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Vice Blog

NEW YORK - LISA CARVER'S BARGAIN BASEMENT BLOWOUT


A time capsule of my adolescence crash-landed on the Suckdog Myspace blog. Lisa Crystal Carver, my teenage (and early-20s) idol, is running a Blue Light Special on her life, clearing out her original works, recordings, photos, and miscellaneous tawdry keepsakes mostly from her Rollerderby years. Bargain-basement prices for top-notch goods. This, to me, is sheer insanity.

I know you piranhas circled up to the tank to find out some highlights of the list, so here, I’ll throw you a bloody limb:

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For a hundred bucks, along with many other Dame Darcy mementos: "A dead, hung ballerina doll (see photo) she made me which I've been using as a Christmas tree ornament except one of the kids or one of the cats knocked the poor, wretched creature to the floor and her foot fell off. I could dab red nail polish at the stump and it would probably make the doll even better, but instead I'm putting her in the Darcy bin."

In another hundred-dollar package, this one of the Boyd Rice variety: "The never-published interview I did with him in 1996 where we argue over the finer points of his one-time assault on me and what context to put it in, and about the nature of men and women. I must say I have never seen any interview quite like this one. Turns my stomach, but it is interesting."

For ten dollars: "My whole box of never published (with good reason, for the most part) typewritten or handwritten pages, complete with crossed-off words and corrections, an imaginative world populated by monsters…often in the form of peripatetic and i went like hotcakes! What is wrong with you people, that you willingly take such disease into your life… even pay for it!?"

And for one Sacagawea coin: "Suckdog screaming and banging 4-track un-mixed noises and little sing-song songs…I cannot understand why anyone would want this, but maybe there's one person who does, and it's you. Actually, the more I listen to it, the more I…it's not like I LIKE it…it's just kind of inspiring in its awfulness, its unrestricted and un-give-a-fuck wild. Not wild like sexy, attractive. Wild almost anti-attractive. Like what I envy about insane people at their peak."

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As Amy Kellner, another Rollerderby regular back in its heyday, pointed out, it’s very Lisa Carver of her to so pragmatically and stoically fetishize her life and sell off weird personal things. But this makes me want to cry into my paws like a sad little monkey who was abandoned by his mom. No, no, no! A collection like this should not be broken up. This is a whole archive of‚Ķof‚Ķwell, of horny, glittery, freaky, punk exhibitionism that inspired lots of people to sign up on the petition for weirdness, yeah that’s it. Plus, Lisa is too smart, hilarious, and talented to give up her shit for pennies.

I know only poor people and lunatics care about stuff like this. Rich people can afford to have nothing, because whenever they need it they can just go get it, and throw it away when they’re done. But poor people hoard and hoard and invent value for otherwise worthless stuff. So if Lisa’s detached herself and has decided very little of her current life (and this is just my guess, though I could be putting words in her mouth) has much of anything to do with her being so wild 20 years ago, of course it’s all gonna look like useless junk. But to me, this is emotionally valuable shit, now cheapened by tossing it all on the front lawn and selling it to any ol' jerk on the internet. My adolescence is in the bargain bin! Shit, now I sound like a shrieking sentimentalist.

That said, when I caught wind of this my eyes boinged out of my head and I started salivating, immediately followed by huge, huge pangs of guilt the likes of the time when I was four and I wrapped up poop all fancy for my mom as a gift and it made her really sad. It’s like when your friend has a heroin fire sale to support his habit and gets rid of his rare Moog for $40, and you know it’s just wrong wrong wrong but you want that fucking Moog so you just give him two Andrew Jacksons and walk away clucking your tongue, one fancy synthesizer richer. Well, Lisa doesn’t have a drug problem as far as I know, so it’s not exactly like that, but it is, sort of.

My indignant morality acquiesced to desire: I sent her money for some really cool shit and I am psyched to fondle it and lick it and rub it all over my body like a lust-filled maniac. Just kidding about that pervy stuff. But actually, I'm not the only one at Vice who bought stuff. Once we get over the slight shame for what we've done, maybe we'll tell you what came in the boxes.

LIZ ARMSTRONG