John Waters continues to flaunt his demented charm

I haven't had time to put anything brilliant together for the blog in the last few days, so here's someone who makes it look effortless. Yes, John Waters is a national treasure from the depths of the dank watering hole down a city alley where few dare to tread. We need him to wake our consciousness up to weirdness, creativity and thought processes that are grounded in street-level reality yet way, way out there. Just like most of America, once you scratch its shiny surfaces.

I'm reading his book, Role Models, which is an eclectic collection of essays about what inspires him. It's such a fine mix including Little Richard, Leslie Van Houten--the Manson murderess that he believes should be paroled, Tough psycho-lady strippers and barkeeps from his native Baltimore, pioneering amateur pornographers who dealt in straight Marines and rough trade, literary novels of fetishistic desires, and modern art that makes people really mad. He explains it all very eloquently and with his trademark wit. And although he doesn't cover his most important muse, Divine (this time), I now know the secret of John's mustache and like most of what he sets out to accomplish, the truth is a welcome blend of shocking and amusing.







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