I finally saw Midnight in Paris. What a scrumptious treat! It’s a profiterole in movie form, a fluffy little puff pastry filled with magical realism and drizzled with inside jokes for lit and art history majors.

Owen Wilson plays a Hollywood screenwriter who at one point hops into a time-travelling Peugeot with T.S. Elliot and says, “Where I come from, we measure our lives with coke spoons.”

I mean, come on. How am I not supposed to fall madly in love with this movie?

Now I wanna go to Paris, for at least a month. I’m looking up apartments in the 6th and 7th arrondissements at this very moment. It’s total vacation porn.

I’m thinking this little gem could be the perfect place to invite a young Hemingway up for a late night balcony chit-chat session.

Afterwards, we’ll talk shit about Zelda Fitzgerald and drink champagne straight from the bottle.

I got the heads-up from my BFF not to drop by the party. Fucking hell, I’m glad I looked at my phone. Mortal fucking enemy alert.

The back-stabber was in the room tonight. It’s been a couple years since I’ve seen or heard from this soulless female, but she still makes my blood boil.

A while back, this sociopathic dumpster fire sent an email to my ex-boyfriend asking him to fuck her. Mind you, this was one week after my relationship of five years had just ended.

This was a friend, not an acquaintance, a close fucking friend trying to jump on my ex’s dick before my tears were even dry from the break-up. If I’d walked into that room, it would have turned into an unholy tornado of psychobitch drama. I’d have chunks of cheap weave underneath my fingernails right now.

Fuck that shit. I turned the car around. I’m home drinking wine straight from the bottle and watching Jon Stewart talk shit on some mainstream topic. I can’t decide if I’m gonna go back out.

We’ll see if this Sauvignon Blanc turns me brave or stupid.

Dear Jason Russell,

After being bombarded with your KONY 2012 crusade, I have no choice but to respond to your highly inaccurate, offensive, and harmful propaganda.  I realized I had to respond in hopes of stopping you before you cause more violence and deaths to the Acholi people (Northern Ugandans), the very people you are claiming to protect.

Firstly, I would like to question your timing of this KONY 2012 crusade in Uganda when most of the violence from Joseph Kony and the LRA (The Lord’s Resistance Army) has subsided in Uganda in the past 5 years. The LRA has moved onto neighboring countries like the DRC and Southern Sudan. Why are you not urging action in the countries he is currently in? Why are you worried about Kony all of a sudden when Ugandans are not at this present moment?

This grossly illogical timing and statements on your website such as “Click here to buy your KONY 2012 products” makes me believe that the timing has more to do with your commercial interests than humanitarian interests. With the upcoming U.S. presidential elections and the waning interest in Invisible Children, it seems to be perfect timing to start a crusade. I also must add at this point how much it personally disgusts me the way in which you have commercialized a conflict in which thousands of people have died.

Secondly, I would like to address the highly inaccurate content of your video. Your video did not leave the viewer any more knowledgeable about the conflict in Uganda, but only emotionally assaulted. I could not help but notice how conveniently one-sided the “explanation” in your video was. There was absolutely no mention of the role of the Ugandan government and military in the conflict. Let alone the role of the U.S. government and military.  The only information given is “KONY MUST BE STOPPED.”

I would like to inform you that stopping Kony would not end the conflict. (It is correctly pronounced “Kohn” by the way). This conflict is deeply embedded in Uganda’s history that neither starts nor ends with Kony. Therefore, your solution to the problem is flawed. There is no way to know the solution, without full knowledge of the problem itself.  We must act on knowledge, not emotions.

Joseph Kony formed the LRA in retaliation to the brutality of President Museveni (from the south) committing mass atrocities on the Acholi people (from the north) when President Museveni came to power in 1986. This follows a long history of Ugandan politics that can be traced back to pre-colonial times.  The conflict must be contextualized within this history. (If you want to have this proper knowledge, I suggest you start by working with scholars, not celebrities).  President Museveni is still in power and in his reign of 26 years he has arguably killed as many, if not more Acholi people, than Joseph Kony. Why is President Museveni not demonized, let alone mentioned? I would like to give you more credit than just ignorance. I have three guesses. One is that Invisible Children has close ties with the Ugandan government and military, which it has been accused of many times. Second, is that you are willing to fight Kony, but not the U.S. Government, which openly supports President Museveni. Third, is that Invisible Children feels the need to reduce the conflict to better commercialize it.

This brings me to my third issue, the highly offensive nature of your video. Firstly, it is offensive to your viewer. The scene with your “explanation” of the conflict to your toddler son suggests that the viewers have the mental capacity of a toddler and can only handle information given in such a reductionist manner. I would like to think American teenagers and young adults (which is clearly your target audience) are smarter than your toddler son. I would hope that we are able to realize that it is not a “Star Wars” game with aliens and robots in some far off galaxy as your son suggests, but a real world conflict with real world people in Uganda. This is a real life conflict with real life consequences.

Secondly, and more importantly, it is offensive to Ugandans. The very name “Invisible Children” is offensive. You claim you make the invisible, visible. The statements, “We have seen these kids.” and “No one knew about these kids.” are part of your slogan. You seem to be strongly hinting that you somehow have validated and found these kids and their struggles.

Whether you see them or not, they were always there. Your having seen the kids does not validate their existence in any shape or form or bring it any more significance. You say “no one” knew about the kids. What about the kids themselves? What about the families of the kids who were killed and abducted? Are they “no one?” Are they not human?

These children are not invisible, you are making them invisible by silencing, dehumanizing, marketing, and invalidating them.

Last year a group of reporters went to Gulu, Uganda, where Invisible Children is based, and interviewed over 50 locals.  Every single person questioned Invisible Children’s legitimacy and intention. Every single person. If anything, it seemed the people saw Invisible Children as a bigger threat than Joseph Kony at the time. Why is it the very people you are trying to “help” feel more offense than relief with your aid?

“They come here to make money and use us.”

 “It makes us feel terrible to be presented as being so stupid and helpless.”

These are direct quotes. This was the sentiment of the majority of the people that they interviewed in varying degrees. I definitely didn’t see or hear these voices or opinions in your video. If you are to be “saving” the Acholi people, the very least you can be doing is holding yourself accountable to them and actually listening to what they have to say.

This offensive, inaccurate misconstruction of Ugandans and the conflict makes me wonder what and whom this is really about. It seems that you feel very good about yourself being a savior, a Luke Skywalker of sorts, and same with the girl in your video who passionately states, “This is what defines us”. Therefore, I can’t help but wonder if Invisible Children is more about defining the American do-gooders (and making them feel good), rather than the Ugandans; profiteering the American military and corporations (which Invisible Children is officially and legally) than the conflict.

Lastly, I would like to address the harmful nature of your propaganda. I believe your actions will actually bring back the fighting in Northern Uganda. You are not asking for peace, but violence. The fighting has stopped in the past 5 years and the Acholi are finally enjoying some peace.  You will be inviting the LRA and the fighting back into Uganda and disturbing this peace. The last time Invisible Children got politically involved and began lobbying it actually caused more violence and deaths. I beg you not to do it again.

If you open your eyes and see the actions of the Ugandan government and the U.S. government, you will see why.  Why is it that suddenly in October of 2011 when there has been relative peace in Uganda for 4 years, President Obama decided to send troops into Uganda? Why is it that the U.S. military is so involved with AFRICOM, which has been pervading African countries, including Uganda? Why is it that U.S. has been traced to creating the very weapons that has been used in the violence? The U.S. is entering Uganda and other countries in Africa not to stop violence, but to create a new battlefield.In your video you urge that the first course of action is that the Ugandan military needs American military and weapons. You are giving weapons to the very people who were killing the Acholi people in the first place. You are helping to open the grounds for America to make Uganda into a battlefield in which it can profit and gain power. Please recognize this is all part of a bigger military movement, not a humanitarian movement. This will cause deaths, not save lives. This will be causing more harm, than good.

You end your video with saying, “I will stop at nothing”.  If nothing else, will you not stop for the lives of the Acholi people? Haven’t enough Acholi people suffered in the violence between the LRA and the Ugandan government? Our alliance should not be with the U.S. government or the Ugandan military or the LRA, but the Acholi people. There is a Ugandan saying that goes, “The grass will always suffer when two elephants fight.” Isn’t it time we let the grass grow?

Thank you.

I don’t believe in role models, I don’t have any heroes, and I treat fame like it’s a fucking venereal disease. Ask anyone in this town with real money or power, and they’ll whisper a dirty little truth — privacy has a higher street value than fame.

Aside from a few superficial novelties, being famous offers little in the way of real benefit. Notoriety is just a marketing tool, and at the end of the day if you’re not selling anything that makes the world a better place, then you’re just clogging up the drain.

I’m not talking about girls with an overt talent. Certain professions come packaged with fame, and if you’re a gifted artist then good luck and go with god. I’m talking about scene-queens, “it” girls, and fameballs who crave any hollow attention that can be found in front of a lens.

Whenever I see a new fame-hungry girl pop onto the scene, my emotional reflex is pity. It’s like watching somebody slam heroin for the first time. No matter how happy they look, you know they’re totally fucked.

My next instinct is to peer through the heat, look past the pretty, and find out who the real genius is behind the style. For every attention whore, there is always a smarter, more talented girl quietly making the fame possible — Audrey Kitching has Evey Rothstein, Cory Kennedy has Charlotte Ronson, and Julia Allison has David Karp.

When it comes time to get down and dirty, the girl-behind-the-girl is always the one you want to party with. They’ve got better stories, better drugs, and better things to do. These are bitches who manipulate fame like carnival fire-breathers, and yet they respect the value of personal privacy.

And don’t get me wrong — I’m not a hater. Audrey, Cory, and Julia are just off-the-top-of-my-head examples. I find them entertaining as hell, and I have nothing bad to say about any of them. Audrey seems to have parlayed some junior-level starfucking into a pretty decent gig, Cory is a total sweetheart, and I think Julia will eventually find her true path by settling down with a bald Jewish lawyer and adopting a Chinese baby in the series finale.

My larger point is simple. In an era where style is substance in and of itself, check your sources before you get enamored with the window display.

Don’t confuse the mannequins for their maker.

I am wild. I am not crazy. There is a difference.

The stupid can’t see the difference, the inhibited deny the difference, and the authorities just don’t give a fuck about the difference — but the difference is everything.

Wild or crazy. At the extremes of sex, drugs, and rock and roll — anything worth doing, really — you’ll find only these two flavors.  They are the chocolate and vanilla of passion. The yin and yang of sin.

Wild explores. Crazy escapes.

Wild is beautiful. Crazy is broken.

Wild seeks enlightenment. Crazy seeks annihilation.

Know the difference. Be aware of the difference. Embrace wild, and send crazy packing.

Sample a heroic dose. Enjoy any raw and filthy moment of human vulnerability your heart desires, but always ask yourself: are you consciously seeking enlightenment or are you seeking to annihilate your consciousness?

If you don’t know the answer, get the fuck out of the room.

If you’re trying to escape, stop what you’re doing. Get help.

If you’re trying to explore, smile with your soul and take every inch of the experience as deeply as you possibly can.

And no matter what, DON’T JUDGE — blowing a line of cocaine off a rock hard cock in a Vegas bathroom can be just as valid an exploration of consciousness as dropping acid in the desert with a tantric drum circle of naked hippies. Or cliff diving off the highest peak in Hawaii just to feel alive. I’m not saying this from experience, let me be clear. But if it’s one thing I have learned from a really good friend of mine is — “live and let live.” I’ve learned to embrace it as a life motto. A good one at that.

You don’t need to be burning incense for it to qualify as a religious experience.

You don’t even need a god.

All you need is a brain and a battle-cry:

Bitch, be wild. Don’t be crazy.

I have mixed feelings when my old-school party girls suddenly cash in their whore wings and become breeders.  Sure, I’m happy for them, but shit can get awkward on Thursday afternoons by the hotel pool.

I’m nursing a hangover with a bloody mary and a half-pack of Crushes, and this perky bitch rolls up with a stroller and a mimosa like she’s ready to get her brunch on.

First of all, anyone who’s lived in this town longer than a hot minute knows there are certain pools where you just don’t bring your fucking kids on a Thursday afternoon (The Roosy, The Mondrian, or — god forbid — The Downtown Standard.)  It’s roughly the equivalent of ordering bottle service at a club and then requesting a hi-chair.

I know you’re one of the cool moms, but we used to talk endless shit about the trophy wives who’d show up to the pool with champagne and splash-happy toddlers. So now you squirt out a gremlin and suddenly the rules don’t apply? As an old pro, you should’ve damn well known better.

Second of all — and I mean this with all love and respect — no, I do not want to hold your little bundle of joy. Why? Because it’s bald, screaming, and strapped to a sack of its own shit, and I’m still drunk from the night before.

Besides, you know I don’t do baby talk. What am I supposed to say to the little squirmer? “Your mommy and I used to take turns sipping out of bottles of champagne at the clubs.”

Sorry, not interested.  Plus, if you knew where my hands had been you’d make me boil them before touching your offspring.

It’s not like I don’t want to hang out, but you don’t see me smoking in the bathroom at Chuck E. Cheese, do you?

I don’t know, isn’t there a country club you can join or something?

This is one of those rude and ridiculous questions vanilla people repeatedly ask one another as they fuck their way through their late twenties.

While the answer means next to nothing, the question itself speaks volumes about a middle-minded American sexuality built on little more than thinly veiled puritanical moralism and quantity-over-quality Costco consumerism.

Retail or wholesale, do you fuck in bulk? How many, indeed.

It used to piss me off. There was a time when being asked a question this tacky would start some shit. Nowadays, I regard it with mild amusement.

Sure, it’s a vulgar question, but if it’s coming from a place of emotional virginity rather than general douchebaggery, I try not to be mean about it. After all, the lifetime average for women in this country is only six sexual partners. 

The honest truth is I have no idea how many sexual partners I’ve had. Even if you gave me an objective definition of what constituted a sexual partner, I still wouldn’t have the slightest clue, and really, what’s the point of some vague approximation?

Once you’re outside the realm of easily remembered single digits, keeping a running tally of sexual statistics is more than just a little bit creepy. It’s also a red flag that says you’ve got something rather unhealthy to prove.

Besides, if you listen closely, no one is ever really asking for a number. At best, someone wants to know if they’re special. At worst, someone wants to know if you’re a whore. Either way, fuck the numbers, I can answer honestly.

No, you’re not special, and no, I’m not a whore.

I went to visit my friend in prison again. He’s bored as hell.

When I mentioned that I was writing a whacked-out advice column, he begged me to let him read it. He suggested I print it out and send it to him like a letter. I thought that was a damn fine idea.

As it was my first time writing to someone in the slammer, I decided to check the manual. Every correctional institution in California has it’s own fancy-pants website, wherein you’ll find a comprehensive list of do’s, don’ts, and other little known jailhouse etiquettes to observe when sending a friendly letter.

I was rather disheartened to learn that “letters and envelopes must be free from any white-out, lipstick marks, address labels, or stickers of any kind. No large cards, musical cards, cards with glitter or other items attached will be allowed.”

As tempting as it was, I resisted the urge to leave him a lipstick mark in white-out and glitter.

Instead, I printed out every last entry.

I followed the rules to the letter. Plain white paper. No paper clips or staples. No pictures or photocopies of pictures. It was a sixty page stack of dense black-and-white text that looked as boring as an insurance policy.

I slapped some stamps on that sucker and sent it off to the big house.

That was two weeks ago.

Guess what came back in the mail today? Yep. Return to motherfucking sender. At first, I thought I’d screwed up the address or something, but then I realized it had been opened.

Sure enough, there was a big red sticker on the front of the envelope with three check boxes. The first was labeled “Not in Custody,” the second was labeled “Need Inmate Number,” and the third was labeled “Unacceptable Items.”

Someone had checked the “Unacceptable Items” box.

Then, just to go the extra mile, they did something that made me very, very proud. Right there next to the checkbox, some corrections officer went out of his way to scribble out two additional words:

OBSCENE MATERIAL