the slogan “There’s always room for Jello,” Biafra got onto the ballot In San Francisco. Any individual could legally run for mayor if a petition was signed by 1500 people or if $1500 was paid. Biafra paid $900 and got enough signatures to become a legal candidate, meaning his statements would be put in voters’ pamphlets and he would receive equal news coverage.
 

Original art for Biafra campaign buttons from Flickr user “Wackystuff”
 
This past Monday, Joe Rees of Target Video, the de facto documentarian of the San Francisco punk scene, uploaded an edit of eleven minutes worth of TV clips from this news coverage. Being somewhat of a Jellophile myself, I had previously seen a few of these clips which had been included on old Target Video VHS compilations back in the day, but some of this stuff is brand new to me—and I suspect also unseen by many of our readers. It’s a treat that Rees is still opening up his archives to the public like this.
 

 
It’s remarkable how serious young Biafra appears in some of these snippets, while at the same time completely mocking the political process. Pay particular attention to Biafra’s campaign platform, which is utterly absurd, but probably resonated with many 1979 San Francisco voters.
 

 
Biafra finished an incredible fourth out of a field of ten, receiving 3.79% of the vote (6,591 votes).  His participation in the election caused a runoff between Dianne Feinstein and Quentin Kopp which resulted in Feinstein’s election.
 

 
Here it is. One of the great punk rock pranks of all time:

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Hear the Dead Kennedys as a five-piece with KEYBOARDS, play a Rolling Stones cover

 
As much as I relish the inherent entertainment value of a potential Trump vs Sanders showdown/battle-for-the-soul-of-a-nation next year, I feel like America™ really needs a president like James Norcross. Silver-haired, square-jawed, dapper, and resolute, his clear-sighted judiciousness could unite this fractured nation, while his ability to alter his body’s molecular structure could protect us from a perilous world full of appalling ethnic stereotype supervillains.

That’s pretty dumb, isn’t it? But it was the actual premise of a short-lived 1967 TV cartoon called Super President. Produced by DePatie-Freleng, the animation studio best known for the Pink Panther film credit sequences and the cartoon series that spun off from them, Super President’s premise was a stretch, even for a cheaply produced children’s superhero show. The viewer was asked to suspend disbelief that the President of the United States could possibly have time to maintain a secret crimefighter double life, that his batcave-ish lair underneath the White House (to which the series always refers as the “Presidential Mansion” for some reason) could possibly go unnoticed, and that the nom de heroics “Super President” wasn’t kind of a huge screaming giveaway that he was, you know, THE PRESIDENT. Yet only the requisite sidekick/advisor/character who needs rescuing a lot Jerry Sayles knew Norcross’ secret.
 

 
There was no way this was going to last. Even if the show wasn’t howlingly dumb (stupider shows have lived long and vigorous lives), I can’t imagine the portrayal of a dashing, indomitable, gracefully-aging POTUS so soon after the Kennedy assassination didn’t sting at least a little—maybe Norcross was intended as a wishful-thinking alternative to the disappointing Lyndon Johnson? It probably wan’t that deep. Watching it almost 50 years after its creation, it’s hard to shake off the values dissonance inherent in its depictions of its antagonists. Offensive portrayals of non-Euro characters were mighty common back then (Hanna-Barbera holds up especially poorly on that count; Jonny Quest for one seems embarrassingly colonialist by today’s standards, but few of their titles were free of non-white representations that don’t seem deeply embarrassing today) but some of the portrayals here are around the bend even for the ‘60s.

Continues after the jump…

 
Have you ever heard of NAPSA? NAPSA is the National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art, and their mission is to find ways to preserve meaningful and distinctive tattoo work past the lifespan of the person it’s tattooed on. On September 18 at the Biggest Tattoo Show on Earth in Las Vegas, NAPSA made its introductory presentations to the tattooing community. As NAPSA says on its site, “Whether you have spent countless hours and large sums of money on your tattoos or you have a few especially meaningful pieces, the labor and stories behind your tattoos can now carry on for future generations to experience.”

Since it inevitably touches on both vanity and mortality, tattoo preservation can be a touchy and awkward topic to discuss, but serious tattoo artists and collectors are starting to ask the question, “Is there any way we can preserve this work that means so much to us?”

NAPSA is a non-profit membership association, with the goal of providing certain services to members, which include “preserving skin art on a wide scale with the ability to pass it on to loved ones.” To join NAPSA, the initiation fee is $115, plus yearly dues of $60 (dues cover preservation of one tattoo (about the size of a chest piece), and each additional tattoo is an additional $100 one time initiation fee depending on size).

It may be that an annual fee isn’t the right model, although its attraction to a fledgling group desperate for capital isn’t hard to understand. Some members may prefer paying a one-time fee at the time of death/burial. A Dutch entrepreneur and tattooer named Peter van der Helm has started a business that achieves parallel goals.

Obviously, this process, which is intended to kick in only after a given tattoo lover passes away, involves the participation of funeral homes and similar entities. If the mortuary service of the deceased NAPSA member refuses to honor the process, NAPSA has a master embalmer on staff to advocate on behalf of the deceased member. As time passes, it’s expected that the network of reliable NAPSA-approved funeral homes will increase.

NAPSA faces a bunch of challenges, not the least of which is attempting to unify a fractious, independent-minded group like tattoo lovers. As Marisa Kakoulas says, “In my experience working with the tattoo industry for almost 15 years, I can say that it is an incredibly difficult task to properly represent the interests of artists and collectors across the country, as the laws (such as zoning) differ, not just from state to state, but among local jurisdictions.”

Here are some samples from NAPSA’s website. For any of the images below, clicking will get you a larger view.
 

“Death Before Dishonor,” J.R. Tubbs
 

“Cleveland Street,” Al Garcia
 
Many more after the jump…

 
Some evil genius by the name of Warm Prawns re-edited the “erotic” 1969 spoken-word album The Way To Become A Sensuous Woman. The album was based on the book The Sensuous Woman by author Terry Garrity AKA “J.” The book version apparently spent eight weeks at No. 1 on the New York Times bestseller list and a year on the list overall. There was also The Sensuous Man which probably sold even more copies (albeit to teenage boys). Along with Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex: But Were Afraid to Ask by Dr. David Reuben, M.D.

These books were pretty much the Fifty Shades of Grey of their time. Woody Allen optioned Reuben’s book (well, the title at least) while all The Sensuous Woman got was a somewhat sleazy audio adaptation.

 
Again, what you’re listening to is a funny re-edit of the album. If you’d like to compare it to the original recording, you can click here for side one and here for side two.

 
With thanks to Sam Cook

 
Two years ago, San Diego photographer Edward Honaker was diagnosed with depression—that moment represented the beginning of an arduous process of coming to grips with his own self-defeating tendencies and representing them in his art.

As he told the Huffington Post, “All I knew is that I became bad at the things I used to be good at, and I didn’t know why. ... Your mind is who you are, and when it doesn’t work properly, it’s scary.” His self-portraits have a pleasingly elemental quality reminiscent of Magritte or Escher, but with more piercing emotional content than either of those masters.

“It’s kind of hard to feel any kind of emotion when you’re depressed, and I think good art can definitely move people,” he said. Honaker, who also has done fashion work for Doc Martens and Armani Exchange, hopes that his project will goad viewers into accepting those who struggle with mental illness. “When I was making the portfolio, I asked myself if I was the kind of person whom others would feel comfortable coming to if they were going through a difficult time and needed someone to talk to,” said Honaker. “Truthfully, at the time, I don’t think I was. I’ve still got quite a ways to go, but the whole experience made me a lot more patient and empathetic towards others.”

Click on any of the images below to see a larger version.
 

 

 
More after the jump…
 

 
The Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris receives hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, some who simply walk the beautiful grounds indiscriminately, others on single-minded pilgrimages to visit the tombs of great historical figures like Maria Callas, Marcel Proust or… Jim Morrison. Among these more internationally famous graves is a little-known political journalist, Victor Noir, who was unceremoniously shot dead in a duel by Prince Pierre Bonaparte. Noir is actually pretty well known with Parisians; as a victim of imperial swine, he became a martyr of the people, and his funeral was attended by over 100,000 people.

Oh, and he has a massive crotch bulge.

Noir’s member is so pronounced and popular, it actually has a cult following. The legend is that a little kiss and grope will bring sexual luck, which is why Noir’s groin and face are smooth and coppery, the green patina that coats the rest of the sculpture worn away by randy ladies. Maybe he was actually packing, or maybe sculptor Jules Dalou (the craftsman charged with immortalizing him) just took some artistic license with Noir’s physique. The only thing we know for sure is that this is the most famous—and beautifully rendered!—trouser snake in Père Lachaise.
 

 
More phallic fun in Paris after the jump…

 
I got a chuckle last night when I saw, in NME’s Facebook feed, a breezy listicle called “Ten Geeky Facts about ‘Creep,’” trumpeting the 23rd anniversary of Radiohead’s breakthrough single. Evidently, in this content-starved, clamor-for-attention-on-Facebook economy in which all music writing is now duking it out, we don’t even wait for actual milestones to occur before we look nostalgically back. But I enjoyed the piece’s trivia items well enough—have to give it props for nakedly confessing its geekiness in the title—so fine, I’ll bite, I’ll join in on NME’s 23rd anniversary celebration of “Creep.” I don’t even celebrate my own birthday unless my age ends in a 0 or a 5, but what the hell, right?

Item 8 could have been an article in itself—a great one, really—as it deals in cover versions of the song. There’ve been plenty of those, and they range from Dunning-Krugerishly overwrought versions by unworthy hard rock bands (lookin’ at you, Korn) to transcendentally wonderful non-rock performances. Among the latter is my absolute favorite version of the song, a digital file of unknown provenance which I surely scored in the mid-oughts heyday of MP3 sharity blogs, a rendition of the song by a quartet of bass clarinetists. In seeking out the artist, I learned that this has been a thing for awhile—composer Cornelius Boots created the arrangement all the way back in 1997 (HAPPY 18TH ANNIVERSARY!), and a version by Edmund Welles gained some YouTube popularity in 2008. I searched through Welles’ recorded oeuvre to see if his version was the one I’d happened upon, but I was unable to find a studio recording of it. There are, however, a few live performances to be found, of which this is the best: