So here’s some wisdom for the girls: Don’t wear shoes you can’t run in! I know you gotta show off your legs and make them appear as long as possible. Gotta catch that guy who will buy you another pair of $500 designer shoes, those spiky, platform, strappy things—you know, hooker shoes. Which is so appropriate because you are one. Sex = guy buys shoes. Anything-he-wants sex = matching purse!
But be warned: When shit hits the fan (looting, raping, pillaging, plundering), and we become a police state, you’ll be a herd of gazelles, and you will get pounced on like easy prey. The guys will be stealing shoes—you know, expensive Nikes and Addidases—and they’ll be able to run faster than your pretty, tan, young legs…
I know you are busy reading fashion magazines, going to movies, listening to the worst music ever made, working out, watching TV, eating fast food, sexting, etc. But maybe it’s not your fault. You’ve lived your whole life under a cloud of chem-trail poison. You eat fast food and GMOs, and your tap water is a river of sodium fluoride. Mind-expanding drugs have been replaced with Molly. Oh, and I totally forgot to mention sports! Guys, without sports, who would YOU be? How would you identify yourselves as male, a brute, a winner, a warrior, a MAN, Mr. Conquistador?
Whether you want it to be true or not, youth shapes the world we live in and the world to come. Sometimes, I’m glad I’m on my way out of here.
So when I said, way back on Monday, that Exene had broken my heart a little bit? This is what I was referring to.
It seemed wrong, preparing for this week, to refuse to mention anything produced after 1985, given that the members of X are not fossils but artists still at work. In the nearly thirty years since Ain’t Love Grand, Exene has fronted two other bands, become a producer, published several books of collage work, raised a son, participated in a few art exhibitions. I apologize that I don’t have time or space to cover all of that when I move to a discussion of what Exene has been up to in the last few months.
What Exene has been up to in the last few months is writing a column for the alternative newspaper OC Weekly, including the above, and establishing a social-media presence, which includes liking YouTube videos suggesting that the Boston Marathon bombing and Asiana Airlines plane crash were both faked, or that the grieving parents of Sandy Hook were played by actors, or that those upset about the Zimmerman trial are just succumbing to media manipulation.
She has also posted a few videos of her own. Watching this one, I think: I love her bright pink lipstick and her chunky rings and her refusal to listen to anyone who says women in their fifties shouldn’t wear bright pink lipstick. I love that she gets right up into the camera. I love that she says, “There’s no one to compare me to. I’m not good, I’m not bad, I just am.” These are the things I have admired about Exene from my first exposure to X — her seizing the stage and insisting that her stories are worth telling her way.
But I can’t love the conspiracy theorizing, and especially the conspiracy-theory-based slut shaming — as if, having voiced the messes of being female, sexual, and imperfect in “I’m Coming Over,” “Because I Do,” and “The Once Over Twice,” Exene isn’t willing to grant any younger woman that much humanity. Well, I’m a sexual, imperfect woman myself, and I say: to hell with that.