First of all, I'm losing the war on pollen, the most recent battle a sinus infection that had me squirting warm saltwater up my nostrils in a feeble attempt at home remedy because I dont have health insurance. If Obama were the political maverick we think he is, he would have been there with a flip cam, put that shit on You Tube, emailed it to the entire world with the subject line, "THIS IS WHY WE NEED HEALTH CARE REFORM."
My other excuse is even more legitimate - I got a job! Yes, that's right, I am a member of the workforce. Of course as of this moment I'm still broke and uninsured, but at the end of this paycycle I'll be ballin' with a nonprofit salary and a P to the P to the O.
Now on to the pressing matters of the day (prepare yourself for vulgarity):
I feel the strong need to rag on the music industry for its new low, which I was subjected to while in Queens visiting my friend who thinks its SOOOOOO HILLARIOUS to force me to listen to z100 on his car radio. Ke$ha, pronounced Kay-Dollar Sign-Ha, is apparently the new white trash blonde the world needs to revere for her ability to gargle up the bitchy, vapid rants of an overprivilaged 15 year old who thinks she's soooo cool because she can take a shot of Jack to the mouth (among other things). Thanks to the advent of snazzy digital audio editing tools and beats that are catchy despite being boring, this shining star is raking in millions of clams for a single that is actually titled "Blah Blah Blah" and tells the tale of one girl's want of dick without the usual get-to-know-you chatter. When she's not singing, AKA making whatever noise she wants to into a digital distortion application, she's "rapping." According to her wikipedia article, the NY Times said that the success of her first single, Tik Tok, represents "the complete and painless assimilation of the white female rapper into pop music." The Los Angeles Times compared this vocal style to that of L'Trimm and Salt-N-Pepa.
To the NY Times: Is it painless? Is it?
To the LA Times: I may be a white girl who listens to Creedance, but I am fairly positive that in the Venn diagram of Salt-N-Pepa and K-dollah dollah bills-Ha, the only items that occupy the shared space in the middle are the English language, commerical success, and the absence of melody.
LASWTTTD Rating: Frozen chicken nuggets. Like those breaded, deep-fried chicken chunks available in your grocher's freezer, K-Capital Gain-Ha's singles are cheap, will kill you from the inside out, are produced in a manner you would find disillusioning, and leave you asking, "Who keeps buying this shit for their kids???" The upside: they can be easily digested when you're wasted.
Editor's note: I realize that I'm, like, about a year behind the times with this review.
I'm an elitist when it comes to two things: music and beer. What, in life, is better than a song that paves a clear connection between you and a feeling, all by the power of artful melody and rhythm? Is there anything more satisfying than a cold pint of rich, hoppy goodness?
I'll admit, I can tolerate cheap music in just the right circumstance (drunk), and a crap beer is better than no beer at all. But most of the time, I have standards, and I live by those standards, even if it means scouring a city to find a bar that doesn't play Bon Jovi on "club nights" and shelling out the extra $1.50 for a pint of microbrew.
Which gets me thinking. Pardon me while I go meta on this - so if I'm such an elitist, why then do I bother to trash the stuff that I purposely avoid? Wouldn't the wiser approach be to simply enjoy what I enjoy, and let the rest be? Why did I just feel compelled to go on some egotistical rant about my own feelings towards a music I don't listen to, via a blog that, like, 3 people read?
In other words, why is pointless, baseless shit-talking so much fun?
Oh, that pesky personal growth and maturity thing might have something to do with it. Someday I hope to experience the zen-like state of total mental oblivion to all things I deem shitty, or at least the tolerance to live with them without getting all bent out of shape.
But until then, I'm going to sip my Beligan Ale and keep telling the world what it's doing wrong.
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