the weirdos
hi guys
it's hard doing my radio show, pop vultures, because i send all my records out to minnesota to be used on the show, and then i have to get through my days without them. i miss them so. it's ridiculous to try and live right now, at this moment, without "plastic ono band." you may as well ask me to live without coffee or my bed. it's even worse trying to get around without "a kind of hush" by herman's hermits. i rely on this album the way some people rely on meditation. my t. rex is gone, too.
this summer has been beautiful and heavy. everything is different since sloopy died. maybe it's the war, too. i feel death and endings around me. people are driving like angry maniacs. today i was stuck on one of those narrow, winding streets in the hills behind a really bad, slow driver. someone behind me got impatient and went around us and got squished. it was collectively the worst driving i'd seen in a while--and the kind of mistake that's awful because you know that the impatient woman just knew she was fucking up--she knew it--but she just manically continued as if she couldn't stop.
people need to be careful in their cars; they need to be careful in cars just as they need to be careful in what they say to other people. you've got to resist the mania, because if you let it take you over, you can do damage without meaning to. and you'll hurt yourself, too. like that woman. it turned out the bad slow driver didn't have insurance.
sorry to be preaching, but i've been thinking a lot about how people seem to be mean and stressed and lashing out wantonly at the people around them.
last week was super bizarre. i found out i'd been back-stabbed by someone i thought was my friend--that was surreal! then i had to interview pamela anderson and the photographer david lachapelle at the chateau marmont. that made a surreal week supersurreal.
the interview was probably the most emotionally disastrous interview i've ever done--but maybe interesting, too, because i happened to catch these two divas on a strange night when she was totally manic and stir-crazy and he was exhausted, and they let me have it. apparently i'd offended her somehow at the start of the interview, and from that point, nothing i said was right, to her. everything i said she sort of said back to me as a question. i made the mistake of calling his photography "camp," and this opened a hornet's nest of nastiness. they ended up caling me a bitch and a cunt, as a "joke"---"you have to understand his humor," someone said. i've never been called a cunt by an interviewee before. this was a first for me. also, i noticed pamela anderson needed to be the center of attention -- when someone started asking me about myself, she interrupted to ask if they had any makeup. "do you have any makeup? can you do my makeup? i did my makeup myself. does that mean i'm not famous anymore?"
she seems to live in a self-constructed mental reality where she is the queen of everything. i know a lot of people like that. maybe we're all kind of like that, in our ways. as john lennon would say, hey, whatever gets you through the night, baby. i know it sucks to be in love with an addict. that sucks. and i wonder what it's like to build your whole identity around silicone.
there were tons of famous weirdos there that night, like ali g. and jimmy iovine. hollywood freaks my shit out. everyone thinks they're an "artist," and they use that word as a kind of get out of jail pass for being complete whores.
but i'd rather have people call me a bitch and get pissed off at me than be completely fake robots--that's the worst insult of all, really. there's very little worse than being patronized, and even though those two thought they were patronizing me, their anger betrayed them. like they said, hollywood really is the epicenter of all insecurity.
that hollywood is, anyway. i avoid that hollywood like herpes. i don't know how people can be happy in an environment of meanness 24/7. it's no wonder people like the boob-lady are all obsessed with "spirituality." how do you build a life when you're always falling through thin air?
anyway, all's i'm saying is, be careful out there.
it's hard doing my radio show, pop vultures, because i send all my records out to minnesota to be used on the show, and then i have to get through my days without them. i miss them so. it's ridiculous to try and live right now, at this moment, without "plastic ono band." you may as well ask me to live without coffee or my bed. it's even worse trying to get around without "a kind of hush" by herman's hermits. i rely on this album the way some people rely on meditation. my t. rex is gone, too.
this summer has been beautiful and heavy. everything is different since sloopy died. maybe it's the war, too. i feel death and endings around me. people are driving like angry maniacs. today i was stuck on one of those narrow, winding streets in the hills behind a really bad, slow driver. someone behind me got impatient and went around us and got squished. it was collectively the worst driving i'd seen in a while--and the kind of mistake that's awful because you know that the impatient woman just knew she was fucking up--she knew it--but she just manically continued as if she couldn't stop.
people need to be careful in their cars; they need to be careful in cars just as they need to be careful in what they say to other people. you've got to resist the mania, because if you let it take you over, you can do damage without meaning to. and you'll hurt yourself, too. like that woman. it turned out the bad slow driver didn't have insurance.
sorry to be preaching, but i've been thinking a lot about how people seem to be mean and stressed and lashing out wantonly at the people around them.
last week was super bizarre. i found out i'd been back-stabbed by someone i thought was my friend--that was surreal! then i had to interview pamela anderson and the photographer david lachapelle at the chateau marmont. that made a surreal week supersurreal.
the interview was probably the most emotionally disastrous interview i've ever done--but maybe interesting, too, because i happened to catch these two divas on a strange night when she was totally manic and stir-crazy and he was exhausted, and they let me have it. apparently i'd offended her somehow at the start of the interview, and from that point, nothing i said was right, to her. everything i said she sort of said back to me as a question. i made the mistake of calling his photography "camp," and this opened a hornet's nest of nastiness. they ended up caling me a bitch and a cunt, as a "joke"---"you have to understand his humor," someone said. i've never been called a cunt by an interviewee before. this was a first for me. also, i noticed pamela anderson needed to be the center of attention -- when someone started asking me about myself, she interrupted to ask if they had any makeup. "do you have any makeup? can you do my makeup? i did my makeup myself. does that mean i'm not famous anymore?"
she seems to live in a self-constructed mental reality where she is the queen of everything. i know a lot of people like that. maybe we're all kind of like that, in our ways. as john lennon would say, hey, whatever gets you through the night, baby. i know it sucks to be in love with an addict. that sucks. and i wonder what it's like to build your whole identity around silicone.
there were tons of famous weirdos there that night, like ali g. and jimmy iovine. hollywood freaks my shit out. everyone thinks they're an "artist," and they use that word as a kind of get out of jail pass for being complete whores.
but i'd rather have people call me a bitch and get pissed off at me than be completely fake robots--that's the worst insult of all, really. there's very little worse than being patronized, and even though those two thought they were patronizing me, their anger betrayed them. like they said, hollywood really is the epicenter of all insecurity.
that hollywood is, anyway. i avoid that hollywood like herpes. i don't know how people can be happy in an environment of meanness 24/7. it's no wonder people like the boob-lady are all obsessed with "spirituality." how do you build a life when you're always falling through thin air?
anyway, all's i'm saying is, be careful out there.
Comments
Sometimes when people are mean to you in Los Angeles, it feels extra-snarky. Don't ask me why. Hope this week is better...
erf.
a drunk driver cut me off on the 101, spun out-hit the middle divider- all within 10 feet of the front of my car a couple weeks back... as i slowed to avoid him, a chick on her celly drilled me n me volvo (crushing my only true love to bits) going 70. the drunk got out, and i sat there shaking AND to my amazement, i had to listen to him screaming "THIS IS BULLSHIT. FUCK THIS SHIT." he was arrested shorthly thereafter. LA is sucking lately.
i valet parked an event at a malibu home a couple months ago. pam lives in that community and i said "hi" to her twice on her daily stroll to starbucks. away from the hollywood glitz she still is totally hollywood yuck. dick van dyke lives there as well, as does MEL godson.