Godammit, I’m Mad!

Anthony Weiner is a gift from god for people like me who are struggling with depression.  His predicament (no pun intended) is so bizarre and tawdry, and yet Shakespearean. If character is destiny, Weiner is screwed, or as he would put it, “First I’ll make you gag on my cock before I make you cum.”

Let me say first that I was on his side, in terms of refusing to resign, until I read the text of his online chats with women he’d never met and had no intention of meeting.

It wasn’t the fact that he was a reckless horndog that provoked my disapproval. I was ready to accept the fact that the internet is an irresistible siren song to anyone with a “weakness.” Whether it’s a weakness for shopping, for social networking, for gambling or for porn, the internet makes it perilously convenient to indulge.

According to friends I discussed this with, “sexting” is now common among fifty percent of teenagers. It’s a Brave New World out there, where not much is considered too personal, not to mention sacred.

I will admit to chatting online in a flirtatious manner.  Years ago I was chatting with someone who suddenly suggested “Send me a picture of your C**T” and the word was not cunt. I was so stunned and horrified, I shut the chat window and felt deeply shaken. I had no idea that people spoke to strangers like this. I learned that it’s the wild west out there online.

With Weiner, I imagined his sexy chat was something along the lines of “Baby, You’re so pretty, What are you wearing?” Big deal. Maybe he’s bored when his wife is busy and he’s just having a little tame sexy banter…. I don’t feel that calls for his resigntion, since it’s his personal business and he didn’t run for the Priesthood. Better to have a politition with a sex drive than Bush or Nixon, who seemed more interested in abusing the constitution than in getting laid.

But no matter what liberal  principles you think you have, it all goes to hell once you read Weiner’s raunchy efforts at seduction.  The deal breaker for me was “Pussy Juice.” It’s just a big NO in my world.  You can’t listen to a congressman talking about jobs or taxes or healthcare once he’s said Pussy Juice.  It’s over. He is toast.

So basically, for me at least, it comes down to literary aesthetics rather than any moral judgement. Sexting online isn’t a crime that would make someone unfit to serve as a congressman or mayor. Sending pictures is pretty lame but again, no real harm. Lying about it is only natural: You would want to avoid embarrassing your family. But a man’s game does reflect his sensibility. And “Pussy Juice” cannot be condoned. If only he could have said “Are you wet?” instead.

I cannot emphasize this enough but it must be repeated: Words matter! Choose them like everyone’s looking.

Opinions or objections?

Few things are more compelling to me than a heated debate over What Constitutes Art.  A recent controversy surrounding Sarah Silverman also offers a quandary about ethics.

Ms. Silverman was invited to speak at the prestigious TED conference this year. Her “presentation” was so offensive to the man who curates the event (Chris Anderson) that he tweeted an apology for her “godawful” material and has since elected not to post her presentation online. Co-founder of AOL Steve Chase also tweeted that Silverman was an inappropriate choice for TED. Silverman came back with some tweeted insults of her own.

At issue, apparently, is Ms. Silverman’s repeated use of the word “retarded.” However, according to reports, she also sang a song about penises.

If only we could see a video of the actual performance! But since we can’t, we are left with some hypothetical questions.

First, I must admit that I fucking hate Sarah Silverman. Hate as in HATE. I don’t think it’s because she’s shocking. I think it’s her delivery, along with her face and mannerisms. I have laughed my head off to Larry David’s comedic take on incest, racism, and the Holocaust. He has made fun of every disability I can think of, and I laughed because he’s so funny. Therefore, I can’t pretend that some subjects are sacrosanct.

Should Chris Anderson apologize to Ms. Silverman for publicly denouncing her performance? Should he post it online even if he finds it offensive? Does TED have an obligation to post it if it posts other speakers who appeared at the conference?

Should Ms. Silverman take into consideration the type of audience she is addressing, i.e. people who are gathered to hear about ideas? Or should she be applauded for daring to shock them? Is something Art because it is shocking? Is it always laudable to challenge taboos? If not, why not?

You can go here to watch Ms Silverman defend herself to Bill Maher.

I don’t know why anyone wants to hear Ms. Silverman say penis, vagina, and asshole with the smugness of a six year old who has just learned the power of swearing. If you think she’s a comic genius, you are certainly in good company. To my ears, she is nails on a chalkboard.

Here’s another question I just thought of: Would Silverman be funny if she couldn’t rely on “bad” words for effect?

Jump right in!

If you missed the Golden Globes Awards, you didn’t miss much, but here are the highlights:

Nicole Kidman wanted to show off her nipples. Why, I have no idea. She appears to have lost her mind or her bathroom mirror. Remember when she dazzled us with her fashion choices at the Academy Awards? Maybe Tom Cruise was her stylist!

Monique gave a fabulous acceptance speech that made me want to be a big Black woman. She totally rules. Did you know she does stand up comedy for woman in prison? God bless Monique.

James Cameron was King of the World again, and gave a cliche-ridden speech that fooled no one. The man is a fucking cunt, and that’s that. I don’t know how Kathryn Bigelow keeps herself from killing him.

Colin Farrell was yumminess incarnate. Daniel Day Lewis looked good, too, and so did Robert Downey Jr. Jeff Bridges has morphed into Kris Kristofferson, and Somebody Reitman looked angry all night, except for when he won something.

Chloe Sevigny was punished for wearing a ridiculous see-through dress when someone stepped on her train and ripped it! What a moment! She managed to recover after a flash of rage, but it would have been classier if she’s ripped the rest of the dress before accepting her award.

What else? Jodie Foster looked so hot, you could hear the crowd gasp in surprise. Meryl Streep brought tears to everyone’s eyes when she talked about loss and gratitude. Jennifer Aniston nearly flashed her Female Area, and her nose seemed smaller than ever.

Jessica Lange displayed her tragic facelift, while Harrison Ford had trouble moving his face. Everyone wore conspicuous little ribbons signifying Support For Haiti, which were nicely set off by the emeralds and diamonds. Ricky Gervais was a saving grace, telling the audience: “Speaking of plastic surgery, I’ve had a penis reduction. Now I have just the one.”

Did I forget anything?

I couldn’t help admiring this dress until I read the description. “Black and donkey coloured long-sleeved knit dress…”

The attached sweater thing looks kind of mauve, doesn’t it? What color is “donkey coloured,” anyway?

Many hundreds of years ago, when I was a script reader, I had to read a non-fiction book about a small town doctor who was accused of molesting several female patients. During the trial, a prim witness was asked to describe the color of the doctor’s penis. Flustered and embarrassed, she sputtered: “It was penis colored!”

Penises, donkeys, this dress is dead to me.

Morbid Anatomy is a blog about icky dead stuff.  Every time I go there, I feel slightly ashamed, as though I’ve just peered into Hollister Hovey’s curio cabinet. But the author is clearly passionate about her subject, and I have to respect her obsession. There are some images there that are truly nauseating, like the ones of syphilitic penises, but others (like the photo above) are often weirdly beautiful.

Obit is a website about death that has a modern sophisticated look about it, kind of like the Starbucks of death blogs. They even have an advice column “for the dying and those who care about them” by someone named Judy.  What they need is a Hit List™, so I guess I need to start one.  Sting will be in the top five, as will Bono.  Nominations, anyone?

Finally, sticking to my theme of All Things Icky, here is a photo from the online site of Oak NYC, a trendy clothing shop.

Looking at the boy’s tragic tattoos, I felt bad for his mother. Somewhere, a woman is heartbroken. And yet, I saw this photo again, on a fashion blog, where the comments ranged from “Rad” to “The clothes look cool and the models even cooler.”