Talk gay? Dress gay?

Can this be real???

Joe.My.God reader Clay quipped:

“it’s all fun and games until someone gets a prick in their eye”

 
Growing up in West Virginia, I was keenly aware of charismatic Christian serpent handlers, although I didn’t know any adherents to this particular flavor of Pentecostalism personally. One of the more note-worthy adherents to this odd hillbilly faith was the late Mack Wolford, who died Sunday of, you guessed it, a rattlesnake bite. You’d think that he might have learned an important lesson when his daddy died of a rattlesnake bite back in 1983, at the age of 39, but no, Wolford wanted to keep the faith alive.

Look what it got him:

Mack Wolford, a flamboyant Pentecostal pastor from West Virginia whose serpent-handling talents were profiled last November in The Washington Post Magazine, hoped the outdoor service he had planned for Sunday at an isolated state park would be a “homecoming like the old days,” full of folks speaking in tongues, handling snakes and having a “great time.” But it was not the sort of homecoming he foresaw.

Instead, Wolford, who turned 44 the previous day, was bitten by a rattlesnake he owned for years. He died late Sunday.

Mark Randall “Mack” Wolford was known all over Appalachia as a daring man of conviction. He believed that the Bible mandates that Christians handle serpents to test their faith in God — and that, if they are bitten, they trust in God alone to heal them.

He and other adherents cited Mark 16:17-18 as the reason for their practice: “And these signs will follow those who believe: in My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues; they will take up serpents; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover.”

Except when they don’t.

Read more at The Washington Post

 
Bob Egan’s PopShots blog has a wonderful deconstruction of Neil Young’s iconic After the Goldrush album cover. In the above shot, you see the image in context, where it was shot at Sullivan and 3rd Street, just off Washington Square Park in New York’s Greenwich Village.

After Egan’s exhaustive coverage was posted on his blog, Young’s archivist Joel Bernstein, who took the shot, wrote in with his recollection of the shoot, as well as sending in the original, uncropped photo with Graham Nash standing to the side:

“The photo was not “a mistake.” I saw the small, old woman coming towards us down the sidewalk, was intrigued, and wanted to catch her passing Neil. The mistake, to me, was that I had in my haste focused the lens just past the two figures, closer to the fence than to Neil’s face. That was the original reason why I made a small-sized print and solarized it; to help with the apparent sharpness. But the solarization in this case added a somewhat spooky dimension to the image, which Neil took to immediately.”

Read more at PopShots
 

Photo by Joel Bernstein, 1970

 
My interest in the Olympic volunteer scheme started a year or two ago when billboards sprang up all over London Underground with a close up of Usain Bolt’s sweaty face. The accompanying text invited you to imagine that the 100 metres final was about to begin, and you, as a “Games Maker” (the official term) had just finished polishing the starting blocks or whatever, when Usain Bolt passes by and mutters “Cheers, mate.” The advert takes a breath and then begins a new line:

Usain Bolt just called you mate.

Beneath this it said:

Have you got what it takes to be an Olympic volunteer?

Like low self-esteem? As life experiences go, Usain Bolt calling you “mate” is only marginally better than Gwyneth Paltrow asking you to “get out the way.” Be that as it may, I figured that, if you’d had a hard time, the passing recognition of an “elite athlete” might conceivably prove salutary …

But then just last weekend I spotted a new poster (again on the tube) this time advertising Heathrow (London’s biggest nearby airport), and boasting of its preparations for the Games, among which was the mention of 1000 “Team Heathrow” special Olympic volunteers!

One can only imagine the delight on a Games Maker’s face when, tearing apart the envelope containing their Olympic “mission” (excited to know exactly where in the Olympic Village they’d be helping out), they discovered that they were – oh happy day! – expected down at Heathrow, that notoriously unpleasant environmental albatross slung about the neck of Greater London, a place I’d as soon volunteer at as I would an out-of-town abattoir.

I looked a little closer into “Team Heathrow.” While it was definitely receiving a significant siphoned influx of would-be Olympics volunteers (the aforementioned 1000, essentially), it transpired that it does actually exist at all times as a voluntary Heathrow work force – normally consisting of a handful of sad and quite possibly insane persons willing to sacrifice a part of their week to help out at this lucrative private business. Call me cynical, but it seemed that Team Heathrow existed for those occasions when the airport receives an especially large influx of incomers (as at the Olympics) and doesn’t fancy denting its extra profits with extra paid employment.

Understandably, the Team Heathrow website is currently lavishing emphasis on the Olympic aspect of its Dadaist spin on philanthropy. So, when the website boldly raises the mind-bending conundrum “What’s In It For You?” the very first bullet-pointed response mentions “ the excitement of the world’s greatest event,” before proceeding with what I presume are the typical “incentives” touted the rest of the time:

· A unique branded uniform for you to wear. (sic)
· Enjoy complimentary refreshments while volunteering.
· Make new friends, contacts and network.

Plus my own personal favorite:

The opportunity to stay on as a volunteer at Heathrow after the Games.

If you’re lucky, eh!

Then there’s the following Team Heathrow no-expense-spared promo video, which is full of good stuff. For volunteer David Williams, “becoming part of Heathrow is just a dream really” [my emphasis], while Paul Jowet opines that “to be working in an iconic place like Heathrow [!] and then to have the Olympics as part of it – what more could any of us ask for” [Like money? Again, my emphasis]. And what about Mr Jowet’s buddies, any of them jumped at this dream ticket? “Some of my friends I play golf with have showed a lot of interest…” he trails off.

But the best sound bite comes courtesy of volunteer Aleen Alarice:

“I can’t wait to welcome Usain Bolt!!!”

Have you got that in writing, Aleen?
 

 
The fine folks over at Morbid Anatomy are holding two special classes with “self taught ceroplast” Sigrid Sarda.

The first class, Life and Death Mask Making Workshop, will be held on Sunday, June 3, from 10 am - 4 pm. Admission is $100 (includes $40 materials fee). This class is part of The Morbid Anatomy Art Academy.

In this class, students will learn to create their very own Life Masks working with alginate—a non-toxic seaweed-based mold making product that is easy on the skin—and plaster. Students will pair up and cast one another, but don’t be alarmed; the workshop’s instructor Ms. Sarda assures us that you will love this experience, and that most everyone who has been cast comes out feeling relaxed to the point of jello, with the extra insentive of a free facial. All materials are included, and each student will leave class home with their face immortalized in plaster.

The second second class, Anatomical Wax Votive Making Workshop, will be held on Sunday, June 24, from 10 am - 4 pm. Admission is $145 (includes $63 materials fee).

In this class, expert wax worker and artist Sigrid Sarda will teach students to create an uncannily lifelike wax votive of the body part of their choice. Each student will leave class with a finished wax votive as well as a knowledge of mold making, wax craft, and the history and meaning of the anatomical votive.

Both of these classes will be held at the Observatory located at 543 Union Street in Brooklyn. RSVP at morbidanatomy [at] gmail.com if you’re interested.
 

 
Do you recall the sordid saga of Stefanie Woods, the sociopathic Paris Hilton doppelgänger of Palm Beach, FL who first came to the nation’s attention in 2008 for stealing money from a Girl Scout? Woods’ flagrant bad girl antics included stabbing her boyfriend, armed robbery and kidnapping  and brought her infamy and jail time (but sadly no reality TV show contract). Her nickname was the “Cookie Monster”? Remember her?

Some of the raw news footage from 2008 of Woods and her accomplice discussing how they stole $168 from the 9-year-old Girl Scout is rising to the top of the reddit hit parade today—Woods has been back in the news recently for probation violations—and it’s simply jawdropping.

THIS is social commentary!

Reporter: Why did you do it?

Woods: I mean, who doesn’t like money? I mean… I don’t know.

Reporter: But it’s a crime.

Woods: I know it’s a crime (laughs) but it was an easy crime!

This raw video manages to be both hilarious and deeply disturbing at once. When the reporter asks Woods (who was 18 at the time because they don’t pixelate her face, unlike the first girl who became known as “Carrot Top”) what lesson she learned, her answer is a classic for all the ages.

The same two girls were nabbed doing a “dine-n-dash” at a Denny’s restaurant just three weeks later and the aftermath of that stunt, included jail time/mandatory drug rehab for Woods. Apparently the juvenile “Carrot Top” got immunity for testifying against her partner in crime.
 

 
Via reddit

 
Magnificent image of a rainbow during lightning storms in Haikou, China.

Via Boing Boing

 
As a child, John Cassavetes chipped his front teeth in a fight. As his parents were too poor to buy him caps, Cassavetes didn’t smile for years. The experience made him aware of how others coped with misfortune. Later, when he started making films, his camera fixed on the facial tics and movements of his actors. These were unlike any other movies - improvised character studies, where the camera relentlessly followed, watched, examined, but rarely interrogated. We are always close-up to the characters. When we see them in wide-shots, they are isolated, the scene only highlighting their alienation: Ben Gazzara having breakfast outside after losing $23,000 at a gaming table inThe Killing of a Chinese Bookie; or Ben Carruthers taking a stroll through the gardens in Shadows; or Gena Rowlands at a loss with the world in A Woman Under the Influence.

His characters are suburban, middle-aged, all on the back slice of life. They may have flourishes of rebellion (a trip to London in Husbands), but nothing changes their direction, all stick blindly to some instinctual role.

Cassavetes’ films may not be that innovative, or offer any new or considered insights, or offer redemption, but they succeed because of the ineffable passions, the inexpressible humanity of the central characters that Cassavetes puts on screen. That’s where his genius lies - in his deep and committed humanity.

Cassavetes once told Cahiers du Cinema:

‘I am more interested in the people who work with me than in the film itself or cinema.’

Cassavetes’ films always remind me of what Jack Kerouac once wrote about literature in Satori in Paris:

“…the tale that’s told for no other reason but companionship, which is another (and my favorite) definition of literature, the tale that’s told for companionship and to teach something religious, of religious reverence, about real life, in this real world which literature should (and here does) reflect.”

Made in 1965, Cinéastes de notre temps - John Cassavetes is a profile of the great director and actor as he edits his second feature Faces in Hollywood, before taking it Paris. Cassavetes openly discusses his views on film-making and cinema, and why he takes certain roles to pay for his movie making.
 

 
After an onstage meltdown in Vancouver last year led to a spell in an Arizona rehab facility, Ween’s Aaron Freeman told Rolling Stone yesterday that the band is no more:

For most of his life he’s been Gene Ween, the nimble-voiced frontman of one of rock’s great genre-hoppers – but Aaron Freeman is finally ready to put his alter-ego to bed. “It’s time to move on,” Freeman told Rolling Stone from his home in New Jersey. “I’m retiring Gene Ween.”

So does that mean the end for Ween, the band that Freeman formed with high school friend Mickey Melchiondo (a.k.a. Dean Ween) in New Hope, Pennsylvania, in the mid-Eighties?

“Pretty much, yeah,” says Freeman. “It’s been a long time, 25 years. It was a good run.”

Freeman, who released his solo debut Marvelous Clouds earlier this month, says there’s no animosity towards his bandmates or Melchiondo, who he met in the eighth grade. He says the pair are still on speaking terms, even though he’s been contemplating the decision for the past eight years.

“For me it’s a closed book. In life sometimes, in the universe, you have to close some doors to have others open,” says Freeman. “There’s no, ‘Goddamn that such and such!’ For me, I’d like to think it’s a door I can close finally.”

Mickey Melchiondo (Dean Ween) left the following message on his Facebook wall:

“This is news to me, all I can say for now I guess.”

My two favorite Ween songs, from their “difficult” album, The Pod.

“Dr. Rock”:
 

 
“Captain Fantasy”:
 

“Socialism. The new “S word”—it’s the worst thing you can call someone. It’s like the “C word” and the “N word” had a baby.”

—Comrade Jon Stewart