Oh, I could wax illiterate poetic about Lady Gaga and her increasing desire to be seen not so much as an outrageous wardrobed queen and more as a slightly unconventional attractive diva, but the last poem I wrote got me a kick in the gunnies from a never-to-be love interest who apparently felt my repeated use of the c-word was completely inappropriate in a sonnet I wrote about her little sister.
As for Gaga, oh, man, she is trying hard. And, in France, who knows, it’s a wacky place. Maybe the young hommes are locking themselves in the family bidet and discovering themselves with thoughts of being backstage with Gaga or the sight of Gaga patrolling the wide avenues in her denim bra. It’s possible. Just not in my home. Not in my bidet. Enjoy.