Sting has always been on my Top Five hit-list, and he’s earned it the old fashioned way, by being a cunt. I’ve just read a quote of his that ranks above all his other crimes: “I think cancer – I’m not an expert or a doctor – but I think cancer is the result of undigested dreams and forcing yourself to do something that is not distinctively you.”
Is Sting insane?! It’s not enough that he has tantric sex and sings in that horrible voice?! Elvis Costello was polite enough to call Sting’s performance at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame “appalling” when he could have said much worse.
Sting has wounded me personally by taking a name I have long cherished and giving it to his daughter. Fuchsia is a character in the unforgettable Gormenghast Trilogy by Mervyn Peake. How dare Sting name his daughter Fuchsia, and thereby taint it with Stingness?!
Fuchsia is one of my favorite colors, along with chartreuse. Both words are as luxurious on the tongue as the hues they signify. Chartreuse is a favorite of mine because it’s shocking and kind of aggressive, as well as beautiful. Chartreuse says: “I’m glaringly bright, and too bad for you!” I came to chartreuse late in life but I’ve tried to compensate by wearing it as often as possible.
Look at these shoes.
Let’s not worry about whether I can walk in them, because obviously I can’t. But I need them. They’re only $255! Why have I squandered all my money on Sal the Plumber (who had to tear up my backyard) when I needed these chartreuse shoes?
I blame Sting for this. Sting is what stands between me and perfect happiness. He is not only a cunt but, as Annemarie puts it so eloquently, Cunt Central .