Amongst the many household chores that I find painful is the dreaded art of laundry. Hoarding quarters for months on end in order to pay. Lugging a basket of odorous garments into my apartment building’s basement, only to have to touch someone else’s mysteriously stained clothes loitering in the only finished machine and 40 minutes later, opening the washer to discover a sopping wet pile of fabric that will now take a baker’s dozen’s amount of drying cycles at 50 cents a pop just to emerge only slightly damp. We won’t even talk about this silly word called ‘folding,’ an act that should be reserved for poker and pitas.
Two months ago, I discovered something wonderful, a secret the lazy contingent like to call ‘drop-off service.’ For about a dollar a pound, I can forego quarter obsessing, hand-wringing, and that silly, impossible as climbing-a-rope-in-gym-class action called folding by just HANDING a pile of my OWN mysteriously stained clothing to someone else, who then calls upon the help of woodland elves to purge said garments of dirt and sweat and turn each piece into a sandwich-sized transformer that somehow fits anywhere I want it to.
Now, the only drawback to this bite of heaven, aside from the whole ‘goodness, my wallet can’t actually afford this luxury for long but I don’t ever see myself stopping’ thing is the fact that at some point in time, you will still run out of clothing.
What I’m getting at in a roundabout way some folks might call blathering is that there are ways to prolong the inevitable day, a way that is stylish, sexy, vintage, bopping, and most importantly, for one fine cause. Take a look:
Nice right? Who amongst us doesn’t love some scary baseball mimes, Coney Island showdowns and Dexter Morgan's dad trying to rape women in Central Park while emerging as nothing more than a scamp? What better way to share that Warriors passion than with a spanking new t-shirt loaded with hepcat style and priced at just TWELVE FRICKIN’ DOLLARS!
I dare you to price check that against any faux vintage cottonwear from Urban Outfitters.
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| $24. Really? |
But it gets better folks, it gets incredibly good: this $12 you will be spending goes somewhere very special, somewhere so special that I keep a special button on my righthand side here at the Doll’s House to always remind you of its wonders.
Paracinema isn’t just your average movie magazine. This made-in-Queens publication produces issues loaded with passionate, smart, and innovative writing about the kind of special films you won’t find getting glossy pull-out posters in Fangoria or cover shots on Entertainment Weekly. Comb through some back issues and you’ll find everything from essays on ‘70s pornography, Brian De Palma retrospectives, interviews with rarely highlighted but genre great talent like Brian Trenchard-Smith and Dean Eyebrows Cameron. You can even get some of my typing skills ruminating on such complicated favorites as Battle Royale II, Who Can Kill a Child, and Clownhouse.
At just $7 an issue, you’re already paying far less for Paracinema than you would for most of its peer magazines. If you don’t yet subscribe, I urge all to start. If you already do or don’t but love The Warriors, shell out your $12 for a kickass t-shirt that’s guaranteed to impress the opposite or same sex.
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| Human or non |
And hey, $12? Think of what else you could spend that on and convince me it’s a superior expense. This is all I’ve got:
-12 pounds of laundry at drop-off service
-Almost an entire ticket to a 3-D film, but not quite
-A five minute cab ride at rush hour
-One imported beer at Yankee Stadium (though just by being INSIDE Yankee Stadium makes you rather unworthy of good style, in my and therefore the world’s opinion)
So head on over to Paracinema.Net and donate something to your closet while helping one of the best genre film magazines grow to bigger, badder (in a cool, not negative way) and even more spectacular heights.
Dig it?
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