Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions

So last night we attended some dress-up event in Times Square that had something to do with Celebrating Women. While the free wine more or less erased much of the data we passively collected, our notes reveal that a) Kimora Lee Simmons is “tall and stupid,” b) Hannah Storm “suffers from EYE DISEASE,” c) Paula Zahn “has a geometrically perfect face, like a rhombus” and d) we apparently intend to develop “a new genre of Internet entertainment: Frankenberry Slash Fiction.” This last entry was underlined several times and was embellished by a crudely drawn rendering of the cereal pitchmonster--essentially, we just sketched an ass with a clock sticking out of it .

Anyway, to make a pointless story short, while we loudly noted that every piece of entertainment honored at the gala could be comfortably slotted in one of three general categories--Women In Peril, Here Comes a Beatdown and My Shameful Baby Area Has a Disease--we discovered that the classy older woman seated to our immediate left was paying particular attention to our jottings and (noisy) observations. It put us off our game a little, for as much as we like to posture as some kind of Italianate Cro-Mag ((picture Laverne DeFazio's dad minus the (inevitable) ass hair and the undying love for Edna Babish)), deep down we really do have a lot of respect for the skirts. But we forged ahead, and it was only upon reciting the only joke we can ever remember, viz, what's green and smells like pork?*, that we realized that the now sort of angry-looking woman the next table setting over was none other than Ms. Gloria Steinem.

Famous people fucking love us.

*Kermit's fingers. Bwah!