Thursday, December 11, 2003


Someone nominated Margaret Cho for Best Essayist. How am I supposed to compete with that? I envision her easily overtaking Labia O Labia, or whoever that is in the top three.

Here's Margaret's brief post on gay marriage. She basically hammers home the point that, for people who claim marriage is a so-called "sacred" institution, they've got to reckon with a lot of assholes who are undercutting their case. She also points out the injustice of the 1049-some rights homosexual couples can't enjoy. Rather poignantly, she writes:

...but there is still an egregious lack of equality. It seems like gays and lesbians can do all the things that straight people can do, society is saying "You are ok just as you are, just don't try to get married or anything!" It's like when whites stole rock and roll from blacks in the 50's and the kids were all dancing to Little Richard. We love your music, but please don't use that drinking fountain.

Margaret does write actual essays-- a lot of them. Here's one called "So Fucking Typical" about the hypocrisy of moralistic blowhards.

That is just so fucking typical. Reverend Stephen White, infamous for preaching against homosexuality and sexual promiscuity at Yale and other universities is facing charges of attempting to solicit sex from a teenage boy. White had been well known for his impromptu speeches denouncing minorities, gays, other religious groups that didn't follow his particular brand of Christianity - and pretty much despised by the liberal communities of every school he visited on his reign of error.

John Derbyshire of NRO fame, a shining example of what happens when rationality gets tossed aside in favor of bigotry, insists there's a strong connection between homosexuality and pedophilia. He won't listen to reason on this-- he's clapped his hands over his ears (cf. Derb's parenthetical, sixth paragraph). But I'm beginning to wonder if it's the heterosexual moralists like Rev. White & Co. who are more likely to have that itch for the kiddies. Mr. Derbyshire... anything to confess? Can we take a peek at what's on your hard drive?

Cho does offer a bit too much praise for Marilyn Manson, though:

That a male rock star might adopt a woman's name, wear makeup, have the feminine yet the utterly masculine persona blending into itself, rearranging our template of sex, a gender outlaw, there is suspicion created. Never mind the fact that Marilyn Manson is probably the most heterosexual of all the gender fuck artist types out there. His heterosexuality, and his confidence therein, threatens the status quo even more, because it points to homophobia as a weakness within straight culture, and his willingness to feminize himself, only makes his cock seem larger.

But, Margaret, the androgynous chic of Marilyn Manson isn't new: the 1980s saw the rise of "glam" rock-- the David Bowie/Mick Jagger metamorphoses-into-slinkiness. I actually like some of Manson's music (not enough to actually buy a CD), but whatever the source of his appeal is, there's nothing particularly special or innovative about it. More to the point, his heterosexuality doesn't give him much of an edge: his pheromones have long faded and he's already been the subject of big-time mockery for a few years.

Women who write about rock stars often do so very sexually. One of my favorite female writers (aside from the amazingly-focused-yet-not-all-there Camille Paglia) has to be Cintra Wilson. Here's her description of Tenacious D's lead singer, Jack Black (circa before the D went & made a CD... which I do own):

Jack Black is literally the most unobstructed fire hose of white-hot mega-talent I have ever known or seen. He's just thrashed that huge Donkey Kong of a star-turn in "High Fidelity" as Barry, the vituperative record-store snob, and now the star everyone always knew would rise is blowing up at frightening speeds. The dressing room at the Bowery was full of the Cool Young Men of stage and screen -- John Cusack, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John C. Reilly, David Cross -- all with their tongues way up Jack's legendary crack.

Those who have known him since childhood all feel the same way about the little fucker -- head-shaking awe. Black is an unlikely, ferocious combination of Brando-like gravitational conviction combined with Belushian dire hilarity and a kind of tender Seals & Crofts musical ear for the lovely harmonics, bound up in an airtight flair for the absurd, a beautiful yodeling voice and a certain degree of (much satirized) raw cock power. Most people have a pipeline to the Gods of Inspirado that is somewhat occluded by the performer's neurotic inability to get out of his own way -- not so Jack Black, who is unimpeded by vanity of any kind, who seemingly has no psychic obstacles that prevent his continual blasting forth of four-alarm Celestial Heat Magick.

Granted: Uncle Jack's sold out big-time, making dickless comedies like "Shallow Hal" and "School of Rock." So maybe Cintra's prose-fellation was, in hindsight, a bit premature.

Margaret, you probably don't remember, but a few months ago you were performing in Boston and you signed a half-Korean cellist's sheet music. That was Sean, my brother. He adores you. I'm sorry, but despite all the good karma that encounter generated, it's not enough to persuade me to ignore my darling Cintra.

And dammit, woman, your Cho-blog is fucking with my mojo.

Margaret cannot win this. It's time to put her down. Vote for your favorite fat-assed half-Korean.


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