So it’s a Monday night, and I’m thinking about my next one for elephant. I’m not sure what it’s about yet, but I can tell you what it won’t be about: anything having to do with life lessons, the color pink, the key to happiness, orgasms, how to love myself (the last two do not go together) or any other craptastic pile of words.
There was a time, in 1994 to be exact, when Madonna went on David Letterman and said the F-word 14 times. It must have been right around the time her “Sex” book came out like 20 years ago. I actually stood in line to buy it when I was living in San Fransisco. I wish I had a one still in the foil; it would be worth… well, I have no idea. It was like $100 at the time. I’m sure ebay would know…
Check it out, there’s one for $3,500 dollars. Four watchers. No bids.
Why do I mention this Madonna interview? Sometimes I feel like standing up in front of a bunch of people—maybe a yoga class?—and yelling Fuck 14 times, just to see what would happen.
There’s an actual Wikipedia page for this one Madonna appearance. She’s so amazingly Detroit.
Her fuckin’ boots were also probably $3,500 dollars. She ended up going back on David Letterman, talking about barettes and other stupid stuff.
What a strange, messed up way I spent my weekend—reading comments on my column and on Facebook from people who hate my guts. Not the first time, by the way. And I will tell you this: I pretty much always know what I’m doing. I’m not insecure, and I just took a swig straight out of a carton of juice. That’s right, I’m ballin’ over here.
I wrote a piece for elephant once called Why Men Are So Dastardly Fetching. People were so unbelievably disturbed by it, and I’ll never figure out why… My response: Seriously, What the Hell is Happening Here? I just couldn’t help myself. And from that, came “Get over yourselves. There’s nothing less manly than a man acting like a fucking infant. Go rent some Steve McQueen movies and figure it out.” Yup, that said it all, I think.
But this post isn’t about all that any more than it’s about the World Cup, or the sexy criminal, or the hideous shit storm this weekend.
Was I angry that day? Yeah, for like a half an hour. Then I remembered how much I love my life, and everything about it. Now I’m going back to writing, even though it’s 1:15 in the morning. Fuck it, I have goldfish crackers and juice. And thanks to you for following this blog. Sometimes it’s unnecessarily vulgar and sarcastic, and much less real/honest/vulnerable/open/fearless than I’d like. I’m still trying to find the words.
Which leads me to the new one: “You Say You Want A Revolution? Shut Up & Pose.” Thoughts? ❤ ❤ ❤
P.S. You might be seeing a lot of these. My friend and I dared each other to post something every day for the month of July. Sorry.