Radar: P Orridge, Waters and Anderson

I bought my first issue of Radar magazine from Barnes and Noble after flipping through it and seeing not only a piece on Genesis P-Orridge and his late wife, lady Jaye. Genesis, a radical artist and musician (Throbing Gristle and Psychic TV) and his dominatrix/performer wife decided to have plastic surgery so that theymight resemble one another and become one face, one entity. Call them Romantic Fools if you will but they had a vision.

Unfortunately, Genesis must face the world without Lady Jay, looking a bit too much like Courtney Love.

 

If you feel good about yourself that’s all that matters.

I picked up my copy of Radar magazine yesterday and looked through it. Suddenly it became very clear to me that this was a New York rag. The ads just had that feel. Their pictorial on “The Beach” gave it away. This was not a west coast production. There was sand, sea and sky and even blonde life-guard boys but the two chicks draped on the life-guard are straight outta Long Island. Ronkonkoma, not the Hamptons. The pictorial was a horror story — Sunburn, Unintentional Nakedness and Drowning —  instead of a celebration of nature which would have been the case in California no matter how many tired fashionistas were on the shoot.

Still, I can’t really say that the east coast, cigarette-butts-in-an-ashtray feel makes Radar completely distasteful. This issue, if it’s truly representative of the enterprise, has too many cool things in it.

Like a small piece on Todd Oldham’s book John Waters: Place Space, published in June.

This is part of John’s fake food collection. Pretty Snazzy, eh?Lastly, the July/August issue of Radar features Pamela Anderson on the cover. I have tuned into her docu-autobio show, which she directs, and I liked it. I mean the crushing pace of keeping up the Hollywood facade would reduce most women to a bag of wrinkle-dust in weeks but Pam is superhuman. Somehow she pulls her act together and strides on in her stiletto heels. Her ass is still flawless as Tommy Lee helps us see when he playfully flips up her short skirt. They probably do that in every single show kinda like the gratuitous ass-shot in all Goldie Hawn’s films. Okay, almost all of them.

I know that magazines have airbrushing but on video it looked like this too. Can they airbrush video?

She even looks healthy as opposed to Hollywood emaciated but then she’s from Canada.

The only thing that worries me is the non-stop talking. It’s something we have come to associate with tweekers or those wound up by some sort of stimulant. Maybe she’s just a chatterbox. Maybe she has Gemini Rising and verbally exorcises her nervousness. She looks so healthy.

Pam, if you have discovered a health-inducing stimulant that gives you the drive to run a number of businesses, raise two Tommy Lee offspring, look impeccably slutty and delicious 24/7 please share with us.

I think Pam’s just a dynamo. I like her even though, rumor has it, she got naked for Hugh Heffner on his 80th birthday. Hef is deeply creepy but when I think about it I guess that was an act of charity. His new trio of girlfriends are kinda cool, kinda dynamos in their own right, even if they, like Pam, have chosen the bleached-blonde, tit-flauncing path to success. This is America.

2 Responses to “Radar: P Orridge, Waters and Anderson”

  1. I’m reading John Water’s “Crackpot” right now! So far my favorite chapters are the “101 things I hate” and “101 Things I Love.” Apparently he hates alfalfa sprouts…

  2. In keeping with my Taurus attraction I LOVE JOHN WATERS. I’ll buy the Todd Oldham book Friday and post some pictures.
    He was a guest director on film critic Elvis Mitchell’s program a few years ago. He explained how strange it was to have been accepted by a more mainstream audience with films like Hairspray (way before the Broadway success) and Polyester. Marketers started pulling his old films out and selling VHS tapes which were then prominently displayed near the checkout stand at markets, Kmart, etc.
    New, normalish fans would buy them, take them home and half way through Female Trouble or Pink Flamingos they would freak out and call the police. “Call the Police?” John feigned being shocked.
    “I didn’t call the police when Forest Gump started running!”

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