It’s Tuesday, it’s raining, and I feel like something fabulous.

It’s 20 years later and the electricity of this performance still gives me chills – the dandies, the synchronized fan-cracking, the screams when Madonna makes her appearance. “Vogue” brought to life by a bunch of perfectly powdered French aristocrats – history’s first poseurs – it’s divine.

And just because I’m getting so goddamned tired of her – forgive me, pumpkins, but I really do not understand the phenomenon of Lady Gaga. I feel like I’m constantly being told how amazing! inventive! insane! she is but I just can’t get all worked up over a corporate product. Which is what she is to me – someone very carefully cultivated and contrived at great expense, a predictably outrageous appearance clad in 24/7 couture, a walking commercial for mediocre tunes. It feels like the bar has dropped so low for decent pop music that the world will fall all over itself at the first sign of any flavor whatsoever. Especially when we’ve seen all this already. Madonna did it all first, and she did it better. And you could argue that Madonna too was a carefully cultivated commercial, but I don’t see Gaga running out to play a pregnant teenager figuring out how to tell her father she’s keeping her baby. Or walking down the street, noshing on a bag of Cheetos. She’s not that human.

But, maybe it’s that the next generation badly wants an icon of their own – especially when they’re living in an unrelenting 80’s revival, and they’re tired of cultural hand-me-downs. And that’s understandable. But I’ll pass. I’m much too enamored of divas who aren’t above airing out their pits in a Greyhound bathroom – and making it look sexy as hell while they’re doing it, too.