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Seduced by the Devil, and PVC
I’m embarrassed that I didn’t know anything about The Rake’s Progress until I read an article about the fascinating Robert Lepage. I googled around to learn more about the opera, composed by Stravinsky in 1947.
It’s a three act opera featuring several elements that I count among my many obsessions.
A man is tempted by The Devil to leave his country-bred sweetheart to seek fortune in the big city. There, he is seduced into marrying a Bearded Lady and invests all his money in an invention that proves to be a sham. He wins a final bet with the Devil, who then curses him with Insanity. The hero dies in Bedlam.
What more could one ask for in an opera? I need to get Lepage’s production of it, recorded in Brussels.
If you’re interested in mental asylums, I wrote about Cane Hill here. If you’re interested in Bearded Ladies, you can go here.
If you’re not interested in any of that, how about this Pvc Bustle Skirt? It’s only $150 and with the matching top, it looks like something Vivienne Westwood might have designed, doesn’t it?
Today’s Word is Provoke
I usually hate jewelry with affirmative words on it, like “peace” or “soul” but when I saw this bracelet I stopped in my tracks. Why didn’t I think of this before! My purpose on earth is to provoke. It is probably the one word that most describes my personality.
This bracelet by Aurora Lopez-Mejia is hand-stamped 22k gold, and it looks nice and chunky. I would love to see it on my wrist! However, I would like my credit card balance to go down, not up.
As you see in the photo of Sister Wolf age sweet sixteen, provoking has always been a priority. At present, I am provoking some misogynist losers on another blog, where some angry man told me to “Go do the dishes!”
Hahaha! What an idiot. Everyone knows that my husband does the dishes, because he’s the one who likes them clean.
In the old days, I provoked some guy on mySpace into wanting to shoot me. It was much funnier than it sounds, I can assure you. What is more fun that provoking (besides sex, eating and shopping?)
A New Love
Yesterday, when I wasn’t busy with penises, I found this leather skirt that I can’t afford, but still covet. The pleated ruffles just kill me! What wouldn’t look great with this skirt?
So now I’m aware of Hartmann Nordenholz, who designed these amazing dresses. Do you love him or do you love him?
Another Penis Post!
I’m sorry, I can’t seem to avoid penises. This time, I was browsing some gossip site and saw a picture of director/douchebag Brett Ratner at a party celebrating the launch of a new book. Sure enough, it turned out to be a new title by Taschen called ‘The Big Penis Book.’
“This hefty book is profusely illustrated with over 400 historic photos of spectacular male endowments, including rare photos of the legendary John Holmes.”
Okay! What’s not to love about this book? You can look at some of its contents at the Taschen website, but I personally am afraid to do so. Maybe I will once the kids are asleep. Let me know what you think.
Arguing About Madonna
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.
Leave Prada to the Devil
My pal enc wants these Prada Boots, which Neiman Marcus will gladly provide for $1,200. In a lucky coincidence, I found my self online last night, hypnotized by crazy boots at Amazon.
Once I started looking, I couldn’t stop. It’s like eating Oreo cookies. You must keep going until the package is empty. I found a style that’s similar to the Prada, at a savings of $1,150.
Call me nuts, but I just don’t see why anyone needs Prada. I feel the same about the Lanvin ballet flats. The only reason to pay $500 for them is to feel special for wasting all that money. You can waste only $134 at Sue London for the same buttery soft quality, plus they come with a matching leather shoe bag!
I think I’m as brainwashed as anyone into craving luxury items at insane prices. But more and more, I’m wondering if the initial rush is worth it. Do we really need the tag to say Prada or Chanel to feel good about ourselves? I’m starting to feel “Been there, Done that” about luxury items. But maybe you need to own a beat up, poorly constructed Chanel bag to achieve this attitude.
It’s not like I’ve transcended snobbery or anything. I’d still go barefoot before buying shoes by Jessica Simpson. I still recoil from Juicy Couture. In fact, if I stop, someone call a doctor!
Back to the splendor of the crazy boots at Amazon (and speaking of Doctors) here is one I’d like for the boudoir:
And here’s the one that upset me the most.
I Said No No No
Sometimes, things that are awful bring us joy; but sometimes, they’re just plain awful. Queen Marie was rightly offended by the notion of fake high-heels made for babies. For $35, you can buy a pair of these shoes, put them on a baby and laugh your ass off. Ha ha, look at the baby! You could also put sunglasses and jewelry on the baby and laugh even more. Sister Wolf says, Give that $35 to a homeless shelter and leave the baby alone.
As a fur-lover and proud carnivore, I am usually happy to see fur accessories, but here’s something that shocked me with it’s assaultive ugliness. Not only are these leg-warmers an abomination, they are even sold out! Presumably, whoever bought them is somewhere right now, laughing at babies in high heels.
For the third and final No, I bring you this photo courtesy of The Look-See. These models were used by Yohji, Etro, and Ann Demeulemeester in Milan. They are not conventional male model types, get it? They are old geezers! This is so funny, like high heels on a baby! But I would rather stick with handsome boys.
The moral here is that some people will be fooled into accepting awfulness as some sort of post-modern joke, but We are simply not having it.
Play-Doh and Miracles
I haven’t bought any Play-Doh in years, but I’m very excited about this 50th Anniversary pack, with 50 different colors. Remember how hard it could be to get just the right color?
Actually, I used to be pretty good with Play-doh. I have told this story before but it’s worth telling again because of the Miracle:
When my son was around two years old, I had to watch the O.J. Simpson trial every day, just like everyone else who had a TV. While it was on, my son and I worked with Play-Doh on the tray of his high-chair. I remember making a little Marcia Clark figure and a little O.J. too. One day I was just absent-mindedly squishing some Play-Doh when I looked down and to my surprise, this is what I had made:
As you can see, it’s a familiar image! I had to think for a moment to place it, but I know that you will recognize it at once as a portion of The Starry Night, by Vincent van Gogh.
This is known as The Play-Doh Miracle, and it will be on file at the Vatican when I am formally declared a Saint.
That’s Our Amy
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.