Have I stunned you into silence with my movie choices?
I could stun you even more, you know. I have secrets. Deep dark ones that would shock your socks off. For example, I never look at a movie rating before I watch it.
Do you hate me now? Are you going to turn me into the proper authorities, stone me in the public square, whisper-judge behind my back?
Can I help it if I don't care about obscenity? Can I help it if I only care about freedom, truth, beauty, and love? And Code Red Mountain Dew?
Can I help it if I'm a Boho Momo? (which, in a way is not unlike being shabby chic.) I know it seems oxymormonic, but I have this weird ability to be both spiritual AND religious at the same time.
It's like a super power. It's like I'm one of them teenage mutant ninja Mormons.
When I was 16 I took a Greyhound bus to Irvine, California, where I spent the summer with one of my mom's choir sistahs from her old hood in Long Beach. She and her hub owned a clothing store, a pool and a Mercedes. They took me shopping in Mexico, boating on Lake Mead and clubbing in Las Vegas.
When they got drunk they would sing Jazz songs and tap dance down the corridors of the Sahara hotel--do op do op do op! When they got bored they would take me to James Bond movies and drive under the influence. When they got curious they would read my journal.
They had a luminous daughter my age, who never brushed her teeth for less than 20 minutes at a time. She was an only child, who filled her perfume bottles with vodka before taking me out with the in-crowd.
The in-crowd spoke in code. About me. They called me Adam Ant.
It was 1983, the summer of Flashdance, Madonna and the Jane Fonda Workout, and Adam Ant's, "Goody Two Shoes" was at the top of the Billboard charts. I was dumb, but I could put two and two together. Especially after the in-crowd tied me up and pinned me down and got all up in my face about it.
"You don't drink! You don't smoke! What do you do?" They would sneer.
"I . . . I . . . eat red meat?" I would stammer. (I was quick on my feet, what can I say.)
See, I've gone my entire life being little miss Adam Ant--someone should really pin a medal on me--but I'm not perfect, peeps. I injest whip cream straight from the can. And I watch rated R movies. Whenever I want. And I don't tell the bishop about it either. Or my Young Women.
Don't try this at home, however! I only do it because of my super power--my uncanny ability to repel obscenity and retain only freedom, truth, beauty and love.
You see, obscenity and me are like oil and water.
Would you like me to share the secret to turning obscenity into oil? Because you too can have an eternally spotless mind, (even if you don't have an eternally spotless bathroom).
Just treat your brain like it's part of the furniture.
And make sure to wipe it down with Lysol after it has been "exposed."