I’ve Been (C)hosed

Margaret Cho has cheeklashes.  I’m not kidding.  She does.

This bizarre problem was brought to my attention because Brooke Shields pisses me off, and on Jen’s blogroll recommendation, I started reading Margaret Cho’s blog, or, as I prefer to call it, the Chog.

It’s okay.  Margaret Cho is an adept comedian and adequate writer, but based on her blog, she also strikes me as one of these people who is a little too concerned with being a performer, which means that every expression of every thought in her head is treated like a piece of performance.  Which is a little annoying sometimes.

Also annoying/disappointing is that for a comedian, her blog is largely humorless.  And I don’t mean like its saving the world and therefore isn’t allowed to be jokey, I mean that for the most part, she doesn’t have a sense of humor about anything on it.  Everything offends her, everything is a tragedy, and nothing has any additional value or meaning other than it’s tragic offensiveness.

Dude, life is dumb sometimes.  Get over it.  There are plenty of things to be offended and upset about, but not being able to tell a story or laugh about them is a fucking drag.

That said, I agree with one point: John Mayer is a fucking douchebag.  He’s a douchebag for a lot of reasons, one of the more recent being his Playboy interview.  (Yeah, I’m aware this was months ago, I just didn’t write about it then for reasons I’ll explain in a second.)  In the interview, he claimed to be attracted to all kinds of women but only able to fuck the white ones.  In a spectacularly douchey description, he likened his dick to David Duke, former Grand Wizard of the KKK.

That’s what I said.

So clearly John Mayer is both a douchebag and an idiot, and possibly a racist but most likely a narrowminded prick who has no idea what the fuck he’s saying ever.  But, I mean, duh.  Aside from the racist part, I always kind of assumed John Mayer was a douchebag and an idiot.  I assumed everyone else who mattered did, too, which is why I never wrote about his interview.

Now, I understand that as a non-white woman, Margaret Cho would be more pissed off about John Mayer than I would be.  But her entry about the interview was…well, it was kind of ridiculous.  After bragging about her superior musical tastes and claiming to not know who John Mayer is (I call bullshit, because everyone has been nauseated by “Your Body Is A Wonderland”), she spends paragraphs talking to him directly, expressing gratitude that she doesn’t know who he is or enjoy his music, because if she did, and especially if she was still an adolescent, she’d just have to kill herself.

Because if she liked a man who implied that she was unfuckable because she’s not white, that would be reason enough for suicide.

Not only is this a man she doesn’t even know, it’s a man who makes music about women who aren’t her, who aren’t any women, actually, because it’s so bland and populist that it could be – it’s marketed to be – about any woman dumb enough to listen to it, and let’s not forget, this is a man who compared Jessica Simpson to “sexual napalm” in the exact same interview.  So obviously he’s a genius whose opinion of women he has never ever met and will probably never ever fuck (because he’s too busy fucking women who look like Jessica Simpson) is valid.  Which, ergo, makes teenage suicide in reaction to said opinion a viable option.

What the fuck?

Margaret Cho, are you fucking kidding me?  It’s one thing to think John Mayer is an untalented, idiotic asshole (because obviously), but to charge him with making you feel suicidally unfuckable because you’re not white?  To hold him responsible for your will to live because he feels okay with flippantly dropping the name of one of the biggest racists in history in reference to his dick?

Can you honestly not see the absurdity in that?  Or is this the joke?

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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