Coretta, who? Madonna!

Tuesday, August 16th, a/k/a Madonna's Birthday, Coretta Scott King (78 yrs), the widow of slain, civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., was hospitalized for an unspecified condition, officials said.

Also on that day, Fate intervened so that she needn't be overshadowed on her birthday, Pop star Madonna (ageless), sustained several broken bones in a riding accident in which she was thrown from a horse unfamiliar with her genius.

a/k/a Esther bravely clutched Kabala beads while she endured being put into an ordinary ambulance and not air-lifted to a trauma center, a style more befitting a diva. The ever-compassionate Material Girl pointed out, “She's just his bloody bird; I am a real, live ICON and there wasn’t nearly enough paparazzi taking photos of me cantering around my estate!”

In 1963, 5 yr old Madonna first discovered how fetching she looked writhing on the floor after throwing a tantrum and Dr. King also delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech. 42 yrs have passed and still Pop Stars are required to share the limelight. Until all Superstars, regardless of waning careers and dubious talent, are covered with relentless voracity, none of us are truly free.

Not Middle Aged; I'm Vintage Gen X!

I realized a lifelong dream when I moved to NY's East Village, or as Comic Roger Hailes calls it, "The 1980's".

Altho I love it here, I really wish it were the actual 80's; those days before I traded in My Potential for a decade of sheer Hedonism - 10 yrs of sex/drug/raver madness, not a vacation at an all-inclusive Caribbean Resort, oh, pah-leeez!

Now, La Village de l’Este is populated by Gen X Offspring who are being denied the ability to shock or rebel against their parents, becuz their parents are totally cool, Original Gen Xers. There is something so anti-punk about borrowing your mother's old "Ramones" T-Shirt or your Dad's vintage Doc Martin's and listening to the "Sex Pistols" on your iPod-mini. And, it's even uber-anti-punk to buy those items at "Urban Outfitters". So, the Gen-X Jr.s are forced to scour for angst to fuel their baseless punkitude in the new & improved East Village; a bistro-laden, tiny-dog abundant, safe neighbourhood. I share their ennui.

The East Village circa 1980's:
*rats were the size of dogs and dogs didn't fit in a purse.
*erudite junkies on every corner imparted wisdom to those seen an unseen.
*bars were were for getting drunk, not sushi.
*People went to Afterhours and never were awake to Brunch.
*the artist-formerly-alive, Basquiat, lived in Thompkins Sq Park about where the frankenshrunk canines now frolick.
*THERE WERE NO BRIDAL SHOPS!
*A dime-bag didn’t cost $50.
*Peasants could afford the peasant-faire served at 'Veselka'.
*Tatoos and body piercings were interesting.
*Goths were thin.