Also, you can keep up with our thrilling adventures in the world of knitwear design at our knitting blog, Yarneteria.
In a study published last year, Professor Martha Lauzen of San Diego State University found that only 9% of Hollywood directors in 2008 were women – the same figure she had recorded in 1998.
… Bigelow’s [nomination] for the best directing Oscar in March [is] only the fourth time a woman has been nominated, out of more than 400 director nominations altogether (the other three were Lina Wertmüller in 1976, Jane Campion in 1993, and Sofia Coppola in 2003). No woman has ever won.
Why are there so few female film-makers?
Worst glass ceiling in the universe. As someone who went to film school, it’s hard to explain exactly how the bias against female directors works out in real life. It’s just … there. You can be anything else — a screenwriter, an editor, a DP — but heaven forbid you want to direct. People won’t laugh in your face when you tell them of your aspirations, but they might snigger behind your back.
xoxo, c. hotpoint
Spoon — Written In Reverse
I love how these days an “exclusive premiere” on a major music site is exclusive, literally, for the amount of time it takes the first person to see the post and embed the code elsewhere.
xoxo, c. hotpoint
Lauren Bush, Barbara Bush, & Vincent Gallo at the Zac Posen Fall 2004 show, February 12, 2004. (photo by Evan Agostini/Getty Images)
Oh, the ridiculousness of this image.
xoxo, c. hotpoint
As the years past, I found myself at the Cactus time and time again, always nourished by the talent of the musicians and also impressed and grateful for the quiet, attentive and educated audience. I have talked to many other touring musicians and find that the Cactus is known for its great sound, great ears, and great history. For me, even though I was not a UT student, this was one of the most important elements to my professional education. This was a room dedicated to Song, a place people went to bask in poetry and melody, be healed, understood, and made whole. As much as Antone’s, Austin’s blues throne room was where I learned about The Late Night Voodoo Sex Ritual, Cactus was where The Story was told, where guitars became conch shells and the mystery was taught. Townes Van Zandt’s songs still hold potent medicine, more than any of the books of the Bible for this mystic.
Guy Forsyth, on the proposed closing of The Cactus Cafe, one of Austin’s most storied venues, which happens to sit upon some prime real estate on the University of Texas campus. The closure is going to happen no matter how many students, pillars of Austin’s music community, and regular people get up and complain at town hall meetings. It’s a done deal.
I am not a nostalgic person, I am not a person who gets upset about these things — but this whole situation just PISSES ME OFF SO HARDCORE. Mostly because UT finally found a way to close The Cactus (I have no doubt they’ve been trying for YEARS) by citing the fact that they need to trim the Student Union budget. But the thing that irks me most is that the university isn’t monetizing (yeah, I said that) the Cactus brand in light of Austin’s reputation as That Place Where There’s Live Music All The Time. Hello! Build a set and start a spin-off of Austin City Limits called Live from the Cactus Cafe, or something — and then start a smaller-than-ACL music festival for American roots music. DUH. If this is about making money in that space, I got your ideas for making money, you fools!
xoxo, c. hotpoint.
Imported from Last.fm…
Rock Star Designer tees from Brachfeld Gallery and Dorothee Perret (via Dazed and Confused)
(The one for Rick Owens is kind of too obvious. I like this one — and the Sonia Rykiel one — best.)
xoxo, c. hotpoint
Everybody loves glamour when there’s a little disaster involved.
Everybody Was In the French Resistance … Now! — G.I.R.L.F.R.E.N (You Know I’ve Got A)
The kinder, gentler side of Eddie Argos (with Dyan Valdes)
xoxo, c. hotpoint
One of the greatest moments I’ve ever seen on film was Bill Clinton being questioned about Monica Lewinsky. It’s breathtaking. Someone asks, “Did you sleep with Monica Lewinsky?” And Bill says very calmly that he hadn’t. Then he’s asked, “Did you insert a cigar in Ms. Lewinsky’s vagina?” There’s this wave that just moves over his face and you can just feel Clinton thinking, “How do they know that? FUCK!” He says he didn’t, but his face says everything. Nothing moves: it’s just this wave that washes over him. One of the things I told to Colin when we shot the scene where he hears the news about his lover’s death was that it was all about his face, that it was all about that contained anger. And then all I had to do was keep the camera there and watch him do that.
(via catbird)
OMFG. OMFG!!!! (Follow the link to see most of the text in a Google Books preview)
xoxo, c. hotpoint
