Posts Tagged 'Showgirls'

On Spring Break

There are but twelve short days separating me from San Diego. This quarter has been much busier than the last one, and I am very much looking forward to going home. Rather than re-writing that essay for Composition, editing my Color Theory project or working on my movie for Intro to Film, I think that I’ll visually show my excitement for spring break by utilizing my new favorite, and very specific, art form: Showgirls gifs.

How I feel about the next twelve days:

Me working hard on all my final projects:

Me on the last day of the quarter, relieved that it is over:

Me getting off the plane:

Josh and I at SMG:

Josh and I catching up:

Josh being a freak:

My spring fling:

Okay, sorry, I’ll stop now.

Baby’s First Strip Club

Last night a longtime fantasy was fulfilled: I went to a strip club.

Maybe it’s because driving along San Diego’s highways, you always pass them. The purple one, the yellow one, the pink one that offers military discounts…or maybe it’s because of my love for the film Showgirls. But I’d always dreamed of going ingo one.

So after a bit of research, Josh and I, with some other game friends, headed to San Diego’s Les Girls, located by the Sports Arena.

After parking in the alley in front of the club, we began to have second thoughts. But it was too late. We had come too far to turn back.

Entering the club, we were greeted by an older woman who I imagine all the dancers call Mama and share tips with. After paying our five dollars each, we got a hand-stamp which read “Wild Sweet” which allowed us to come in and out until 2 AM. A lingerie clad stripper ushered us behind a curtain and into the show room.

Unlike Nomi Malone’s strip club in Showgirls, which was in a bar, Les Girls is set up like a theater. As we entered, a girl was finishing her set and picking up the dollar bills thrown at her feet by the man sitting by himself in the front row. It was very empty, just that man and us. Well, at least we thought so. Then we spotted the man curled up in one of the booths in back, happily lying on the bench.

We watched three more strippers perform. Their acts went in three parts: an initial dance wearing little clothes, a topless dance, and finally, a nude one. Between these parts, lesbian porn was shown on a monitor onstage to maintain the mood.

Overall, it was kind of odd, but not uncomfortable. It was really interesting to see what real-life strippers looked like. The first two were not what I expected all all. Let’s just say that they didn’t look like Nomi Malone. More like if Nomi Malone ate Cristal Conners, and not in a sexual euphemism way, but literally consumed her. I’m saying that they were fat.

Then suddenly, Veronica was upon us. And that was what I imagined a stripper would look like. When she came back out after her dance to collect her dollar bills with a blanket wrapped around her, we all cheered and she sassily dropped the blanket as she walked out.

Kitty was next. Another perfect specimen. She surprised us by having another girl jump onstage with her and they pulled off each other’s tops and humped each other. Sweet!!

After an hour of watching the naked ladies dance, we decided that it was time to go. We were feeling really mature until we entered the lobby and Mama said, “So are you ready to buy some dances?” We immediately started giggling and ran away.

And that was our night at the strip club. Living in sin is the new thing.

AUSTRALIA: The Land Down Under HELL

About a year ago from today, Elaine and Josh hosted a fabulous “Showgirls” themed party that was complete with a living room stylized as a stripper bar and an adjacent room for special “private” dances. Coincidentally, many of our friends were hosting Australian exchange students through an exchange program run through our school, so we thought it would be fun for everyone if we invited our friends and their Aussies. However, the success of this party was hampered by none other than those of Australian birth.

Now, I’m not racist– I mean, we cordially invited them as guests to our party– but WTF is wrong is Australians these days? I mean they were wonderful in creating beautiful, popular people like Nicole Kidman and Russell Crowe (and we all know even he has quite the temper), but what went wrong with the rest of this forsaken continent?

I turn your attention to this very disturbing article:

WARNING: ARTICLE CONTENT NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN! (but click here anyways kids!)

That’s right folks. Australians, blessed with the opportunity to see Britney Spears live, actually physically left the venue demanding for their money back?!! Not only is this sacrilege, it’s also just plain stupid– they didn’t get to see Brit flying through the air during “Breathe on Me”!

They did the same thing to us at our “Showgirls” party, and now they’ve done it again to Britney Spears. Why can’t Australians ever stay at events they promise to attend? It’s obvious that Australians don’t understand or appreciate the beauty of beings like Britney Spears and Nomi Malone.

It’s worth mentioning that the people who left were in the cheap nosebleed seats and were probably old heffers. But they were also Australian, and I think this says more than any of the other descriptions.

So Boshers, next time you encounter an Australian, be wary. They might literally be from Down Under the Earth in the realms of Hell.

P.S. HOWEVER, all the Aussie Brit fans who loved the Perth concert– you are pardoned, and I hope you to stay strong amongst your ignorant neighbors!

Britney Bless One and All,

Josh

Dorm Worries

I just found out today that at SCAD I’ll be living in a triple occupancy dorm. That means me and two other girls. Unfortunatley, I don’t get to find out my two new best friends until mid-August.

A lot of people didn’t want to get a triple, but my thinking is that no matter which roommate I’m with, we’ll always have something to talk about: the other girl*.

But how exactly can I decorate this dorm? I look around my room right now, and it’s a little…out there. Two walls are “grenedine red”, two are “royal purple” (from the Disney collection), and the celing is dark grey. David Bowie is above my bed (which has leopard print bedding) and Britney Spears is hanging next to Hedwig. Iggy Pop is situated under a bulletin board filled with weird things, which goes nicely with my door, which features a collage of magazine pages.

How can I ever live with another person? Let alone two??

And will I have enough room anywhere to hang up my Showgirls wall mural?

SHOWGRLS-00AA1

Jesus, why do I have to be so fucking weird? Will I have to give up my “Firetrucks in Action” calendar (which is also a “Burning Buildings” calendar, depending how you look at it)? Will I have ample bookself space for my signed John Landis biography or my Mick Rock photography books? What if they look at the picture of Josh and I with John Waters and ask, “Who’s that?”? What if my roomies don’t even like Britney Spears?!

But maybe I’m just getting ahead of myself. I mean, people at art school are obviously going to be creative and open-minded. Right? I mean, I’m sure that they’ll accept me on some level. And I’ll just be sure to be nice to them no matter what. Unless they try to hang up a fucking Twilight poster. Then I’m asking for a new room assignment**.

*And if my future roomies look up this blog and read this, I’m totally kidding!

**Again, just kidding, roomies!

A Drunk Post from Jeosh

Now I am lying on my floor watching Showgirls with Elaine. We did too many shots. Or at least I did. But Forrest is the one in his underwear. Haha he just exclaimed “they’re going to make you have sex NOMI!” That’s funny.

There’s so many boobs in this movie that you just stop noticing after a while.

I’m still surprised I can still type because I can’t really feel my fingers. Or any of my limbs right now. It feels trippy.

I love Britney Spears so much.

Good Morning!!!!!!!

Josh.

Good Bad Movies and Bad Bad Movies

Last night a friend invited Josh and I to her house to watch a movie. Since we were nearby, we visted one of those magical Red Box things outside grocery stores where you can rent a DVD for one dolla. They had a really broad selection, everything from Milk to never-seen-the-light-of-day shitty horror movies.

We decided on a movie that displayed a picture of a nearly naked lady holding two guns. It was called Stiletto and the description used the word “sexy” twice. You can’t go wrong with that.

We knew that it would be bad. But I don’t have a problem with that. I love bad movies. Too much (remember the Showgirls party?). However, it became apparent around fifteen minutes into the movie that Stiletto was unfortunately not a good bad movie, but a bad bad movie.

And the difference you ask, between a good bad movie and a bad bad movie? Well, let me begin my thesis here:

First of all, let me say that budget has nothing to do with it. Stiletto was clearly made for under a million with a rented camera, and it sucked. Showgirls was made for $45,000,000 and is arguably the worst movie ever made. But it’s also one of the most entertaining, memorable and life-affirming films of the twentieth century.

A good bad movie must take itself completely seriously. It must not be in on the joke and must be made with Oscar-winning intentions. For instance, the film Powder about an albino teenager with mystical powers.Or Obsessed starring Beyoncé Knowles.

A bad bad movie understands its limitations. Like all of John Waters’ movies.

A good bad movie also must have an element of bizarre-ness that pushes it over-the-top. Like Mommie Dearest, or one of my personal favorites, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. Because a movie like Stiletto, which tries to be very  realistic just comes across as boring when it doesn’t have the budget or the means to be done well. But when you have an insane transsexual murdering with a samurai sword, well,  that’s just so in another world that any ties to reality are unimportant.

In the end, there’s nothing better than a good bad movie. And the only thing that’s worse than a bad bad movie is a good good movie. Fucking Oscar winners. I would rather have a tattoo sanded off my arm with a belt sander than watch Titanic*. Even the best Oscar winner of all times, The Silence of the Lambs, has some elements of good bad movie-making in it.

So, sorry Stiletto. You are in the awkward place of sucking so bad that you’re neither entertaining nor slightly compelling. Your future lies at the bottom of the Cheap DVD bin at Wal-mart. Right next to Kill Cruise starring Elizabeth Hurley.

*I really would not. That is an exaggeration and a reference to the film Stiletto.

O Nomi! My Nomi!

Now, you may think I am stealing Elaine’s idea of paying tribute to Walt Whitman and the best people in the world at the same time, but I am NOT.

We just have the same English teacher and therefore the same assignments.

So here it is folks! A poem for Nomi Malone, or Goddess, or Pollyanna. Whichever name you prefer.

“O Nomi! My Nomi!” by Joshua Lin à la façon de Walt Whitman (the French automatically makes it more classy)

O NOMI! My Nomi! Your fearful trip is done.

Your body’s weather’d every mile, now you are good for fun;

The slots are near, their bells I hear, the gamblers all exulting,

While follow eyes the bright Cristal, her dances hot and daring:

But O fame! fame! fame!

O the costumes barely there!

Look to the stage where Nomi sees,

Cristal nude and bare.

O Nomi! My Nomi! They rise to see your bells;

Know that–for you the Cheetah fills–for you they bring small bills;

For you they hoot and whistle loud–for you the rooms a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; (LOL, I didn’t even have to change this line!)

Here Nomi! dear Heather!

This man who lauds your flare,

Gives you a chance to try and dance,

With Cristal  nude and bare.

My Nomi cannot answer, her lips are red and still;

As Marty holds within his arms, a bowl that gives me chills;

The ice is pooled in Tony’s hands, awaiting Nomi’s hand;

From Tony’s lips, his question slips, “why can her bells not stand?”

Just melt, O ice,  and rise, O bells!

But ice flies in the air,

And my Nomi offstage storms,

Totally nude and bare.

END POEM.

I think you can see all the parallels to the original… namely the strong symbolism of “bells” and “rising” (that’s “tits” and “erection” respectively).

And in case you are socially retarded, this is inspired by the true life story of the award-winning film “Showgirls” starring Elizabeth Berkely.


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Elaine:

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