Just a Teensy Bit More Celebrity Skinned

Okay, I know I’ve sworn not to continue to pay close attention to the lives of the rich and famous, but I have one teeny, tiny more thing to discuss (stop rolling your eyes, Rocket). I would like to preface this with saying that I do not in any way presume to know the inner workings of these people’s lives and the opinions stated herein are conjecture only:

I spent a day festering over the new Marilyn Manson video. If you haven’t seen it, you haven’t missed anything, but if you want to it’s on his website. It’s him fucking his new teenage girlfriend, taking polaroids of her in his car while she steers with a high heel, poses with a knife and shouts “Faster!”. Then there’s some stage bullshit where she licks her lips and eyes him from the audience through lolita glasses while he sings about how she’s just like the girl he wanted in high school (who undoubtedly treated his nerd ass like shit back then), and then back to fucking some more but this time in blood.

The song is godawful and the video is retarded. It’s like a teenage goth girl’s version of what is romantic, dangerous and sexy. And Manson is currently playing it up in the press that they may or may not have actually been fucking while being filmed. To me it appears to be an obvious and vicious slap at Dita Von Teese, who has been nothing but gracious in the press about Manson’s infidelity and the subsequent demise of their relationship.

I’m not obsessed with Dita the way a lot of females are. I’m sort of bored with the whole burlesque overload, every girl from here to Japan is posing naked with a feather fan these days (Jo Boobs, of course you are an exception to this rule). And I never thought she was as gorgeous as everyone else thinks she is.

But I do think she has a flawless sense of style, I love her glamour, and she’s very obviously intelligent and hardworking. I also have a newfound respect for her after reading recent interviews. She has been nothing short of stellar in her behavior and statements regarding her personal life, never saying too much or being insulting or petulant, but at the same time speaking her own truth very clearly. She’s behaved, dare I say it, in a most ladylike fashion.

Manson, on the other hand, and in my humble and completely outside opinion, is behaving like an evil, vindictive, arrogant, spoiled asshole, with no regard for the fact that not very long ago he spoke some vows that had to do with honor and respect. If he wants a tiny new girlfriend who worships him, more power to him, but at least take into consideration that faux-or-real fucking her on film before a divorce is even final might not be the nicest thing in the world to do.

So why do I care or am even interested, you ask? I asked myself the same thing. I have no reason to be anything other than marginally amused. I was once a minor Manson groupie but he stopped being interesting to me quite a few years ago. And I don’t know Dita, but I do know that she’s got a more than fabulous life, so why should I feel sorry or outraged if her soon-to-be ex-husband is rubbing shit in her face?

I wondered this very thing, my loyal readers, and then it came to me last night in the form of a visual memory. A picture flashed in my brain of my friend Lola looking at me across a crowded room with tears shining in her eyes as she mouthed the words, “I’m so sorry.”

I am heartily sick of talking about my past in these blogs and I’m sure you’re bored with it too. I have a great life and the greatest boyfriend on the planet and Iately have no desire to dwell on anything else but the present. So I’m not going to go into too much detail, except to tell you that long ago there was a moment in my life when I ended up in a crowded room watching Lydia Lunch’s big fat assface (that’s a technical term, people) bray her “spoken word” about fucking someone I loved behind my back, while that same person that I once loved stood behind her proudly, having orchestrated the entire performance.

It was beyond excruciating. My whole body shook and I felt dizzy. Everything slowed down for a few moments as I saw ice coming from nowhere (though I knew it was from my friends in the audience), floating gently across the air on a current of smoke and then speeding up to pelt Lydia as she spewed her garbage. And then that final, also slow-motion vision of Lola turning to me from across the room to speak those words.

A few years after that a friend of mine, who incidentally, and until recently worked with Manson for many years, told me that while I was in a photo shoot for a German magazine in Yaffa Café, she was with Lydia at a nearby table, and Lydia spent the entire lunch stuffing her face with fried pork (okay, I made that part up) and freaking out worrying that I would spot her and react violently. I never noticed that she was there and if I had it wouldn’t have bothered me. I was well past it by that time and I know that in some ways she did me a favor, although I will always tell people I think she’s a selfish, untalented, overrated asshole when her name comes up. I wish she’d just get that hug from daddy and be done with the bullshit already.

Anyhoo, so it clicked that that’s why I’ve been taking it so personally—because I once could relate to Dita’s pain, albeit on a much smaller and infinitely trashier scale. Manson’s girlfriend has an excuse. She’s just a teenager and he reportedly paid her loads of cash to be in his video. I did all kinds of selfish, idiotic things at that age for no money whatsoever. It’s him I want to throw ice at. But it’s not really him personally either. I think the core of what is bothering me is just the idea that an artist I once respected can be so rotten to someone they were supposed to care about, someone that they stood up in front of friends and swore to care about forever. It hurts me to see an intention that ugly on film, regardless of who it’s coming from.

Shit. I am turning into a real sap in need of some toughening up. Okay, I promise this is the last famous person gossip rant for a little while, and I would appreciate it if someone could get me to a Slayer gig, stat.

Oh, and two more random Saturday items:

Request for the day, sent out to the Universe (because the idiots I’m complaining about are far too addled to focus long enough to read a blog): No more people who apologize for being crazy with MORE crazy, please. What is up with that? And why does the crazy always have to arrive on the answering machine at 2:30 am? Am I the only one who carries a trail of alcoholic lunatics I knew 20 years ago, all lurching around their phones in the middle of the night like drunken zombies, whispering “I love you” when what they really mean is, “Brains!!” Certainly anyone my age should be able to obtain decent anti-depressants and sleep aids by now. Or maybe this a normal occurrence in most adult lives and I’m expecting too much from the vampires of the night? Please discuss amongst yourselves and get back to me on this one.

And lastly, from my new friend Spencer, and for your entertainment pleasure, I’ll leave you with a far better song than Manson’s latest. Apparently Perry Farrell still has much to give, a portion of that being Nuno Bettencourt playing around in water with no shirt on.

Oh, and P.S., how many times did I use the word “fucking” in this blog? Sorry, mom.


Author: Raffaele

Rock and roll juggernaut, writer, muse, animal lover, Cycle Slut from Hell, friend, lover, sister, daughter, nerd, fagwoman, Slytherin, killer queen.

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