Thursday, October 05, 2006


Little Dorothy Gale grew up on a little farm in Kansas. It couldn’t have been an easy life, growing up in black and white with a grouchy old auntie and her mangy little dog too. One can easily understand why she dreamt of a life over the rainbow, some place where there isn't any trouble, a place you can’t get to by a boat or a train. A place far, far away, behind the moon and beyond the rain. That special land heard of once in a lullaby, where the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. One day, she got her big break. The wind began to switch and oh, what happened then was rich! The house began to pitch, the kitchen took a slitch and it landed on the Wicked Witch in the middle of a ditch, which was not a healthy situation for the Wicked Witch. But Dorothy was suddenly in technicolour. Then came Glinda and the Munchkins who thanked her very sweetly for killing the witch so completely. They made her the national heroine and gave her a fabulous pair of ruby slippers before shoving her off on her own, a little girl in a gingham dress following the yellow brick road on her way to meet a strange and mysterious older man. Yes, she was off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz and she’d find he was a whiz of a Wiz, if ever a Wiz there was.

And what did that ungrateful little bitch do? She nagged and complained and almost bored all her new friends into a coma talking about how much she wanted to go home. I never really bought that part of the story. Why trade those slippers for a slop bucket and chicken poop? And then we gay people decide to make her an icon. I can’t imagine any of my friends cleaning their own martini glasses, much less a chicken coop. We all have an Auntie Em and we are all glad when she finally kicks the bucket and leaves us in peace.

Just yesterday, I got invited over the rainbow, but unlike Dorothy, I have no cyclone to carry me there and I’m not really sure who I would choose to drop my house on. The list is long and distinguished, but having only one house, one should be selective. My invitation came from the fabulous and glamorous Raavi. She’s very transparent and I know she only invited me to get mentioned in one of my stories. Everyone needs their 15 minutes and who am I to deny the less fortunate their moment in the spotlight? Don’t worry Raavi, I’ll make you popular. A household name that the desperate housewives will chant while rearranging their canned goods.

It is currently fashion week in Paris and I got invited to a party thrown by the Ford Agency tomorrow night. Everyone is gong to be there. Everyone, except me. I considered going but had to ask myself if I am not spreading myself too thin. I was just in London for fashion week and I am concerned about over exposing myself. One has to be careful in this world of celebrity culture. I’m not sure that chatting with Madonna or swapping make-up tips with Giselle are really the best thing for my career and image at this moment. I really don’t want them riding my coattails to fame and glory. They need to get their own lives, so I am tossing them out of the proverbial nest of my guidance and care and hopefully they will learn to fly on their own accord. Fly my pretties… Fly…

Speaking of fashion week, what’s all this fuss I hear about super skinny models? There are some sick and demented people out there that feel a little junk in the trunk is the way to go. I say bring on those tall, bony specimens and keep them coming. A little eating disorder never hurt anyone. In fact, quite the opposite. Look what it has done for Lindsay Lohan and the Olsen twins. A well deserved poor self image keeps young girls on their toes and gives them something to focus on. Is there any greater aspiration than the goal to be paper thin and gangly? I think not. What’s a little heart disease or risk of death if one can be thin? Fashion before all else is my personal motto.

In fact, looking at pictures of Dorothy, she needs to lay off those pork chops and mashed potatoes. Maybe she should have stopped by the Emerald City Spa or asked the wizard to take a few inches off the waist and fill in her bust. I hate it when people get wishes and squander them like pearls before winged monkeys.

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