1. She’s loud! She’s angry! She’s on a speed trip! She’s an egomaniac! She wears red lipstick! She interrupts! She’s a dirty fighter! She calls names! She’s on her twenty-first minute of fame! She defends Woody Allen! She loves her bad reviews! She doesn’t care who likes her! Except for Madonna! Or at least she acts as if she doesn’t!
2. What I have in common with Camille Paglia: in 1969 we knew the Rolling Stones were the greatest rock band in the world. We’re Simone de Beauvoir,
Elizabeth Taylor, Mary McCarthy, and Norman O. Brown fans. (Yes, Madonna fans, too; but who isn’t?) We’re not Lacan or Foucault fans. We agree that feminists’ dismissal of Freud was a terrible mistake and that you can’t talk about sex without talking about biology or rape without talking about sex. We hate the brand of feminism that defines women as nurturing, compassionate, and nice. We identify with the demon decade—the hedonistic neon side of the sixties, not the moralistic earthtone side.
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