Frighteningly enough, I’ve recently discovered another thing that I agree with Camille Paglia on:
I despise the sneering that our liberal humanists do about capitalism even while they enjoy all of its pleasures and conveniences. I just despise it.
She then, of course, went and argued that Rush Limbaugh is a swell guy. She’s like a really hot dude you meet at a party, only to find out that he’s dating Ann Coulter and recently had his cat painted for 6 grand, or something.
Interestingly, Paglia has also claimed that (capitalist) advertising can equal art, which is something I agree with as well. I don’t necessarily think that an advertisement has to be gorgeous to qualify as art – it can be comedic as well, as long as the humour is precise and finely tuned. There is a reason why people flock to watch the Superbowl commercials… and it’s not because the “unwashed masses” are a bunch of morons (well, I personally think that we’re all morons, and it’s not a class thing at all, I promise).
Anyway.
If I were to be Paglia for Halloween, here is what I would write:
“I’m Ukrainian! The Yarilean spirit prevents my mouth from ungluing my mouth from this here bottle of rye vodka. I don’t care if Katha Pollitt thinks that my bottle of rye vodka is a phallic symbol of patriarchal oppression – she’s a stupid slut anyway! I despise cubicles, floppy hair, and [insert a culturally relevant and significant digression here]. Did I mention I’m Ukrainian?!”
Before the death-ray fixes on my left breast (because that’s where the heart is, duh… *cough*) – let me just point out that imitation is the highest form of flattery.
Kind of like SNL.
Natalia A. 
nothing is as flattering as a Dick in a Box.
or a box in a box.
Ukrainian and a “a feminist bisexual egomaniac” – does not come natural to me 🙂
I know a ton of Ukrainian feminists – and a few Ukrainian bisexuals. For some reason, they don’t mix. Well, at least the ones I know.
this is nothing to do with anything, but I felt like posting yet another Pulp song, just ’cause JC is fucking awesome!
Anorexic Beauty
Sitting alone on a cold bar stool,
your cold, hard eyes make me feel a fool.
Pastel-white features,
high cheek-bones,
scarlet-blooded lips and deathly tones.
The girl of my nightmares,
sultry and corpse-like.
The girl
of my
nightmares.
Brittle fingers,
and thin cigarettes,
so hard to tell apart,
she hasn’t spoken yet.
You put your hand on mine,
death white on brown,
those whirlpool eyes;
well, I begin to drown.
The girl of my nightmares,
erotic and skull-faced.
The girl
of my
nightmares.
Anorexic beauty,
feather-weight perfection,
anorexic beauty,
underweight
goddess.
Sitting alone on
a cold bar stool, your
so hard to tell apart,
she hasn’t spoken yet.
Pastel-white features,
high cheek-bones,
scarlet-blooded lips and deathly tones.
The girl of my nightmares,
sultry and corpse-like.
The girl
of my
nightmares.
Anorexic beauty,
feather-weight perfection,
anorexic beauty,
underweight
goddess.
hehehehehe.
but, are you the Cosmos?