Godammit, I’m Mad!

This Hermes Birkin bag is available at 1st dibs for $85,000. Can we figure out why?

You could get this pink one for only $65,ooo.  That’s a whopping savings of $20,ooo. But maybe you’d feel like a cheapskate if you bought the pink one.  Why quibble about $20,000 when you’re shopping at this level? Grey Himalayan Crocodile says you really care. It says “Classy!”

But!

You could have this blue one for only $12,500! With your savings, you could buy a luxury car or feed all the orphans in Haiti. But now the blue one looks like crap, right? Who wants a crap Birkin bag?

I’d love to hear women justifying the purchase of a Birkin bag, or any bag that telegraphs wealth. “It’s so iconic!” “It’s an investment!” “I’ve always wanted one!”

The only honest explanation is that some consumer goods signify status to other consumers. Other women will admire and envy your wealth, or so you think.

How much of an asshole do you have to be to buy one of these stupid bags?!? It’s almost unfathomable. The only people who would be impressed would be other assholes. If Louis Vuitton made bags that didn’t look like Louis Vuitton bags, would anyone buy them?

From now on, when you see someone wearing anything with a big, high-end logo, point at them and laugh, “HAHAHA, Chanel!” (or Prada, YSL, Dior, whatever.)

Sister Wolf Says:  Even a tiny act of subversiveness can brighten your day.

The exclusive Sister Wolf Samurai Award is only for heroes, so you won’t be surprised that the newest recipients are the partners of DI$COUNT.

Cami and Nadia are fashion designers but much more. They had the courage to move to Thailand from their home in Australia, only to find themselves in the middle of a violent political clash. They were forced to flee to safer ground but their spirits are unbroken.

Last week, they posted a sharp and gleeful parody of Luxirare, an internet sensation known for striking but relentless branding.

They’ve replied congenially to people who scolded them for being “negative” and/or jealous. They’ve explained that they were blocked (and thus essentailly banned) from Luxirare’s website.

Here are two issues that won’t go away:

1. If you accept comments, should you censor them?
2. Is it bad etiquette to mock another blogger?

Personally, I think the answers are obvious: NO and NO, respectively.

As for parody, it is an art form. Nadia and Cami executed their parody with wit and style. It’s hard to see how it could be improved upon. If you don’t understand parody or satire, go see Spinal Tap again. Many years ago, The New Yorker ran a parody of Time Magazine, mocking their formulaic, awkward syntax. No one in those days would be so idiotic as to deem this effort “negative.” Why are people today such big babies??

Nadia and Cami are talented, passionate, funny, warm and as an added bonus, beautiful. They are Challenging the Paradigm, as Faux Fuchsia would say. They are Samurai and they rule.

In recent days, two idiots nice individuals have cited my hatefulness as a moral flaw in my nature (not to mention my blog.)  I will point out yet again that the title of this blog is “Godammit, ‘m Mad! and I’m Getting Madder,” not “Look What I Love.”

However, just to remind anyone who doesn’t know what a fucking cornucopia of love I am, here is a list of fifty people I love, in the order they popped into my brain:

Patti Smith, William Borroughs, Van Morrison, Vermeer, William Bouguereau, Aretha Franklin, Thomas Hardy, Elvis Costello, Edith Wharton, Flaubert, Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, Kingsley Amis, Mervin Peake, Johnny Depp, Ingrid Bergman, Chris Rock, Richard Feinman, Arthur Lee, Bob Dylan, George Eliot, Amy Winehouse, Denton Welch, Balzac, Vivienne Leigh, Brigitte Bardot, Prince, Amanda Palmer, Donna Summer, Paul Erdos, Frida Kahlo, Bert Jansch, Fred Neil, Iris Murdoch, Joan Armatrading, Tolstoy, Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar, Oscar Wilde, Karen Horney, Derek & Clive, Neil Young, Tim Buckley, Leonard Cohen. Robert DiNiro, Alice Miller, Yukio Mishima, Ricky Gervais, Larry David, Tony Duquette.

See?

Now, who do you love that I should love too?

Demi Moore has a lawyer and she’s not afraid to use him. She is threatening to sue the Internet for daring to accuse her of being photoshopped on the cover of W magazine. You can read her lawyer’s letter here.

Why does this woman get to be such an idiot?! Why doesn’t she have something better to do? Why are rich people so fucking delusional?

I’m sick of this bitch. I’m tired of her face, her child husband and her bad movies. I’m suing her ass.

Dear Mr Singer,

My client, Myself, is putting you on notice that unless your client, Ms. Moore, stops being a public nuisance, we will see you in court. My client has a right under the US Constitution to ‘the pursuit of happiness,’ which cannot be conducted under the present circumstances vis a vis Ms. Moore.

My client would like an apology from Ms. Moore for the continuing abuse of her celebrity. My client asks that Ms. Moore and that idiot she married stop tweeting, and tweeting about tweeting. They both need to go away and attend to the three daughters with the awful names and disfigured faces. They need to just shut the hell up, frankly, in order to restore my client’s relative serenity.

I really believe Demi Moore owes me an apology, along with Madonna, of course, who will have to kill herself on pay-per-view to make restitution for my pain and suffering.

Who owes you an apology?

When my friend R suddenly proclaimed herself skeptical about the G Spot during Christmas Eve dinner, I told her she was preaching to the choir. According to R, that idiot “Dr. Oz” was on TV trying to teach people how to locate the G Spot by using the roof of the mouth as a model of the female Area.  (Sorry, can’t use the V word.)

So here’s my analysis of the G Spot situation, and R backs me up on this.

The G Spot is a male fabulation, designed to put women back in their place after the superiority of female sexuality became common knowledge. In other words, since women have a better capacity for orgasm, lets find a way to make them feel inadequate again.

Ladies, are you feeling me here? Why do we need a mysterious “Spot” that almost no one has located, when the C Spot is RIGHT THERE and works great?! I love reading about how some women feel an urge to pee when you press their G Spot, while other women experience a special “V—-al Orgasm.”  Since that theory makes the whole deal seem kind of dubious, newer studies suggest that only SOME women have a G Spot. In that case, let me say that I personally have an H Spot, as well as Spots I through LMNOP, but I’m not going to tell you where they are, since you probably don’t have them.

When I googled G Spot, I came across an piece at Ask Men dot com, about the Male G Spot! I was thrilled! R and I had postulated the existence of an M Spot for men….a nebulous place somewhere between the balls that had to be pressed from a certain angle to be triggered.  How gratifying to imagine men probing desperately for a Spot that isn’t there!

I was disappointed, not to mention saddened and completely grossed out, to learn from Ask Men that the Male G Spot is up their butt. THAT’S RIGHT, you heard me. Up their butt. Ask Men suggests that guys get comfortable and relaxed before attempting to locate…..oh god, I can’t go on. It’s just too tragic. Who are these dummies they write for at Ask Men? It should be called Ask Idiots. Or maybe just “Duh.com.”

While I personally can accept some things on faith, other things (like the moon landing) I’m not too sure about. The moon landing, I’d say there’s a fifty per cent chance it happened. Immaculate Conception, zero per cent. Loch Ness Monster, YES, that one I feel good about. But the G Spot is nonsense and I’m not buying it.

Opinions, anyone?

A disgruntled reader just left a comment on a post about Andrew Krasnow, an artist whose medium is human skin.

“I was Googling feminist cunt art when I came across this blog.  No, Krasnow never made lampshades of human skin, and no, the artist never bought the skin at auction.  Dude, get your facts straight before blogging about stuff you don’t know.”

Oooh! Feminist cunt art?!? Take it away! But anyone who calls me Dude is worth listening to. This art expert goes on to say:

“The idea is to get you to think.  Not everyone understands art. Why did Chris Burden have himself shot? Why did Orlan have 9 surgeries to recreate herself as living art? Why does Paul McCarthy like using ketchup in performance art?  Not everyone is meant to understand art.  If they did, there wouldn’t be such a thing as blue chip art.”

Jesus. How many things are wrong with this lecture? I for one have no fucking idea why these artists did what they did, but my guess is that they are idiots. Chris Burden is now part of the establishment and doesn’t want people to kill hamsters and call it art, but that’s a topic for another day.

I’m glad this commenter brought Orlan to my attention, just so I can have another person to jeer at.  She is a French performance artist whose most recent shtick is to undergo icky operations and call it Art.

Why are people so stupid, does anyone know? Who is sillier, Orlan or her audience? I LOVE it when someone challenges me about art, because Dude, that’s why I have a blog. I’m still mad and I’m still getting madder!

Even in the midst of a crisis, I find I have not lost my ability to Hate! On a brief visit to my own home, I was privileged to catch a performance (on the David Letterman Show) by the stupidest, most awful band in the world. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros left me with my mouth open in astonishment, after I finished calling them names out loud.

There’s a sickening douche as the front-man, with a creepy horrible girl adding vocals and dancing around like a crazed village idiot. There’s an asshole wearing a bow-tie with a pink shirt, and some other annoying band-members I can’t remember too clearly.

I double dare you to listen to the entire song. It followed me into my bedroom, where I could hear them bleating the stupid refrain over and over and over and over.

YES! I  hate, therefore I am.

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™!

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.

I would like to apologize for the state of California, its idiotic voters and its supreme court, on this black day in our history.

I did my best to prevent the election of a stupid body builder as Governor of California, which to this day he still cannot pronounce. I protested with a big sign and everything.

Now we have an 11 % unemployment rate, and a budget deficit of 21 billion dollars, and gay couples can’t get married.

I’m really sorry.  I hope we can do better.