Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Wrestling isn't fake...

...and anyone who says it is, is asking for a body slam.

I was looking into a glass case where The Undertaker was giving some sweet lovin' to John Cena.

Well, not the actual guys. Some action figures in a case either were lucky enough to be knocked down into said compromising position or one of the employees were having some fun. Either way, I giggled.

I started to walk away when Eric, my antiquing/collectible hunting buddy, starting naming off all the figures in the case and talking about specific matches, Vince McMahon and how much the arena of pro-wrestling has changed. This got me thinking about the wonderful documentary "Beyond The Mat"by Barry Blaustein. Although I think the film wants to humanize and exalt these men who put their bodies and lives on the line for entertainment, it really opens the curtain on a very dark corner.

Wrestling is made to be entertaining, shocking, dramatic. It's a play, acted out for the masses. But the falls are real. The metal chairs are real. And mostly, the blood is real too. And that is where sometimes it steps over that line.

You probably know Richard Belzer from Law&Order. (He's played Detective Munch on at least 7 different separate television shows, which has to be some kind of record...) He was also a radio host, film actor and talk show host. His show, Hot Properties, hit a particularly odd note when Hulk Hogan came on, put Belzer in a choke hold causing him to pass out, then released him so that Belzer hit the ground, head first, bleeding and ready to sue. They settled out of court. Watch it all here.

Owen Hart, brother of the more well known Brett "The Hit Man" Hart, was a leader in his field. Although never winning a championship, he was recognized for his charm and skill. That ended when he fell 8 stories to his death in front of thousands of people. The camera's weren't filming but when they returned from a scheduled break, they made it very clear that it was not a stunt. He was pronounced dead not long after. See the old news reports here.

There are some that are linking football head injuries with those head injuries suffered by wrestlers. This could offer a clue as to why there are so many suicides, murders, heart failures (from enlarged hearts via the steroids... I mean, genetics.) and cases of self medication. (see some of the links below.)

Last July, "The Future" was charged with stabbing his ex to death. Chris Benoit strangled his wife and 7 year old son before hanging himself. Doink the Clown overdosed. Macho Man had an enlarged heart. Same with Lance Cade. The entire Von Erich family was a case study in all of it. But I guess Jessie Ventura did well. Dwayne Johnson is very successful....

Blame the roids, drugs, the fall from fame but many of these stories end in bad porn, suicide, ODs, murder and/or poverty. Writing this feels a lot like my piece on porn stars. There are so many sad stories.

I'm going to go watch The Tooth fairy and imagine a world where Jake the Snake is Captain Jack Sparrow and Mankind is Romeo to Chyna's Juliet.

WWE gives to concussion research -
What is real, what is fake -

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

All Hallow's Eve Revolution

A revolution is needed.

Last year I was at a Halloween party. Naughty by Nature was on stage and I had fallen into a puddle of spilled beer (I hope) to avoid a fist fight between Jack Sparrow and Hulk Hogan that Winnie the Pooh was trying to break up. (Later that night, he asked me if I 'partied' and offered me some coke. I was like, "No thanks Pooh Bear.") And as insane and fun as that night was, I have to say, I miss the old Halloween.

I propose this, fair minded children-at-heart, responsible adults! We revolt! Enough of this thing they call Halloween! Down with naked girls dressed as bunnies and racist costumes and drunken frat boys and loud parties with more alcohol poisoning than tricks and treats! I say enough!

Perhaps I'm being a little dramatic. Imagine that.

I just love me some Halloween so much. I love making a creative costume. I love getting together with my friends and sharing our fun creations and yummy treats. I love cookies shaped like bats and bite sized candies. I love those old fashioned scares that have nothing to do with chainsaws or sexy teens or entrails. I guess really what I'm trying to say is I miss the Halloween from when I was a kid.

I remember when it used to be a spooky time. Not scary, not sexy, spooky! No threats of real harm or nightmares but the idea knowing that the spirits were out, whispering from the trees. The wind blew and the leaves crunched under your feet and you knew the jealous witches flew above, greedy trolls below and you were safe as long as you could make it to the next house. (And even then you could shout "Go go Power Rangers!" and that would save you from the mummy creeping around in the bushes.)

My Halloween is "Something Wicked This Way Comes" where there is a fate worse than death at the midnight carnival. It's Edgar Allen Poe, Edward Gorey, Icabod Crane (if he can just make it to the bridge!) and Shelley's (and Whale's) Frankenstein. It's not Freddy or Jason, ice pick wielding mutants and gore/porn. Not for me, at least.

Or maybe I'm just getting old. 

Happy Halloween my ghoulish pals! Enjoy some classic Halloween this year!

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Running Toward, Not Away - UPDATE GoMighty!

I should run away more often.

Since I decided to start training for my first race (if you consider the family 5K a race... and I do, damnit) it has been my most popular post by far. People either love to run or love Disneyland. I had not idea there was a category for both until just recently.

I also got invited to Go Mighty, which is great for setting goals and sharing your stories. So I'm there as well, sharing the steps I will take to get to Disneyland. Also, some fun trivia: If I were to run a 5K everyday until the race in August, I could literally run from my house to Disneyland. Now that's some motivation. And something I would never do. Unless there was some kind of zombie apocalypse then yeah, I'm running to Disneyland. I'll live on top of the Matterhorn since zombie hate paper mache and fun.

Is it bad I'm more excited about making my running costume? This girl has got in down over at According to Kelly. I should use some of her ideas. Or maybe some Mickey ears will do. I guess I'll just have to wait and see how I feel about things closer to race day.

On the less fun side of things, I've started to have some physical issues. Hip/knee joint pain and very sore feet, mostly in my big toe joint. I'm going to keep an eye on that and hopefully I can push through that. Any ideas, experienced runners?

Lastly, thanks for all the encouraging emails and fun stories; they're very motivating! So now it's time to leave my little perch in front of the computer and go run! Weee!

Friday, September 27, 2013

Run Away Disney Princess

Things have not been going well.

As I'm sure that you can tell, I've been pretty unhappy. It's a struggle to write or be creative at all. Sometime, everyday things are hard too. So I've been trying really hard to fix all of that in the last 6 months. I've been working on my positive attitude and trying to be grateful for everyday.  I'm on a healthy and reasonable diet to help my body work and feel better. And I've been exercising. I'm at the gym 5-6 days a week for 2 hours each visit. I don't really enjoy it but I know it's good for me and that it could make me feel better. That said, I still can't sleep and find myself sad a lot.
I may be sad but I WILL have arms like these...
To snap myself out of those daily little clouds, I've found a temporary fix. A little sunshine. Yeah, you're gonna laugh. I know it's kinda hokey and you can shake your fist at me while you shout about corporate evil. I don't care. Disneyland helps.

I've found myself daydreaming about sunny California, to a place where everything is a little bit more colorful and the music is happy.  People are glad to see me. There are new adventures, fun food and roller coasters! Some place I can be like a kid again; I can be myself. The daydream does help, even if it's just for a minute. 

And it's not just Disneyland, it's Disney in general. I can have a bad day and come home and I know that Lilo and Stitch will be there for me. Mickey will make me laugh. Aladdin, Capt. Jack and Flyn Rider will be wooing me. Mulan will sing about wanting people to know who she really is and not pretending to be. Belle will read her favorite books and find her happily ever after. It makes everything a little easier to take.
There is a lot of things you can do to be happy. They say having goals is important. So I've set a goal for myself. I'm going to run. 

I hate running. It hurts. My knees, hips, and mostly my chest. The years of dance destroyed my feet and my knees/hips also pay the price. The asthma is the worst, aggravated by a bout of walking pneumonia I got at age 20 that went undiagnosed (with no health insurance) for 3 months, scarred my lungs. Breathing can be challenging. So all those things are not conducive to running outside on hard pavement.

But I'm going to Disneyland next year to run in a race. Again, get ready to laugh. A 5K. Yeah, it's a little kid race. Yeah, my great-grandma could do this race easy... and she's been dead for 30 years. But this is big for me. It's something I thought I'd never do. Honestly, I never really wanted to do it. But it's nice to have a goal and if that goal gets you to Disneyland AND you get to dress up like a princess, why not?

So I'll keep you guys in the loop here. Any suggestions on what character I should dress up as? I was thinking Ariel but I think hopping around in that shiny green tail would be too tough. Suggestions?

Friday, August 9, 2013

No Ones Fool

I finally relax in your arms, trust the warm and safe feelings that I so rarely feel these days. It's been a rough week. I'm actually surprised that you are open and soft and inviting. It's easy to feel loved or at least liked, in that moment.

But I have been a fool or made a fool of.

I must remember this. I am always on the verge of being made a fool and I am not falling for it again. Not again.

I am a steel cage.Words may pass through me but no one can breach the barrier.
I am invisible. I make no impressions and cast no shadow.
I am smoke. I can't make a ripple in a pond; i glide along the surface.
I am nothing and no one and I can't be touched without being burned.

And when I'm in that space... you know the one. The space that must be entered from time to time. Space that is required to be visited. I will be there but not there. I float away. I am with the birds. I am among the flowers. I am surrounded by the pink and green, down the river with the otters, far far away.

And I am alone.

But alone is better than a fool.

Friday, August 2, 2013

Feet That Glow in the Dark

A little radiation never hurt anyone.

Unless you're a child and it's your feet and you grow a crazy mutant toe.

While in Phoenix, my mother in law pointed out her feet while we were discussing shoes and specifically her 2nd toe. (You know, the piggy that stayed home.) On her right foot, it was much longer than any of her other toes and it was twisted and crooked. She said it was because when she was a kid, when her mom would take them shopping, her and her siblings would always run to the shoe store and stick their feet into the fluoroscope at the front of the store.

What the hell is a fluoroscope? This.

Isn't that just the coolest looking thing-a-ma-bob? I want one.

Back in the 20's (and all the way through to the 70's in some places) these bad boys were installed in shoe stores. You stand on it, stick your feet inside and flip the switch to see how well your feet fit inside your new Buster Browns. And it was great for checking for broken bones, since you could see your bones. So it was pretty obvious that this thing was puking xrays all over your feet/body and after the big bomb and cold war, the use of such devices declined heavily. Also, some experience radiation burns. (One salesman had it so bad it resulted in amputation.) Most though, did not suffer ill effects.

I'm not so sure the fluoroscope gave her that crazy mutant piggy, but it's a fun story. I wonder if it glows in the dark...


Check out more at the Smithsonian's website, along with other really amazing things... Don't you just love museums??

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

The Beaver

I’m going to be straight with you guys. (Aren’t I always?)

I’m not a fan. I used to be, but not anymore. Not for a long time. Mel Gibson just makes me feel sad now. So really, I tend to shy away from his movies. (Also that he hasn't been in anything good for quite some time now.) But I was interested in Jodie Foster’s new picture, The Beaver, enough to put my prejudice aside and check it out.

It’s a bizarre but intriguing concept. Walter has a bit of a psychotic break when he wakes up after a suicide attempt to a beaver puppet on his hand, ordering him to get his life together. And for a time, it works. But then, it becomes plain to see that Walter is having a hard time breaking away from his furry friend. The Beaver wants full control. I won’t divulge anything more but it keeps getting stranger but not really all that strange… does that make any sense?

Anyway, I’d have to say that I didn't love it but it was interesting and worth a watch via the old Netflix. Jodie Foster does a good job. Great cast, good acting, mostly relatable characters, and a lovely little score.  I just think it’s one of those stories that isn’t going to make everyone happy. It’s certainly not going to make millions. But I’m sure that wasn't the point at all. Oh, and did I mention that the film had to be shelved until things calmed down after Gibson’s (alleged) horrifying behavior towards an ex-girlfriend/mother of his child? Was this before or after the drunken anti-semetic rant towards a police officer? Who can remember…

I will say this about Gibson: as a girl who has, in the past, felt that dark cloud over her head, bed, home and heart, I know that look. I know he’s has been to those dark recesses. Face it, if you have hate in your heart, it hurts. I have no doubt that the man has wrestled some inner demons of his own and it comes though in parts of his performance, although I feel that he was trying to fool us.

Still, I was really hoping The Beaver himself was going to be an Aussie instead of British. That would put a whole new psychological spin on stuff.

And to my surprise, Jennifer Laurence plays the son’s love interest, a blond cheerleader with brains. This is of course, before Hunger Games but after Winter’s Bone. She’s just as lovely, just so you know.
In the end, there’s something unsatisfying about it. But that’s life. Depression isn't cured with a hand puppet. Dreams are ruined and can’t ever be put back together. Relationships fall apart and can never be fixed. And your brother doesn't come back from the other side.

Such is life. But that’s the core to the movie. Shit happens, but you don’t have to be alone. Then why do I feel so alone as I watch the credits scroll?

Stephanie Zacharek said it best in her review for Movieline, "I wanted to have sympathy for Walter Black; but to get to him, I had to fight my way past Mel Gibson. When an actor has to make his audience work that hard, it's a liability."


Even if you don’t see the movie, check out this adorable, lovely, sweet and sad PSA from about seeking help for depression. You can check it out here.

Saturday, June 8, 2013

She-Beasts and Pretty Girls

I am a hulking hairy man-girl.

Or at least that’s how I feel, standing in the Ginza district, watching the chicks pass by my cafe table.

I always thought I was a girly girl. Yeah, I hung out with guys mostly and nothing is better than a great pair of jeans but I’m still pretty feminine. I wear makeup most days, in one form or another. I wear 5 inch heels. I wax, dye, tease and primp.  I girl is up pretty hard sometimes. But I am Chuck Norris compared to these lovely ladies here in Japan.

Now I am making a blanket statement when I say ALL Japanese woman are sweet, petite, lovely girly beauties. I’m sure there are some less pink wearing, jeans/tshirt/tennis shoe girls out there too.  But just observing from my perch, I have to say, these women are amazing. All heels, frilly skirts, pastels and flowers. Lace ankle socks. Sparkly hair do-dads. Even their phones are adorable. Their purses have cute little stuffed animals attached. They are all so feminine that I feel like the She-Hulk, without the awesome hair.

Photo via

I'm sitting here, wearing boots and a leather jacket and my hair is all frizzy so it's in a crazy mess of a bun on top of me head. I'm all sweaty and melting and jittery because of the coffee. Why can’t I wear these narrow tiny shoes with little bows and knee socks? Why can’t I wear a frilly mini dress with floral pattern? Why? Because I’d look like your dad in a floral mini and knee socks. Now that’s a nice image, eh? I’m not built for that look and I’m coming to accept it. No really, I am. 

Much like I mentioned before, I'm a bit contradictory. Part of me wants to be the petite pixie with curls and bows. Part of me wants to wear leather and get in bar fights. Part of me wants to ride a sparkly unicorn on a rainbow. So why not have it all?

So I'm going to buy a cute bow for my hair, drink martinis, get in bar fights, and be it all. 

Try and stop me. 

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Lost in Kyoto

I’m overwhelmed, head spinning, crying in the rain in downtown Kyoto.

This was not the start to a good day. Now, I will say I was crying more from exhaustion; jetlag always makes me weepy. The silent tears flowed behind my over-sized sunglasses, which hid my embarrassment for the most part. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was the luckiest girl in the world, that this rain would end eventually and that I would just hail a cab to take me to my hotel, which I was most certain had got up and moved across town while I was away.

Japan has almost always been my dream. I can’t pin down one particular thing that lead me to my love of all things Japanese but I can remember exactly when I fell head over heels.

When I was 13, I moved to a new town, thousands of miles away from my previous home. (That home only had been ‘home’ for 2 years before the move before that one and so on…) No friends, awkward and alone.  It’s your typical sob story of an angsty teen so I won’t bore you.  But there was a specific turning point that I distinctly remember, changing everything in my addled teenaged brain.

 I was given a horrible schedule by my high school councilor which gave me a ‘lunch’ break at 10:30am. Rather than brave the cafeteria alone, I went up the library and sat at a desk near the stacks, trying to be invisible. I would sneak away and pick a book to occupy my time for the 45 min period. This particular day, I picked Fodor’s guide to Japan. I hadn't given much thought to Japan before really. Godzilla movies and ninjas were the only thing that came to mind.  But this book took me far away from the ugly little desk in a place I didn't really want to be.  And the more I read, the more I realized that I felt a lot like the Japanese. Americans thought they were strange, so alien in their manner and ways. They were so different. Just like me. I felt to alien and different from everyone else too.

I thought that perhaps one day I could go there and I would be accepted and I could find ‘my people’ as my mother called it. As I got older and read more and more, I knew that to be untrue as well. Regardless of how well I could speak Japanese, know the customs, trying to fit in, I would always be an outsider. I could never truly belong here. I wasn't born Japanese in Japan so I would never really be anything but Gaijin.

But as I sat having coffee yesterday in the heart of Kyoto, watching the Dekotora trucks and white gloved taxi drivers go by and I realized something. Even though I would never belong here, I am as different and strange looking as I feel. I stick out like a sore thumb, which is exactly how I feel all the time. I don’t blend. I don’t mesh. I am a 5’10”, redheaded, white chick in a yellow silk dress in a land full of… well, not that. It’s a little validation on how I still feel, that feeling my 13 year old self has yet to shake.  It’s a bit of a weight lifted.

And there are still many things that Japan and I share. A value of careful thought and what  many consider ‘introverted’ thought patterns. Finding perfection and beauty in all things. Consideration and respect  for those around you. A love of all things cute. Desire to fit in yet every person is so different, which is ok and not at the same time.

So dearest Japan, even though we can never truly be together, let's settle on this glorious love affair from time to time. We will come together, make beautiful music, and leave each other feeling more enriched for it. 

What do you say?

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

New Born

"Do you want to film me shaving my head?"
"I'm going to shave my head. You can film it."
"Alice? What are you talking about? Are you in town?
"I'm at The Treetop. We can have a drink or two. It'll be an thing. Why don't you come? Bring clippers."
And she hung up.

I sat there a moment but just a moment. Alice had blown in and out of my life so many time and she was always there but always far far away. She was untouchable. Maybe because I knew it was better that way. Probably because of whatever boring hulk guy she was leaning on would pummel me if they knew she was in the same bar as me. They never lasted long though. She always came to me, eventually.

The Treetop was a hole. There were no pushers or junkies though. Mostly quiet drunks, homeless moms and the whores just lived there and turned their tricks in alleys and in cars a mile down the pocked road because they knew better. Merrily, the owner, was quick with a Yankee slugger and scared of nothin' and a soft spot in her heart for the down, out, lonely and lost. She kept the assholes out, nursed to broken hearts as she could, collected rent and sent the dead on to their next destination when the situation called for it. Alice was in room 202. The door was open.

She kissed me on the mouth like she always did but there was something different. She had lingered for just a moment. She held a handful of my tshirt on my back like she was falling. Like it might be all she had. But as soon as I was catching on, she walked away.

She was still beautiful. Tall boots with the leather all scuffed. Her bare collarbone so frail it looked like it might break. Red lips to match her hair that came to her waist.
"Yeah. When did you get in? Your mom was calling me couple weeks ago looking for ya. Not worried yet, just curious. You're not really going to do this are you?"

I laughed a little. She didn't.

She grabbed a fist full and with a pair of orange handled scissors labels "Front Desk" she separated 13 inches of hair from her head and let it fall to the floor. I grabbed my camera. The shitty florescent lighting flickered as I found her in my lens as another 13 inches fell.

I hadn't realized how quiet it was until she turned the clippers on and removed the last of the red. The AC unit rattle to a halt even though it was still sweltering. The buzzing resonated in the grimy little bathroom moments after she shut it off. The skin on her head with impossibly white, paler than her pale face, arms, legs. Her eyes found me in the mirror, through my camera. She took off her shirt.

She stood for a moment, just a moment, letting me film her in her bra, surrounded by her hair and something in her eyes that I hadn't seen before.  I couldn't decide who she was: an indian woman tonsuring to give her hair to God. A cancer survivor. A woman shamed. A witch before burning.

She turned and walked past me, grabbing a clean shirt and her bag. I followed her movements in the mirror until she said,

"Buy me a drink."

and walked out the door.

Sammy's wasn't far. I filmed her smoking, walking down the street, tossing a few coins at an old man talking to himself, touching her head and pulling a long strand of hair off her skirt. She flicked her cigarette into the gutter and had her drink ordered before I sat down next to her.

The bar was lit by every neon beer sign Sammy could get his hands on. He was leaning over the bar handing her a bottle of beer and a shot of something. He touched her face and told her she was beautiful and she smiled at him. She rested her head in his hand, just for a moment. He pulled away and she downed the shot like it was air.

She danced. The juke box that never stopped. She swayed and pulled her arms up, exposing the soft skin next to her breast and she softly spun with eyes closed. Another shot. Another. She swayed. She was beautiful. She swayed again.

I caught her and with one mascara tear down her right cheek she asked me
"What do you see in my eyes? Do you see anything?"

I looked past the green with amber flecks and found not something missing but too much. The camera ran as she dragged me into the stall, slammed me up into wall. It ran as I half carried her home. It ran as she kissed me so hard it hurt. It ran as I touch the soft skin and she tore at my clothes. It ran out of tape as we fell asleep, bruised and better then we had been in a long time.
And morning came.

By then, she was gone.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

I'm a Quick Draw With my Glue Gun

This is what happens when you let me near a glue gun.

I have no idea where I'm planning to wear this but I'm now the proud owner of a flower bra. The tattered, old pink bra I was going to throw away but instead I glued a ton of flowers to it.  I feel so 90's in this thing. Didn't Selena used to fun around in tights and a flowered bra?

Anyway, chock this up to my itchy fingers but I'm happy with it.

Any other ideas that could recycle old bras?

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Craft Therapy and Ice Cream.

I am still here. Barely.

I've been going through a hard time lately and haven't been writing anything. Actually, I've been actively avoiding life, taking care of myself or seeing friends.  But in attempting to break myself out of this glum, I've been trying to be proactive, finish projects, take classes, etc. I'm so proud of my latest project, I wanted to share with you.

I found these shoes at Ross for $5. They were the display model, or at least that's what the sticker on the bottom said. I'm not really into this bright of a color but I knew they had potential. So I darkened them a bit with a sharpie, got out my hot glue gun and got to work. And after a ton of blisters, a semi-serious burn/open wound and half a bucket of cheap '"rhinestones" later...


I really shouldn't be so excited about these but I am. They are ridiculous and over the top and I love them. It's like wearing a disco ball on my feet. Now I just have to figure out where to wear them... Perhaps I'll just go out for a free ice cream cone on Tuesday at B&Js.

Nothing cures the blues like wearing your new DIY while eating a scoop of peanut brittle.

No really. Free Cone Day. Do it!

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Sex, Death and Eyeliner

I was up late watching porn last night.

Or not really porn but a documentary about porn called Inside Deep Throat. In short (sort of), Linda Lovelace (Boreman), then 22 years old, starred in a low budget, silly and wildly successful adult film. With it's success came public scrutiny, not only of the film but of the stars themselves. Linda found herself in the middle and through out her life went back and forth between allegations that she was not a willing participant (she stated matter-of-fact that Deep Throat was recorded evidence of rape) to publishing "pro-porn" books back to anti-porn campaigns then back to nude pictorials for the magazine "Leg Show". I don't assume to know what really happened. I do know that things ended badly. She was plagued with problems, from growing up in a less than stable home, getting involved with abusive boyfriends and a seemingly constant money issue (haven't we all been there?), her life at times seemed like an uphill battle. She contracted Hepatitis then was involved in a fatal car accident in 2002. She had one hell of a difficult life. And the more I think about it, the more that it makes me wonder: Is doing porn like a barrel of monkeys or a can of worms?

It's true that certain occupations have statistically higher instances of suicide, murder or both.  (see the link to the national database below) Funeral directors, doctors and dentists are all up there. But I've noticed another trend, perhaps not astsuch a ratio to compare to lawyers and wall street workers, but significant none-the-less.

With the horrifying ex-porn star Luka Magnotta in the news as of late, a man who streamed images onto the internet that will never cease to be, the gruesome death of a young man forever at anyone's fingertips, I see more sensational news about his dabbling in porn at the forefront, before his own abuse or psychopathy. The public seems to feel that porn is the gateway drug at times. So I started reading and asking myself: Does being a porn star ruin your life and/or shorten your lifespan?

Porn stars seem to be dropping like flies and tragically so. I started my foray into the seedy science of pornography by reading Jenna Jameson's How to Make Love Like a Porn Star. Talk about a sad story. In the book, she talked about her favorite star from the years before, Savannah. Yet another sad story. And the more people's bios I started reading, the more I noticed this trend. Here's a few.


Her real name was Shannon Wilsey. Best known for her platnum blonde hair, sweet girl-next-door face, giant fake tits and that X factor. (pun intended) She grew up with divorced parents, bouncing from home to home and was sexually abused along the way. She quickly rose to fame in the porn industry and just as quickly became involved in heavy drugs (coke and heroin) and heavy shopping habits.
She dated rock stars like Axle Rose and Billy Idol (famously stating that Axle was a 2 pump chump which I totally believe). Like many abused and deeply sad women of porn, she found love with another women. She claimed to be deeply in love with Jeanna Fine, another porn star. July 11, 2004 she was driving home wasted and crashed her white Corvette. She survived with a broken nose and face lacerations. She called her manager, somewhat incoherent, saying she needed plastic surgery, that her face was a mess. Maybe it was the drugs, the head injury or the fact that her beautiful face was never going to be the same again. She took a .40 Barretta and shot herself in her garage. She stayed in a coma until her family took her off life support and she died. She was 23.

Dorothy Stratten-
Her real name was Dorothy Hoogstraten. (I can see why she had a stage name...) This was a gorgeous girl in a very 80's kind of way. The hair, the smile and the generic good looks of a Benetton ad. Except, she was naked and creepy guys were taking pictures of her. Yet, I digress. She met Paul Snider when she was under 18 (ew) and they married when she was 20 (he was 29) and it was hell for poor Dorothy. He was controlling and psychotic; she suspected that he poisened her dog because he was jealous of the love she gave the little pooch. They seperated after a year. She moved on, he did not. Stalker McStalk-y was everywhere, even creeping up to her new boyfriend's house, Peter Bogdonovich. (director of Paper Moon, The Last Picture Show, etc) Paul called Dorothy, asking for money. She arrived at his house to give him $1000 to get him off her back for good. She sadly wouldn't make it out alive. Snider put a shotgun to the side of her face and ended her life. Then he did some other very bad things that I won't mention. Then he shot himself. Bogdonovich was said to be devastated. He married her 20 year old little sister a short time later. Hm. The film Star 80 is based on her life and death.

Lolo Ferrari -
Lolo had the largest breasts in the world. You notice I said 'had'? Things don't end well, obviously. Her real name was Eve Valois. She was born in France and reportedly had a sad childhood. No father, a mother who disliked her and at 25 married Eric Vigne, an ex-con drug dealer 15 years her senior. He was her "manager" although the cops saw it more as prostitution when they arrested the pair. Lolo had some amazingly low self esteem. It was said that her husband didn't help this problem. He pressured her into numerous plastic surgeries and in the end, she had a 71 inch bust, several new noses, giant lips and who knows what else. None of which made her happy. Her official cause of death was an overdose of antidepressants and tranquilizers. Some think her husband had something to do with it. We'll never know.
Oh, and she was a recording artist. I use the term loosely.

There are dozens more just like that. And this is not to mention all the deaths by alcoholism, drug overdose, HIV/AIDS, and an amazing amount of car accidents. And even those who survive don't have happy endings. Lori Michaels faked her own death to avoid creepy stalkers. Hyapatia Lee suffers from dissociative identity (multiple personality) disorder which worsened after years in porn. Max Hardcore went to jail on obscenity charges.

Most would point out first that many (some would argue all) have suffered from abuse, broken homes and/or addiction thus leading them to a life of pornography (not the other way around). Although, I imagine many getting hooked on drugs after starting their careers. How many people out there can do a rough gangbang totally straight? Not many. I know I would have to be coked out of head. Regardless, something about the business inherently brings tragedy.

For better or worse, it will change the way I watch porn from now on... Not that I do in the first place.

P.S. Amanda Seyfried will be playing Linda in the new film, Lovelace. I will probably see it.

Check out more porn stars fate at a strange and fascinating site:
Frances Farmers Revenge 
NIOSH and CDC database of occupations and death
LA Times article about Savannah