How Much Less Could You Not Care?

October 23rd, 2015


It just occurred to me that too many people online are mentioning Back To The Future. Maybe they’re making a sequel or prequel.

I actually love the term origin story, which I just learned this week. I love it because it’s stupid and pretentious and somehow millennial.  It’s the new way to say prequel as if that term wasn’t hard enough to get used to.

Anyway, Back To The Future was a great film at the time and my kid adored it. We saw it several times.

Now it is 2015 and I could not give a shit about Back To The Future on any level. I don’t care what the original cast is doing or what the remake or prequel or origin story is about. I’ve been done with it for years and years.

Likewise Star Wars. Could not care less. Literally. But too bad for me, because I am doomed to hear about it forever and ever. If I could not have to see the words Carrie Fisher even, I would consider it a small gift from the universe.

I’m through hearing about rape culture or anything remotely related to it. I get it, but I still don’t care. I’m through hearing about how Jennifer Lawrence didn’t get enough money. “Women in Hollywood,” I’m through hearing about your problems. I just don’t care.

Are you finding that your culture is obsessed with stuff you could not care less about? Even if it has gone viral (or especially if it has gone viral?)

Let me know what it is. Please share!

But just one more thing before I forget: How much do you not care about what happened on the Jimmy Fallon show last night? Why do we have to hear about it? Wouldn’t we have watched it when it was on, if we gave a shit about it? I don’t watch it expressly for the purpose of not knowing what was on it!


Okay, now you.

The Gucci Dead Animal Shoe, $15,000

October 14th, 2015

gucci shoe 15,000A sharp-eyed reader sent me to this shoe, which looks like it’s trying to run away.

Run, Gucci goat-hair slipper, run as fast as you can!

You know what, the poor thing is dead. Too late.

[These} slippers are one of the most talked-about designs from Alessandro Michele’s debut runway collection. They’re finished with the label’s signature gold horsebit, nestled in the floor-sweeping honey-colored strands that also line the shoe.

The floor-sweeping honey-colored strands of a dead goat is what I see here but let’s try another view.

gucci shoes ew

Now, with feet inside, you can see how these little critters will keep you company all day long, with floaty dresses as well as casual jeans, according to the editor’s styling tips. If they start to get smelly, just blame the goats. If your friends and associates don’t gasp in envy at your edgy taxidermy-driven style, you can show them your receipt for $15,000 and say. “Now what, bitch?”

Sadly, that figure is Hong Kong dollars, so in fact the price is a bargain at only around $1,900 USD.

In France or Russia, these shoes might have sparked a revolution. Here in the US, we just roll our eyes and go off to bed with murder in our hearts.

Is Your Pubic Hair Silky?

October 12th, 2015

fur oil

Three young women noticed a vacuum in the marketplace for pubic hair grooming products, and voila! They formed a company to right that wrong, called Fur.

Because money.

Wait, I’m so sorry, I meant to say, because why shouldn’t we take care of our pubic hair like we take care of the hair on our heads? That is their thinking, apparently.

If only they had asked me that question, I would’ve answered, “Because our public hair is not scorched by styling tools, dye, sun and wind!” And because public has it’s own texture: that’s why they call it pubic hair.

Anyway, who needs common sense where grooming products are concerned, right? If you can be made to feel insecure or inadequate about any area of your body, you will consider buying a product. Let’s say your heels aren’t baby-smooth. You’ll buy one of those egg-shaped things to scrape away at your heels until they’re ready to diaper.

So, the creators of Fur realized that women are moving away from waxing, although according to Fashionista, that doesn’t mean “going totally 70’s.”

I mean, god no. The 70’s were like the fucking National Geographic, with all that public hair! Ugh, the horror of looking natural. Forget that. We’re talking more about “some hair” in the “nether regions.” Not a whole jungle, okay?

And that hair needs to be silky. It needs to be softened with a special oil that costs $39.

Fur Oil’s unique blend of lightweight oils softens pubic hair and clears pores for fewer ingrowns and healthier skin. The 100% natural formula is gently antiseptic, antimicrobial, and reduces inflammation.  Fur Oil can be used as frequently as desired to enhance pubic hair and skin, and is also suitable for use on the face and body.

Directions: Apply Fur Oil liberally to clean pubic hair and skin.  For best results use as part of a daily regimen.

Are you in? For another $32, you can buy Fur’s other product, Stubble Cream,

a lightweight, natural emulsion [that] smoothes prickly regrowth, clears pores for fewer ingrowns and protects pubic skin.

Obviously, I find this annoying and even depressing. It’s also misogyny pretending to be empowering or something. If you have pubic hair, it’s nice for your partner if you bathe regularly. Then, you’re good to go.

Not only is my pubic hair silky enough, my belly button is fine without any belly button products and so are my knees without knee products. I already have enough body issues and shit to keep myself in line, cosmetically.

Finally there is Fur’s packaging and font. The creators wanted something elegant and “timeless, like Chanel” but with the “shock factor of the words pubic hair.” To me, it looks clinical but kind of scary, with the truncated letter f lending it a German quality that makes me uneasy.

Why not just call it Führer, or even Führer For The Pussy?

Take it away before I get madder.

Alex James: What a Fucking Cunt!™

October 5th, 2015

kurt note jacket

Alex James is some cunt who has a menswear line called ‘Pleasures‘ whose first collection features t-shirts and jackets printed with Kurt Cobain‘s suicide note.

Listen you cunt Alex James: Kurt Cobain has a daughter who is a human person, as was Kurt himself. Can’t you find another way to get attention?

I don’t mind that the lookbook for this cheap crap is filmed in a graveyard. Memento mori, I get it.

Show off your dark sensibility, revel in your hipster miserableism, just leave real human suffering out of your attempts at commerce.

What a little fucker.

As a bonus, he is ‘creative brand manager’ for another street-wear company called ‘Publish’ whose manifesto is a classic piece of gibberish that includes the line “Casual with an heir of sophistication.”


publish manifesto spelling

To sum up, Alex James is a fucking cunt and he’s ruined my evening.

Fashion Gibberish And A Contest

October 1st, 2015


My cyber-friend and adopted daughter Annemarie has generously pointed me to a treasure trove of pretentious fashion gibberish that reads like a buzzword generator.

In fact, the high-end shopping site Ssense has just launched such a generator and it’s fun to play with. It needs more variables to be top-notch but I like to see a designer fashion site with an actual sense of humor.

The site Annemarie recommended has zero awareness of it’s over-the-top pompousness, and that is its gift to us. Here is Lagarconne‘s tumbler blog expounding on a pair of frumpy black dresses:


With a quirky disposition linked to techie dressing, the mock neck is noted for its scientific past, yet finds new function as a clever tool in the construction of occasionwear. Elegantly revisited, the detail lends analytical air to ultra-sleek fabrics, taking modernity back a step with skilled wit. When cut in silk or satin, the style adds bookish refinement, creating streamlined classics by way of cerebral calculation. From Marni, the neckline gives engineered structure to fluid stretch silk, while The Row further exemplifies the neckline’s transformative powers,lending academic grounding to surfer-influenced attire. From cubicle to catwalk, the mock neck makes new headway as a fool-proof formula for optimum sophistication.

Jesus Christ, right? What are they on over there?

Here’s the prose inspired by a grey sweatshirt and baggy cropped pants:

Baggier shirts and widened trousers often instill an unconscious urge for slimmer pairings. Japanese label, Blue Blue Japan, breaks this habit in considered refusal of the customary approach. By pairing the classic crewneck sweatshirt with cropped culottes in signature indigo denim, an effortless balance arises. In a duplicated slack, each item mirrors the other. Nipped only slightly at the hips, a band of knit ribbing adds no constriction, simply linking the unfettered forms.

Considered refusal‘ is killing me. I’m even impressed by ‘slimmer parings.’

I sort of want to master this language, particularly as there are no discernible rules except to string along descriptive words with terms from random academic disciplines like philosophy, architecture and engineering.

So far, I suck at it. I feel like I have no aptitude for it but I’ve been listening to that maniac Joel Osteen on the radio, who insists that a positive attitude is all you need to make your dreams come true, like having a baby when you’re sterile or sending your wife’s cancer into remission.

Never mind about him. Let’s have fun.

Here’s an unremarkable, dowdy-looking pair of shoes from La Garconne. They are priced at $685 but don’t let that determine your reaction. The goal is to create a flowing description that leaves the potential shopper feeling daunted, mystified, slightly shamed but filled with avarice.

Marsell leather slipper

I’ll be working on my caption but let’s see yours!

The winner will be will be selected by votes, and the prize will be something either stupid or good, whichever seems most appropriate.

Death Cafe: Stupid Or Awful?

September 17th, 2015

death cafe website

Death Cafe is sort of a coffee klatch for would-be coroners. At present, it’s more of a movement than a physical space, with pop-up Death Cafe’s in 31 countries.

Here’s how Death Cafe defines itself:

At a Death Cafe people, often strangers, gather to eat cake, drink tea and discuss death.

Our objective is ‘to increase awareness of death with a view to helping people make the most of their (finite) lives’

How nice! Because, who doesn’t like death? You can never have enough death, evidently. But here’s what Death Cafe isn’t:

It is a discussion group rather than a grief support or counselling session.

It’s not a spelling class either, but that’s okay. What isn’t okay for me is the concept of death as something cool because, you know, it’s so dark and transgressive. It’s like one big memento mori festival, full of arty skull motifs and and Victorian post-mortem photos.

Death Cafe is a ‘social franchise’. This means that people who sign up to our guide and principles can use the name Death Cafe, post events to this website and talk to the press as an affiliate of Death Cafe.

Yay, we can all host a Death Cafe if we follow the guidelines. I like this one: The main qualities of a host are enthusiasm for talking about death and dying and high ethical standards. That rules me out, since I have ethics but no enthusiasm.

I’m aware that a fetishistic interest in morbid things has long been a feature of hipsterism.  Taxidermy, Day of the Dead artifacts, the Morbid Anatomy Museum, zombies, all those tumblr pictures of dead girls in bathtubs. I get that it seems cool to embrace the taboo.

But this Death Cafe thing, no. A big No.

What a bunch of fatuous fuckers.

Cat Cafes, fine. *Baby Cafes, even better (*as soon as I get the idea off the ground. Contact me if you want to fund my business plan!)

Death is a drag and there’s already so much of it. It isn’t really cute. Let’s not trivialize it.

Epiphanies From My Vacation

September 9th, 2015


We traveled to another state for a family visit and it was an experience rich with epiphanies. Here are the ones I can remember:

1. I have zero fear of flying and no anxiety about things going wrong. I sat next to the window and enjoyed being up in the clouds. I realized that I didn’t care about the plane crashing; it was a genuine feeling of ‘So what? No problem.’ I’m aware this may not be normal thinking but it is incredibly liberating.

2. I don’t need a green crocodile handbag by Nancy Gonzalez. I have viewed this item as the holy grail of consumer goods for a long time. Don’t ask why. I planned to buy one when some nebulous project made me a million dollars. I went to look at one and when I touched it, I felt no surge of longing or quickening heartbeat, and certainly no spark of joy. Poof, the spell was broken! This frees up at least $3,000 of imaginary future money.

3. I really do wear a 32C and and not a 34B. The last time some bra lady told me to switch sizes, I refused to take her up on it. A nice, more persuasive bra lady named Vicky convinced me to make the change. It was almost like accepting Jesus into my heart only it was Vicky. Thanks, girl!

4. I am emotionally better off when deprived of media. A few days without TV or internet can tamp down one’s everyday sense of rage. One day back at home and I’m ready to fucking explode at that stupid bitch who won’t let same-sex people get married. Why do we have her?? Take her away!

5. Ice cream is more important than any other type of food. Keep your fancy entrees and give me ice cream instead.

6. Coming home from somewhere else is deeply satisfying. I love my own bed and it loves me. Even though we discovered a plumbing leak that may be catastrophic, home is where you can do what you want, where all your shit is, like your Waterpik thing and your skin products. Home is your sanctuary.

Oh and here’s one more, but this is more like a life lesson or general wisdom: If you break your baby toe, someone’s going to try to run over it with a shopping cart, and they will eventually succeed.


2015 VMA Awards Exegesis

September 1st, 2015

The Horror VMAs 2015

The horror, right? It was mostly non-stop horror, with the exception of Kanye West‘s comic turn.

Poor Kanye! He could talk forever and never make sense. That is his genius. I tired to explain to my husband why I don’t aim my wrath at Kanye instead of Taylor Swift, by explaining:”Because there’s something wrong with him.” It would be like taunting a special ed kid; I can’t do it.

The show’s most egregious figure was Taylor Swift, because that’s how much she annoys me. She wore herself out trying to prove that she’s best friends with everybody, leaning down to embrace everyone of importance, who all looked like midgets compared to the giraffe-like chanteuse.

Something was wrong with Taylor’s face that made her look Chinese. She had trouble smiling, as though her mouth was full of bigger teeth than her lips could accommodate. Whatever it is, keep it up, girl.

Moving along, Justin Bieber tried to sing and then cried with relief. Pharrell hopped around like a little sailor, and an awful girl named Tory Something shrieked her head off and strutted around like Beyonce-times-ten.

Miley Cyrus was aggressively obnoxious but still relatively sexy. Her tiny butt was the perfect antidote to Kim Kardashian and Nicki Minaj. The latter two women need to manage their asses, somehow, before they become separate entities and use up the world’s oxygen. Remember “The Blob?” Take this as a warning, people of Earth.

What else? Oh, a guy called The Weekend did an impression of a poor man’s Michael Jackson, and wore his hair in a style reminiscent of Woody Woodpecker. (Millennials, that’s a cartoon character.)

John Legend was handsome and charming as usual. Call me, John. You too, Jared Leto, you freak.

Miley Cyrus ended the show with a musical number that involved a fleet of trannies or whatever the word is, bringing a Sixties vibe to the fiasco with her Free Love/Smoke Pot message.

The best moment for me personally was during the Kanye monologue, when my friend Margaret suddenly exclaimed, “He’s gay!” in the exact tone of Archimedes shouting “Eureka!”

Help A Sister Out

August 18th, 2015

Silver skirt problem

Okay so I bought this skirt online because it was reduced from a billion dollars to just a fraction of its original price, and because I loved its shimmery quality.

In real life, it’s even more shimmery, the thinnest silk lame but lined with cotton. Really, it’s the shit, you will just have to trust me on this.

The problem is, I love the way it’s styled here but I don’t have a sleeveless shirt like this and I have no imagination. None. I can’t think of one single way to wear the skirt and make it look casual and tomboyish instead of trashy or hookerish.

I don’t want to look like a prostitute, as I’ve noted here several times over the years.  I know this because I made a cyber-friend who pointed this out and told me all about his pathological girlfriends before disappearing back into the ethernet. ( Hi, Donald!)

If I don’t want to look like a prostitute, why do I keep buying clothes that warrant this caveat??

I have no idea, alright? Just help me figure out a top to wear. I already have pointy oxfords so I’m good in the shoe department. I even have them in silver!

If I wear the silver skirt with the silver shoes, will I look like a prostitute? Only answer that one after you find me a top.

Be specific and include links if you have em.


Calibrating Distress

August 10th, 2015


For those of you who use ‘social media,’ did you notice how quickly concern for the dead lion evoked angry complaints that ‘black lives matter?’

People weren’t done mourning for whoever they were mourning for and they resented the outrage about the lion. Then some geniuses wrote think-pieces suggesting that it’s not an either/or situation: We could be upset about black lives AND lions.

Me, I don’t know what to feel upset about, or rather, what to put at the top of my list. There is just too much going on.

Mass shootings, police shootings, dead lions, Donald Trump, dead Palestinian baby, starving children in Yemen, transgender teen bullying, more riots in Ferguson, and a little hippo being mauled to death (Daily Mail online, don’t look!)

I couldn’t even feel a thing for the latest movie theater episode, except to feel sorry for Amy Schumer. Am I broken?

I don’t understand why the poor Palestinian baby is worth more discussion that the dying refugees in Yemen, complete with malnourished babies who look like tiny skeletons.

And while we’re on the subject, I was unable to be horrified at Planned Parenthood for marketing fetus organs. If someone wants to abort a fetus, why can’t it be used to promote life elsewhere? Because ‘life begins at conception?’ Why do Americans care so much more about the unborn than the born?

Tonight, there is a woman out on the cliffs near my house, deciding whether to jump. There are helicopters and firetrucks and lots of commotion. I would personally go out to talk to her if I were allowed to. Meanwhile, people on our local community Facebook page are sending their prayers or complaining about the noise. A couple of people want her to jump and get it over with.

I’ll bet you anything that those people are beside themselves about the fucking lion.

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