Warning: This might get a little bit graphic. Maybe that’s why I don’t like birthing imagery.
To begin: the “Born This Way” video. Ovaries flash. An explosion of fluid fabric radiates from The Lady as a hideously unidentifiable object of vaguely human resemblance emerges from the sappy mucous clinging to a kaleidoscopic cavity.
“Birth.” What a miracle. Love! Creation! But for every beautiful process, there exists a traumatizing YouTube search.
And for every social taboo there exists a pop culture attempt to push ... push ... push the gestating prudishness from the womb of civil society. This trend isn’t an entirely recent one. Venus smiling from her oyster predates our era, when the right to “bear” arms means that AK-47s emanate from Gaga’s Grendl-bearing grumble. Adam begot three sons and one daughter long before the desert birth of “21st Century Girl” Willow Smith. But it was a bible without beavers and, when it comes to today’s birthing trend, Renaissance is all too literal. Where Botticelli drew Venus’ sweet horizontal smile, Lindsay’s showing us her sticky one. And don’t go telling me it’s a miracle. Puh-lease. The romance dissipates shortly after the water breaks. I’m all for miracles ... we gave Pope John Paul one! But childbirth? That’s one I’ll gladly pass up, 150 million times a year. Because, Lady, I don’t want a sneak peak at your hot pocket. I don’t want access, Hollywood, to Kidman’s wonder down under.
“Adam begat a son in his own likeness,” says the bible. “Fear begets fear,” says Larry Summers. I begot machine guns, says Lady Gaga.
We be getting some ugly-ass images up in hurr, say I.