Need something a bit more, you know, sexy and subversive this holiday? Here you go
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Friday, December 14, 2007
No fruit baskets. No swell digital cameras and no "Sopranos" DVD sets and no noxious copies of "High School Musical 2" and no "Eat, Pray, Love" and nothing at all approved or endorsed by Oprah. No golfing figurines. No sports paraphernalia. No candleholders. No pink fleece hoodies with little glittery skulls. Not on this, my annual list, anyway. Just random delicious deeply cool things I've come across that make a statement or warm your blood or taste unreal or that serve some sort of sexy subversive purpose, all to thwart the Bush and the bleak and the dour. Because the world already has enough swell plastic bird-feeders and cheap-ass iPod cases and lavender hand-milled soap. Right? Right.
Start with a teddy bear named Muhammad. Yes, even right-wing dittoheads probably think this rather obvious gimmick is funny, in a let's-hate-the-icky-Muslims, Christianity-rules sort of way. But there's actually some subversive poetry to this cuddly hunk of fluffy blasphemy, a decent enough slap at organized religion as a whole, especially if you combine it with, say, the God's Immaculate Rod dildo from divine-interventions.com and a copy of "God is Not Great" while mixing your next cocktail with Christian bottled water (yes, it's real) and/or Kabbalah bottled water, using whatever's left to rinse off your Baby Jesus Butt Plug. Hey, blasphemy is the new black.
Of course, you could merely skip the gimmick and buy everyone you know a "Every time you see a rainbow, God is having gay sex" T-shirt from tshirthell.com, but that might be a bit excessive. Besides, everyone knows God is omnisexual.
The Backwards Bush countdown clock. Again, obviously. Single biggest drawback of this must-have item: It doesn't count down nearly fast enough.
There you are, soaking in a hot bath and sipping your newly legal absinthe and letting the toxins and anxiety and the Bush ooze and sigh out of your pores. Don't you wish you had some better background music, maybe some mellow sexy throbbing trance ambient stuff that massaged your id and licked your bones and sounded like a squad of drunken wood nymphs masturbating with a cloud? I know how it is.
I've got you covered. Try these: "Dusker," by Kiln. "Love or Die," by Susumu Yokota. Gorgeous ambient washes via "Plume," by Loscil, "Nautica," by Krill.Minima or "Dropsonde," by Biosphere. Also: "Driftwood," by Rena Jones, "From Here We Go Sublime" by The Field, "Pop Ambient 2008" (compilation) from Kompakt, or anything at all from Ultimae or Interchill Records (check Beatport.com for all listings). And oh my God yes, this: "Untrue," by Burial, a wicked dark hybrid of dubstep and minimal and trip-hop, like nothing else on the planet. What, never heard of any of them? That's the point. Now go and sip and ooze.
You say your giftee's not quite ready for absinthe in the tub? Then grab her (and yourself) a bottle of insanely delicious Zaya dark rum (sip straight up; it's that good). Or a fifth of Hendrick's gin. Or Grey Goose pear vodka. Or nearly anything at all from my beloved True Sake in Hayes Valley but especially the Chikurrin junmai, which comes in a giant 1.8ml bottle — enough to last you, oh, an entire afternoon.
Bonus: Get on Beau's mailing list and learn more about the fine art and history and deep deliciousness of quality sake (not that warm swill you get at mall sushi joints) than you ever dreamed. Thank me by sending me a bottle of Onigoshori ("Demon Slayer") daiginjo. I won't tell.
This is the look: Subtle ultra-sexy neo-pagan metal fiery tribal with a dash of S&M and a wink and a smile. It's like Burning Man, but with better leather. And actual design. And you can wear it every day and you don't even necessarily need a bunch of weird neck tattoos and some quarter-sized glass plugs in your earlobes. (Though those can certainly help.)
Start with an amazing handmade leather jacket and some jewelry from Five and Diamond in the Mission, or a dark wearable art piece from Derrick Cruz of Los Angeles' wicked Black Sheep and Prodigal Sons. Also, I imagine some of the incredible piercing jewelry from Braindrops in the Haight would go wonderfully well with, say, a raccoon penis bone necklace and coyote skull from the oddball landscapers/naturalists over at Paxton Gate in the Mission, which in turn would mix beautifully with some lovely python ribs and maybe a couple of kudu horns from the Bone Room in Berkeley. Best accessory: A tiny silver hummingbird skull necklace from Erica Weiner Jewelry. What, you want the world to be full of that cubic zirconia crap from Wal-Mart and Zales? Please.
For far too many years, nothing but stiff smooth boring plastic and giant plug-in back massagers with tennis-ball heads and maybe the weird nearly useless multi-function pink rabbit pearl thingy with silly plastic beads and pulsing action and a cheapie made-in-China motor that burned out in a week.
No more. You need a sign of the divine feminine's true reemergence in modern culture? Another indicator that the religious right is doomed and the Grand Shift is nigh? Behold, the flourishing world of high-end vibrators. From Sweden's Lelo to beautifully overpriced JimmyJane, these are vibrators as sculpture, as art pieces, as mandatory accessory. Yes, the Hitachi Magic Wand rules, now and forever, but if you need something more elegant and portable, head over to babeland.com, goodvibes.com or blowfish.com and look up these names: Womolia, Jasmine, Tuyo (it's a ball!), Form 6, Gigi, Leopard, the Cone (big pink mountable vibrating cone yes yes yes), the Je Joue programmable, Laya Spot. Boyfriends and husbands, take notes now. (Oh yes. For men, one word: Aneros). E-mail me with photos of your successes. Truly, there is no better time to be a clitoris.
I do not buy mainstream DVDs. I do not care much for mediocre Hollywood chyme. I truly don't understand why anyone would want to own a copy of, say, "National Treasure" or "Pirates of the Caribbean" or "Superbad" when, if you must, you can rent 'em a coupla times and zombify your brain and get your fill and save some plastic.
But I make a serious exception for anime. (Well OK, and porn. But that's a different list.) That is to say, for art. Mostly Miyazaki, like the stunning "Howl's Moving Castle," "Spirited Away" and "Princess Mononoke," but also a handful of others, like maybe "Ghost in the Shell" and "Cowboy Bepop" and that's about it because I'm American and therefore have little clue about the rest of the deeper world of quality anime.
But now, a new one, from Satoshi Kon: "Paprika." Weird surreal violent strange gorgeous and oh my God so much better than, say, "Ratatouille" or "Happy Feet," which were cute and charming and also obnoxious and trying and exhausting. Yes, Pixar may offer up clever storytelling, but they have zero innovation in anything except excellent graphics. Whereas anime is otherworldly and dangerous and creative beyond comprehension. Or so they tell me. Get "Paprika" for someone who knows.
The Prius is so played. The Mini Cooper is so very 2004. The time is nigh for smaller weirder cuter. Time now to pre-order your very own Smart car, about 2 feet long and 8 pounds light and more adorable than a whippet puppy in a pleather jacket, and you can pretty much park it in a mailbox and it only costs about nine dollars and if the current swarm of 30,000 pre-orders is any indication, Daimler should sell a zillion in San Francisco and New York alone, all of which might go a tiny bit toward offsetting all the obnoxious soccer moms who still insist on buying a massive 20-ton Suburban XLT to haul their kids the mall, where they fail to park their land tanks without killing a few pedestrians and blocking out the sun.
Of course, the Smart is but a stopgap until Audi releases its Mini-killer, the A1, in the States in 2009 or 2010. Or, screw all that and just get yourself a badass Can-Am Spyder trike, and blast everyone's sense of normalcy all to hell. Yes indeed.
Quick mentions, because I am so totally out of room:
"His Dark Materials" trilogy. Bad news: "The Golden Compass" movie is less than mediocre. Good news: The books are astonishing, dense and mystical and creative beyond imagination. Bonus: They completely confound the religious right. Perfect.
Dwell magazine subscription: To thwart the never-ending and totally evil dominion of Good Housekeeping, et al. Runners-up: Good, N+1.
Momspit no-rinse cleanser. Not like that skanky alcohol-based stuff. Also: Best product name of the year.
"Heavyweight" tape dispenser. Three pounds of solid zinc. Designed in London. And I don't even use much tape.
Did I miss anything? Of course I did. Let me know, for next year.
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