Godammit, I’m Mad!

All my life I have thought of myself as an Irritable Organism, like an amoeba under a microscope, being poked. Now, finally, there’s a treatment for this!  Read the product description:

“This profoundly calming perfume has a fresh, soothing fragrance with powerful undertones. It lessens irritability and helps you become centered, easy going and relaxed. Smelling of apples, bitter herbs and fresh grass, Roman Chamomile is soothing and comforting, calming, balancing and deeply relaxing, with a gentle, restorative effect which banishes irritability. The sunny Bergamot smells fresh with floral, lemon notes. It is reviving, soothing and balancing, cheering and heart warming and gently relieves irritation and anger. Rose is passionate and deeply rose fragranced, it banishes the blues and warms the heart. Patchouli is soothing, helping stabilize the mind; it has an earthy sensual nature that grounds those who get lost in too many circular thoughts, and gently helps irritation float away.”   (my italics)

OH MY GOD! At $65, can I afford not to get it? I feel soothed just thinking about it, but also kind of anxious. What if it’s sold out?  Do I need expedited delivery? Will I go crazy before I can get my hands on it?

I’m going to order it. I’ll keep you posted. You’ll probably know if it works or not. In fact, if it works, you won’t be hearing from me. Once I feel stable and centered, I won’t need to write.

I like the sound of this product much better than Doxepin, the drug my GP suggested when she noticed my war-torn legs. Doxepin is an old fashioned tricyclic antidepressant with the usual array of side effects.  I’m reluctant to take more meds, but I was intrigued by the following revelation:

“[Doxepin] is particularly useful in treating depression symptoms, which include anxiety, tension, trouble sleeping, guilt, fear, and lack of energy.”

That’s right, you saw it with your own eyes. Guilt and  fear. Imagine a life free of guilt and fear. Pretty fucking tempting, right? All they need to work on now is loneliness, apathy, bitterness, greed and insecurity.

Now that I’ve learned about cocoa harvesting, I can’t buy chocolate that isn’t Fair Trade Certified.  Knowing that everything we buy is tainted with injustice somewhere along the line is troubling. You can’t give up everything; but child slavery is a good place to draw the line.

The Ivory Coast provides 43% of the cocoa beans used to make the world’s chocolate. The US Department of State estimates that more than 109,000 children in Cote d’Ivoire’s cocoa industry work under “the worst forms of child labor,” and that some 10,000 are victims of human trafficking or enslavement.

In 2001, in an attempt to avoid government regulation and intense media scrutiny, major cocoa companies made a voluntary commitment (the Cocoa Industry Protocol) to certify their cocoa “child labor-free” by July 2005, but that deadline passed with little fanfare. The deadline was then extended to certify 50% of farms “child-labor free” by July 2008. The cocoa companies trumpeted a few pilot programs, but continue to purchase and reap profits from child labor cocoa.

Hershey has been the slow to implement changes and has been the subject of an email campaign. Now, they have issued a press release, announcing a $10 million investment in West Africa to improve cocoa farming but it’s not clear that this will help any actual people.

Fuckers!

“Americans alone spend $13 billion a year on chocolate.” Ha, at least half of that comes from me, personally.

I need chocolate to live. I am not exaggerating. Without chocolate and coffee, there would be no reason to get out of bed or even breathe. My favorite form of chocolate is Toblerone and it isn’t Fair Trade Certified. It’s owned by Kraft, which helps to diminish its appeal, somewhat. Maybe I’ll have to write to them and beg them to get on board.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Favorite chocolate?

God it was boring but I must uphold the tradition so here it is:

Johnny Depp has finally jumped the shark, hotness-wise, but Ewan McGregor and Colin Firth were very do-able.

Madonna tried to get back at Ricky Gervaise for making a joke about her, because she’s too important to ridicule. She also forced us to look at her breasts, only to come in second to the magnificant rack of Selma Hyak.

Madge’s arms were painfuly lean, as were Angie’s and Michelle Pfieffer’s. Kate Winslet’s arms were pleasingly healthy, and her young boyfriend glowed as she gave her acceptance speech. Elton John looked furious when he lost to Madonna, Leo looked tired and sad all night, and it was worrisome to see Sasha Baraon Cohen there without Isla.

Jessica Biel must be blowing some important people, because there’s no other reason for her to present an award.  Julianne Moore looked pasty but her long green earrings were fabulous. Nicole Kidman wore a breathtaking dress and continued the charade of being heterosexual and in love with that dopey country singer.

Angelina was stunning in white silk and billowing red lips. She turned to smile at Brad each time someone said something “funny.” Jane Fonda was glowingly well-preserved and knew enough to cover her arms, but she shot some actress a death glare when the latter stepped on her gown.

There were far too many mermaid dresses. Stop it, actresses! Only Beyonce looks good in them.

Clare Dane was careful to highlight her flat chest, as always. We get it Clare, you like being flat.

Morgan Freeman was eloquent and moving when he accepted his award, as was that French guy whose father won an award in 1965. The French guy was so moving that several actors in the audience mouthed “beautiful” with tears sparking in their eyes. Another French guy was sorry for being French, but no one forgave him.

Michelle Williams looked stupid in her childish headband but was heartbreaking in her ode to her poor fatherless daughter. Kate Beckensale got the giggles on stage and looked as radiantly pretty as when I saw her in Sephora a few weeks ago.

The Worst Dress award in my opinion goes to Piper Perabo, a see-through mess that bunched up in front of her crotch.

If I had to find a theme for this year’s show, I would say it was all about the love between George Clooney and Brad Pitt, two dreamboat humanitarians who clearly relish being so much better than everyone else. When George comes out of the closet, the drinks are on me!

If you’ve been following the Republican debates, you have been amused, nauseated, and enraged. You have probably shifted in your ranking of which candidate is the stupidest or most repugnant. It’s almost like watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills: You think Camille is the biggest cunt but wait, it’s Kyle!

I hate Mitt Romney. I really fucking hate him. I can’t stand his repressed anger and his conman demeanor. The thought of Mitt Romney as President is horrifying.

Newt is a bastard, Perry’s a moron, Santorum is a douche, Ron Paul is nuts and Jon Huntsman is just clueless (or he wouldn’t keep reminding people that he speaks Chinese.)

I am asking because I genuinely want to know: Which contender do you hate the most, and why?

What is the point of this guy???

Why don’t the Republicans nominate Bishop Don instead?

He’s got the charisma, the likability thing, the business acumen, and possibly a better grasp of  foreign relations.

I’m sick of that stupid arrogant pizza salesman.  What a fucker. His function as comic relief has expired.

Bishop Don could even use personal motto as his campaign slogan!

“Green is for the money, gold is for the honeys.”

The Los Angeles County Museum of Art has acquired, in its wisdom, a 340 ton granite boulder that will form the centerpiece of Michael Heizer’s massive outdoor sculpture, “Levitated Mass.”

LACMA director Michael Govan points out that the huge rock is “only part of the sculpture,” which requires the construction of a subterranean slot upon which steel rails will support the rock, I mean the sculpture.

“The largest part of the sculpture is the negative space, the channel in the landscape,” he says. “It has its own independent sculptural presence. The marriage of these two forms comprises the sculpture.”

When was the last time you got to hear the term “negative space” used without facetiousness?

Anyway,  the logistics of moving this huge rock are a nightmare. A company that moves “extreme objects” has been hired to figure out how to do it.  Some utility lines, street lights and stop lights will have to be taken down by the local area’s utility companies as the boulder passes through crowded urban areas, and the route the rock will take can’t be confirmed until permits are cleared.

At a cost of somewhere between $5 and $10 million dollars, this is a coup for LACMA.  Michael Heizer, the artist, is best known for “Double Negative,” the 1,500-foot-long land sculpture he cut into a desert mesa in a remote section of southern Nevada.

Breathtaking, isn’t it? To quote Heizer: “There is nothing there, yet it is still a sculpture.” So true.

As we ponder the meaning of art, the suffering of Sisyphus, and the value of ten million dollars, let us not forget that people are idiots.

Meet Cindy Jacobs, a self-proclaimed prophet and right-wing supporter of fellow moron Gov. Rick Perry.

Watch her explain how Rick Perry’s Jesuspalooza broke the curse of “Native American Cannibals.”

Cindy and other members of the Apostolic Reformation movement will descend upon Washington, D.C. with  ”DC 40: Forty Days of Light Over D.C“, to do whatever it is they do.

Laugh, but be afraid.

Beyonce celebrated her 30th birthday on her yacht in Italy, with family and a few close friends. Her close friend Gwyneth (??) was seen giving Beyonce an envelope.  Look how happy she is after she opens it!

I need to know what was in that envelope.*

Suggestions?

*My friend Maxine said “I would like to think it was a specially penned poem.” If you agree with Maxine, please approximate the poem.

I’m excited about (i.e. dreading) tonight’s debate among the Republican presidential candidates.  For those of you who plan to watch, what’s the drinking word??

I forgot to say that Sunday was my birthday. Now I am 58 and none the wiser. My husband took me to a huge botanica where I squealed with pleasure at the racks and racks of magical oils and candles. We thought it would be nice to get a picture of me with the big Santa Muerta, but look! You can barely tell us apart.

In my imagination, I look more like this:

or even this:

Oh never mind.  I guess I can start cultivating an eccentric old lady look, although it seems like a lot of trouble. Furthermore, now that it’s been packaged and approved by Topshop, its appeal is kind of dubious.

What brought this on, do you think? Is it Tavi-related? Is it Daphne Guinness? Is it Little Edie Beale? Is it that blog about Advanced Style with all the wacky looking old ladies?

Whatever the reason for officially dictating a trend called Eccentric Lady, it is by definition less original and appealing. Fuck it.

I’m sticking with Geriatric Tomboy™,  but easing into Slob.  Maybe it’s more like  Crypto-Hipster Slob™ now that I have a big tattoo.

Let’s brace ourselves for an army of young girls wearing turbans, big sunglasses, ratty furs, granny dresses and hideous brooches. If they can loose the scary Jeffrey Campbell shoes, maybe it will be a blessing in disguise.