Have a nice day.

There is a certain wiggle room allowed socially in how much boys and girls are allowed to flex within the confines of their gender roles.

Girls can wear pants but if she wears cargo pants, she must be a photographer, a lesbian or a safari woman (or all three).

Boys can wear skirts but only if they are kilts passed on from their grandfathers.

Girls can have short hair but only if they are Agyness Deyn, a lesbian, a military lady, or if they've experienced some sort of medical difficulty that causes them to lose hair - or if they wear super 'feminine' clothing.

Boys can have long hair but only if they're yoga instructors, selling you togas at Wreck Beach, metal heads or without access to proper barbering, scissors or razorblades.

Why, why, why?
Fuck the gender binary. I'm just getting so bored having to talk about it over and over again. Like beating a dead horse, but don't worry, I'll keep beating it.

Note: the aim is not a sexless population but rather a population where roles are not prescribed. When we are born, there should be a wealth of options of how to identify and I think we all deserve the right to be able to choose from that from purely our own biases, not from what is pressed on us from a billion different angles. When those options are all level with eachother, then we can start talking about how much of our gender is inherited and how much of it is in-born.

"I have made a great discovery. What I love belongs to me." - From a photo that Andy Warhol took of a quote by Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco.

And if it isn't yours, your love inevitably inherits it as a part of you. And there, it will make you happy. And there, you will feel love for it and the postivity of that will make it worth exponentially more. Love is created. Not a given.

Image from A Patch of Skye

Valedictory Address

I seriously just need to have this in my archives. Thanks to swiftkickonline.com for this unbelievably eloquent and well-constructed critique on the institution of education. (Doesn't "institution of education" seem a bit like an oxymoron, even just for a second?) Here it is:

Valedictorian Speaks Out Against Schooling in Graduation Speech
Author Note: Over the past four days, this post has received 110K+ hits and over 300+ comments. If you are interested in the unschooling/edupunks movement, please follow us via RSS, Email, or Twitter.
Last month, Erica Goldson graduated as valedictorian of Coxsackie-Athens High School. Instead of using her graduation speech to celebrate the triumph of her victory, the school, and the teachers that made it happen, she channeled her inner Ivan Illich and de-constructed the logic of a valedictorian and the whole educational system.

Erica originally posted her full speech on Sign of the Times, and without need for editing or cutting, here's the speech in its entirety:

Here I stand

There is a story of a young, but earnest Zen student who approached his teacher, and asked the Master, "If I work very hard and diligently, how long will it take for me to find Zen? The Master thought about this, then replied, "Ten years . ." The student then said, "But what if I work very, very hard and really apply myself to learn fast -- How long then?" Replied the Master, "Well, twenty years." "But, if I really, really work at it, how long then?" asked the student. "Thirty years," replied the Master. "But, I do not understand," said the disappointed student. "At each time that I say I will work harder, you say it will take me longer. Why do you say that?" Replied the Master, "When you have one eye on the goal, you only have one eye on the path."

This is the dilemma I've faced within the American education system. We are so focused on a goal, whether it be passing a test, or graduating as first in the class. However, in this way, we do not really learn. We do whatever it takes to achieve our original objective.

Some of you may be thinking, "Well, if you pass a test, or become valedictorian, didn't you learn something? Well, yes, you learned something, but not all that you could have. Perhaps, you only learned how to memorize names, places, and dates to later on forget in order to clear your mind for the next test. School is not all that it can be. Right now, it is a place for most people to determine that their goal is to get out as soon as possible.

I am now accomplishing that goal. I am graduating. I should look at this as a positive experience, especially being at the top of my class. However, in retrospect, I cannot say that I am any more intelligent than my peers. I can attest that I am only the best at doing what I am told and working the system. Yet, here I stand, and I am supposed to be proud that I have completed this period of indoctrination. I will leave in the fall to go on to the next phase expected of me, in order to receive a paper document that certifies that I am capable of work. But I contest that I am a human being, a thinker, an adventurer - not a worker. A worker is someone who is trapped within repetition - a slave of the system set up before him. But now, I have successfully shown that I was the best slave. I did what I was told to the extreme. While others sat in class and doodled to later become great artists, I sat in class to take notes and become a great test-taker. While others would come to class without their homework done because they were reading about an interest of theirs, I never missed an assignment. While others were creating music and writing lyrics, I decided to do extra credit, even though I never needed it. So, I wonder, why did I even want this position? Sure, I earned it, but what will come of it? When I leave educational institutionalism, will I be successful or forever lost? I have no clue about what I want to do with my life; I have no interests because I saw every subject of study as work, and I excelled at every subject just for the purpose of excelling, not learning. And quite frankly, now I'm scared.

John Taylor Gatto, a retired school teacher and activist critical of compulsory schooling, asserts, "We could encourage the best qualities of youthfulness - curiosity, adventure, resilience, the capacity for surprising insight simply by being more flexible about time, texts, and tests, by introducing kids into truly competent adults, and by giving each student what autonomy he or she needs in order to take a risk every now and then. But we don't do that." Between these cinderblock walls, we are all expected to be the same. We are trained to ace every standardized test, and those who deviate and see light through a different lens are worthless to the scheme of public education, and therefore viewed with contempt.

H. L. Mencken wrote in The American Mercury for April 1924 that the aim of public education is not "to fill the young of the species with knowledge and awaken their intelligence. ... Nothing could be further from the truth. The aim ... is simply to reduce as many individuals as possible to the same safe level, to breed and train a standardized citizenry, to put down dissent and originality. That is its aim in the United States."

To illustrate this idea, doesn't it perturb you to learn about the idea of "critical thinking." Is there really such a thing as "uncritically thinking?" To think is to process information in order to form an opinion. But if we are not critical when processing this information, are we really thinking? Or are we mindlessly accepting other opinions as truth?

This was happening to me, and if it wasn't for the rare occurrence of an avant-garde tenth grade English teacher, Donna Bryan, who allowed me to open my mind and ask questions before accepting textbook doctrine, I would have been doomed. I am now enlightened, but my mind still feels disabled. I must retrain myself and constantly remember how insane this ostensibly sane place really is.

And now here I am in a world guided by fear, a world suppressing the uniqueness that lies inside each of us, a world where we can either acquiesce to the inhuman nonsense of corporatism and materialism or insist on change. We are not enlivened by an educational system that clandestinely sets us up for jobs that could be automated, for work that need not be done, for enslavement without fervency for meaningful achievement. We have no choices in life when money is our motivational force. Our motivational force ought to be passion, but this is lost from the moment we step into a system that trains us, rather than inspires us.

We are more than robotic bookshelves, conditioned to blurt out facts we were taught in school. We are all very special, every human on this planet is so special, so aren't we all deserving of something better, of using our minds for innovation, rather than memorization, for creativity, rather than futile activity, for rumination rather than stagnation? We are not here to get a degree, to then get a job, so we can consume industry-approved placation after placation. There is more, and more still.

The saddest part is that the majority of students don't have the opportunity to reflect as I did. The majority of students are put through the same brainwashing techniques in order to create a complacent labor force working in the interests of large corporations and secretive government, and worst of all, they are completely unaware of it. I will never be able to turn back these 18 years. I can't run away to another country with an education system meant to enlighten rather than condition. This part of my life is over, and I want to make sure that no other child will have his or her potential suppressed by powers meant to exploit and control. We are human beings. We are thinkers, dreamers, explorers, artists, writers, engineers. We are anything we want to be - but only if we have an educational system that supports us rather than holds us down. A tree can grow, but only if its roots are given a healthy foundation.

For those of you out there that must continue to sit in desks and yield to the authoritarian ideologies of instructors, do not be disheartened. You still have the opportunity to stand up, ask questions, be critical, and create your own perspective. Demand a setting that will provide you with intellectual capabilities that allow you to expand your mind instead of directing it. Demand that you be interested in class. Demand that the excuse, "You have to learn this for the test" is not good enough for you. Education is an excellent tool, if used properly, but focus more on learning rather than getting good grades.

For those of you that work within the system that I am condemning, I do not mean to insult; I intend to motivate. You have the power to change the incompetencies of this system. I know that you did not become a teacher or administrator to see your students bored. You cannot accept the authority of the governing bodies that tell you what to teach, how to teach it, and that you will be punished if you do not comply. Our potential is at stake.

For those of you that are now leaving this establishment, I say, do not forget what went on in these classrooms. Do not abandon those that come after you. We are the new future and we are not going to let tradition stand. We will break down the walls of corruption to let a garden of knowledge grow throughout America. Once educated properly, we will have the power to do anything, and best of all, we will only use that power for good, for we will be cultivated and wise. We will not accept anything at face value. We will ask questions, and we will demand truth.

So, here I stand. I am not standing here as valedictorian by myself. I was molded by my environment, by all of my peers who are sitting here watching me. I couldn't have accomplished this without all of you. It was all of you who truly made me the person I am today. It was all of you who were my competition, yet my backbone. In that way, we are all valedictorians.

I am now supposed to say farewell to this institution, those who maintain it, and those who stand with me and behind me, but I hope this farewell is more of a "see you later" when we are all working together to rear a pedagogic movement. But first, let's go get those pieces of paper that tell us that we're smart enough to do so!

I thought you were the -

Check out Sweetest Kill from BSS' Forgiveness Rock Record.
I don't think I've ever heard anything like it.
It's so modest and overwhelming at the same time.
And vaguely reminds me of having the last fifteen minutes of my Monday night swimming lessons overlap with the syncronized swimmers' and wanting to just sit on the bottom of the pool with my legs crossed like genie and my goggles on. Just to hear what music could sound like when removed from air and how I could literally feel the music.

P-nut Party

Are you done?
This is a huge pet peeve of mine. ONE single blob of sandwich spread and the rest of the toast, dry. Look at it sitting all lonely. Like a jam factory in the middle of the desert. Anyone who knows me should know that I'm very particular about the way I eat my food. I'm not the type to just eat the rice, then eat the beans, then scoop some salsa into my mouth. I like to think that all the plates I dive into are made of components that were meant complement and to be eaten together. I usually cut a piece of the hardest thing on the plate, then have the softies meet on another side of the plate at a little merging of two rivers, and then have the hard thing staked to my prongs and then sort of lift everything else onto the better of the fork - the flatbed, you could say.
Would you really gnaw at the dry crusties while you're telling a joke to your friend, knowing that an oasis of - what is meant to be all over the toast - is just crying with loneliness while it stands awe-struck at how you distribute the paste.
This photo is my step one and I'd be embarrassed to possess traits that allowed me to finish here and walk away smiling.

I think it is safe to say that most people believe that men holding doors for women represents some kind of chivalry or gentlemanliness.
Men feel gracious and powerful when they do it, while women tend to feel flattered and or deserving.
I on the other hand have things to argue about this social reflex.
People should hold doors open for people.

This door-holding business imitates a sense of true aid. It makes it seem like the man is willing to help women in lots of different aspects of life. From standing on the car-side of the sidewalk to paying the bill to throwing his own laundry in the laundry bin, he may feel he is the absolute "man" and his lady would be nothing without those helpful little hands. (Where are the men when women need help with domestic labour, doing his laundry, making meals for the both of them?)

How dare a man who is holding two T.V.s in each hand while balancing a record player on his head and wobbling with a DVD player in between his legs let a woman open the door for him? *spits* And how dare he not drop everything to make sure her empty-handed self can glide through the door? Men tend to place these gallantries above the practical reality of the situation. The door-opening and other small services are intended for people who are generally incapacitated, burdened or generally unable in some way to do that thing for themselves. Wouldn’t this mean then that if a person was carrying something while approaching a doorway that anyone near should rush ahead a bit to open the door - regardless of gender? In this sense, it seems obvious that these tiny tasks (that even sometimes woo women) are actually just actions that reinstate their inferiority and place men as the only mover for the unmoved and the only ones willing to literally step forward and do something.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate when people hold the door open for me and never fail to say "Thank You". What I cannot handle is when I do hold the door open for a guy and he stops before he crosses the threshold so that I can walk away and he can open the door for himself to walk through. Another situation is when I stop walking to hold a door open and the man in question puts his hand on the door while he walks through (sometimes even using a whole forearm), as if I need help doing it. Then he says "Thanks", in a way that I take as a pitiful "Thanks for trying". Or maybe because he is insulted that I'd dare to doubt his ability to do it for himself - or his manhood in not doing it for me,. Just let me hold the fucking door open for you. I'll be fine, I know I will.

Bubble

"Are you angry? Punch a pillow. Was it satisfying? Not hardly. These days people are too angry for punching. What you might try is stabbing. Take an old pillow and lay it on the front lawn. Stab it with a big pointy knife. Again and again and again. Stab hard enough for the point of the knife to go into the ground. Stab until the pillow is gone and you are just stabbing the earth again and again, as if you want to kill it for continuing to spin, as if you are getting revenge for having to live on this planet day after day, alone."

-Miranda July from No One Belongs Here More Than You

Photo from FFFFOUND.com

Baby Madonna

The dying of childrens' imagination is so terribly sad.
So sad that I barely let myself comprehend how real it is. Our world doesn't let kids relish in the imagination that is so crucial to creativity and freedom of thought and speech that they also need to be in touch with later in life.
Kids used to play in the streets til it was dark out, playing marbles or drawing with chalk. Now they sit in front of Leap Frogs or PlayStations as their parents peer out the windows for child molesters.
Kids used to draw on paper and on the walls. Now there are coloring books to stay in the lines and Mr Clean Magic Erasers.
Hide and Seek to Hannah Montana.
This revolution is really brutal for me to just stand-by and watch as someone who was an impressionable child not too long ago and who understands - at least from a subjective viewpoint - that just being a dumb, rampant kid is so much more important than trying to figure out how to use a cellphone to tell the neighbour to meet at the sandbox in five.

I don't want to see "sexy" 8-year olds, or the very rigid outlines of gender in general,
I don't want to see training bras for infants,
I don't want kids to only know how to think "in the box",
I don't want there to be necessity for sexual education for kindergarteners,
I don't want kids to have calculators before they have paintbrushes,
I don't want a child's post-secondary potential to be determined by their reading capability at age six,
I don't want kids to have eating disorders and body-image issues before they even hit puberty, or see punishment for screwing up while experimenting with harmless but possibly "weird" things.
The list goes on and on.
Just some food for thought.

Erin McKenna is a Goddess, whatever.

I really have to share this recipe.
For those of you who don't know, I've been vegan for over a month now and am really enjoying it.
This is a recipe that I found online by Erin McKenna (raw, whole, and vegan food extraordinaire) who apparently worked on the recipe here and there for about six months before she got it right.
These "Brownie Bites" are wheat/gluten-free, and dairy-free and you will fool everyone in thinking that they are "normal".

Ingredients
Vegetable oil spray
1 cup and 4 tablespoons Bob's Red Mill gluten-free, all-purpose baking flour (organic, unbleached flour is also okay)
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon xanthan gum (I used 3/4 teaspoon of corn starch instead)
1 cup applesauce (sweetened or unsweetened is fine)
1/2 cup canola oil
2 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup dairy-free mini chocolate chips (Foley's is a good brand of these. I used the dark chocolate ones. You can also use Carob chips but personally I don't like the flavour of them very much)

Directions
1.Preheat the oven to 325°. Spray 2 muffin pans with vegetable oil spray. In a bowl, whisk the baking flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda, salt and xanthan gum. In another bowl, whisk the applesauce, oil and vanilla; stir into the dry ingredients. Stir in the chocolate chips. Spoon the batter into the muffin pans, filling them three-quarters full. Bake for 15 minutes, or until set. Let the brownies cool in the pans for 15 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool completely.

Recipe from Food & Wine

Mark Rothko meets Balenciaga

This Balenciaga skirt reminds me of a more refined Mark Rothko painting.
Rothko here:





The first time I saw Rothko paintings in the flesh was at the MOMA in New York. It might at first seem easy, without much knowledge of his work, to dismiss it as mindless and childish but after some time and information, you may find yourself feeling suspicion of them, and having them imprinted on your mind, several minutes after you stop viewing them. I realized that they're meant as instalments, not as an intention to imitate the physical realm of reality.
Other modern classic, abstract expressionists from the mid 20th century have more explicit imagery that can "be explored," so to speak.
However, this doesn't go to say that there isn't power in his work. "Real" art cannot possibly be characterized by the human ability to understand what it intends to implore.
After some dabbling in more literal forms of expressionism, he realized that post-war artists were polite and accurate in the assumption that at this point in time, the human body could not be fairly depicted unless it was mutilated.
From that point on, he reduced his literal forms to more vague shapes and images.
Eventually, he realized that all he ever really wanted to do was depict emotion anyways - grief, loss, ecstasy, etc which led him to his most unique and recognizable style.
This is the time when the above paintings were created.
Language cannot even precisely represent such a vague thing as emotion, and he really believed that painting was another medium through which to try.
People would weep in the face of his paintings, and those are the people that he painted for. He actually accepted a commission from the Four Seasons Hotel on the bottom floor of the Seagram building for $2.5 million, spent a number of years completing it, and after having one meal there, rejected the offer. He believed that nobody who would pay so much for a meal could possibly appreciate or even notice the effort of his art.
Say what you will about Mark Rothko (and please don't draw your conclusions based on these thumbnails), but he had such a breath-taking, bleak and sad angle of human emotion during a period of pop-art, that focused on human beings, not on the world at large.

Back from not being around.

I remember hearing in a Philosophy class;
A person has as many personalities as there are people on earth.
I found this dangerously interesting because how many times have I been told "Treat everyone the same" in my up-bringing?
Though I understand that the treat-everyone-the-same mentality is probably meant in the sense that we should treat everyone with the same respect, I can recall thinking, even in elementary school about applying the concept and it not seeming feasible (obviously).
Quite simply, you would not treat your best friend the way you treat someone you just meet. You would not treat your grandmother the same way you treat the person who sells you fruits and vegetables.

But do we really change "who we are" according to every interaction?
I think so.
Sometimes when I get people from different fields of my life together (ie. school friends with work friends), I can tend to feel torn because I know that each group is interested in different things.
Though I can get along with both just wonderfully in separate realms, it is a curious dynamic when they collide. They know different sides of me, they make me feel like interacting in different ways. This dynamic applies even to a level as minute as one person from each group.

This idea comes from a person who considers herself confident and self-assured which makes me believe that changing how you act and how you interact from one person to the next doesn't have anything to do with feeling unsure of yourself.

Maybe this is all a very obvious concept, but I just think it is very interesting to ponder who a person really is, (if a "neutral state" actually exists) when they're all alone with no other person to "shape" what they are in that moment.
Or maybe having no other persons around creates a single personality in itself!

Brick-breaker

Today I was at Pet Habitat and there were little white kittens all hanging out in a big glass cage.
And two of them were especially fond of each other, hopping and gliding up against the other.
One of them looked like Frida, short-haired with a pointy little face and the other a baby white persian/himalayan kitten with baby blue eyes.
The himalayan really caught my eye. I'd climb mountains for that cat.
She had little eye crusties and was looking at me with a pet-store kind of bottom-lip-pout that gets me every time.
I stuck my pinky under the sticker that read,
"Do not stick anything, especially not fingers under the door".

She was just sweet.

Lay your body down and put this on your ceiling

Cecily Brown.
Theres something about her depiction of the naked body that is so satisfying. She doesn't lie about the shapes, she doesn't fake any flawless seams, she just crafts abstract expressionist globs of pure sex. Her figures tend to creep behind the dense structure of the paint, into forms reminiscent of Cezanne's, creating a dreamy elusiveness.
Her kaliedoscopic, anti-academic diatribes suggest sexual deviance while drawing limits for themselves, being shy - not telling the whole story. I think that even people who curse abstract expressionism can find appreciation for her work. It leaves a lot of room to put the pieces together for yourself, but not in a blindingly formless way like Pollock or even deKooning.

Some of her images remind me of watching interviews on the news wherein the person wants to remain anonymous so their face is blurred out. There's a strength paired with cowardice in those figures sometimes, and I feel like Brown does that with her art.

It's not about being explicit, raw and bloody dirty but about giving the viewer a simple outline, and allowing them to fill in the blanks, plug in their own fantasies, and turn it into something that really belongs to them.
Whatever it may be.

C-breeze

Alright summer, here I come. Time to watch every possible Charlotte Gainsbourg film imaginable.
Watch the six minute short film called "My Heart Laid Bare".
She narrates it beautifully.

(So I carry, I carry the flowers
the flowers that are dead in my hands
they wilt naturally. Understand
that today is the day
that we find out once and for all
Now you know I must leave here
You must let me stand or fall.)

Canvas too Clean

Today, everything seems to be dawning on me in a way that falsely inflates the meaning of them.
Like, everything I look at seems to be woven together in a way that quickly turns too philosphical.
I entered a very strange state of consciousness last night where I seemed to be right in that little groove between sleeping and being awake. I felt like I was in my bed and surrounded by a dozen pots and pans, all with different soups, as well as yam and potato dishes. They were all in and around my bed, and then when I thought I woke up, I was still trying to sift through the strange feeling of them being around me, I actually felt like I couldn't move or else I'd disturb their cooking process. Then I sort of slipped into this state where I thought I could actually sort of smell these dishes.
I want to be able to distinguish which things are the result of the physical properties of my brain and which are the workings of my mind and imagination.

They are separate.

All I know is that this is my last week of school, there are at least five really amazing movies that I have downloaded that I need to watch, at least 15 books that have been carefully selected to sit on my desk which I'm dying to read, and 50 kilometres of biking I want to do in the next month.
I keep trying to plan my next big step, but the only things that feel right seem to be the little ones.

Balmain

Amazing cuts as far as legs, chest and backs go.
There is lots of skin, LOTS of legs, and the way that the fabric falls tends not to be too tight or too loose, but just enough for a little bit of dream in between the skin and the garment.
I love it.
Lots of blacks, metallics, and earthys.
These are from the Ready to Wear line but the runway line is just as unreal.
Call me crazy but this season is still about chunky footwear.
Bring your docs and ankle boots to the beach!

Cerebellar Hypoplasia

The other day I was pulling out of a parking space on a street off Commercial Drive and my friend was like "Aw, look!"
And I looked to see this beautiful little striped white, black and grey cat with green eyes - so tender.
Then she started walking and she was lifting her feet really weirdly and quickly. It sort of looked like someone put double-sided tape on the bottom of her feet but she didn't look bothered by it.
Then the lady who owned her was like "Oh, thank you for slowing down, she has brain damage called Cerebellar Hypoplasia that affects her motor function" and I was like "Awww" in a really lame-ish tone because I didn't know what she was really talking about. But then I looked it up later, after reflecting on how adorable the kitty was and giggling and found this video.
These cats are often killed at a very young age because it is assumed by the owners that something is wrong with them, when in actuality, they are just fine! They lead lives like any other cat. Totally happy. And they probably make even happier owners because they appear really clumsy and adorable.
In the future if I ever look into fostering cats or adopting again, I'm going to seek out one with Cerebellar Hypoplasia.

Bacon

This photo has never ceased to fall out of my head.
Yes, it is a man sitting in a chair with two halves of an animal hanging above him.
Francis Bacon did a series of paintings titled "Heads" that depicted, in much distortion, non-specific rulers of the papal states in history (He lived in the mid 1900s).
This is another from the set:

He has been suspected of manic depression. He had high-wired, unrealistic and delusionally happy views of his life that could snap back in seconds to making statements proclaiming the absolute hopelessness of human existence as naturally as breathing. These are the times that his paintings seemed to most represent.
The characteristics of his work are mutilated bodies, death, nakedness, spasmodic scenes and dream sequences.
In the 80's he was the most expensive living artist.
I love his paintings for the pure reason that they are so evocative. They are serious instalments whether you buy an original, a print or just a google image from your printer.
Francis Bacon, my friends.

Classic T+S

I loved Tegan's voice during this period.
Their very first album Under Feet Like Ours album sounded so raw and grimey, like "I've been smoking way too much and snarling at people, oh and look at me play my guitar super low, near my crotch". They first released it in 1999 and then re-released in 2001.
This song floors me though, really.
Somehow in all the dykey, rough and tough, leatherness of it, there's such a softness..
in both of them.
This song is why I was originally a Tegan person.
(Also, one of my favourite past-times is tracing Tegan and Sara's chronology through their hairstyles).
I'm really, really looking forward to seeing them at the Gorge at the end of May. Maybe I'll get Sara to meet me side-stage for some casual conversation.
So here... This is everything.

The Runaways

The movie "The Runaways" by Floria Sigismondi features Dakota Fanning (Amityville Horror) and Kristen Stewart, (Twilight) and recalls the story of The Runaways' band who peaked in the late 70's.
I had no exectation for the movie after "Bella"'s character in Twilight, but it really blew me out of the park.
Check some of these photos out.
Lots of lesbo gals are absolutely stumbling over Kristen's character which vaguely resembles Kate Moenig's in the L-word (but way better).
This is a video of the original performance of the Runaways featuring Cherie Currie and Joan Jett on the Japan leg of their tour.
This however, is a trailer for the movie, with a lot of clips of the rendition from the song that Dakota Fanning did as Cherie Currie.
Tell me how much you're falling for Dakota's Cherie.
So much love, so much passion. I think Dakota almost nails the vocals too.
Such beautiful production and direction.
The shower shot of Dakota Fanning in the movie is unreal which you can only see in the real movie (also Kristen's scene in the bath tub).
Watch it if you haven't already.
I don't care if you download it or if you pay $13 to go see it, just see it.