Saturday, May 23, 2009

Secret Games: Collaborative Works with Children 1969-1999. Book Review

Secret Games: Collaborative Works with Children 1969-1999. Book ReviewFor thirty years, Ewald has been collaborating with children around the world, teaching them to make photographs and tell stories about their lives and dreams. Her work began as a student at Antioch College, working with Native American children in New Brunswick and Labrador. Many of her collaborations have been published previously, beginning with Appalachia: A Self-Portrait in 1979, and I Dreamed I Had a Girl in My Pocket in 1996, which documents her work with children of different castes in a remote village in India.

Secret Games is an extensive retrospective of Ewald's projects, with excellent reproductions in both color and black and white, accounts of her experiences working in very diverse cultural settings, and stories by children. Ewald's path has led her from Appalachia to Chiapas, Mexico, to South Africa, to Saudi Arabia, and most recently to the creation of a Visual Literacy program with children in Durham, North Carolina, to address issues of race and identity.

Ewald has been interested in creating communities of children that bridge gaps caused by race, class, ethnic, and cultural differences, trusting that the common experience of discovering a visual language helps to overcome those differences. She proclaims no strong agendas, and in truth, is very modest about her intentions. Ewald consistently steps back and allows the voices of the children to speak. She invites the fresh expression of their rich and fantastic worlds of play and their well-informed and sometimes disturbing views on life and death.

Ewald is courageous, generous, and gifted in her abilities to liberate these stories, which authentically reflect children's lives and concerns.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Friday, May 01, 2009

That's it...I can't take it anymore...

What does this girl...

And this lovely young lady...

have in common? Give up?

They were both married to it:

Oh my does this make my blood boil.

Now, I don't know much about Debra, the blonde, of whom I only know about because she was in two episodes of Miami Vice (which I just watched...again...thanks to TNN). I looked her up on the IMDB and, sure enough, she was married to Mr. Personality up there (and I wish he wore a mask like his pathetic namesakes on Fox). Carre, on the other hand, is famous for two reasons; 1) she blue steeled her way through a Razzie-nominated performance in "Wild Orchid" in which she and the smirk up there actually were bumping butt-uglies for real during the climatic fuckfestfreeforall, and 2) she barely survived a stormy marriage to said-scumbag that drove her to bulimia, depression, and heroin, the last of which she almost overdosed on. That's right, in between dodging Mickey's punches (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) she shot up brown sugar. I feel bad for her...

Almost.

Mickey Rourke, at the beginning of his career, shot out like a cannonball onto the American film screen. With his early roles in Diner, 9 1/2 weeks and Angel Heart, his soft voice but intense performances inspired talk of him being the next De Niro or Pacino. However, a series of really bad choices (Wild Orchid being the pinacle) led to his demise as a serious Hollywood player, as well as his bad behavior, out of control drinking and drug use, and ill-advised pathetic foray into professional boxing (He got knocked out with one punch). But...

BUt BUT BUT...the ladies just could resist this douchebag.

I have no details about Mickey and Debra...I can only assume the worst and thank God the poor girl is still alive.

Carrie, though still alive and kicking as a plus size model, was not so lucky. Mickey spent their entire relationship either beating the crap out of her, or, especially so, any guy who would look at her the wrong way. Apparently, Carrie, upon going into Alcoholics Anonymous, befriended a guy who suggested they go to the gym together. Old Mickey found about this, went to the gym, and beat the shit out of him. Class. Pure class.

What continues to baffle me is why women continue to jump once more into the breach dear friends of adultery, black eyes and bruised jaws. I know bad boys keep you ladies on your toes but give me a fucking break. This is why I say I “almost” feel sorry for them. If a guy hits, you, run. Get a divorce and a restraining order. Any guy who would hit a woman is a scumbag, pure and simple. And you can’t change them. I’m sure I’m simplifying a more complicated matter, but…but but but…just leave the bastard already!!!

But back to where the blame really lies…

Suarez and I have talked about waiting until Mickey is about 65 or 70, and then tracking him down and beating the shit out of him. We figure we’ll push him in his wheelchair down a flight of stairs, and then take revenge on behalf of every woman who has been dumb enough to be with him. POW I’ll bet Carrie/Debra/takeyourpick SLAM didn’t like getting SMACK the shit kicked BANG out of SPLISH them.

I wouldn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.

But we’ll wait until he’s old and frail.

I hope he doesn’t find this entry.

Then again, we can’t be the only ones who hate him.

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