The Impossible Girl is the glorious solo debut of Kim Boekbinder (previously of the duo, Vermillion Lies). Kim’s a quirky, funny, bravely vulnerable, electrifying lightning rod of a woman. Her music tends to reflect these traits in a most endearing fashion.

Video for “Impossible Girl #2” by Jim Batt. Song inspired by Kate Rannells.

She recorded the 18 tracks of her record in increments earlier this year at studios in Maine and Boston with Sean Slade (Radiohead, Dresden Dolls) and Benny Grotto (Aerosmith) and an assortment of talented session players. She’s also been traveling internationally on a shoestring budget, bringing her songs of love, loss, self-discovery, sex, drugs, and nuclear physics to audiences in Berlin, Melbourne, and New York City.

Photo by Heike Schneider-Matzigkeit.

The Impossible Girl is yet another wonderful example of how crowdsourcing hubs like Kickstarter are enabling creative people to self-produce art that would otherwise be very difficult for them to afford. It’s a brave new world full of, ya know… POSSIBILITY. And community. And rainbows. And unicorns. Yay!

Kim’s album drops today. You can buy a copy in MP3 or CD format (the packaging for which features an exquisite portrait of The Impossible Girl by longtime Coilhouse fave, Travis Louie), and she’s offering all kinds of fancy package deals that include posters, limited edition eye makeup kits by Sweet Libertine, and an Impossible Girl paper doll by (yet another beloved Coilhouse comrade) Molly Crabapple.

The new live-action Yogi Bear movie is a thing that exists, of that fact there is no doubt and, unfortunately, no escape. Were it to end in the manner depicted here by Edmunde Earl, as a darkly humorous ode to the penultimate scene from 2007’s under-appreciated The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, it might have at least some modicum of value. This is, of course, not the case and we are left with the reality that, as previous mentioned, there is a live-action Yogi Bear movie. Starring Dan Aykroyd and Justin Timberlake.

Goddammit.

After a brief hiatus, David Forbes’ All Tomorrows column, your informal classroom on the glories of sci-fi’s Deviant Age, returns to Coilhouse. Welcome back, David!

Paul took a deep breath to still his trembling. “If I call out there’ll be servants on you in seconds and you’ll die.”

“Servants will not pass your mother who stands guard outside that door. Depend on it. Your mother survived this test. Now it’s your turn. Be honored. We seldom administer this to men-children.”

Curiosity reduced Paul’s fear to a manageable level. He heard truth in the old woman’s voice, no denying it. If his mother stood guard outside… if this were truly a test… And whatever it was, he knew himself caught in it, trapped by that hand at his neck: the gom jabbar. He recalled the response from the Litany against Fear as his mother had taught him out of the Bene Gesserit rite.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

Chilton published car manuals. So it must have come as some surprise, 45 years ago, when, out of nowhere, they released a lengthy, phenomenally strange science fiction novel by a nearly unknown journalist. The man’s agent wasn’t even enthusiastic about the manuscript and it had seen rejection from every reputable sci-fi publishing house before squeaking into the pages of Analog.

Dune, read the imposing cover, with its evocatively psychedelic sand swirls and tiny white figures straining against an implied storm. The John Schoenherr art revealed little about the plot or themes inside, other than to convey a sense of struggle and desolation in an otherworldly place.

Opening it up, the reader was plunged into a story of universe-shaking drugs, dynastic backstabbing and heterodox mysticism sprinkled with a tumble of words (Bene Gesserit, Kwisatz Haderach, Sardaukar, gom jabbar) so strange as to constitute a second language. Whatever the sci-fi readers of the day might have expected, this was doubtlessly not it. By all rights, this unexpected book should have sunk beneath the proverbial sands, awaiting rediscovery in a friendlier artistic age.

Instead, after a somewhat tepid start, it proved a runaway best-seller, sweeping every award sci-fi had to offer. Dune would go on to define the rest of Herbert’s life and ripple into the surrounding culture with an impact that no one, including its author, could have foreseen.

In many ways Dune was the epic Omega to the Alpha of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings; released about a decade before. It was sci-fi’s answer to fantasy’s magnum opus, and its only book that can rival Tolkien’s in terms of cultural influence. Herbert’s masterpiece proved tenaciously infectious, its tendrils stretching into all sorts of unexpected corners of the culture, with even its mantras showing up as warning or inspiration.

What is it about this ornate myth that keeps fascinating new generations, why has Dune outlasted its era with such influence?

Via Foxtongue.

Just a blue-haired, help underwater-smoking gayelle mermaid to brighten up your Monday morning. This illustration by Georges Leonnec appeared in risque French magazine La Vie Parisienne in 1926. The magazine was founded in 1863, ambulance relaunched just before World War I, and evolved from a mild-mannered society journal to an erotic magazine of humor, literature and scantily-clad damsels. Many more images from La Vie Parisienne can be seen here, here and here.

Whaa…

Via Melissa Gira Grant.

Does anyone who watched Twin Peaks while it was airing on ABC remember this weird-ass stop motion bumper? So random.

…and now I’m craving pie and coffee (black as midnight on a moonless night). Good morning!

From Joseph Nanni and friends (the same twisted souls who brought us that Necronomicon infomercial) comes this important, potentially lifesaving message about Elder Sign:

Sure, this clip has been circulating on the internet for a while, but as everyone knows, flying polyp infestations are most rampant during the holiday season. If you suffer from “an overwhelming sense of dread brought on by the realization of your own insignificance in the universe” that’s possibly being compounded by Seasonal Affective Disorder, rancid egg nog or overexposure to Glenn Beck-parroting (read: polyp ridden) in-laws, you need Elder Sign now more than ever.

And possibly some *cough* stocking stuffers from the HPLHS Bazaar:

(ElderWear™: “Because you don’t want Shoggoths in your pants.”)

Today the FAM is proud to present perhaps my favorite documentary: 1999’s American Movie, directed by Chris Smith. American Movie tells the story of Mark Borchardt, an aspiring filmmaker living in Milwaukee. With the help of his best friend, the endlessly entertaining burnout Mike Schank, and various other friends, family members, and amateur actors, Borchardt attempts to finish his latest feature, the short horror film Coven.

All is not well, of course, and Borchardt’s life. A high-school drop out, he is mired in debt. His relationship with his ex-girlfriend and mother of his three children is strained and he has developed a bit of a drinking problem. And while he works hard at film-making and appears fairly knowledgeable, his ability to plan and manage his project is suspect. Even his own family have their doubts that Mark will be able to finish the film, his only support coming from his wealthy Uncle Bill who, in his old age, seems confused by his surroundings more often than not.

And yet they make for a cast of likable characters. Mark most certainly has his own personal demons to work through but Smith has no trouble letting him win over the audience with his can-do attitude. Uncle Bill, for all his rancor, does genuinely care for Mark and some of the most touching scenes are between these two. And of course there is Mike, a man whose mind is so ravaged by drugs and alcohol that is almost incoherent, yet whose loyalty and devotion to his friend is almost absolute.

It all amounts to the quintessential American story, the myth that has for so long symbolized this nation; a tale of hard work and passion bordering on obsession, of perseverance over adversity. In this way even the most lowly individual can make of themselves a success. In the same way, it is also a story of class. In stark contrast to Chris Smith’s middle-class background and film school degree Mark’s dream project Northwestern is told distinctly from his point of view from a working class family in the Midwest. His film is set against a backdrop of dilapidated building and rusty cars. “That’s what it’s all about,” he says “rust and decay.”

Despite these seemingly gloomy outlook, Mark remains unswayed in his decision to make movies. It is this almost delusional tenacity that lies at the center of American Movie and it is here where it truly resonates, showing us a modicum of hope where most would expect to find none.

Fetishwear blog Kinky Attire writes, “[Nichelle] Nichols sang for Duke Ellington and Lionel Hampton. But it is her inescapable destiny to be best remembered as Star Trek’s Lieutenant Uhura. At some point in her career she also helped to advertise thigh-high boots.” The Boot Fetishist adds, “I’m assuming she was commissioned for these pictures, most likely booked for a photoshoot to be used in this catalogue. I think these pictures were taken in the 1950’s, obviously prior to her Star Trek days. However she had been a singer in the famous Blue Angel Club in New York and my guess is the catalogue relates to a store in New York.” HOT. HOT. HOT. If only she were only wearing this Star Trek corset as well! Set phasers to stun, girl. RAWR.

From Italian Saturday evening television program Al Paradise circa 1984 comes Sara Carlson singing and dancing to “Fly To Paradise”, a choreography enthusiast’s wet dream. I cannot be entirely sure just what is going on with this leotard-clad nymph and her frolicking menagerie of break-dancing contortionists but nevertheless I am mesmerized by their sequined glory — a glory only outshone by Carlson’s fantastic chicken dance.

Thanks, Klaus!

Update: Mer points out in the comments that she totally posted this months ago and is way cooler than me.

…but Douglas Burgdorff had one of the best videos of all time. ONE OF THE BEST OF ALL TIME!”

The following clip is not safe for work or for the squeamish. For all the rest of you, no rx ENJOY.

Via Kitty Doom.