Greetings and salutations* movie nerds from the all-nude-all-the-time New Century Theater (next to the El Sleazo Hotel on Larkin Street, San Francisco) where Poppa H is moonlighting as a stripper for the next two weeks on the cabaret’s sticky icky main stage. As for my stripper name, don’t ask but H stands for Hansel … ack. If the Ghost of Lee Strasberg could see me now he would never stop throwing up, but who gives a rat’s ass? This bohunk’s gotta earn some extra holiday dosh for the Christmas coffer, I got baby’s mommas to feed and I thought stripping would help my image as a gonzo screenwriter. I mean, it’s working like gangbusters for Diablo Cody, why not me?
I can hear you clucking, just like my parents. “I’m so disappointed” and so forth, “blasphemy” and so forth, “momma don’t approve” and so forth, but let me stop you right there. I know it’s the holidays and all but just think: what would that Home Alone fruit bat Macaulay Culkin do? Home Alone would save Christmas by ripping off his tear-away stretch pants and hitting the main stage (for the kids) so no Haterade (please) until you’ve seen my synchronized stripping routine. It’s a Little Bitta Country, Little Bitta Rock-n-Roll, but I think you’re going to be into it. Former crackhead Crystal Bottoms and I have been practicing all morning and we’re ready for our muthafuckin close-up. Hit it!
Two minutes later …
Hoo-ha!* That was not pretty in any language. The East German judge totally killed me on my dismount … * 2.4 my powdered fanny! And, what strange, gay force compelled us to choose “She’s Like the Wind” by Patrick Swayze? That song didn’t work. Fuck. I didn’t get any Christmas Cash, Hanukkah Change or Kwanzaa Coin from any of those Mary Kay Cosmetics women sitting in the front row and I let them squeeze the produce and then some … It’s a cruel glittery world. Needless to say, since Poppa Hansel appears to have pulled a ligament in his ass and Crystal stepped in some baby batter, I ain’t got no time, no time to wax poetic on the state of the movie industry. I got some shmeg on my hands to deal with, literally.
But speaking of stripping screenwriters and smart-mouthed, under-aged baby’s mommas, it occurred to me while toweling off, that every so often I fall for the latest artsy fartsy punk rock “It” girl, from your Shannyn Sossamons to your Miranda Julys, I’m totally into Girl Auteurs but the aforementioned Devil Woman—stripper, blogger, author, screenwriter, sardonic media sensation—Diablo Cody takes the punk rock cake. Why?
She’s dead sexy, dangerously intelligent, all too human and like J.T. Leroy, Cody’s constructed a rock star mythology to go with her gonzo presence that gets me every time. A self-proclaimed “radical feminist,” she re-invented her image from Brooke Busey-Hunt, a faceless ad copy drone from the Midwest to Diablo Cody, the self-appointed “Margaret Mead of sex,” an ass kicking, sex addicted, whip smart blogging wunderkind who writes best sellers and Oscar-caliber screenplays in between stripping and being a punk rock girl. What’s not to like?
C’mon Diablo, give me some love, how’d you do it? “Go hard or go home, that’s my motto.” Right on, more please. “Strip clubs are little shame terrariums … I’ve always been interested in the seedy underbelly of society so I wanted to explore it. I say, if I can do it with my drawers down, so much the better.” Diablo, will you marry me?
Who Know? Juno
For those in the know(n’t), in between blogging on her website The Pussy Ranch, Diablo also penned (on a whim, mind you) a fairly amazing script for a new indie release you should all check out (lest you be damned to cinematic hell) called Juno. Directed by Jason Reitman (Thank You for Smoking), and starring Ellen Page and Jason Bateman, Juno is like Knocked Up for girls with a Cody twist and is already generating Oscar buzz for Diablo’s (first) script and Page’s performance. How’s that for living the American dream? In your face hard work and perseverance!
If you don’t go see Juno this holiday season, I’m so coming to your house on Christmas Eve to strip for your grandmother. As for my writing career, if I don’t get an Oscar nomination soon, like Diablo, I’m getting right back on the pole. Now someone hand me that bottle of gold-flecked baby oil … Until next week, this is Poppa Beefcake signing off, be bad and get into trouble baby …* MRF
Happenings Round Town
- Atonement (2007) Dir. McEwan – Clay
- I’m Not There (2007) Dir. Haynes – Embarcadero
- No Country for Old Men (2007) Dir. Coens – Bridge
- Romance and Cigarettes (2005) Dir. Turturro – Lumiere
- “Greetings and salutations.” – Heathers (1991): Christian Slater doing his best Nicholson impersonation to a monacle-lovin’ Winona Ryder
- “Hoo-ha!” – Scent of a Woman (1995) – Al Pacino blowhards the house down as a blind Colonel with a Ferrari and a death wish.
- “The East German judge killed me on my dismount.” – When Harry Met Sally (1989) – Billy Crystal confides in his wagon-wheel table loving friend Bruno Kirby while speed-walking in tights across Central Park.
- “And then some …” – Bachelor Party (1983): Nick the Dick impresses Bosom Buddies, Tom Hanks and Adrian Zmed with his foot long hot dog.
- “I ain’t got no time … no time!” Nashville (1975): A harried Alan Garfield (as Barnett) to anyone seeking audience with his wife Barbara Jean, the Loretta Lynn inspired Queen O’ Nashville.
- “Let’s get into trouble baby.” – Tapeheads (1988): Soul Train host Don Cornelius (as Hollywood Producer Mo Fuzz) to upstart filmmakers Tim Robbins and John Cusack.
By Murphy Hooker
Photo Courtesy of 7×7 Magazine