LaurieWrites

Fallen Princesses: Art Imitates Real Life

Cross-posted at BlogHer.

When Diana, Princess of Wales, died in a car crash in a Paris tunnel,any remaining illusions I had of charmed lives for princesses did too. I was a teenaged Anglophile, one of the millions who woke up extra early to watch her wedding day on tv, and felt real sadness - whether I should have or not - in the years after as that initial fairy tale story crumbled.

There it was. Princesses - at least one,anyway - marry people who don't love them all that much, or at least not enough to cut ties with his ex-girlfriend. She gets an eating disorder and never quite gets over her parents' divorce. She goes through a series of bad relationships and then ends up unthinkably dead in a traffic tunnel. And this when it seems, only just seems, that she might be beyond the worst part of the learning curve.

I'm tempted to sugar-coat this as some kind of life lesson but I fail miserably at that, which may be why Dina Goldstein's Fallen Princesses photo series remains very much on my mind, a week after I saw it for the first time on the JPG Magazine site.


Even Cinderella's coach breaks down in a sketchy neighborhood. All images brilliantly shot by and courtesy of Dina Goldstein.

Goldstein takes princesses - the Disney versions, this time - and depicts what may have happened after the closing credits. Cinderella's hitching because she got drunk in a dive bar. Snow White looks miserable with a house full of children. And in the ones that hurt me to look at the most, Rapunzel holds her wig of long braids during chemotherapy, and Belle lies on an operating table during a plastic surgery procedure.

As a strictly in-the-moment shooter who knows and chooses not to take on the work that goes into studio photography, I'm impressed with Goldstein's work on a technical level and also of any use of photography to intentionally comment on larger issues. It's one of its most important uses, I think.. In Goldstein's words on JPGMag.com:

As a young girl, growing up abroad, I was not exposed to Fairy tales. These new discoveries lead to my fascination with the origins of Fairy tales. I explored the original brothers Grimm's stories and found that they have very dark and sometimes gruesome aspects, many of which were changed by Disney. I began to imagine Disney's perfect Princesses juxtaposed with real issues that were affecting women around me, such as illness, addiction and self-image issues.

Now, despite what any Facebook quiz would have me think, I am not any kind of Disney princess, unless upcoming releases include Princess Who Swears-a-lot, or @Laurie of Twitterlandia. I grew up in the generation after the classics were released - Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Cinderella, and they really didn't work for me. I was honestly freaked out even at an early age by the recurring theme of women needing to pass out for indeterminate periods of time in order for things to get better. No thank you. I was way into 101 Dalmations and Mary Poppins, stuff like that, and if anything really scarred me for life it was Bambi.

Real life has not been princessy either. Issues, I have issues. Externally, weight gain, a congenital facial scar, eyeglasses, unfortunate spiral perms. Internally, a crazy penchant for overanalysis and an occasional attitude problem. You name it, I got it. For more appropriate pop culture references, I was Winona Ryder in Heathers, minus the Christian Slater killer boyfriend, or Janeane Garofalo to my best friend's Uma Thurman in the Truth About Cats and Dogs. I maybe passed out sometimes, but there was no guy standing over me at the end crying. (And if there was, he needed money for the tab.)

Now that's just a cheap parenthetical joke. But the truth is, I've been jealous of women whose lives have appeared to be more charmed, more princessy than mine, at least aesthetically. I've thought that real-life girls who were popular, and pretty, and consistently boyfriended, were better off than me.

That's the truth. Sometimes I thought it because they strongly insinuated it, or because social interactions made me feel that way. Or maybe I thought it because of music videos, or movies with impossibly happy endings that looked nothing like my life (or to be honest, anyone's I knew, but we all kind of live in our own head until jarred out of it.) Even last night, watching a rerun of The Office at the gym, I was all, "Look how cute Jim is. Where's MY Jim? Pam's life is AWESOME. I'll just keep doing this here elliptical exercise for thousands more hours and some day, my Jim will come up to me in the parking lot with Dwight who will hand me things to photocopy!"

I said there were issues, right, just so we're clear? Now, I know and you know that Pam is not real, and in most cases I would not indeed like to be a paper company receptionist in Scranton, Pa., (unless Jon Krasinski really did work there, oh my word) but this is what happens to my brain while watching closed-captioned sitcoms while exercising. I have no real desire to fly around with a guy on a magic carpet Jasmine-style, or dance with talking tea cups and butter dishes waiting for a beast to transform in some creepy castle. I would not have argued, however, if Lloyd Dobler showed up in the Malibu. Alas, the person I mistook for him showed up in a trashed Jetta for which he paid $1 and moved into an undergraduate dorm five years later at an advanced age, leaving me behind with a stack of books about letting go Buddhist style and an assortment of irrational behaviors.

Would a princess have better luck? I don't know, because I haven't met any. But life proves to me frequently that real life is not charmed really, for anyone. Happiness is fleeting and weird. Princessy people are happy or sad depending, just like average people, whatever that may mean. I know people who I believe to be very attractive who pick themselves apart worse than I ever have, who are not happy with their internal or external selves. Beauty pageant winners are dethroned, while it is considered remarkable that Susan Boyle can sing at all given her physical appearance, and when she opens her mouth the world pats itself on the back for its enlightenment until she gets second place and ends up hospitalized (there's a Disney theme for you.) And you know, while I'm on the uplifting tip: nobody gets out alive.

Like my co-contributing editor and brilliant blogger Rita Arens wrote about the Fallen Princesses, happiness is relative, and hard-won:

In real life, happiness is the time spent being thankful you aren't going through hell anymore. In real life, we don't know happy unless we've been sad, really sad, or really angry, or really sick. Once we've been all of those things, we learn to appreciate moments when nothing is wrong --- and see them as happiness instead of the status quo.

If Rita's right, I should be accompanied by bluebirds 24/7, and even though I'm not currently bursting with joy, what I'm learning to identify as happiness in her terms is simple contentment, best experienced by not comparing other peoples' experiences and circumstances with mine. This may be why I choose not to watch the Real Housewives of New Jersey.

A larger aim of Goldstein's set might be to realize the very obvious and basic truth that is nonetheless easy to miss when you're caught up in bibbity-bobbity-boo and whatnot: I don't decide happy for princesses and their ilk any more than they ought to decide it for me, no matter what the zeitgeist says. And if I think for a minute that anyone is immune to common suffering like disease, addiction, lost love, or body image issues - no matter what slice of princess life we've seen in movies or through the media lens - that misconception is mostly on me.

As another well-known BlogHer, co-founder Lisa Stone wrote on Surfette in response to Rita's post:

Amen. We live, we learn, we grow up, we are thankful, we learn to find our happiness.

Unless, for some reason, we don't.

Other reactions:

A Cup of Jo finds the series "genius and heartbreaking."

Kelly at DesignCrush liked "seeing the flip side of the typical fairytale."

The Queen of the Quarterlife Crisis was "enthralled" by the images.

My friends and I have been saying for years that it's really the fairytales we heard as children that actually fucked us up. These grand illusions of men climbing up a girl's braid to "rescue her" can really give a girl a COMPLEX. Anyhow, the artist here replaces the "happily ever after" with reality that addresses current issues such as war in the middle east, addiction and self-image.

This is what happens when you google "Boston Terrier tattoo"

Why? WHY????

Random.

Speaking of which, I had no idea Herve sang. 

Rock ON, baby girl.

I love Tina Fey. She hosted last night's SNL, the first since the writer's strike ended. It was fantastic. As soon as this clip ended, my sister texted me: "Bitch is the new black!" 

I'd write "Amma say, Amma sow Amma koo sa" right about now if I lacked class.

I knew Ione Skye had some voodoo working, what with being the fictional girlfriend of the iconic love interest of a generation (that's Lloyd Dobler. Duh.), marrying a Beastie Boy and, I guess, being the daughter of Donovan.

Turns out she's connected to the Divine. At least according to Ben Lee's guru, who gave him all kinds of permission to marry her. And who also apparently has Ben speaking in the third person. God, I hate that. Maybe that's why I'm not so spiritually connected to anything divine except chocolate.

Ben's a blogger, how 'bout it, and he's blogging all over himself about his new life situation with Ione and Amma. See? Ben's all worked up about the engagement:

The night I asked Amma's guidance about my relationship was in some ways one of the biggest nights of my life. I knew the answer I hoped to hear, but was prepared for anything. After all, the path of surrender isn't guaranteed to be easy. They say you get what you need, but that isn't always what you want. After blabbering through my question, stating my fears of neglecting my career and spiritual path, running through the pros and cons, Amma told me: "The purpose of marriage in human life is to build a family. Partnership is not just for enjoyment, as it is for animals. Once you understand this, it will not take you off your path. Marriage will be good for Ben. In the past, Ben has wavered on his path as he didn't have support. Ione understands his job and profession and can support him. She is spiritually connected to the Divine. There should not be any problem with Ben and Ione. Every marriage has adjustments. You cannot plan for everything in life. But it can be smooth. Ben can ask Ione. Amma will bless everything."

I wandered back to my room that night walking on air. So happy. Knowing that my gut feeling was right, and I was ready to make this commitment. The following night as Amma was dispensing teertum (holy water), I asked Him "can Ben and Ione get married here with Amma?" Amma smiled and responded gently "Yes." So that is why I got home last night, proposed, got the all important answer from my love, and am lying here in bed in LA, jetlagged, sick with flu, but thrilled beyond belief. Life is full of suprises and the unexpected. But sometimes you get what you need AND what you want.

Go Ben Lee. The girl is spiritually connected to the Divine, Amma says. Not so surprising, considering she kissed John Cusack once upon a time, but then again I guess I'm kind of biased. Maybe Amma could help Laurie out too?

I don't know how this whole business started.

Watch it. Ambrosia will fuck you UP.

HAHAHAHAHA.

(That picture courtesy HeavyHarmonies.com. Hi guys.)

No, seriously. You don't want to meet this crew in a dark alley. See?

(Photo courtesy inertron.com who must accept my deepest apologies. And if you want to see it in its original glory, which you really should, plus watch David Pack LIP-SYNC the damned song I've had trapped in my head for 48 hours now, go here. Ashlee Simpson lip-syncs the pants off this guy, is all I can say.)

Could I call Burleigh Drummond's hat a bonnet? Or more appropriately a tam-o-shanter. A top 'o the mornin' tam-o-shanter, matey, but I'd still prefer to call it a  bonnet.

See, I decided to confront this Ambrosia madness head-on, so I searched for the images and decided to, you know, snark it up around here a little bit. It's been too warm and fuzzy lately (yeesh) plus I need a new post today since every time the site pulls up so I can delete one of the million spam comments I'm getting I see my big old head and that's more shock than I need. It's like I'm staring at myself. Weird. And when I did the search, I realized that Ambrosia ALSO did that creepy "I see your face when I have sex with my wife" song, "How Much I Feel". So now they're doing battle in my brain. Because like I said, Ambrosia will fuck you UP. And don't even get me started on England Dan and John Ford Coley.

It's one of the two busiest times of the year at work for me, this one coming conveniently right after "holiday" exhaustion. I'm also in terrible chronic pain from falling in the yard of the house I just moved out of, and altogether this means that laughing at stuff like this and Aleve are just about the only things getting me through right now. Good thing, because I know no one really wants to hear about pain. It's the most boring thing to talk about, which is challenging when you hurt constantly and you're a verbal person and you just want to keep commenting on it. Like when it's 100 degrees outside and everyone knows it but you keep on saying, "My GOD it's so HOT. Stop the MADNESS." It's kind of like that. I might capitulate and go get a heating pad. Sad sad sad.

Should be a good weekend, though. I'm joining the sheep on the last day of the Annie Liebovitz show in DC (I don't like going on the last day of anything but...but...yeah) and the Ansel Adams show is still there, so I'll have time to see that too. too. Such different photographers, so the contrast alone should be interesting. I hope the rain stops and the weather's nice, because today sucked. If it is maybe I'll resurrect my SLR and do some old-school film shooting. I really want to do some Polaroid work. And I also need to spiff things up around here. So much, so much I want to do.

May all your weekendy dreams come true. : )

Freaking leave EVERYONE alone

I was going to make some kind of lame, ironic comment on the whole pitiful, abusive, depressing situation involving a certain young celebrity from Louisiana (I know, you're like, 'Which one?', right? Where the hell is Hannah Montana from anyway?). To do so I was going to link to this dude, which I did several months ago when Britney's life began to completely fall apart.

But then, as is YouTube's way, I got sidetracked, and found something probably even more appropriate, so meta it hurts. Because this is just...just beautiful.

My favorite commentary on this whole mess is still Craig Ferguson's. You want truth about something of this nature with no bullshit? Ask an addict. Also, next time your life is fucked up, even if you went and made a public figure of yourself or maybe have acted out in a major way to call attention to it, ask yourself if you'd like someone to take several pictures of it happening. Because I don't know about you, but my friends try to grab my camera to delete pictures of themselves for much less serious reasons. I just think that anyone in pain is a sad, sad thing.  I didn't think the videos of Anna Nicole were funny, and I don't think that the Britney coverage is funny or even particularly interesting. It's just another life, messed up and painful, it just happens to belong to a young woman who went a very peculiar path.

I haven't been around any 12-step meetings for many, many years, but one thing I did take away from that experience was "there but for the grace of God go I." Call it karma, whatever, but it just isn't cool.
Leave her alone. And please make that K-Fed lawyer SHUT IT. He's even invading the pages of the Washington Post (please stop it, Washington Post, with the celebritology overload) and I just can't stand it. Write another 1,000 words on the caucus(es). Tell me something I don't already know. Please.

Man shoes

I've so far avoided any comment on the Jamie Lynn Spears pregnancy story, because honestly I just don't care. It seems that the media and the public at large (at least on the Internet) are trying to turn Britney's downturn in fortune and now her sister's admittedly likely problematic but NOT completely unheard of early pregnancy into some kind of commentary on how we're all doing out here.

Not so, not so at all. And have you ever heard the phrase "None of your business"? It's nicely applied here. But, and this is where I got on board with paying any bit of attention to this at all, when Uncle Odus speaks, I simply have to stop and pay attention. Thanks to People for the headline that grabbed me and wouldn't let go:

"Uncle: Time for Casey to Put On 'Man Shoes'"

I presume those aren't shoes that glow in the dark? Or Pumas? Or Chucks? I'm thinking a nice, solid pair of loafers. Man shoes. Yes. Loafers for Christmas.

When pianos try to be guitars.

"Girls you've got to know
when it's time to turn the page.
When you're only wet
because of the rain." 

If you like Tori Amos you'll like the videos I linked above. And even if you don't, it's pretty cool to watch two pretty different renditions of the same song. (I like the second link the best.) I think I noted here at one point that I'd bought her box set a few months ago, and I never do that. I'm much more a cd/album girl who reluctantly downloads because I'm essentially a sucker for that which is on my desktop, and there they put it! They just put it right there, for me to buy. How nice of those thieves nice people.

By the way, speaking of which, could the little bitches who decided to remove The Office from iTunes please stand up and be recognized? I mean, really. So much joy for so many people? The networks deserve this strike (and how awesome to see Tina Fey and Seth Myers on the front page of Washingtonpost.com a couple of days ago.)

Okay, sorry, getting the chocolate of television in my music peanut butter there...sorry. I've been having a little trouble connecting to some of my music lately. It could just be the silly busy-ness, I don't know. Everything feels like a little bit more of a chore than it should. This is what usually has me leaving Delilah on the radio on the way home (or, COUGH, Kenny Chesney, who looked like a guy from my IT department at work on the CMAs last night. And by the way, SO OVER CARRIE UNDERWOOD. Who even USES the tired construction of "If you'd told me two years ago I'd be here tonight..." GAH! Stop it. Stop. Also, I love that she called country music a "format", as in "I am so proud to be in this format. That must mean she really feels it. Can you imagine Dolly Parton saying that? Or June Carter Cash? "AHM so PROUD to be in this here FORMAYAT." Whatever. Barf. Jesus take the wheel, indeed. Just steer her and her ilk somewhere else, far far away. Get her lessons from Jennifer Nettles or someone else who has real talent and heart for the gig. Corporate tools. And I wonder if they're legally required to thank American Idol in perpetuity when they win awards? That seemed really genuine.)

Oh dear. Attack of the parenthetical statement. Got all fired up about Carrie there. What was I saying? OH YES. I've been listening to Delilah prattle on pop-psychology style about her eight children and take calls from despondent listeners and listening to Kenny instead of something a bit more...inspiring in a good way, maybe? Today this madness ends. Girlyman tonight - two shows if I can manage to stay awake. Bruce Springsteen on Monday, which I'm promised will be awesome. Also, my mom is going and we're in the general admission section, which should be entertaining regardless.

Also, my friend Dawn Avery is performing a lot this month, including shows at the National Museum of the American Indian this weekend. The Washington Post wrote a very nice piece about her today, with a big picture, even. I'm very pleased, because sometimes the Style section's focus on local music is...umm, not there. If you're in the DC area, I recommend checking this event out, because  she is truly an inspiration (not a word I throw around by any means. Real ones are rare.) Also, it's free! And the Museum's Cafe is one of the best places to eat on the Mall. I'm serious. It's broken down by region, with food from different tribal traditions. And can you say "Any excuse to eat fry bread is a good one?"

On a totally different side of a very unusual coin, this article from Popmatters about "Britney as Trainwreck" is actually quite well-written. Thanks, Josh Timmerman.

"Even with Botox and other less-than-seamless cosmetic alternatives to aging gracefully, Britney’s always had a built-in shelf-life, short of miraculous, Madonna-esque image reinvention. From “Gimme More“’s already-notorious declaration that “it‘s Britney, bitch!” (e.g., “I‘m still here!”) to probable follow-up single “Piece of Me“’s acidic self-examination (“I’m Miss Bad Media Karma / another day, another drama”), Blackout is the sound of Britney realizing that maybe she wasn’t in on the joke all these years, after all, and consequently raging against the machine.

And maybe the machine wins."

The conclusion isn't that simple, and I'm with him. I'm kind of pulling for her myself.

By the way, you can still download the new Radiohead record, "In Rainbows" for whatever price you want to pay, even if that's free dollars and no cents.  Seriously. Are you broke? Radiohead cares about you. Genius move on their part, or maybe just nice.

Lock the Cellar Door

Bret Michaels did a live chat on WASHINGTONPOST.COM today, cause the boys are in town on Sunday (boo, late flight from Chicago!!!!). God I love this news organization. And also I love that he clearly typed this all himself.

"Playing the small venues helps show the fans that as a Solo Act or with Poison there is subtance to the music and its not just a punch of Pyro and Lights. So both situations are equally fun ans exciting at this point in our careers."

Bret Michaels: Me and Flav have never discussed the show's with each other. While the idea of my show seems similar you will see that it takes on a new twist. In my show the girls are eliminates due to there perfomance in the tasks to come. its more like Fear Factor meets Flavor Of love (editor's note: Wow. That is incredibly frightening). So there was really no reason to discuss anything with Flav (editor's note again: Could there ever be? I mean, really?). But im sure we could go on for hours with each other about how and why we did what we did. (editor's note, blahblahblah: The mind, it reels.)

Rock of Love, baby. Rock of Love. And me in a house without cable now.

Harry in '08?

If you're a consumer of any media whatsoever, be it print or online, there's a strong chance you may be Pottered out. You may be well sick of this whole "Deathly Hallows" and "Will Harry die?" and "Where does JK hide all of her money?" talk.

But seriously, folks, if you've had that sinking feeling anytime recently that no one gives a damn about anything anymore in oh these so troubled times, read this article.

People care about Harry Potter. Call them geeks, if you will. Laugh at the people who have the lightning bolt scar magic-markered on their foreheads. Wonder why in the world kids who major in sleeping are sitting in lines in the wee hours of the morning to pick up a book. I don't care. They care about it. And it's not just one kind of person, or one age group, gender or class. It's every-freaking-body in the universe, thousands of people standing in line to read the end of this Harry Potter story. I think it, and I don't think this is exactly hyperbolic with all I've read, that this is a cultural phenomenon. It makes "Lost" look like chump change. Nobody wants to vote, especially not young people. The music industry is so glutted that there's nothing close to Beatlemania or the vast majority of girls lusting after David Cassidy or whatever. But you let a single writer put a story together about wizards and wackjobs with ridiculous yet oddly melodious names, and fold in a movie series with a disturbingly increasingly attractive (and yes, Daniel Radcliffe will be 18 on SUNDAY! Legal, although I speak on behalf of my little-girl cousins.) actor in the role of the "is-he-or-isn't-he-doomed" abused and beleagured wizard kid, and there you have it. People go nuts.

I think it's awesome. I do. Books are part of breathing for me, and as a child that was what I did. I read. I read no matter what else was going on, and I think I felt about Laura Ingalls Wilder the same way that these kids feel about Harry, on a much more appropriately prairie-like level. Worrying that Laura's wagon was going to overturn was definitely not nervewracking on the level that it is to worry that Harry'll be a victim of the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of that You Know Who character. But I did get to know my characters, and I carried them around in my head, and I wondered about them, and I always wished their storied would go on. And as I read along with the articles and saw the pictures tonight, I wished I was out wandering among the Harry Potter people. I wanted to be drinking pretend butter beer and putting the lightning bolt on my forehead and feigning a Britsh accent while saying, "YOU KNOW WHO." I kind of wanted to be a geeky little 12 year old again, just for a night, so I could be all hopped up on sugar and adrenaline from waiting around along with all the Harry Potter snacks the bookstores were peddling tonight. And then I would have loved to rush home and stay up all night in my new book without skipping ahead, so I could see what the ending really was.

I'm believing the hype. And who isn't, really? In fact, some people are taking it all a step further, seriously.
Look what people are doing! "Slack is the founder of The Harry Potter Alliance, a mostly online social action group that incites Harry Potter fans to "spread love and fight the Dark Arts in the real world.""

And from the Post article in the first link:

"One of the organizers of the (Harry Potter) block party, Megan Linehan, 23, of Silver Spring, wrote her senior thesis at American University last year analyzing the battle between Harry and Voldemort as a conflict between different political and cultural systems. Harry stood for a heterogeneous society of Muggles and wizards that is more open to change, she said, while Voldemort represented a closed society structured by racial hierarchies and resistant to change. She got a B-plus, she said.

"I was, like, can I have this party? Please!" Linehan said."

That party took place in a neighborhood where I go out fairly often. I was on the wrong side of town tonight, totally lacking any sort of inspired costume and I still lack a copy of the book. I need to get a copy of the book, really soon. I'm believing, although I'm not sure in what, but I love this quote from a mom who brought her kids to wait in line for a copy:

"Minutes before midnight, Temar Powers, 37, stood in line with her sons to claim one of the first copies from A Likely Story because, she said, the Hogwarts kids seemed like part of the family. "It's a concluding experience with these fictitious friends," she said. "You'd gladly pick up your friends at the airport in the middle of the night. Same thing."