Godammit, I’m Mad!

While laying in my death-bed, I’ve been able to read the new Vogue magazine with a fine-tooth comb, so to speak. It’s filled with horror this month. I haven’t even begun to dissect its many insults, but a feature on the style of ‘real’ women introduced me to the self-centered Trophy Wife of John Mellencamp.

Former fashion model Elaine Irwin and John Mellencamp have named their two sons “Hud” and “Speck.”

What were they thinking?! Hud is just awful, but Speck? Did they name him after serial nurse-killer Richard Speck? Or was he just really tiny, like a little teeny speck of a baby?  Whatever, the Mellencamps are fucking idiots.

I am also a little disappointed in Brangelina’s name for their new boy, “Knox.” I see it is imperative that all their boys have an X in their names. Maddox, Pax, and so on.

But “Knox?” It cries out for the suffix, “Fort.”

Here is my list of suggestions for their next son (leaving out the too-conventional “Max”)

Tex
Tex Mex
Text
Fax
Lox
Vox

That’s it, I’m worn out. Any one got some more?

The other day, when I saw this picture in a magazine, I asked my husband, “What do you think of Madonna’s arms?” His reply was something like “I don’t think anything about her arms.”

In his defense, he was driving and I was looking at a magazine. But he refused to discuss Madonna’s arms, as though it was beneath him to even talk about it. I tried to explain that Madonna’s arms weren’t just arms; they were big muscular man-arms.

He starting getting really pissed off and shouted “Look, I don’t have an opinion oh her arms. I don’t hate her like you do, okay?”

Well, not okay, actually. Isn’t this so like a man?  My feeling is, If you don’t have an opinion, FORM ONE! The good lord gave you the faculties of eyesight and cognitive awareness, so it’s not too much to ask for you to have a fucking opinion!

My opinion is that those arms are not necessary unless she is going into professional bodybuilding or construction work. As a former weight-lifter I can tell you that those arms are no accident. You need to lift very heavy weights to develop such big arms, and you need to do it at least 3 times a week. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Madge was taking just a pinch of steroids, or maybe she’s just a High Testosterone Girl as well as a Material one.

Are Madonna’s arms bigger than your boyfriend’s? Do they make you mad? Let me know, unless you’re too manly to discuss it.

I was amazed that Amy WInehouse actually made it to the concert for Nelson Mandela. Just days ago at death’s door, she looked like a little Q-tip under her giant hair. Not only did she wear that crazy Blake thing in her beehive, but during her wailing rendition of the old anthem “Free Nelson Mandela” she substituted the lyrics: “Free Blakey, my fella!”

Hahaha! Amy is nuts but godammit I love her. If only we could save her!

You can watch her performance here. Listen up at 5:25 for the shout out to Blake Incarcerated.

I was obliged to find some photos of Madonna’s daughter Lourdes for a work project. I think Lourdes is a beautiful little girl, but at eleven years old, she is already blessed with an impressive unibrow and moustache.

The moustache is going to be quite noteworthy as she moves through puberty. What does everybody think?

Should Lourdes stick with her natural beauty and perhaps look towards joining a circus, or should she succumb to Western culture and seek electrolysis?

Remember, it was once said of Gertrude Stein that when she entered a room, she made other women’s upper lips look positively naked!

I don’t plan to see either of these movies but I have thoughtfully reviewed them for you anyway!

Indiana Jones 4:

This is a very loud exercise in nostalgia that you might enjoy if you’re over 50 or a tween who thinks Shia LaBeouf is a hottie. Harrison Ford does his best to prove he’s still an action star, and his nose is still tragically crooked. All the clothes are masterfully weathered, like Harrison’s face.  Lots of huge noisy things come hurling at the camera as if in 3D. There are many close-calls but the heroes prevail, in order to justify a sequel. If you still love the theme song, you won’t be disappointed, as it is blasted at every opportunity. A tiresome adventure film that nonetheless is a thousand times more palatable then Sex in the City. Bring earplugs.

Sex in the City:

What can one say about this movie?  SJP’s narration is incessant and irritating, like the toe pain she experiences from her celebrated shoes. The plot is rudimentary and predictable. The four actresses struggle to look young and vibrant, with Kim Cattrall vamping it up more than ever. Every character says the word “clit” at least 5 times. SJP’s face is beginning to resemble Abe Lincoln, but she’ll be damned if she gets plastic surgery just for you! If you love aging Cougars and the streets of Manhattan make you feel homesick or the word “masturbate” makes you feel sophisticated, then this is your movie!

Seeing this photo of her at the Met gala, I finally reached the tipping point with Tilda Swinton. Enough with the androgyny and ugliness! You’ve made your point, whatever it is!  Now it’s time to put on some make-up, grow out your hair and dress normally!

I know how important Tilda is to so many factions. If you’re gay, hip or arty in any way, you totally adore her. I know, I know. You think she’s the epitome of beauty, you LOVE her daring style! You love all her movies. You love the air she breathes.

But you need to get over it. If her Oscar look wasn’t horrible enough, get a load of this awful matronly dress she wore to the Met. I don’t care who designed it, it’s still awful. Her choice of Justin Long as an accessory is really repugnant, UNLESS they are best friends in real life and she doesn’t have a ‘partner.’ It seems to me that she’s just pandering to the GLBT vote.

Everybody can stop pretending that Ugly is Beautiful, and that Less is More. It’s only More if there’s Less of Tilda Swinton.

I know, you all love Madonna. You love her dance hits, you admire her for ‘reinventing’ herself, maybe even for being a survivor in the fickle world of pop music. And you think she looks GREAT for 50!

God, I hate Madonna. Just like my tattoo says, ma haine dure. I saw a video clip from her recent show and wow, she was a sight to behold. She looked to me like a grandma doing calisthenics. She seemed a little winded as she lip synced into the mic, but who wouldn’t, from all that exercise!

To be fair, I should commend Madonna for being a fit granny, because many grannies just let themselves go. But I see her turning into Mae West right before my eyes, and no one seems to want to mention this.

Here’s an offer: I will put on a track suit and jump around while lip syncing the song of your choice, for only $19.99. If you call now, I will throw in some weight-lifting tips, too. I guarantee that I’ll look younger than Madge, if not quite as muscular. I’ll even put on a fake English accent!

But not at my house! I woke up to a wonderful gift from my Webmaster…a 2-CD recording of Prince’s performance at Coachella last week. Not only a high quality recording but a track list and everything.

You know how fussy Prince is about copyright infringement, and I don’t blame him, as long as I can still get what I want. I have loved the Little Prince since the first time I heard “Dirty Mind,” many light-years ago. Once, a Prince video from that era was playing on my sister’s TV, and her teenage son ran from the room, shrieking “That’s gay, that’s gay!” His terror only confirmed the rebellious, uninhibited brilliance that is Prince.

Prince, don’t be mad! Remember how we paid a thousand bucks to see you in Vegas? And you didn’t come over to sit in my lap? Now we’re even!

Anyway, I’m listening to the concert as I write this. His version of “Creep” is beyond amazing. Try to get your own Webmaster to burn you a copy.

Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about the baby with two faces. I’ve been sick in bed. I know it’s my duty to call attention to Horrible Stuff, so here are two things to think about.

The baby was born in India and is being worshiped as a goddess. Both faces are operative and work independently.

Here in the US, Pamela Anderson is said to have danced naked for Hugh Hefner on his 82nd birthday. Sleazy hotel owner George Maloof says “He [Hef] had the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.”

Which of these two stories makes you feel more despondent?

In the Los Angeles Times this week, I read that Danielle Steele spends four to five million dollars a year on shoes for herself and her daughters. This was revealed by a longtime shoe salesman at Barneys.

Fuck! This puts a lot of things in perspective. It makes me feel better about wasting my money on shoes, and it makes me feel terrible as well. Danielle Steele is obviously a billionaire, but how can one justify this expense? It seems pretty inexcusable, but so is spending $500 for shoes when so much of the world is starving. The whole shoe thing is out of control. The LA Times tried to lay the blame on Christian Louboutin, who says it’s not his fault. The shoes pictured above sell for $1,400 at Barneys, but he’s not putting a gun to anyone’s head. Maybe they should raise the price to $20,000, since the women who keep this brand in business will still pay up.

I once had to read a book by Danielle Steele, back when I read screenplays and manuscripts for a living. I was appalled at how awful her writing was, even though I expected it to be pretty bad. I remember one line I quoted to my friends, that was something like “Peter gave his customary smirk, but then he always did.” I couldn’t get over it. She must be so important that she doesn’t need an editor! She has sold 550 million books, and yet she can’t actually write!

But now that I’ve learned more about her, I’m beginning to see why she needs all those shoes. She’s been married five times, once to a rapist and once to a heroin addict. She’s had all sorts of huge melodramatic problems to overcome, including the death of a troubled son. She’s involved in several worthy charities, and she’s said to be ’shy.’  She certainly knows the meaning of hard work.

I would like to ask Danielle Steele if those shoes make her happy. Mine don’t make me happy, except of course for the Vivienne Westwood boots I can’t walk in. I think I’m a better writer than Danielle Steele, but I could never finish a whole novel, even a crappy one. I’d like to think that some day, we’ll all realize how meaningless our shoes are. But I know it’s a long way off.