Very excited that tonight–in just four hours, which means I gotta figure out how to Skype ASAP!–I’ll be the guest on the awesome Tristan Taormino’s Sex Out Loud!
It’s a little daunting in that a) it’s live, which really opens the door for me to flub fabulously, and b) Sex Out Loud is awash in sexiness from Madison Young to Belle Knox to, of course, the host herself, and then I’m the dude who used a picture of his cat with his book. Also, I bit my tongue this week and think I might be even more lispy than usual.
But hey, I’m still super psyched to be invited (though now I rue more than ever not having pitched anything to what became the fantastic Taormino-co-edited The Feminist Porn Book–I remember the call for papers, thinking about it, being engulfed in teaching, and then watching it pass me by, alas). Perhaps we can get maudlin and talk about regrets, it’ll prove that emo can be feminist after all!
Anyway, tune in, pose easy questions, or just make fun of me on Twitter (which I’m still not on so my feelings won’t be hurt)!
edit: looks the best way to hear this is at the VoiceAmerica site, where Sex Out Loud is archived. I was nervous, but it was a lot of fun, and it made my whole night when a caller brought up the amazing Samuel Delany!
If you had asked me to recall the first visual image of The Karate Kid after the Columbia logo, never in a million years would I have remembered this:
It doesn’t last long; by the two-minute mark, Ralph Macchio and his mom have reached the sunny California palm trees that provide the setting for the rest of the film. Enter Pat Morita, wax on, wax off, etc. I watched The Karate Kid a bunch as an 80s kid, but I don’t have particularly significant sentimental investments in it (unlike, say, Stand By Me, the Greatest Film of All Time according to my twelve-year-old self), and I didn’t bother to revisit the whole thing once Newark was in the diegetic rearview.
The metanarrative here is pretty obvious: Newark as a place to leave (unless you’re me, since I Karate-Kidded in reverse, going from Los Angeles to Newark. But I also never managed to kick any bullies’s asses, alas). Heard that one before–ahem, Philip Roth…
Or maybe it’s a place to barely begin at—witness the shot sequence of the opening scene:
Okay, Avildsen’s director credit looks like True Newark (PSEG headquarters and the Ironbound, I think), but the residential neighborhood . . . hmm. According to a correspondent for the self-declared “#1 Site for the Karate Kid movies” (check the “locations” link), that’s probably Kearney. False Cinematic Newark is as prevalent as false metal, it seems–which is a shame, because ungodly boring filmmaker that he is, Avildsen did capture Philly nicely in Rocky, and even Newark-approximate Jersey locations in his early, somewhat overlooked 1972 Jackie Mason flick The Stoolie. Continue reading