Bruno Attends A Fashion Show

26 March, 2007, Monday

The vapid, the ridiculous, the mentally ill – so long as you aren’t ugly or poor, you can find a home in fashion.

Naomi Campbell works with these sorts of vile people day in and day out and yet it’s her maid she throws her cell phone at?


This Nonsense Has To Stop

26 March, 2007, Monday


That’s Naomi Campbell proudly walking out of the NYC Sanitation Department after completing her final day of community service. She is wearing an expensive designer dress and was photographed smiling and waving and mouthing the words “Thank you!” to the crowd before climbing into a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce that whisked her back to her glamourous life.

She’s clearly using a tactic that Tom Delay originated and Rush Limbaugh copied. Here are their mugshots:

tom-delay-mugshot.jpg     150px-rush_limbaugh_booking_photo.jpg

They were being processed at a police station, yet they smile like they’re on the golf course.

It’s understandable why they did it. Mug shots of the rich and famous, particularly unflattering ones, are trotted out for years afterward. And, I’m sorry to say, this bit of contrivance by Delay and Rush has proven to be quite effective. These pictures are difficult for their enemies to exploit.

But it’s just so galling. Especially given that they are Republicans and, thus, pay a lot of lip service to law and order. Can you just imagine what Rush Limbaugh would have said had it been a liberal Democrat instead of Tom Delay who started the trend of ‘What, Me Worry?’ mugshots? He would have declared it as disrespectful to the justice system and the American people and chastised him or her for lacking shame.

Naomi Campbell was found guilty of physically assaulting another human being. A human being who, as Campbell’s maid, was vulnerable and easy pickings for abuse. A jewel-encrusted cell phone (that likely cost more than she would earn in 6 months), was thrown at her head with such force that she had to be stitched back together.

Yes, Campbell paid her paltry little debt to society, but are we, the little people who often find our own selves at the mercy of the rich and powerful, ready to let her off without a proper show of contrition? Shouldn’t she be shunned for her arrogant attitude?

Evidently not, according to various comments found on various blogs:

    She is a DIVAAAAAA!!!”
    “She’s a total bitch – I love her!”
     “Fuck all y’all haters, Naomi is fierce and does whateva she wants

And then we have this article that puts an even more sickening angle on the whole thing.

From GaySocialites.com:

    While paying her debt to society for decking her housekeeper with a cell phone, Naomi Campbell was making a few bucks at the same time. Everyone seemed to wonder why Naomi looked so fabulous as she entered and departed each day of community service, it’s because she was posing for a magazine cover.

    Patrick McCarthy, the editorial director of W magazine, says that the feature starring janitor Naomi Campbell will run across about 20 pages in the July issue of the magazine. “It’s going to make a great story. We came up with the idea in a story conference and we got in touch with Naomi’s people. She was very keen to do it, she thought it would be a lot of fun,” he said.

    Naomi wore an array of designer duds each day ranging from a Ralph Lauren fit-and-flare cashmere coat on day one to a Dolce & Gabbana couture evening gown when she walked the final walk after completing her assignment on Friday.

    Campbell earned an estimated $465,000 total for wearing clothes from various designers each day.”

And what is more revolting is that that issue of W magazine, celebrating Naomi Campbell’s triumphant return, will be advertised to the hilt and it will likely be a big seller.

It’s all very sad and indicative of something important that’s been lost in our society. But so long as Naomi, the great and powerful Supermodel, is having fun, and the fashion industry continues to make money off the desires of us peasants, things are unlikely to change.


If This Were My Dog

26 March, 2007, Monday


I would call him Stephen Hawking.


Bartender, A Shot Of Death With An Are We Fucking Insane Chaser, Please

24 March, 2007, Saturday

An interesting article from American Scientist discusses the relative toxicity of street drugs and the findings that most of them are less lethal than alcohol.

Quelle surprise!

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I am a strong proponent of legalizing all drugs. Even the biggies. You wanna spend your time on Earth on a permanent heroin nod? It don’t affect me none, so go for it, Pal. Happy trails and may your pillows be soft and your needles be clean.

I haven’t done drugs in a long time, but I really like marijuana. It’s a nice drug that gives you a mellow, mild high and it makes you laugh a lot. It also makes you look at things and think about stuff differently. It ehances subtleties you would otherwise overlook. Plus you don’t wake up the next day with a pounding headache and it has proven medical benefits as an anti-nausea agent and appetite stimulant.

It’s an absolutely grand way to spend a few hours of down time. Whether done alone watching TV or hanging around with friends, it’s adaptable for any occasion that doesn’t involve heavy machinery or Excel spread sheets.

And there has not been one single death attributed soley to it.

Not one.


Yet right this minute, there are people in jail for it.

Meanwhile alcohol, a substance that causes vomiting, triggers violence, is a brutal depressant, and is really fucking hard on the body, and has left a trail of countless corpses in its wake, is legal and plentiful. Entire buildings filled with the stuff (along with its friends: cigarettes and salt-laden snack foodz) line the roads of nearly every city and town in America.

Now, unless you’ve spent many years huffing aerosal cans (or sitting in church), that simply can not make one bit of sense. But it’s the law of our land.

How in the hell did it get to this point? I have a feeling it’s because we’ve been sitting around getting fucked up watching cartoons.

Thanks, Puritanical Pleasure Police, for protecting us from ourselves. You’re right – that whole ‘right to pursue happiness’ thing is just asking for trouble.

1967: “If it feels good, do it”

2007: “Does it make you feel good? Then, no, you can’t do it.”

2017: Pumpkin pie illegal?


Image Of The Moment

5 March, 2007, Monday

The view from inside one of the famous blue burqas, the most extreme form of covering for Islamic women.


Under the Taliban in Afghanistan, the burqa was mandatory and a woman was allowed to be uncovered only within the walls of her home. If caught in public unveiled, she could be beaten on the spot. And though it’s no longer officially mandatory, many pockets of Afghanistan are still ruled by Taliban-sympathetic warlords, so many women still wear the burqa regardless.

Which is good, because really, if a man looks upon a woman and has an impure thought, it is, of course, not his fault for having a weak mind. Oh no no no. It’s the woman’s fault. How can a man possibly be expected to carry on his day-to-day affairs with a bunch of filthy skanks running around with their eyes, noses, and mouths jutting out shamelessly for all the world to see?

He can’t! No man can exercise that kind of sexual control.

And lest anyone think men get off lightly in the Islamic order of modesty, be aware that they, too, have their dress requirements. Men must -MUST- wear full sleeves that cover everything down to the wrist. Tsk tsk…how do they manage being so brutally restricted?


Two Dynamite Broads

15 February, 2007, Thursday

First up, Amy Winehouse. She’s a new spot of light in my telescope, so I know virtually nothing about her. But so far I’m loving it all – the earthiness, the pin-up-girl tattoos, the cat-eye make-up, the unbelievably mature, confident voice (she’s all of 23).

Her drinking is looming large in her legend already, and apologies to you 12-stepping types, but that is kinda cool, too. I like my artists tortured and bent slightly toward self-destruction.

The title track of her latest CD, ‘Back To Black’, is, arguably, the standout and will probably age the best. But for sheer infectious pleasure, I can’t get enough of ‘Tears Dry On Their Own’.

It’s sweet perfection. Her deep, smokey tones drape themselves weightily over that joyous, springy Motown beat like a dunk leaning on the shoulders of a sober and amused friend. And if the chorus wiggles its way into your head, it might be impossible to get it out. For two solid days, I’ve been haunted by: “…he walks awaaay, the sun goes down…”

Her CD was finally released in the States and I hope she spreads through America like a stubborn, oddly-attractive weed.

And may the resurgence of big hair follow firmly in her wake! Women have been suffering under the tyranny of boring, flat hair for far too long. This country needs beehives, and it needs them desperately.

And in other exciting news, Camille Paglia, another totally kickass, albeit beehive-less dame, has resumed her monthly column at Salon.com. If women started reading fewer self-help books and more Paglia, they just might stop being so fucking irritating:

    Let’s get rid of Infirmary Feminism, with its bedlam of bellyachers, anorexics, bulimics, depressives, rape victims, and incest survivors. Feminism has become a catch-all vegetable drawer where bunches of clingy sob sisters can store their moldy neuroses.”

What I like about Camille is she’s interested in what interests her and is unashamed and unapologetic. Seemingly nothing escapes her attention and if she’s so moved to comment, she does.

In her typical rabid, machine-gun style, she covers a lot of ground in her first posting back at Salon. She devotes four paragraphs to Anna Nicole Smith and the “mythic themes” associated with her passing, but my favourite bit was her description of hearing the news:

    “I heard the first bulletins about her death on the car radio as I was driving home from campus last week. At the Popeye’s drive-through (where I was ordering Cajun wings), I blurted in agitation to the window lady, “Anna Nicole Smith just dropped dead — tell everyone!” — which she promptly did.”

Give me a boozey, tattooed soul singer and an intellectual who cops to going through Popeye’s drive-through, and I am a happy, happy girl.


Adorable Work Anecdote

13 February, 2007, Tuesday

The company I work for has several funeral homes as clients, and so I speak to a lot of nursing homes and assisted living facilities who call to report the deaths of their elderly residents.  

This was the opening statement of a death call I got last night:

“Hi, my name is Sally Jones, and I’m calling from Such and Such Assisted Living Center to report that one of our residents, John Smith, went to Heaven.”

………I’ll pause a moment to let that properly sink in……

A grown woman, nay, a grown professional woman said that one of her patients had, literally, died and gone to Heaven. Oooh boy.

I’ve been doing my current gig for a long fucking time, and I have never, ever taken a death call where someone left the deceased’s eternal forwarding address. 

Is she kidding? She has just got to be kidding, I thought to myself.  

Because nursing home staff sometimes get jaded to the whole death thing, they do occasionally get a little flippant and borderline disrespectful to jazz things up a bit when they call us. 

However, having never spoken to this particular nurse before, I was wary.  So I took the information I needed and refrained from adding my own jokes (“Was Jesus driving the bus?”). 

At the conclusion of the call, and since I was almost near death myself with curiosity about whether this woman was serious or not, when I patched her through to the funeral director so he could dispatch the body removal service, I couldn’t resist listening for a few seconds to hear how she introduced herself to him:

“Hi, I’m Sally Jones, calling to report a resident who’s gone to Heaven.” 

She was as serious as a malignant tumour.