Monday, January 11, 2010

Everyday mind-control techniques of Gaga, Mozart

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Turns out that Lady Gaga is actually a puppet of the massive secret society that controls the United States, and her freaky style choices are filled with dastardly symbolism... according to this guy, at least:

Lady Gaga, The Illuminati Puppet
http://vigilantcitizen.com/?p=1676

The article is ripe with lulz, but perhaps my favorite thing about it (and the site in general) is the fact that the writer doesn't really seem all too concerned about the fact that we are all being mind-controlled by the secret symbolism in pop music, architecture, and corporate logos. No subject is safe from his attacks, and yet he never really seems to say exactly what it is that is so bad about the Illuminati symbols.

My biggest problem with The Illuminati is the fact that it is a less-exciting rip-off of Freemasonry that probably doesn't even exist anymore. The Freemasons, on the other hand, are alive and well and don't give a shit about Lady Gaga. She, on the other hand, is probably well-aware of the origin of her symbols and is using them the way she uses her bizarre fashion choices and public behavior: to stir up interest, occasionally make a statement, and have a good time.

It has long been one of my dearest desires to become a Freemason. Unfortunately, as a woman, I will never achieve this dream (not sure how they feel about sex changes). It isn't altogether important to me whether or not the Freemasons control the world, or if they have crazy ceremonies involving virgin sacrifices and whatnot. If, upon being ordained at the highest level of Masonic leaderhood, I learned that it really was just a fraternity of bored dudes donating to charity and feeling excited about their secret handshake, I'd still be good. Being a part of the secret is more than half the fun- it is really the whole of the point. Being a part of a secret that Mozart was also a part of is icing on the tricornered cake.

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Mozart visits the Vienna Freemasons Lodge, Alfredo Dagli Orti


Did you know that Mozart's Die Zauberflöte is absolutely chock-full of Masonic symbolism? No conspiracy theory necessary: Emanual Schikaneder, the librettist and a Freemason buddy of Mozart's (as well as the original Papageno), crafted what was essentially a Masonic fairy tale.


The Overture is written in Eb major, a key signature with three flats (Masons are all about the number three). Mozart incorporates dotted rhythms, including those which imitate the symbolic knock at the beginning of an initiation ceremony. He throws such nods here and there throughout the opera, which centers largely around a quest that a young man must take to gain enlightenment and entry into a fraternal order. Pretty straightforward stuff but, then again, who doesn't like to be beaten over the head with symbolism?? Just ask Faulkner... or Hawthorne... or Shakespeare... or, well, Lady Gaga, I guess.

The logical next step, in my opinion, would be for Gaga to rock some sort of Queen of the Night ensemble, perhaps a la the fabulous Ms. Damrau:

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Not to mention if I ever hear Gaga break out the high Fs and vocal acrobatics, I will completely forgive her for Bad Romance (the song, of course.. I won't even admit how many times I've watched the video).

As a last note, I will mention that I was once part of a secret society, known as Auratus Hetairia (I take no responsibility for what may be questionable Latin grammar). I was fifteen. We had outfits. We performed secret rituals. We had a blog. It was great:
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The shining, innocent faces conceal all sorts of dark secrets.

Now, of course, I cannot claim membership status to any secret societies. You would think Vassar might have something, but we really are just a bunch of semi-intellectual, pop-culture-loving hippies and/or hipsters without anything lurking beneath the surface.

"Well!" -you might say- "Maybe there are secret societies that you just don't know about." I simply cannot believe that. No one wants to be in a society that is totally secret. People only keep actual secrets about things that are embarrassing, like fetishes and fanfiction authorship, etc (and even then, they still tell the Internet). Fun secrets: gossip, socially acceptable fetishes, secret society membership are, if not completely open, then at least whispered about and hinted at.

So, anyhow, if you know of any societies that are looking for new members, let me know. Unless they involve freaky sexual rituals. Because, you know, all of my kinks are completely socially acceptable.


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Saturday, January 9, 2010

Young Victoria and The Case of the Missing Plot

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Yesterday, I went to see The Young Victoria with a friend. In one respect, I was quite satisfied: the movie was a two-hour lush-fest: sumptuous fabrics, intricate hairstyles, and endless rooms elegantly wallpapered and furnished, filled with beautiful stuff (The Victorians really loved stuff.) Miranda Richardson flouncing and huffing around as the Duchess of Kent with enough hair to keep a dozen Dickensian orphans warm on a cold winter night. Rows of men in plaid pants and impressive muttonchops. Jim Broadbent getting uproariously drunk. A large supporting role for Victoria's Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, one of the cutest fucking dogs in British history (thanks, Charles II!):

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omg!

Anyway, the movie was unquestionably pleasing to the eyes. Unfortunately, that was about where it ended. Second to the sheer lusciousness of the production, the most impressive aspect of the movie was the fact that it seemed to have literally. no. plot. whatsoever.

This is not always actually a problem for me. As someone who spends an unspeakable amount of time each week simply looking at images of pretty things, I don't need a plot to make myself feel better about doing it. I suppose it is a bit like the way some people consider pornography: do we really need to know that Vivienne McGoodLay is a lonely housewife who needs a brawny young fellow to stop by and fix her, er- plumbing? No, thanks. Just skip to the goodies.

Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette gets the pretty things porn formula exactly right (and yes, Dear Readers, I understand that I am now, officially marking myself as unoriginal for bringing this movie into the mix. Deal). Coppola dispenses with plot almost entirely, but she makes it ever so clear that she has done so intentionally. She wants us to gush over shoes and macarons and corsets and Jamie Dornan without any pressure to remember which one is the Duchesse de Char and which is the Comtesse de Cavazzoni. The little glimpse of Converse in the pivotal shoe-shopping scene (I love any movie with a pivotal shoe-shopping scene) is a not-so-secret message: Enjoy the frivolity. Imagine that you, too, can have a picnic on a boat in a gigantic dress, drink a ton of champagne, and then sleep with whoever you want because you are the queen, goddammit.



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I love the little girl's expression in the background.

The Young Victoria, I imagine, had greater ambitions.

Okay, I just tried for several minutes to formulate my impressions of those greater ambitions, and I came up with nothing. I honestly couldn't tell you what they were getting at with this movie. Yes, being a queen is hard. Yes, having a better job/ bigger salary than your husband can cause marital strife. Yes, Paul Bettany, despite looking dashing as fuck in a fancy hairdo and gilded military jacket, can potentially lead you to fall from favor among your people. So what??

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He will charm you right out of those restrictive lace undergarments.

How I wish one or more of these themes (or another potentially more coherent theme) could have been explored in more detail, with more focus. Or, alternatively, that the director had given us free reign to sit back and enjoy the pretty things with some secret message of his own (my vote is a quick, nearly imperceptible shot of Rupert Friend jumping into his big royal bed in a pair of striped H&M boxer briefs. But this is only one option).

My advice to anyone who is considering spend ten hard-earned bucks on The Young Victoria is as follows: if you love the Victorian (or, sort-of-leading-up-to-Victorian) aesthetic, you will probably derive some enjoyment from the movie, plotlines be damned. However, do not expect any of the following: believable dialogue, boobs, Jim Broadbent lasting past the first forty minutes. The movie earned extra points from me because of the German dialogue and the excessive composer name-dropping (who knew that Schubert's Schwanengesang is actually the perfect theme for a movie created in the 21st century?), so if you are into that: go wild. But don't say I didn't warn you.

...


In keeping with the theme, a couple other points of interest:
http://www.vanityfair.com/style/features/2009/05/emily-blunt-portfolio200905

Emily Blunt as photographed by Michael Roberts, in the tradition of the September 2006 Marie Antoinette photoshoot in Vogue.

And, just to keep an air of class about the place:


Perfection.

PS: Hi! Welcome to my newest blogging experiment!