Wednesday, December 28, 2005

I swear to god, I love Margaret Cho. I'm sorry, I meant to pledge my allegiance, not to "god" but to a white bearded Cho-like deity in drag. I have constructed a makeshift altar for her that consists of soiled panties and calligraphic expletive carvings. Mmmmm, Cho...
Here are some choice cho-isms. Seriously, I would chug a gallon of Cho-nogg (nice segway from yesterday, huh?).

Margaret Cho: I didn't play violin. I didn't fuck Woody Allen.

Margaret: I was hanging out in the one gay bar in all of Scotland. They have *one* gay bar. It was called C.C. Bloom's. C.C. Bloom's is the name of the character that Bette Midler played in Beaches. That is the gayest thing I have heard in my entire life. That place should just be called Fuck Me In The Ass... Bar and Grill.

Her Mother: Mommy think everybody... little bit gay. You know how you have that friend, and you love that friend so much you don't know what to do? ...It's kind of gay.

Margaret: You have to be tough to be a drag queen. Drag queens have to fight everything. They have to fight homophobia. They have to fight sexism. They have to fight pink eye.

Margaret Cho: And I went through this whole thing, you know. I was like: Am I gay? Am I straight? And I realized I'm just slutty. (laughter) Where's my parade?

Margaret Cho: I ... am a fag hag. Fag hags are the backbone of the gay community. Without us, you're nothing. We have been there ... dragging your sorry ass through the Underground Railroad ... We went to the prom with you ...

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

I am still filled with bread pudding. It is seeping out of my pores in a trickle of rum soaked raisins and doughy chunks. Yes Virginia, there is a Mrs. Claus (me), and she's lactating eggnog all over the place. I'm sure that I will be a polar pariah if this keeps up. I'll never get to second base with Blitzen now, and I'm sure "Rudolph the red nosed coke-fiend" will disinvite me from his big blow party.
For anyone who cares, I spent Christmas with the usuals (my red leather clad grandma and tongue-pierced sister) as well as my two adopted Russian cousins. The whole time the lil' Ruskies played with noisy electronic devices while asking me what the colloquial expression"giving dome," means. Sheesh!

Saturday, December 24, 2005

I am on the Geriatric Peninsula, AKA: Hilton Head Island, AKA: The Land of a Thousand Wheezing Angela Lansburys. Everyone with a walker and a dream retires to Hilton Head, although exactly why they relocate here remains to be seen. Or does it...
It all started with the great Amish Exodus of 72'. Those cwazy, bonneted, milk-spurting butterheads strapped all their old folks to Shetland Ponies and sent them to South Carolina. It seemed preferable to their former solution for old age which was DEATH BY BARN-LOWERING. It was all a little too "Oz" for the friendly wheat-sniffers (can you tell that I know nothing of the Amish?).

Anyway, I don't see why old f**ks flock here, I mean everything is made of wood, there are lots of tandem bicyclists, and alligators often eat small dogs. The alligators should eat the aforementioned lame-ass bicycle toting tourists instead! (cymbal clash and forced, awkward audience laughter). Who the fuck rides a tandem bicycle nowadays? I mean, besides Jake Gyllenhal and Heath Ledger ! (cymbal clash reprised, band leader rolls his eyes).

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

So I dyed my hair "espresso." I think it might be a little too Morticia Adams-ish for me. I feel like I should be wielding chinese throwing stars or smoking some ornate opium pipe.
Maybe I'll interview as a gravedigger. Is that still a profession, or did that die in a wave of Dickensian glory? I should practice my grave-digging Dickenspeech, "Ello' gov'ner, would you like a shoe-shine or perhaps an impromptu gravesite? I kin' make a right nice shallow hole with me jagged teeth and frostbitten appendages! And for a tuppence, I'll hop in there wif im'!"

My subtle and tactful sister Andie said that I looked like Christina Ricci. She knows full well that I think Christina Ricci looks like a bloated alien baby. She is on my s**t list.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

It's really gross and gray in the decomposing carcass of a pigment-challenged smurf. Or the devilish insides of Dick Cheney's medulla oblongata. Or the wet french countryside in a noir film called, "Le Suck" (co-starring that ear-flapping cutie, Audrey Tatou!)
What the f@#$*?

I have no idea where that came from. I need to de-gore-ify myself so that I can be properly socialized. I'm like a fucking ape. Except not King-Kong, he's much heftier than I. It would be fun to terrorize cities though...Fitzilla!

Apparently, I have blogging tourettes syndrome (see above Smurf reference). Convulsing, I type happy face signs :) and "LOL" as my fingers begin to heave and foam. Then blood spurts everywhere. It's gooey too. Don't worry, it doesn't go to waste, I re-use it to stamp my many parchments and whatnot.

It's truly humiliating. Why have the gods damned me so????!!!!! Luckily they equipped me with a keen sense of irony and a delicate palette suited for cheese whiz and ramen. And Cheese Whiz Ramen, a delectable dish of my own invention.
Shit, President Monkeypants is on addressing the nation. I would never trust anyone with an upper lip that thin. It looks like a tapeworm for Christ's sake.

Friday, December 16, 2005

I am in Columbia now, enjoying sushi with my pretend-Japanese mother. She, like me, desires to renounce her repellant pasty complexion and embrace her inner ethnicity. Personally, I think I could be a very attractive Lebanese schoolmarm, or a headress-swathed militant Maya Angelou groupie. I read her poem "Phenomenal Woman" today in the tub and got a little misty-eyed (despite the mental accompaniment of Oprah squealing it loudly on her show). Oprah and Maya are friends. Big O makes that glaringly apparent every 2 seconds as she drops Maya's name. Ok, too bitter. I like Oprah. I don't think Steadman really exists though. Let's deconstruct her "lover's" name, shall we?
St=The beginning sound of a stutter, something one might say if one is uncertain... Ead=Celtic word signifying a primitive self-pleasure device shaped like a potato. Man=woman. This has been proven by our covert feminist intelligence agents. C'mon, Oprah IS Steadman! The logic is so glaringly transparent. I should be a philosopher to the stars.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Ali go to visit Momma now. Ali leave tomorrow for South Cackalacki.

Should be tons of proto-confederate fun. What shall I do, you may ask? I dunno, visit Strom Thurmond's gravesite, eat non-packaged foodstuffs, let my momma lavish motherly attention on me (you know, awkward sponge baths and the like). Joking. They're never awkward!

I will keep up the blogging of course. In fact, my boredom might lead to some revelatory blog-writing. Still working on that army of androgynous lovers to make my life interesting. Pat from "It's Pat!" is totally in. Ta Ta.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Just for clarification's sake, here is a Murray piece. Now someone please tell me why in god's name this is worthy of anything more than a coaster.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

I love this quote from my favorite artcrush's blog:

"It's ok not to like [Elizabeth Murray], maybe we should start a support group for woman who feel guilty about not likeing her, though I wouldn't be in it cause I don't feel ONE IOTA of guilt for not likeing her work. Say NO to GIANT COFFEE CUP ART!"

Amen sistah. I'd like to squirt some serious macchiato on her shit. Make that a double. I'll even add some cinammon shavings and caramel flavored kerosene for effect.
Other artists that Ali feels are overrated (my scale is heavily weighted by such factors as: the asymmetry of a self-haircut, the ability to gyrate awkardly, the number of starry-eyed students seduced, and the brooding effectiveness of the furrowed brow.)
-Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin (most of those fucking YBA brats actually)
-Richard Tuttle
-Laura Owens
-Julie Meheretu
-Georg Baselitz. Upside down my ass.
-Robert Longo (only because he didn't say hi to me the other day.)
-Clay Aiken (not an artist....but perhaps an ALIEN.)
-Howard Hodgkin
-Eric Fischl
-Jim Dine
Whew, I feel better now. I just hope Damien doesn't read my blog. What am I saying? He can't read! He just plays with his slippery wee shark all day long.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Uhhhh....I am braindead. I gave a presentation in my feminism seminar today. I called it "Neo-Baroque Aesthetics and a Transmutable Gender." Wow, am I an intellectual or what? Bow down before me you plebian nightcrawlers. Go burrow your way through the dark, for lo, I am Ali: faker of smarts and orgasms. I give off my own light. It is a blacklight. Like the kind at a kinky Sadomasochist sex gathering. The one that comes equipped with an authentic 16th century Sicilian torture chamber. Yowza! Whips AND brains!
Anyway, I got to class and decided to make my presentation about something much more fun: MEEEEEEEEEE. Seriously, who cares about feminism when you can be flippant and self-loathing? I love me. No, I hate me. Both, tis' both. Sometimes I think I am eternally condemned to confusion. Don't let my strong opinions and brassy speeches fool you, I am a tender lil' amoeba, swirling around in the big vat of primordial goop that we call life. I think there's probably a better metaphor there, but like I said, I am braindead.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Opening Fun!

Last night I went to "Shiny Object" for an opening that included the work of Robert Boland, Erin Cunningham, and Roberto Belllllllllllllllini Monteiro. I like saying Roberto's name, it makes me feel as though I am riding a Vespa through the hills of Portugal, flaming sambuca in tow. On a sidenote, I think the Portugese are an odd looking people. When I was there, it seemed as though the "unibrow" was the national facial trait. And they seemed to have an overabundance of saliva. Yes, I am being particularly ungenerous, but c'mon they deserve it, what with all their colonizin' and um....funny talkin'.

Later on, I drank delightfully spiked eggnog at Jill's and then did a weird balloon-rave-dance at an undergrad party. I tried out some new ballroom moves with Karri Paul, who dropped me unceremoniously on the dance floor. Me bum hurts today. Curse you Karri Paul, you clumsy OAF! Karri did inform me that our names "slant rhyme," but she went on to say that her jean jacket "slant-rhymed" with someone else's jean jacket. She is a slant rhyming slut.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Apparently, I cannot paint hermaphroditic mer-people. A girl in the grad program is already doing that. What are the odds? I guess sexless, fishy mutants are tre popular right now. I smell a children's book....

It would be called, "Ariel the Little Mermaid Discovers her Blossoming Barnacle."
The next one in the series would deal with her OBVIOUS freudian Elektra complex with her daddy, king Tritan. Then, Sebastian gives her crabs. Maybe a future book details how she gets caught using electric eels for dirty, dirty, things.

I would feel more perverted if the cover of the aforementioned Disney Film did not look like a giant wang.