Godammit, I’m Mad!

You’re in luck.  The Occidental College Course Catalog for 2008/2009 offers a course in Stupidity. Here is the description:

Stupidity is neither ignorance nor organicity, but rather, a corollary of knowing and an element of normalcy, the double of intelligence rather than its opposite. It is an artifact of our nature as finite beings and one of the most powerful determinants of human destiny. Stupidity is always the name of the Other, and it is the sign of the feminine. This course in Critical Psychology follows the work of Friedrich Nietzsche, Gilles Deleuze, and most recently, Avital Ronell, in a philosophical examination of those operations and technologies that we conduct in order to render ourselves uncomprehending. Stupidity, which has been evicted from the philosophical premises and dumbed down by psychometric psychology, has returned in the postmodern discourse against Nation, Self, and Truth and makes itself felt in political life ranging from the presidency to Beevis and Butthead. This course examines stupidity.

Are you still conscious? What do they mean, “it’s a sign of the feminine?”

Um excuse me, I disagree. Not that I even know what they’re trying to say.

Oh god, I was minding my own business (relatively) on facebook, where I have recently reconnected with an old friend. There on his profile page I was accosted by an idiotic comment from a creep I once had sex with!  Ugh, WTF!

Would you like to hear the story?

Okay. I was single and between marriages and apparently desperate for companionship. This creep was the friend of my friend (I think) and he bore a vague resemblance to someone I had once adored.

In my head, I named John Blodgett “The Facsimile.” He was nine years younger than me and never tired of mentioning the age difference. I was around 33 but thanks to him I felt like Old Mother Hubbard.

He was studying English literature somewhere and was a terrible writer. He took himself more seriously than anyone I’ve ever met, before or since. He hated his mother. He liked Faulkner, never a good sign.

We finally slept together and it was disastrous. He did not know shit from Shinola. I was mortified. I didn’t relish the teacher role; it was bad enough being the older woman. Each time, it got worse instead of better. I wondered if he was deliberately trying to withhold pleasure and frustrate my needs.

One night, we were driving home from somewhere and he started drinking at the wheel. I was alarmed but he just laughed and drove faster. That night, he told me that things weren’t working for him. I listened in disbelief. How could such a loser want to dump me?

No matter how many times I reviewed it, I couldn’t understand what had happened between us. I felt cheated and wanted my money back. I wrote him a letter, calling him a Facsimile and giving him an honest evaluation of his writing. I suggested that he get a map of the female anatomy, and advised him to procure both a psychiatrist and a nose-job.

He wrote back, saying he planned to use my letter in his English class. I replied with the promise of a lawsuit. At some point, he attempted to ‘make friends.’ I either ignored him to told him to fuck off.

Ah, life is funny, isn’t it? I haven’t thought of him in years and years. Here is what he wrote on my old friend’s facebook page:

I’m really interested in hearing more about your (former) restaurant and your entreprenueurial career in general. You are one of the few people– maybe the only one I know– who’s managed to carve out a prosperous nontraditional work life. I’m getting burnt out on teaching in the inner city and it’s only going to get worse. Just a couple of days ago a respected teacher friend of mine was accused (quite brazenly & unfairly) in the New York media of inappropriate touching with his students and– poof!– a distinguished 25+ year career in teaching is down the toilet. I think I need to start thinking of alternatives to being at the mercy of crack babies with ghetto attitude. I admire what you’ve done and envy your cabin.

Hahaha!  What a fucking cunt™!

Wendy Brandes hosted a dinner in L.A. for her blogger friends, and she wore this ring, one of her more spectacular designs. She even let me try it on!

It was a lovely dinner and everyone had a great time.

Here’s the thing that surprised me most: She is not just pretty, but stunning. I nearly fell out of my chair when she arrived. She appears to be made of porcelain, or white marble. She is small but perfectly shaped. She looks brand new, like she just came out of the box. She is a sex kitten, frankly, despite her big brain.

I nearly molested her, but since we both agreed that we don’t believe in ‘bisexuals,’ I restrained myself.

If you have money and taste, buy youself a piece of  Wendy Brandes jewelery. And try to see her in person, if you have the chance.

I used to think I had a fairly good command of the English language, but lately I am puzzled by words I thought I knew.

I don’t get the word “um” in its current usage.  Read the following sentence to see what I mean:

Um excuse me, are these not the most ridiculous sunglasses you’ve ever seen?

I am quoting a nice girl named Karla whose blog is very popular. Her readers seem to speak her language. I know she’s saying, “These sunglasses are awesome,” but what’s with the “um?”

Does “um” at the beginning of a sentence mean “wow?” This is a genuine question! Whatever it means in this context, I want it to stop.

If this were a movie instead of a blog, I’d cut to a fantasy sequence.

“Karla? It’s me, I’m at Bloomingdale’s trying on fur crap. Want to hang out?”

“Hi, honey. I’ll be home late tonight. Karla is taking me to this insane gym to help me build up my legs. Bye!”

This coveted hideous t shirt by Christopher Kane will be available at Topshop for $90, thus allowing the average nobody the thrill of dressing like Mom of Shoes! A nice egalitarian move by Christopher Kane, which I would applaud were it not for the hideousness.

If that isn’t enough egalitarianism for you, how about Tavi helping the Rodarte sisters to present their new line for Target?

What Designer/Blogger/Chain Store partnerships would you like to see? How about Karla’s Closet + Lanvin for Walmart?

Help me out, it’s 3 AM and it’s been a long traumatic night.

Let’s say your teenager acquires a huge wooden plaque adorned with enormous animal horns. And he decides, “These horns would make a great Viking hat.” Then, he goes to an army surplus store and explains why he needs a helmet. Then he borrows an electric saw from the nice new neighbors.

You’re thinking, Jesus Christ, this will never work, why can’t he see that?!”

The thing to do is stand back and let fate take over. They’re going to do what they’re going to do, and it might end up with a gigantic Viking helmet.

A full year ago, I complained about fur vests.  Somehow, it has reappeared as one of the It items for fall/winter.  I haven’t seen one on a real live person yet, but presumably they are selling well.  I’ve tried one on, but the hippie flashbacks were too upsetting to permit further consideration.

The vest in this photo is by Golden Goose, the brand that brought us faux-vintage cowboy boots for $1,200.  The fur is fox, but I don’t know.  It looks like something I might find dead in my backyard.  So here are my guidelines for choosing a fur vest:

1. It can’t look like something your dog might drag in through the dog-door.
2. It can’t remind you of a Yeti.
3. It can’t look like a caveman costume.
4. It can’t look like fake fur, even if it is fake fur.
5. It can’t incorporate another trend, like studs or fringe.

Feel free to add your own rules.

A dead “swimsuit model” in a suitcase doesn’t seem very interesting at first glance. I remember another one they found out in the desert somewhere, murdered by some guy on craigslist.

But now the story has branched out in several directions, promising a perfect storm of sensationalist trash.  The murder suspect is a former reality show contestant who has just finished filming another reality show.  And not only that, but the cops have revealed that the victim’s teeth and fingers had been “removed.”

That is where I draw the line, and I hope you agree.  If you have to kill someone and stuff them in a suitcase, so be it. But the teeth removal, no fucking way. It’s just too awful and unfair. It’s such an insult in every way.

Now VH1 will have the choice of scrapping season 3 of “I Love Money,” out of concern for the murder case, or going ahead with some inane excuse that there’s a moral imperative to air the show.  They must be flipping out at VH1, thinking, “God, what a break! Our ratings will go off the chart!”

I don’t know where this will lead,  in terms of creating a frenzy to distract us from the lack of new Michael Jackson minutiae.  But for now we can all be grateful that we’re not stuffed in a suitcase somewhere without our teeth.

And when we watch a reality show and marvel at how crazy those people are, we will know there’s a chance theyr’e even crazier than they look.

Can you believe this Pucci leather one-shouldered eagle dress is already SOLD OUT at net-a-porter ($4,900)?!  No sooner did it appear, when POOF, sold out. Shit.

I need to think that the person/persons who bought it are the same one/one who bought this Judith Leiber parrot,  also SOLD OUT, duh, at $5,695.

“In this economy”, it’s still so important to show your support of wildlife.

Making videos is addictive. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!