Look, they got Sad Readhead Girl to smile! This is a fantastic triumph for me personally and for the rest of mankind.
Unfortunately, we must temper our pleasure with concern for Starving Girl, who looks even thinner. The space between her legs is a call for help.
My first thought upon hearing that Amy Winehouse was nominated for several key Grammy awards was “Yay!” My second thought was “Oh no, Kanye West will win, because of his Mama!”
No one could be more upset than I was about Kanye’s poor Mama. What a terrible tragedy! That bastard who botched her surgery should be sent to prison for allowing this to happen. Oprah should apologize to the world for featuring the doctor on one of her shows. She can deny all responsibility but she knows that she screwed up. She’s probably too busy apologizing for her poorly run school in South Africa, or campaigning for Obama.
I can’t begin to imagine how Kanye feels, losing his Mama. He is obviously devastated. But still, it’s not fair to Amy if people take this into account when giving out Grammys. Amy herself is a good candidate for the sympathy vote, but since she’s viewed as a parody of self-destructive behavior, people seem increasingly hostile toward her. Personally, I just want her to go on living. As I’ve said many times, she is a goddess and I love her more than words can say.
I think the best way to conduct a fair Grammy situation is to give an award for Best Dead Mama. It would be a wonderful tribute to Donda West, and there could be a montage of her and Kanye through the years. Kanye could accept the award and join the audience in a cathartic fit of weeping, leading right into the commercial break.
Then and only then, there would be a fair contest for record of the year and album of the year. Nothing has or will come close to Amy Winehouse as a compelling and distinctive new force in pop music. Amy Amy Amy, may the world enfold you in its loving arms and lift you up and away from that awful little scumbag you married!
Look at these beautiful photographs by Pieter Hugo. He travelled in Nigeria with a troupe of animal charmers, and his series of photos, The Hyena Men, is at the Yossi Milo gallery in NYC through January.
Here is Pieter Hugo’s website. Be sure to read the text that goes with these amazing pictures.
I can’t get enough of Rumor Willis. Is it just me? I like to look at her, but I can’t look for too long. I have to turn away, either because I’m a compassionate person or because I’m afraid of turning into a pillar of salt.
What is Rumor thinking as she poses on all these red carpets? She seeks attention, but why?
I like the lowcut dress. It’s a nice attempt to distract the eye.
Should we feel sorry for her or admire her for saying, “This is my face, world, deal with it!”
I believe that Rumor Willis is a metaphor or an allegory or a paradigm. She is a test of some kind, anyway, and I’m worried that I’ve failed it.
The other night, I came across a made-for-TV documentary about sex, starring Kim Cattrall. I would have skipped right over it if I hadn’t heard her say the word Cli’ Taurus. Whenever I hear this word pronounced like this, rhyming with “Sit, Borus” I hear nails on a chalkboard. Why can’t Kim say it to rhyme with “Twitter this?”
Well, the ways of Kim Cattrall are mysterious. In this documentary, she is the ultimate cougar, and I mean that in a bad way. She emerges from a lagoon or something wearing a gold lame bathing suit with cutout sides and huge hoop earrings. She reminds us that no other animal has a Cli’ Taurus. She would certainly know, if anyone would!
There’s a nerdy male doctor who speaks about the neurology of sexual desire, gasping between sentences like it’s all too much for him. There’s a guy named Thomas Moore who talks about sex in mythology, looking very, very depressed about the whole thing. There is Betty Dodson, a scary gray-haired lesbian who wants mothers to tell little girls about the clitoris as the counterpart to the penis.
Most of all there’s Kim, smiling smugly throughout everything, letting us know that it’s okay to fantasize about geese. I know from good sources that Kim does in fact get a lot of sex, demanding it from any nice looking guy who crosses her path. Not that I’m against this! You go, Kim, and if you and SJP ever get in an actual fistfight, I’m in your corner.
Why can’t we have a documentary about male sexuality, starring George Clooney? He could discuss the vas deferens and the glans, and he’d probably pronounce them correctly. He could paddle around a lagoon, and then confide his weird sexual fantasies, assuring us that they’re perfectly normal. Maybe John Travolta could talk about his penis, and how much he loves having one.
I was thrilled to learn that I am not alone in my fixation on the Shopbop Girls. They are under discussion at other blogs, where people have a variety of opinions. Most of us want to make fun of Sad Redhead Girl, and quite rightly.
Now, Shopbop is celebrating diversity by giving us Ethnic Girl, who looks kind of Eskimo or I don’t know what. Take a look.
There is also Miserable Black Girl, who is clearly thinking, “Why am I hear and look how they’ve fucked up my hair by ironing it!”
For no reason I can think of, they are giving alot of play to Forehead Girl, who is very pale and blah, and is often required to expose her expanse of forehead.
I can’t decide whether I like or hate the Posh-bobbed Attitude Girl, who always tries to glare or at least look vaguely defiant. Check her out.
I wonder if anyone ever buys anything from Shopbop? I think it’s all about the Girls, and their tragic babydoll mini-dresses.
If It Were Up to Me
Words and Lyrics by:
Cheryl Wheeler
Maybe it’s the movies, maybe it’s the books
Maybe it’s the bullets, maybe it’s the real crooks
Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s the parents
Maybe it’s the colors everybody’s wearin
Maybe it’s the President, maybe it’s the last one
Maybe it’s the one before that, what he done
Maybe it’s the high schools, maybe it’s the teachers
Maybe it’s the tattooed children in the bleachers
Maybe it’s the Bible, maybe it’s the lack
Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s the crack
Maybe it’s the hairdos, maybe it’s the TV
Maybe it’s the cigarettes, maybe it’s the family
Maybe it’s the fast food, maybe it’s the news
Maybe it’s divorce, maybe it’s abuse
Maybe it’s the lawyers, maybe it’s the prisons
Maybe it’s the Senators, maybe it’s the system
Maybe it’s the fathers, maybe it’s the sons
Maybe it’s the sisters, maybe it’s the moms
Maybe it’s the radio, maybe it’s road rage
Maybe El Nino, or UV rays
Maybe it’s the army, maybe it’s the liquor
Maybe it’s the papers, maybe the militia
Maybe it’s the athletes, maybe it’s the ads
Maybe it’s the sports fans, maybe it’s a fad
Maybe it’s the magazines, maybe it’s the internet
Maybe it’s the lottery, maybe it’s the immigrants
Maybe it’s taxes, big business
Maybe it’s the KKK and the skinheads
Maybe it’s the communists, maybe it’s the Catholics
Maybe it’s the hippies, maybe it’s the addicts
Maybe it’s the art, maybe it’s the sex
Maybe it’s the homeless, maybe it’s the banks
Maybe it’s the clearcut, maybe it’s the ozone
Maybe it’s the chemicals, maybe it’s the car phones
Maybe it’s the fertilizer, maybe it’s the nose rings
Maybe it’s the end, but I know one thing.
If it were up to me, I’d take away the guns.
(P) October 1, 1997
While I’m eagerly awaiting tonight’s Larry King show, and his exclusive interview with Brad Pitt, I’d like to challenge anyone to read the following excerpt from the website of Brad’s new building project in New Orleans. Its inaugural event is called The Pink Project.
[Brad] perceived the visual potency of pink houses as a metaphor. Working together with GRAFT, the idea was born to merge film and architecture into an installation that would bring immediate global attention to a pervasive local issue. The scenes within the assembly create emotive storyboards containing perspectives rich with history and memories. Like a tangram puzzle, the components of each house lay haphazard at the installation’s commencement. It is only through monetary donations that these pink placeholders will become reassembled, registering the effects of a collective consciousness, ultimately enabling the construction of 150 real homes.
Pink generates an armature robust enough to enable the outpouring of individuals into a collective effort striving for positive change. Reversing the diaspora and bringing people home.
What the fuck?! Where did they find the person who could write this text without dying of embarrassment? ‘Robust armature’ and ‘tangram puzzle?’ I thought that ‘Pink’ evoked old-fashion porn or Barbie dolls or breast cancer. But no, it’s a metaphor for bla bla bla diaspora!
Not long ago, a friend of mine offered this opinion of Brad Pitt: “One day he’ll wake up and go, ‘Oh no, I’ve just wasted ten years with a cocktail waitress and a bunch of kids!’
That’s what I call an emotive storyboard.
Vivienne Westwood boots. So what if I can’t walk in heels. I could do some Japanese ‘Crush’ videos, and they’d pay for themselves!
