Archive for November, 2006

Coolest Figure in Rock

Saturday, November 25th, 2006

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Beth Ditto, a self-described fat lesbian feminist from Arkansas, has just been  named by NME as the coolest person in Rock. She is the lead singer in a band called The Gossip, and her voice has been compared to Janis Joplin and Etta James.

After I got over my first and second reactions, I listened to a song on the band’s myspace page. I don’t know about Coolest, but she’s pretty  damn cool!

Great Big Babies

Saturday, November 25th, 2006

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One of the very first websites I ever saw was a forum for men who wear diapers. This was a friend’s way of introducing me to the world of the internet. I forgot all about it until recently, when someone sent me a link to the Diaperstation. This site caters to adults who want to be babies, and it looks like they’ve thought of just about everything!

Adult size cloth diapers and plastic pants must’ve been hard to find before the internet. What I really love at the Diaperstation are the cute cotton-knit onesies that come in pink and blue. Who wouldn’t look cute in one of those? For the adult baby with lots of spare room and a decent salary, there is a huge custom-made crib.

I like the idea of babyhood for everyone. But I’m not sure what it means. I can see how comforting it would be to pretend we are little and helpless and cute. It implies that a nice big mommy will take care of everything. I believe that this is the primal condition that everyone struggles to overcome, even as their unconscious minds long to return to it. Once we are potty-trained, it’s the beginning of the end, in terms of our dependence on mommy.

In my own life, I can see how much my kids resent independence. I must have given them too much or too little attention. But I’ve heard that soldiers dying on the battlefield cry out for mommy. I’ve read that college students who practice the phrase “Mommy and  I are One”   do better on tests.

Mommy! We all want you!

If we can’t have mommy, there are some scary looking ladies who will pretend to be your mommy….but I must say, they look like Mean Mommies. This is the part I don’t get. Why does the fetish involve mean mommies and punishment, rather than a nice mommy who isn’t mad?   I already had an angry mommy. It’s way over-rated. But I think I’d look cute in the ruffled Rhumba Pants.

I Am Thomas Pynchon!

Thursday, November 23rd, 2006

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Yes, it’s me. Surprise!  

I still value my privacy and I’m going right back into seclusion after I finish this announcement. I don’t mind getting text messages on occasion from J.D. Salinger, but even he can overdo the small talk.

My new book “Against the Day” is more than 1,000 pages long but doesn’t even begin to satisfy my ambition to discuss calculus, racism, theology, cocaine, fetishism, philosophy, coal-mining, pop music, corporate evil, time travel,…well, you know, all that shit that’s been labeled historiographical metafiction. I prefer “phantasmagoria.”

You might not be ready to read my new book if you can’t keep hundreds of characters and events that don’t lead anywhere secure in your short-term memory bank. It might be harder to read than it was to write, actually. All I had to do was throw together a ton of arcane references to real incidents, mix ‘em up with some silly named characters like Deuce Kindred and Alonzo Meatman. ( I like to have a little fun with names.) At one point, I go off on mayonnaise, and have some postmodern fun with making a big deal out of it. Get it, mayonnaise?!

Well, I’m going back into seclusion until further notice. You can read an exhausting review of my new book in the New Yorker, who both liked and didn’t like it. Being Thomas Pynchon, I could give a shit.

Perfume The Movie

Tuesday, November 21st, 2006

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If you ‘ve read the novel “Perfume” by Patrick Suskind, you probably agree with me (and Stanley Kubrick) that the book is unfilmable. Period. If you’re a bunch of idiots at Dreamworks, evidently you think otherwise.

I was almost worried that the movie based on this unforgettable and singular novel would be good….which would have proved me and Stanley wrong. However, I just found out that it stars Dustin Hoffman, so I think it’s safe to say the movie will suck. No offense Dustin, but you’re kind of turning into Al Pacino, in the sense of over-acting to the point of self-parody.

But even Olivier Himself couldn’t justify a film project based on Perfume, which creates an olfactory experience unrivaled in art or literature. Suskind is a genius, but I guess in the end   he couldn’t turn down ten million Euros.

More interesting that anything about the movie is the collection of perfumes inspired by the “book and film” created by Thierry Mugler. It contains 15 different fragrances based on key scenes of the book, including “Virgin No. 1,” “Sea,” and “Baby.”   The one I really need to smell is “Human Existence.” I don’t care that this Limited Release Collection will sell for $700. Money is no object when you’re talking about Human Existence.

What will it smell like, do you think?? Blood, sex, fresh bread, wine, coffee, dirt, vomit, play-doh, magic markers, chlorine bleach and cancer?   I think it speaks well of this enterprise that the official website is so impossible to navigate, much like human existence.

Scariest Boots Ever

Wednesday, November 15th, 2006

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Which one of these  two styles is the Scariest Boot Ever? I am stumped. You can purchase  either style  here.

Please help me decide: Is it the Dead Animal Surprise or the Heather Mills Divorcee? Your vote counts!

It Isn’t What It Is

Friday, November 10th, 2006

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In answer to a reporter’s question about the election results, Tony Snow responded “It is what it is.”

Jesus Christ, I hate that expression. It’s the fucking worst, is what it is. It has roughly the same informative value as the expression “Yes and no.” I hate that one, too.

Why must people torture me with this horrible misuse of language? Words and expressions that became sickening years ago are still going strong. Is everybody deaf? Another one that persists is “That said,” after which you contradict what you said previously. Make it stop! Wouldn’t you think that “At the end of the day” could only be used facetiously?   At the end of the day, you still need to suffer through these excruciating clichés.

So I screwed around and found Urban Dictionary, where you can drive yourself insane with pleasure or outrage, depending on your outlook. Just scrolling around there is like walking through a cloud of killer bees, or being electrocuted. “I’d hit it!” almost made me scream out loud.

Every possible contemporary cliché is listed there, including all the ones you managed to somehow get over. The ones I sort of liked, such as “I’m Rick James, Bitch,” now make me sick, merely by their presence alongside shit like “tonsil hockey” or “oh no you di’int.”

Still, it’s almost comforting to read the definitions of the word “random,” LOL.  And if you hear an unfamiliar term, you can find out what it means. For instance, I just heard “Come to Jesus” for the first time last week, and now I know how to use it. Someone somewhere must be sick to death of Come to Jesus, but it’s new to me, so I’m planning to have some fun with it, irregardless. To anyone who gets annoyed: Don’t even try to run up on my shit.
  

  

  

What a Great Day!

Wednesday, November 8th, 2006

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Rummy’s out, K-Fed is toast, and I’ve got some cool new shoes. Sometimes, life gives you lemonade, know what I mean?

Waking up to the news about Rumsfeld was like Christmas morning! Then, watching Bush tell reporters that this isn’t his “first rodeo” was enough to make me feel giddy with delight. What a fucking dunce!   Later, I saw a picture of Rick Santorum surrounded by his fat sobbing children and I laughed out loud. If that makes me a monster, it’s Bush’s fault, just like everything else.

As for Kevin Federline, I have come to view him as the essence of white trash and all that is awful about guys who wear diamond stud earrings in both ears. Just like everyone, I have mentally begged Britney to dump that loser. Looking around the internets today, I’ve observed a huge sense of joyful liberation regarding Britney’s divorce. It’s like the nation’s little sister has finally kicked out her cheating, free-loading boyfriend. You go, Britney. You’ve lost the weight, your hair looks good, the world is your goddamn oyster!

Making my life even more perfect, temporarily of course, are my beautiful new shoes that I bought online. They are made in Paris by Repetto, a company that started making ballet shoes for streetwear at the request of the young Brigitte Bardot. When I put them on, I look EXACTLY like her!

Important Beauty Bulletin

Monday, November 6th, 2006

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Ladies, the wait is over. We can finally dye the hair “down there” to match the hair on our heads. And by down there, I am sad to say I don’t mean Australia. Let me quote the woman who devised this new product, as she describes her epiphany:

“Sophisticated women, who spent time and lots of money getting their hair color just right, had no solution for coloring the hair down there. They were totally overlooking this crucial beauty area.”

Holy mother of god, she’s right! I know I myself have overlooked this crucial beauty area. Here I’ve been spending a fortune on skin treatments and lipstick, specific moisturizers for my neck and eyes. But I have never even bought one product for my Crucial Beauty Area. I feel like a complete dunce. Let me just apologize to the whole world, especially to my husband. Sorry honey!

Anyway, you can now use “Betty“,the exclusive new hair color product, to dye your Betty. That’s right, your Betty. I don’t know exactly how the name Betty came about, but I think I’d prefer to call mine Sylvia. Or even Flossie.

Betty comes in Brown-betty, Black-betty, Blonde-betty, Auburn-betty and FUN-betty (a fluorescent hot-pink.)   I’m scared of all of them to tell you the truth. My head, which I’ll call Marylou just for the hell of it, has long black hair, but I worry about the effect of Black-betty on my Sylvia. It might be too…Goth. Know what I mean, ladies?

In any case, I think we should all consult our lovers, husbands, and other interested parties, about using Betty on our Crucial Beauty Area. That way, if they want you to, you can kick their ass to the curb.

I Love Katt Williams

Friday, November 3rd, 2006

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Katt Williams is a really funny stand-up comedian who uses the word nigger with such repetition and with so much emphasis that after watching his act, I felt kind of deprived. I want to say nigger too! Of all ethnic slurs, it is clearly the most offensive, yet somehow the most ubiquitous in our present pop culture.

When Katt Williams uses it, the word refers to a group whose coolness can never be usurped by White people. We are on the outside looking in, terminally lame.

But sometimes, when I watch Black comedians who aren’t as funny, I start to fret about their use of negative Black stereotypes. I start to wonder why it’s okay for Black people to find humor in being perceived so disparagingly…as thugs, or womanizers, or just illiterate. It’s hard to imagine Jews or Asians taking such pleasure in a stance of “Look how cheap we are!” or “We love to work at nail salons!”   I just don’t get it, but I’m sure there’s some explanation. Richard Pryor probably had the answer.

I brought this up in the car, and pointed out that Asians don’t greet each other with “Hey, Ching-Chong!” This brought laughter from certain quarters, but not from any husbands who shall remain nameless here. I am serious about this, though, so please feel free to enlighten me.

Meanwhile, Madonna has now accused her detractors of being racist, saying that prejudice is behind all the controversy: “I think a lot of people have a problem with the fact that I’ve adopted an African child, a child who has a different color skin than I do.”

Poor Madonna!   She doesn’t watch TV or read newspapers, so no wonder she’s so out of it. I personally wouldn’t mind getting to carry around a cute African   baby. I would also like to have a platypus. Oh well.   If only I was Katt Williams, I could tell Madonna, “Nigger, take that red Kabbala shit off that baby’ wrist!” She will never, ever be that baby’ mama, no matter how many talk-show hosts she finds time to bother.