I’m still weeping. Not because I sat across from the mesmeric Marina Abramovic at the Moma. But because I sat through the new Sex In The City. Let’s talk about being just the teensiest, weensiest bit long in the tooth, shall we. Even the camels looked younger. I mean, at least, their foreheads moved. And they had those gorgeous, soulful eyes and the lashes and big lips. Honestly, tho. Somebody should talk to these “girls” about acting their age. Or maybe just about acting. Period. Parker looked like Jack Lalane in drag. (very expensive drag.) Then of course, there were her TWO Equinox sized walk in closets. And the TWO apartments. One for sharing with Big, the other for “writing.” Excuse me… But was her head stuck in the sand, buried beneath the dune I saw before I stood up and left during the depression/recession or what? As for the concept of a P.R. junket to the Mideast. Oh My God. Help me! Giggling over jokes in the souk like “Wow! It’s Beduoin, bath, and beyond.” Or how bout this? “Ohhh! Look. It’s Lawrence of my Labia.” They should have been fucking stoned to death. All of them. And believe me, I ain’t no fan of Mideastern men or their andiluvian attitude/behaviour towards women. They should be stoned to death, too. But this was just plain obscene. The WASTE, the atrocious waste.
Have a great weekend, guys. I’m headed out to bury my head in the sand.