Posts Tagged ‘Tom Waits’

For SLaMBe sure to catch the PREVIEW to CELEBRITIES IN DISGRACE, plus coverage in THE BOSTON HERALD, an Inside Track story: ‘Ice-ing on the Cake’.  And check out Libby’s Record of the Month post on Scott Pilgram

Libby Cudmore‘s recent works include essays in The MacGuffin and the Yalobusha Review, as well as stories in upcoming issues of Connotation Press and Crime Factory.  She just finished graduate school and is almost finished with The Shield and has no idea what to do with her life in the absence of Walton Goggins.

Pretty Boys Need Not Apply By Libby Cudmore

Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me knows that I am obsessed with The Shield.  Anyone who spends more than six minutes with me also knows that I’m obsessed with Sheild star Walton Goggins, who plays cowboy-cop Shane Vendrell.

Walton Goggins is not what you’d call a pretty boy.  He’s more Steve Bucemi than Robert Pattinson, with a receding hairline, woodchuck teeth and small, femmy eyes.  And Shane Vendrell is not what you’d call a good cop.  Bad cop is still a little too nice a descriptor.  Vendrell routinely takes bribes, sells drugs confiscated in gang busts, bangs girls who may or may not be eighteen and are defiantly not his wife and, on occasion, murders people.

But those eyes!  That grin!  Those legs and that ass inside those perfectly fitted boot-cut blue jeans!  Hick he may be, Goggins can wear a pair of pants like nobody’s business.

I’ve always been fonder of odd-looking men than those found on the pages of Teen Beat.  Jonathan Taylor-Thomas and Devon Sawa made me want to gag, but I preferred the ultra-geeky Jeff Goldblum in Independence Day and Jurassic Park.  Benicio del Toro took my breath away as Jackie Boy in Sin City, and my friend Beth took away my right to declare guys hot.  Brian O’Halloran was so normal looking in Clerks that I liked to imagine I had a chance to score if our paths ever crossed.  I think Mickey Rourke is sexier now, with the scars of hard living worn so openly on his ravaged face, then he was in 9 ½ Weeks.  And I maintain my position that Tom Waits, best known for a singing voice that sounds like it’s coming from six feet under and a face that bears witness to that crawl from the grave, shows off his surprisingly tight and toned ass when he’s frisked by the cops in Down By Law. (more…)

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For SLaMLibby Cudmore is a regular contributor to Pop Matters. Hardboiled and a Twist of Noir. Additionally, her work has appeared in Shaking Like a Mountain, Inertia, Battered Suitcase, the Southern Women’s Review, Eastern Standard Crime, Pulp Pusher, Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ ChillersPowderBurnFlash, the Flash Fiction Offensive, Big Pulp and the upcoming anthology Quantum Genre on the Planet of the Arts, the latter two with Matthew Quinn Martin.  Her favorite Smiths album is The Queen is Dead.

I am very worried about Morrissey.

morrissey-20080229084749262-000Shortly after performing “This Charming Man,” the former Smiths frontman and most influential figure in music (according to the 2002 NME poll—suck on that, John Lennon!) collapsed onstage at a concert in Swinton and was rushed to the hospital. He was released the next day and, according to Boz Boorer’s facebook update, he is resting and greatly appreciates our concern.
This is uncommon for Morrissey. He has always shown a bit of gleeful contempt for his hoards of rabid fans and we love him for it. Despite his long-time vow of celibacy and hints of homosexual tendencies, women throw themselves at him in concert. I saw him on the You Are the Quarry tour and the security guards had their hands full, chucking waifish indie girls off stage like shot puts. If someone in the front row threw flowers, Morrissey stomped them beneath his well-heeled foot. He has proclaimed himself as unlovable and we couldn’t love him more. But it’s good to know that we are finally breaking through to his shielded heart.
I, like all Morrissey fans, firmly believe that I am the only one who understands him, that I am who he wrote “William, it was ReallyMorrisseyOnGrass-785551Nothing,” “These Things Take Time” “Sister, I’m a Poet” and “This Charming Man” for. He is part of my Holy Trifecta of musicians, alongside Warren Zevon and Tom Waits. I lost Zevon in college, and Tom Waits will probably live forever. But when a friend alerted me to Morrissey’s sudden lapse into mortality (while pointing out that God, or perhaps the Devil, continues to spare the Jonas Brothers) I panicked and began immediately playing every Morrissey song on my shelf, as though my prayers and devotion might be heard in his hospital bed.

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