10. What is a Nicki Minaj?

I just don’t get it. Is she some kind of rainbow-streaked hair robot soldier? Is she a rapper? Does she feel human emotions or is she just a really animated Care Bear. Also I thought she was Lady Gaga. Different I guess, right? MTV recently aired a special on the Nicki Minaj and after watching a good 20 minutes of it I don’t exactly still know what it is. She was picking out clothes, she rode in a limosine, she put those stupid colored streaks in her hair and then talked a lot about “the game” and how hard it was for a woman to play it. Is she talking about Rummy? Uno? I could look to her music videos but that’s not really giving anyone a whole lot information:

So she’s lost in the jungle, but she still has a pink lambourgini and green hair. This doesn’t help. This doesn’t help at all.

Also, its good to know that Lance Bass and Whitney Port were finally able, after years of extensive research and expiditions, able to capture the Nicki Minaj on film:

9. Did anyone ever call Katy Perry back on her shoe phone?

I’ve brought up Katy Perry’s idiotic Proactiv commercial in the past, but it still mystifies me with its idiocy. Why does she answer the shoe phone? Who is on the other line? Does she know that its not a real phone?

This is a real shoe phone:

I just feel that as a nation we need to be worried that we are celebrating a woman who, most recently, got sham married in India because she believes in chakras or whatever, but also celebrating a woman whose breasts are so large and magnificent that they most literally erupt in flames:

8. If you had to listen to only Nickleback or only Train for an entire week, which would you choose?

I think the real question here is, do you want your pants around your feet or drops of jupiter in your hair? Having had many, many heated discussions on the matter, I find it hard to believe that this is even a debate, but in this nation there exists a vast and diverse listening population: Some who would prefer the “hard rocking anthems” of Nickelback, and others the “smooth melodies” of Train.

Let’s go to the tape:

Arguement 1: Nickelback

Rebuttle: Train

….and the debate rages on…..

7. Is that girl from the Cheetah Girls really a prostitute or was that just for the music video?

As a refresher, Kiely Williams, a former Cheetah Girl, decided to make a music video about how much she loves to get blackout drunk and have unprotected sex with dreadlocked gentlemen.

Well, according to the teaser trailer to her new song, yes, she really is a prostitute. And she drinks like a fish:

Somebody needs to call her manager to make sure she’s not stuffed in a stall in the men’s bathroom at a Denny’s in Southern California.

6. What was the best thing you read in 2010?

I read a lot of amazing books in 2010. And I would love to suggest that all of you go out and pick up Shannen Doherty’s book, “Badass”. In it, she’ll tell you how much she admires women like Amelia Earhart and Soujerner Truth, true “badasses” in her opinion. She also includes her thoughts about how great of an actress that she is as well as her published poetry from when she was in second grade. Dear readers, I like you too much to expose you to this:

She is the actress of our generation.

Instead I would suggest you read Tom Rachman’s “The Imperfectionists”. “The Imperfectionists” is a brilliantly written novel about a struggling newspaper in Rome. The book is compelling, interestingly structured and frankly, really thrilling. I’ll link to amazon so no one has to struggle to not buy this immediately after reading.

http://www.amazon.com/Imperfectionists-Novel-Tom-Rachman/dp/0385343671/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293900298&sr=1-1

You’re welcome.

5. Can Miley Cyrus ever be tamed?

No. No, she can’t.

4. What was the best music of 2010?

God where to start.

David Ford – Hurricane

The Cops – Call Me Anytime

Laura Marling – What He Wrote

Neon Trees – Animal

3. Was the Tourist an actual movie or just an expensive visitor’s guide to Venice, Italy?

It’s not. It’s just a long series of boat shots, boat chases and Angelina Jolie only wearing the color cream.
Fun movie fact: Angelina Jolie is the only woman to speak in the film because the director felt that Angelina Jolie is all the woman that any woman needs.

2. Is Willow Smith old enough to touch money?

No. Nor is she old enough to:

– Have haters
– Be rolling up in a black car to school
– Be rolling up in anything
– Turning her swag on
– Have ladies
– Pulling up and subsequently whipping it real hard

1. Who is SALT?

No clue. I’ve seen it twice now. She kicks so much ass. And it truly, truly is the question that’s been plaguing me the entire year. And will probably plague me until the sequel.

All I know is that Evelyn Salt can kill people with handcuffs, steal clothes exactly her size from strangers and make rockets out of household cleaners on the fly, without her shoes on.

Who is she man? Who is she?

See you all in 2011. Unless of course SALT continues to take us out one by one….

Everyone should have to work one year of customer service. No questions, no complaints. At least one year of serving, hosting, seating, selling tickets, making sandwiches, scooping ice cream and generally facilitating the needs of the public at large.

The world would be a much happier place.

There is a worldwide perception regarding the rudeness of New Yorkers. These kind and gentle tourists come to the Big Apple and find the most unimaginably rude and obnoxious locals completely unwilling to help them. These kind and gentle tourists then return to their hometowns (Iowa?) and tell their friends at PTA meetings how rude everyone was in Times Square.

News Flash: I dare you to find native New Yorkers running around Times Square. When people come to New York to visit, they are immediately on the defensive. They assume that everyone is out to get them, screw them, overcharge them and underserve them so they treat us customer service employees accordingly. And it’s wrong. And not until yesterday, after my third 14 hour solid day of customer service in a row, did it finally get to me.

At the King Tut Discovery Times Square Box Office a woman called me a “piece of shit”.

This certainly isn’t the worst that I’ve been called. Certainly she wasn’t the most angry patron I’ve dealt with. But something about my fatigue, the holidays rushes and just general stress, it made me really sad. It made me depressed, and it really hurt me. I can’t think of a time that I would ever call a complete stranger (traffic road rage aside), someone that has been trying to help me, a “piece of shit”. It was just so venomous. I couldn’t stand it.

This whole situation got me thinking about my past customer service horrors. Ushering at Fela! On Broadway has given me a whole new perspective on racism in this country. As a mostly African and African-American crowd, I’ve been told I was a racist again and again for simply asking people to not take photos or remove their coats from ledges. One woman called me the “white devil” and said I was trying to bring her down. I’ve had people ignore me even as I stand in front of them and speak. I’ve told people to not speak on the phone during the performances and they’ve made additional calls all while looking at me with a ” I Dare You” sort of look.

I don’t have a grand point, I don’t have an epic conclusion here, I just never really thought about the awful way in which we treat each other. So if I have a grand statement here, its to tip your waiters, tip your ushers and to treat people the way you would want to be treated at your place of employment, or as a human being in general. Otherwise we live in a pathetic world and we should just sink New York City and start over like I’ve always wanted to.

The great eastern Snowpocalypse is nearing its horrifying end. New York, Philidelphia and Boston are buried beneath the snow. JFK and Laguardia Airports are now operational and the thousands of weary travelers are making their way home.

I arrived back to New York early this morning, not by Delta Plane, not even by Megabus, both of which I had tickets for but were cancelled, but by America’s staple: The Greyhound. I’ve never taken a Greyhound Bus before, but because of the snow, all Amtrack Trains, Flights and other modes of transportation were booked solid for days. I need to work. I need my money. I have to get back to New York. It was like Home Alone, only without the humor of John Hughes.

The one relief I had was that the Greyhound Bus, according to the website, is outfitted with roomier seats, free Wi-Fi and outlets in which to charge your computer. Their motto is that all of this happens at 55mph. The buses…in my opinion, looked shiny, sexy and beautiful.

</

Just imagine. A trip to New York from Cleveland couldn't possibly be that bad with all those amenities.
My bus, however, looked like this:

No Wi-Fi. No Leg Room. No Outlets. No empty seats. They were serious about it, and I wasn’t ready for it.

I boarded the bus with a faint hesitation, but I was sure, by looking around at the crowd of weary travelers, that it would be fine. I take my seat, the only one left at the back of the bus, bathroom-adjacent, and the blonde-spikey haired guy next to me chomping down on his subway eagerly said “Hi!”. My heart sank. This was going to be a problem.

I noticed very quickly that the spikey-haired guy (later identified as Bryan) was chatting up a 36-year old Russian man with a thick Boston accent in the aisle across from us. Their conversation quickly led me to believe that someone on this bus, was to be murdered by the time we rolled into the Port Authority. The Russian Bostonian was asking Bryan what he would do if he were around when they cruicified Jesus. Bryan didn’t know. There was a homly girl next to us named Chelsea who was on the bus in from Madison, WI. She had mousy brown hair, glasses, a portly physique and had just gotten her braces removed so she brandished a shiny metal retainer across her newly straightened white teeth.

The Russian and Bryan quickly took an interest in Chelsea. The Russian asked her questions. Bryan complimented her hair. The Russian inquired about her having a boyfriend and when she (clearly) replied no, that’s when I knew that these two gentlemen were going to kill Chelsea at their earliest convience. Bryan informed us all that he had been kicked out of his house because he told his parents he was “gayer than Christmas” and so in retalition he stole his mother’s fabulous white scarf, which he now wears all the time. He shook the scarf’s frayed ends into my face and I recoiled. He went back to his subway sandwich and bottle of gatorade and consistent questioning of Chelsea about her pop culture knowledge. Of which she had none because she’s spent most of her life staining wood in her parent’s woodshop instead of watching television.

It was at this point that I realized that Bryan, was tweaking on meth. His demeanor, general appearance, and the bonus that he was gay (meth is huge in the gay community) made me certain that this would be another one of those trips that I should never have taken. Bryan spent the entirity of the journey snapping rubber bands on his wrists and fidgeting in his seat. He spent the rest of the trip fighting on the phone with his sister and listening to the song “Bulletproof” on speaker through his cell phone over and over and over again.

We pulled into a rest stop in some abandoned helltown in Pennsylvania and the driver informed us that we were taking a 15 minute break. An hour and ten minutes later, after all of the passengers had reboarded the bus and had been sitting for at least 30 minutes, we sent out a scout to find out where the driver was. The driver, a 4’10” black woman, was sitting at the table inside the MacDonalds eating her dinner. Our friendly sentinel asked her what the holdup was and she told us that “I let y’all get your food. Now you gonna wait until I get to eatin’ mine”. And that was that. 30 minutes later we rolled away from our hour and a half, 15 minute break.

Things continued on relatively smoothly, some mild flirting between the Russian and his potential victim, homely Chelsea, and after about 4 hours, we pulled into a stop somewhere near Jersey for a quick break. After Bryan, the Russian and Chelsea left to use the restroom, Bryan presumably to get high, I looked to the Brooklyn-Indie Clothing designer guy sitting behind me and remarked, “do you get the feeling those two guys are going to kill her later?”

He looked around for a bit.

“Never mind.” I said and turned around. A moment passed.

“Well at the very least the gay one is gonna do something weird to her body,” he said suddenly.

I laughed just long enough for Bryan and the Russian to reboard the bus. I got off the bus and headed for the gift shop.
A pack of Peanut M’n'Ms, a 4 pack of Tylenol PM and a 4 pack of NyQuil Gel Caps later, I settled back into my seat. Bryan told his sister she was being a “silly bitch” and she needed to “get out of his house. because she is disrespectful.” Bryan apologzied for yelling on the phone and went back to snapping his rubber bands.

Before I passed out from the massive sleeping pill dose, I noticed Bryan going from person to person complimenting them on various aspects of their outfits, features and personalities. He would then offer them a dirty Ferrero Rocher Chocolate and when they refused, he told them that it was a classy candy and that they simply weren’t classy.

I mean, though, he’s right. They are super classy. The classiest really.

I don’t remember much else about the trip. I took the Nyquil. I took all 4 Tylenol PMs and had the pack of M’n'Ms champed within minutes. I came out of my chocolate sleep haze just long enough to see the snowy streets of New York and Bryan inviting Homely Chelsea over to his apartment for New Year’s Eve.

I quickly grabbed a cab and we made our way through the I Am Legend 2: The Winter Tundra-like streets. Somewhere on the lower west side the cabbie stopped the car next to a girl in a large fur coat fighting with her cabbie.

“We all gotta take care of each other, you know?” he said. She muttered something about Atlantic Avenue (My street) and she got in. It was three in the morning, and I was tired. But at some point your mind and body and Nyquil just says, “what the hell”.

There are a couple kinds of drunk. Sloppy drunk, silly drunk, sick drunk, mean drunk. She was obliterated. She spent most of the trip babbling about Egypt. She spent another good portion holding hands with me. And the third portion, and this is where it gets really interesting, she spent rubbing my crotch with her designer leather glove.

I kept batting her hand away. This wasn’t “Taxicab Confessions” after all so I continued to say things like “Let’s go back to holding hands. Holding hands is okay.” And in her thick Middle Eastern accent she kept saying “No. It’s all magic. Everything is so happiness”. We pull up to Atlantic Avenue and the cabbie turns right to take me home. The middle eastern geisha is going left. The cabbie calmly informs her that he’s simply taking me a block out of her way. She has a fit. She is screaming, yelling and demanding that she be let out. She’s sputtering nonsense and I just toss some money at the cabbie and get out. It’s 3:30, I’m trying to come off of a Nyquil high and I’m greeted on my street by this:

I don’t think that I’m someone who should travel / interact with the general public. At least not at the holidays.

I know that it has been awhile. But I’m back. So is Christina Perri. And this time, she’s bringing her jar of hearts.
Getting her start when a friend convinced a choreographer on So You Think You Can Dance? to use her song to help illustrate a sappy, modern dance filled with men breaking ladies’ hearts, Perri has quickly gone from waitress to a blip pop obscurity.

Let’s look at the dance:

Sappy. Modern. Dramatic. Perfect for a show like So You Think You Can Dance where the main objective is to make the audience cry in only a mere minute and a half.

But let’s get to the meat and potatoes of the song. The lyrics.

Lyrics

I know I can’t take one more step towards you,
Cause all that’s waiting is regret.
And don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore,
You lost the love I loved the most.

I learned to live half alive,
And now you want me one more time.

And who do you think you are
Running ’round leaving scars?
Collecting your jar of hearts,
And tearing love apart.
You’re gonna catch a cold,
From the ice inside your soul.
So don’t come back for me
Who do you think you are?

I hear you’re asking all around
If I am anywhere to be found.
But I have grown too strong
To ever fall back in your arms.

I learned to live half alive,
And now you want me one more time.

And who do you think you are
Running ’round leaving scars?
Collecting your jar of hearts.
And tearing love apart.
You’re gonna catch a cold,
From the ice inside your soul.
So don’t come back for me
Who do you think you are?

And it took so long just to feel alright,
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes.
I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed
Cause you broke all your promises.
And now you’re back
You don’t get to get me back.

And who do you think you are
Running ’round leaving scars?
Collecting your jar of hearts,
And tearing love apart.
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul.
So don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all.

And who do you think you are
Running ’round leaving scars?
Collecting your jar of hearts.
And tearing love apart.
You’re gonna catch a cold,
From the ice inside your soul.
Don’t come back for me.
Don’t come back at all.

Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?

Conclusion

Well Christina. For as much as the indie hipster population needs their own Britney Spears, I just don’t think you have the chops to fit the bill. I understand you have an awesome neck tattoo. I understand that your hair is both jet black and brown at the same time. I understand that you wear combat boots with pretty dresses. But I also understand that your lyrics are about as complex as a Taylor Swift song.

With lyrics straight out of the Evanescence greatest hits collection, “Jar of Hearts” doesn’t even try to hide the simplicity of its main metaphor, if you could call it that at all.

If you did one of those magnetic poetry poems on your refrigerator the only words available to you would be :
Ice, Soul, Cold, Scars, Tearing, Broke, Promises, Alive.
Groundbreaking concepts Christina. Absolutely groundbreaking.

Surely the video will add a much needed layer of depth to the situation. Surely.

Nope.
Good to see modern dancing still making a comeback on the Billboard Top 100
It’s sort of the equivalent of Avril Lavigne being the opposite of Britney Spears because she wears a tie and a beater. I’m not buying it. But despite all of the faults with the song, the artist and the overall package, “Jar of Hearts” hits ladies right in the soft parts. In that special place where they are genetically inclined to swoon at Zac Efron and attend Hanson concerts.

So Christina, I have a poem for you:

Broken promises alive, tearing at cold, ice scars. Who do you think you are?

This is the song that never ends.
Yes it goes on and on my friends.
Some people, started singing it not knowing what it was,
but they’ll continue singing it forever just because….

Shari Lewis was a paragon of children’s programming. And on this day, August 2nd, we celebrate her passing 12 years ago.

There are certain childhood experiences that are ingrained in a generation. For me, its programs like the Magic School Bus and Lambchop’s Play-Along that really bring home that childhood nostalgia like few other things can. Even looking at kids programming today, it just seems there’s a heavy reliance on bright colors, flashing lights and really strange characters. There’s no sense of sing-a-long anymore, and that makes me really sad.

When i was five or six I used to wake up at obscene hours. Every morning I would run downstairs into the family room and pop in my absolute hands down favorite ever cassette tape, Shari Lewis and Lambchop “Don’t Wake Your Mom”. The plotline is simple. Your mom is sleeping, don’t wake her up.

And every morning I would put the tape into the stereo, turn the volume on full blast, and sing at the top of my lungs. And every morning my mother would sleepily come down the stairs and we would have this epic exchange:

Linda: Matthew.
Matthew: Yes.
Linda: What are you listening to?
Matthew: Don’t wake your mom.
Linda: And what did you just do?
Matthew: ……..

If you think to shows like Yo Gabba Gabba it’s hard to imagine the simple things that kept our imaginations running wild. For example:

A former Star Trek cast member

A Popsicle Stick

A Man whose only job was to take sweaters and loafers on and off

An Island Frog

Whatever Allegra Was

And what do the kids have today…well…..

We salute you Shari. For making a few puppets our best friends and ventriloquism so much less creepy than it actually is.

In Catholic School, there was this magical year, I believe it was 6th or 7th grade, when we got to watch “the video”.
There was one for the boys, and one for the girls. And at the end, we received a goody bag filled with deodorant.
The girls, because they always get better stuff, got to watch a 45 minute video about pancake batter being ovaries and received deodorant, tampons and other hilarious lady products. The boys video was only 15 minutes and talked mostly about something I didn’t understand: nocturnal emissions. Having, at least to my knowledge, never had one, I could not understand why this was such a crucial part to our 6th grade 1950s-style puberty education.

Our video consisted mainly of a boy talking to his mother about why his bed was wet in the morning because only babies wet the bed. The rest of the video was the same boy (he had a lot of issues) wondering what is the best way to handle an erection in math class. The video’s advice was something along the lines of, excuse yourself to the bathroom, which, when you think about it, getting up and walking around in front of people is probably not the best way to handle that kind of “surprise”.

Puberty is a confusing time. And had I grown up post-making the band, I would have had a much easier go of it. No one has ever explained with more clarity and tact the phenomena of nocturnal emissions, more clearly than O-Town with their song, “Liquid Dreams”.

Let’s have a look:

Lyrics:

“Liquid Dreams”
Posters of love surrounding me, I’m lost in a world of fantasy
Every night she comes to me and gives me all the love I need

Now this hot girl, she’s not your average girl
She’s a morpharotic dream from a magazine
And she’s so fine designed to blow your mind
She’s a dominatrix supermodel beauty queen

I dream about a girl who’s a mix of Destiny’s Child
Just a little touch Madonna’s wild style
With Janet Jackson’s smile, throw in a body like Jennifer’s
You’ve got the star of my liquid dream

Angelina Jolie’s lips to kiss in the dark
Underneath Cindy C’s beauty mark
When it comes to the test well Tyra’s the best
And Salma Hayek brings the rest

Now this hot girl, she’s not your average girl
She’s a morpharotic dream from a magazine
And she’s so fine designed to blow your mind
She’s a dominatrix supermodel beauty queen

I dream about a girl who’s a mix of Destiny’s Child
Just a little touch Madonna’s wild style
With Janet Jackson’s smile, throw in a body like Jennifers’
You’ve got the star of my liquid dreams

Looks ain’t everything she’s got the sweetest personality
Like Halle B
My mama thinks I’m lazy, my friends all think I’m crazy
But in my mind, I leave the world behind every night I dream
Oh..

Liquid Dreams, my Liquid Dreams
Waterfalls and streams, these liquid dreams

I dream about a girl who’s a mix of Destiny’s Child
Just little touch of Madonna’s wild style
With Janet Jackson’s smile
Throw in a body like Jennifer’s
You’ve got the star of my liquid dreams
My liquid dreams
(repeat 3 times)

Conclusion:
Well that’s just disgusting. It really, really is. Essentially what Jacob, Eric, Ashley Parker Angel, Trevor and Dan (all names are real) are saying here is that instead of living in the real world, every night they go to bed and dream about what is under Cindy Crawford’s mole. And in the morning, waterfalls and streams. The laundry bill alone….

Moving past the obvious disgusting metaphor these boys are playing with here there are a whole host of other hilarious notes they touch on. The word “morpharotic” for instance. Meaning, I guess, to morph into something erotic. One also has to wonder what Madonna, Tyra, Selma Hayak, Halle B, Destiny’s Child and Jennifer think about this odd and moist tribute to their utter hotness and morpharotic ways.

And speaking of Jennifers in the early 00s, which one is it? C’mon now Orlando Town, you need to be more specific.

The possible candidates and odds that it’s their bodies who cause Dan and Ashley Parker Angel’s waterfalls and streams:

Jennifer Lopez:

Odds: Likely.
With all the talk of her luscious booty, managing to remain so “real” and “from the block” despite the rocks that she got, JLo seems to be a likely candidate for Orlando Town’s fantasies.

Jennifer Love Hewitt:

Odds: Probable
She knows what you did last summer and she sings about being “barenaked”. See also: her breasts. Jennifer Love just could be the girl of O-Town’s dreams. But by looking at the demographic of the other ladies in the song, I think that in this case, Jlo trumps Jlove.

Jennifer Garner

Odds: Possible
While Jennifer Garner’s body could do some pretty amazing morpharotic things in your dreams, I can’t buy that Orlando Town has enough to class to recognize all that she’s packing. They seem easily distracted. Especially Trevor. Or Dan.

Jennifer Paige

Odds: Not Great
Sorry Jennifer. The song “Crush” is great. But I don’t think butterfly clips in your hair are really gonna do it for the sophisticated gentlemen of Orlando. It’s hot down there, remember?

And as if this whole kit and caboodle doesn’t end. There’s a music video. And yes, there’s liquid.

Whoa.
I think these guys all have really promising gay porn careers ahead of them.
Looking past the unbelievably shotty choreography and strange white-boy dreadlocks (is that you Trevor? Or are you Eric?) the video consists of synchronized dancing around water-women who all sort of look like Alex Mack (of Secret World Fame). And they sort of look like sperm. A little. Okay a lot.

I also love how they could not book one of the 10 women they mention in their song for the video. Not one of them. Not even Janet Jackson’s smile. What a shame Orlando Town. What a shame.

Life….sucks.
It’s not a box of chocolates,
its a bag of lemons.
But like poison lemons. That are on fire. That steal your money and hurt you.
So I offer you this playlist to help ease the suffering of a cruel, cruel world.

“In the End” — Linkin Park

“Assassin” — Muse

“Youth of the Nation” — P.O.D.

“Last Resort” — Papa Roach

“Fake it” — Seether

“Born for this” — Paramore

“Family Portrait” — P!nk

“What I’ve Done” — Linkin Park

“Miss Murder” — AFI

“I Will Not Bow” — Breaking Benjamin

You’re not welcome.

She threw some chords together, combination D, E, A and the rest was still unwritten. In terms of vapid and empty pop nothingness, the only person who could possibly reach the staggeringly high bar that Katy Perry has set, is English-blonde Natasha Bedingfield. And today, I pay tribute to some of the worst music created in the 21st century.

For example, have you ever reached into your pocket and found, not change, not a gum wrapper, metrocard, but a pocket full of sunshine? She has:

It’s hard for me not to just simply type ‘idiot’ over and over again and call it a day. I guess you could forgive tarty and empty pop jingles from an English import if there was some chance that they would go away.
T.A.T.U — Gone.
AQUA — Gone.
Spice Girls — Gone.

But thanks to a little show called the Hills, we were treated to Natasha Bedingfield every time an ad for the show ran, the opening or closing credits rolled or we frankly, turned on MTV.

And now for four years Miss Bedingfield has received a royalty check from MTV every single time the Hills airs. This only serves to encourage her to make more music. I mean when you have a collaboration with Nick Lachey on your first album, where do you go from there?

Well, she goes here. The song is called “Touch”, and it just might be the most ridiculous song to have ever been recorded. I would sooner listen to Paris Hilton’s “Stars are Blind” on constant loop than to try to wrap my brain around the message of this song. See for yourself:

“Touch”
I was tryin’ to cross the street
When I tripped and spilled my coffee
On a man who yelled at me
And then walked off in a hurry

Now he’s gonna be late for work
So he called his secretary
Said to cancel his appointment with the guy in the lobby

Who’s been waiting for a while
And talking on the phone
Got invited to a party and thought he couldn’t go

But he’s here right now
Standing in my house
And someone turns the music loud

So we dance
And we laugh
And we touch (touch touch)

Yeah we dance
And we laugh
And we touch (touch touch)

Gonna party all night till the sun comes up
Cuz it feels like the world disappears around us

When we dance
When we laugh
When we touch

I was planning out my party
Running errands ’round the city
Grocery bags full of alcohol
And chocolate chip cookies

Saw a dress that was amazing
In the window of a boutique
So I went across the street
Then my heel broke and it threw me

I tried to catch my balance
But I was ‘sposed to fall
It seems that spilling coffee
Was no accident at all

Cuz you’re here right now
Sitting on my couch
Funny how it all works out

When we dance
And we laugh
And we touch (touch touch)

Yeah we dance
And we laugh
And we touch (touch touch)

Gonna party all night till the sun comes up
Cuz it feels like the world disappears around us

When we dance
When we laugh
When we touch

Every choice we make
And every road we take
Every interaction
Starts a chain reaction
We’re not affected when we least expect it
And then when we touched
And it all connected

Every choice we make
And every road we take
Every interaction
Starts a chain reaction
We’re not affected when we least expect it
And then when we touched
And it all connected

When we dance
And we laugh
And we touch (touch touch)

Yeah we dance
And we laugh
And we touch (touch touch)

Gonna party all night till the sun comes up
Cuz it feels like the world dissapears around us

When we dance
When we laugh
When we touch

Ooo oo oo ooo
We touch

Ooo oo oo ooo
We touch

Ooo oo oo ooo
We touch

Ooo oo oo ooo
We touch

So to sum this up, these are the things that Natasha Bedingfield did today:
-Tried to cross the street
-Tripped
-Spilled her coffee on a man
-Was trying to have a party
-Bought chocolate chip cookies and alcohol
-She saw a dress in a boutique window, and in some kind of shopping fury, tripped and broke her heel.
-Danced, laughed, touched.

That’s fine Nat. I’m all for a story song. But do you really mean to tell me that you spilled your coffee on a man who had to cancel his entire day of meetings because he was wet. And that its some kind of cosmic coincidence that the man of your dreams was waiting at the coffee guy’s office only to have his meeting canceled. And because his meeting was canceled, he could come to your party and sit on your couch and then you two could laugh, dance, touch? Does that sound about right? It’s like the movie “Memento”, but more complicated.

A few things. What time was your party? Because if that man was having a day-meeting, why couldn’t he come to your party later in the first place? That makes no sense. And also, just booze and cookies? No chips? OJ? Dip? Is there some kind of English rule where Londoners party with cookies and vodka but only in the middle of the day when people have meetings?

All I’m saying, loyal readers, is that I am concerned that this woman continues to make music. I am concerned for me, you, Mother England, and any future generations that have access to DVD copies of The Hills.

There is an innate reaction that comes from seeing various commercials.

Where does depression hurt? Everywhere. Who does depression hurt? Everyone.
*heartbreak

Hi! I’m Flo. Progressive Insurance. Giggle.
*sheer rage

Dial soap helps to clean up oil-stained little animals.
*overwhelming cuteness/sadness.

And is this where we are BP. Now we have Dial soap doing its work to clean up more baby sea-turtles and birds than ever before and it makes me very sad. If I were to get a call today, I would literally drop everything to go down to the Gulf and clean off Oil-covered tiny animals. Everything.

I don’t want to talk about the environmental repercussions. I don’t want to talk about fault. I don’t want to talk about solutions. I just want to talk about hate and blindness.

This mess is completely the fault of BP. There is no question that they cut corners to save money, ignored safety, and frankly in a PR sense, botched everything after the explosion. And now the Revolutionary War has broken out again. Americans are hurling fireballs at BP. Our President is cursing them out. Our elected officials are literally giving them the scourge. And now the english are fuming at the United States. BP is England’s largest major company and the pensions and monies of thousands of Englanders are tied up in its large clutches. When BP’s stock falls as sharply as it did, people lose money. People lose a lot of it. If BP goes out of business, so does Britain.

Destroying BP is good for no one. I think that in the United States we are so blinded by Nationalism sometimes that we don’t see the world as a whole. We are in an economic crisis. A world economic crisis. Bankrupting BP does not fix this. The oil is leaking. There is nothing we can do about it now. We can try to stop it, we can try to fix it, and BP needs to pay for it financially, but not at the cost of their company. With oil being the new gold, it is such a risky move to take down a company like that.

The environmental impacts of 60 days so far of this oil leak are unbelievably devastating. Let’s not add the bankrupting of thousands of British citizens as well. Americans need to turn off their Nationalism for just a minute and look at the big picture. Is BP’s CEO a jackass? Oh yes for sure. Should he be removed? 100%. But let’s make sure the company can still function after the Americans get done with it. We are playing a dangerous game of JENGA with people’s pensions and someone needs to make sure we don’t pull out the wrong piece. The revolutionary war is by far one of our lamest in history. Muskets. Paul Revere. Long, long stretches of marching. War could not be less boring. I’d like to not repeat it.

Much like Carmen Sandiego, I have been fortunate enough to find myself on a number of small trips recently around the country.
I got back from Los Angeles last night and I can say that without a doubt there is one thing stuck in my head from the trip: the Katy Perry Song, “California Gurls”. Having been harshly introduced to Los Angeles traffic (via a two hour trip to Santa Monica) and my gracious host/driver not having iPod Vehicle compatibility (a damn crying shame), the LA Radio Stations owned and operated by Ryan Seacrest became the soundtrack to the trip.

And when the radio wasn’t playing “Airplanes” or “Alejandro”, it was “California Gurls”. Because get it, we were in California. And there were “gurls” there. And as if Katy Perry isn’t annoying enough, she had a bit of trouble spelling ‘girls’ in the title. But that’s okay. You can only expect so much from a woman who thinks that a shoe is a phone.

“California Gurls” — Katy Perry feat. Snoop Dogg

“Canada” — Milow

“Kansas” — Damien Jurado

“Beverly Hills” — Weezer

“Boston” — Augustana

“Whoever’s in New England” — Reba McEntire

“Chicago” — Lucy Wainwright

“It’s a long, long way to Tipperary” — John McCormack

“Paris” — Faith Hill

“Rio” — Duran Duran

When I was little I used to have a doctor that we all called Dr. Mike. What was most wonderful about Dr. Mike is that he would sing and play the guitar as well. He told silly stories set to song which made going to the doctors office, which was unbearable, bearable. I used to think it was so amazing that I had my very own doctor that was also famous (well famous for when you are six).

“Whiskey Lullaby” — Allison Krauss and Brad Paisley

“Adam’s Song” — Blink 182

“The Art Teacher” — Rufus Wainwright

“A Broken Wing” — Martina McBride

“A Man/Me/Then Jim” — Rilo Kiley

“January 14th” — Gemma Hayes

“Jacob’s Song” — Allison Krauss

“Wally” — Aslyn

“Good Graces” — State Radio

The Cheetah Girls stand for modern-day Disney Channel Original Programming Girl Power. The Spice Girls without the sex, Destiny’s Child without, well the sex. Raven Simone and those three other chicks (the white one, the one that’s on Keeping up with Kardashians and the one from The House Bunny) fake-danced and lip-synced their way through two feature films making cat-references and Disney Channel Appropriate jokes. Raven, having left the group to be “that’s so”, essentially doomed the rest of her feline pack to obscurity.

And what does a young girl in Hollywood do to avoid looming obscurity? She tramps it up big time.
Enter Kiely Williams (the one from the House Bunny) and her song “Spectacular”.

A non-exhaustive list of things that Kiely Williams finds to be Spectacular:
– Dreadlocks
– Hooker Clothes
– Unprotected Blackout Sex
– Walking on the streets….or…streetwalking?
– Shots
– Artsy Black and White photos of said unprotected blackout sex
– Based on her decisions in this video: abortions
– Some sort of reality television prostitute-cam that she hooked up to herself
– Speak-singing
– Seducing men in suits on the street in front of their clean-cut not hooker girlfriends.
– Abortions
– Hanging out by chain-link fences
– Street Dancing in front of skanky billboards

Miss Williams decided to respond to the subsequent outrage to her music video that seemed to glorify unprotected sex with strangers, prostitution and getting blackout drunk to young girls.

An open letter to Kiely Williams:

Hey girl.
I think you’re confused.
Your video, ‘Spectacular’, is NOTHING like Mo’Nique’s performance in Precious.
It’s also nothing like Lady Gaga’s Telephone video.
You can try to tell me that this video is some warning message to young girls about the dangers of unprotected sex, but I went to college, so its not gonna fly. Maybe you’re confused about the definition of the word ‘spectacular’. I think that you think it means ‘warning’ or ‘career-booster’ or ‘I’m not a Whore’, but alas….

spec·tac·u·lar (spk-tky-lr)
adj.
Of the nature of a spectacle; impressive or sensational

So you’re to tell me that you sing about unprotected blackout sex being ‘impressive’ and ‘sensational’ and then I’m supposed to believe that it’s a warning song?

In our world we have commonly accepted warning signs. A stop sign for example says to me “don’t go”. Caution tape says, “stay away”. A music video where you get blackout drunk, sexed over and over again and then tell me that you would do it all over again and smile, does not read PSA. Sorry girl.
Yes, and I see your point. You are playing a character. But when you play the character role of “monster slut”, your teenage fans might get a little confused being as your last role was “black cheetah girl who isn’t Raven Simone”.
Love the choreography girl, is that Wade Robson?
You’re my hero,

Matt

Summer has begun.
Those pesky youth have gotten out of school and will be planning an epic summer filled with house parties, minimum-wage food service jobs, sitting around pools and discovering out all the magical uses of the backseat of a friend’s car. (Well there really is only one)
The rest of us are simply going to work as usual, everything a little more humid, the office just a little more oppressive than the day before. But we must power through our workday blues and summertime woes so that we can have our weekends. Glorious weekends great for rooftop parties, backyard cookouts and slip ‘n’ slides.
And we gotta have something to listen to while we do it.

“Pump It” — The Black Eyed Peas

“Kansas City” — Damien Jurado

“American Boy” — Estelle

“Timor” — Shakira

“Jack and Diane” — John Cougar Mellencamp

“We Run This” — Missy Elliott

“Danger! High Voltage” — Electric Six

“Dead Wrong” — The Deuce Project

“Sam’s Town” — The Killers

“I Live for the Day” — Lindsay Lohan

On this day in history, May 17th, in the year of our lord Nineteen Hundred and Fifty-Five a great man was born. And although the world has not recognized his greatness for what it truly is, William Paxton has truly made a lasting impression on this, our great nation (when he’s not being confused for the other great American acting institution, William Pullman)

Sir Bill Paxton has taught us lesson after lesson through the years. Let’s take a look at what you’ve taught us, Bill.

You taught us how to simultaneously chase down twisters and avoid Helen Hunt’s busted up face:

And who can forget your amazing sweater as the fake Robert Ballard in Titanic:

When it comes to Aliens, you knows when the game is over:

And you most certainly know the best way to take a fist to the face from the governor of California:

I mean what can you really say about the greatness and valor of a man who has the courage to appear in a Limp Bizkit music video in which a greasy whitebeater-clad Fred Durst yells at Thora Birth through a megaphone before spraying her with a hose?

So today, on your birthday, I celebrate you, Bill Paxton, for your courageous movie choices (Spy Kids 2: Island of Lost Dreams) and your endless confusions with Bill Pullman.

Here’s to you Wild Bill.

The music video has had a big week. A big year actually.
Ever since Lady Gaga has burst onto the scene the poor music video has really taken a beating. How the music video longs for the days when there was just interspersed concert footage and backlighting. Now this sacred art form has to deal with Lady Gaga wearing flaming bear coats and setting bathtubs on fire and falling off of balconies.

But the most egregious grievance against Mr. Music Video this week is artists exploiting the form in the name of ‘reinvention’.

Case 1: Christina Aguilera or Xtina. “Not Myself Tonight”

First of all Christina, you are a mother. Not that moms can’t be sexy. That’s why Hollywood invented MILFS, but I mean for real. How much bejeweled bondage does a self-respecting woman need to own? I understand that the point is that you’re not yourself tonight. Hence the song title, I get it. But I’ve been following your career, young lady, and this is just Durrrrty with more leather. I feel like this is yourself. Plus a little Lady Gaga. Why you’re licking the ground and pouring liquid leather on yourself, I’m not quite sure.

Also, love the monocle. It really says, “hey, I’m reinventing myself. I was a durrty slut. Now I’m a leather/alien/bondage queen. Really brave choices here Xtina. Really brave choices.

Case 2: Miley Cyrus. “Can’t be Tamed”.
Can’t Be Tamed Video

Miley Cyrus is 17-years old. She is also apparently a large black bird. I understand that she feels the need to leave Hannah Montana behind, I get it, all the tween sensations do. But really. I have never seen a more clunky and obvious metaphor in my life. You “Can’t Be Tamed”, so let’s do birds in cages. Get it. Because the birds want to fly, but they can’t, because of all the cages. And despite her corn-teeth and freaky wax face, this video does manage to be unbelievably sexy, without being sexy at all. My brain understands that the costumes and makeup and dancing are telling me “this is sexy. you like this. because it’s so sexy”. But the bird suits, the terrible melody and 65-70 backup bird dancers (or bancers) tell me otherwise.

This video just screams sadness. Miley needs to realize that Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan aren’t even done spiraling to their doom. She needs to wait a few years instead of trying to play catch-up. Also, I don’t quite understand how wearing a lot of eye makeup and convulsing from a large bird’s nest means that you are stepping out of your shell, but I guess the mind of a tween is a complex and fascinating concept. Like birds. In cages.

In a famous scene from the 1978 John Carpenter film “Halloween”, Jamie Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode, joy-rides in her friend Annie’s car, smokes a little weed and jams to the Blue Oyster Cult song “Don’t Fear the Reaper”. Unbeknownst to her, and her other teenage friends, the reaper is Michael Myers and they are about to meet him in a most unsavory way. It’s a really chilling juxtaposition. So chilling, in fact, that Rob Zombie, in his two Halloween remounts, included the song in his film.

Released in 1976, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” might be famous to anyone under the age of 30 as the subject of the Christopher Walken and Will Ferrell sketch on Saturday Night Live where “more cowbell” is fitfully demanded. It’s a hilarious sketch, and certainly one of SNL’s most famous, but it’s a bit of a shame that the song has lost some cred because of it. I think it’s a brilliant and moody song with a really interesting point of view. Let’s look:

Lyrics:

“Don’t Fear the Reaper”

All our times have come.
Here but now they’re gone.
Seasons don’t fear the reaper,
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain (we can be like they are)
Come on baby (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby take my hand (don’t fear the reaper)
We’ll be able to fly (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby I’m your man…

Valentine is done
Here but now they’re gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity (Romeo and Juliet)
40,000 men and women everyday (Like Romeo and Juliet)
40,000 men and women everyday (Redefine happiness)
Another 40,000 coming everyday (We can be like they are)
Come on baby (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby take my hand (don’t fear the reaper)
We’ll be able to fly (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby I’m your man…

Love of two is one
Here but now they’re gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared (saying don’t be afraid)
Come on baby (and she had no fear)
And she ran to him (then they started to fly)
They looked backward and said goodby (she had become like they are)
She had taken his hand (she had become like they are)
Come on baby (don’t fear the reaper).

Conclusion:
“Don’t Fear the Reaper” is a song based most importantly on the idea of transcending death, most specifically the grim reaper. If you look at the last verse of the song, the woman is upset by the death of her lover, and in a truly cinematic fashion, the candles blow out, the door fly open and the grim reaper appears to take her away. But it’s personified in a way that’s really romantic. She takes the grim reaper’s hand and then they fly, they look backward and say goodbye and she becomes like they are.

The song also references archetypal figures like Romeo and Juliet but does so in a way that assumes the audience is intelligent. We aren’t being hit over the head with exposition or anything for that matter, just reminded of two characters in literature whose story everyone knows. No need for shmaltz (I’m looking at you here Taylor Swift).

I think that when you peel back the layers of the song you really end up finding some pretty awesome stuff. We shouldn’t fear death because the seasons don’t. That if we become like the “wind, the sun and the rain” we can somehow accept death and see it for something other than sad. The point is to just exist, without fear and when the reaper comes we should simply just take his hand.

Covers. Sometimes covers can be good (Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails) and sometimes covers can be bad (Whitesnake Cover Bands). But regardless of quality, the cover is a wonderful homage to musicians past and a great way to either demonstrate your talent as an artist that can reinvent someone else’s music (Diana Krall) or a talentless box of hair (Jessica Simpson). Enjoy.

“Take My Breath Away” — Jessica Simpson

“Your Ghost” — Greg Laswell

“The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia” — Reba McEntire

“Jolene” — Mindy Smith

“I Love Rock and Roll” — Britney Spears

“I Want You to Want Me” — Lindsay Lohan

“Toxic” — David Ford

“Devil May Care” — Diana Krall

“Hurt” — Johnny Cash

“Careless Whisper” — Rufus Wainwright and Ben Folds

Dear Mr. Cameron–

I just found out your sister is D.J. from “Full House”. That must have been fun. Anyway.
I saw your movie last night. I was going to get drunk and watch it, but don’t worry, I didn’t.
I really liked how you used everyone from the town of Albany, Georgia instead of hiring real actors. It really brought a sense of youth-group to the film. The way the townspeople of Albany, Georgia’s wooden faces and blank stares resonated with the themes of the movie (Jesus, Marriage, Accepting Jesus, Internet Porn Addiction and Prayer) was incredible.

I went to your website like the movie credits told me, after the bible verse of course, and I thought fireproofmymarriage.com was an excellent website. I really loved the part where you said that couples who live together before they get married only do so because the woman thinks that it’s a step toward marriage and the man only wants readily available sex and a break in finances. It was also neat how you showed all the studies saying that living in sin before marriage leads to divorce but then said that “no study has ever shown cohabitation to benefit marriage”. How scientific Kirk!

I also super loved how a baptist church, and not a real movie studio, produced the movie. It’s so lame sometimes how when a movie is trying to push a Christian agenda, the Hollywood types try and bury it in plot and subject matter. It’s so much better your way: Just have every scene end up with the characters talking in front of a giant wooden crucifix. (It’s so we all remember! It’s imagery!).

And Kirk, this is not to say that I’m not down with God. God is good, God is great, and we thank him for our food. But seriously? When Anna sat down for lunch with your heathen non-believer wife in the film and mid-sentence bowed her head for 8 seconds and prayed and then went on with the convo like nothing had happened. That’s weird, bro. And I call you bro because you were on television. And we are all God’s children.

Speaking of, my favorite line, well one of them, is when you go see your black firefighter friend and tell him you want to be one with God, and then he says “You’re like my brother from another mother, only now we have the SAME father”. Love that, Kirk. Love it.

Also, Kirk, buddy, bro, all the fire metaphor and imagery. Genius. It’s like you knew we wouldn’t get it from the poster, so you reinforced it whenever you could. Genius. Marriage is like a burning house, our love is like fire, you can’t fireproof your heart….subtle as a brick.

Sometimes actors have to make a brave choice. And you made some big ones in this film. I thought that you forcing the church—sorry movie studio, to use your wife as a stand-in was genius. You’re an actor. Of course if you kiss an actress for a scene its for realz. When you got married you saved all your kisses for your wife, Courtney. Who are you to give them away for free for the sake of a film? Put a wig on Courtney and lets shoot this shit in shadow.

The other brave choice you made is to portray a man addicted to boats and internet porn. It’s just like Jeff Bridges in “Crazy Heart”, only braver. Boating magazines? Pop-up ads tempting you asking you if you “wanna see”? Oh Kirk, the artistic bravado.

In conclusion, bro. Fireproof. Loved it. Loved you, loved the message. I just wish there were more films that demonized women for not having dinner on the table after working their full-time jobs. We all could use more of those.

Love,

Matt

On this day in history, April 26th, we gather to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of one the greatest, if not the greatest, comedic actors of our time: Kevin James.

The shorts! The hats! The colored socks! Never in our history has a man played a beer-drinking, homophobic, sloppy, lazy schlub with more grace and panache than Mr. James, who was born today in 1965 making his hilarious antics literally 45 years old. In honor of Mr. James, lets take a look at the wide variety of characters that he is equipped to bring the Meryl Streep-like accuracy to on the silver screen:

– Mall Cop
– Hackey Sack Tournament Celebrity Judge
– Otis the Cow
– Guys named Doug
– Guys named Larry
– Santa Claus
– Factory Worker

It’s clear that with his range and talent, Kevin James’ career can only skyrocket from here. Because nothing is more appealing to couch-potato American man than watching a nearly 50-year old guy with a beer gut and buzzed haircut pretend to be gay with Adam Sandler for 90 minutes. We thank you oh King of Queens, we thank you.

In celebration of Rufus Wainwright coming out with a new album today, this playlist is going to focus on one of his favorite things, old standards. From Rosemary Clooney to Dean Martin these standards have taken us through World Wars, Cold Wars, Free Love and the New Millennium. There is just that extra special something that happens when you listen to an old classic. Images of men in WW2 Army Uniforms leaving their beautiful red-lipped women on a set of steamy train tracks. The woman wipes a tear with her cloth handkerchief and the man tips his hat at the girl he loves, knowing he might never see her again. These songs makes us think about our parents, their parents and most importantly, a time when a creamy voice echoing through a crowded dance hall could without a doubt get everyone on their feet.

“I’ll be Seeing You” — Rosemary Clooney

“Beyond the Sea” — Bobby Darin

“Stormy Weather” — Etta James

“Far Away Places” — Perry Como and Henri Rene

“Maybe You’ll be There” — Diana Krall

“Dream a Little Dream of Me” — Doris Day

“How Long Has this Been Going on?” — Rufus Wainwright

“Fever” — Peggy Lee

“London by Night” — Greg Laswell

“Blue Moon” — Julie London

Oklahoma City.
At 9am on April 19th, 1995, Timothy McVeigh drove an explosives-filled truck into the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City and taught me what the word terrorism meant for the very first time.

Killing 168 people, and one unidentified arm, McVeigh and his partner Terry Nichols made the most forceful anti-government statement since the Boston Tea Party, only this one had a body count.

Upset over the government’s handling of the Branch Dividians in Waco, Texas, McVeigh decided that he needed to send the government a message: You kill us, we kill you, which is why the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was his target. Why he chose to detonate the bomb under the building’s day-care center is question for him to answer to his god.

The bomb exploded as planned, and thus began my fascination with the threshold of tragedy. Waco, Jonestown, Columbine, Oklahoma City, 9/11 and the Amish Schoolhouse massacre were all absolute nightmare tragedies, simply the mere horrors of fiction. But I can’t help to feel a morbid fascination and detachment to these events.

Having suffered personal tragedy, I can deeply empathize and mourn with the loss of a life. One person dies and my heart breaks for them. But in looking at widespread death like the 168 at Oklahoma city or the over 900 at Jonestown, and I feel nothing. Nothing except for a need to know more information. A need to know why, and where and how and look at gory pictures and revel in fascinating details.

My grandmother will call me, without a doubt, the moment a tragedy like this hits the 24-hour news circuit. I vividly remember many lengthy long-distance phone calls where my grandmother and I would just sit on the phone with each other and watch Columbine happen, or watch the Jon Benet Ramsay case unfold. And it always made me feel better that I had someone to share my confusion and fascination with.

We as humans can only handle so much. When tragedy strikes our immediate family, we grieve, but when it strikes Oklahoma City, we gossip. And I think because, for all of its gifts, the human heart cannot simply handle that much sadness. To physically process the loss of life and sheer terror and grief that something like 9/11 and Oklahoma City brings about, our brains would literally have to shut down. We have a threshold for tragedy. We feel a deep loss when a beloved parish priest passes away, but when a bus full of children flips over, we say “Oh my god. What happened? Did they die? How shocking?” and then we relay the story to anyone who will listen.

So 15 years after the largest act of home-grown terrorism we’ve ever seen, what have we learned? Well we learned that the threshold for tragedy is only expanding. We thought that Oklahoma City was the worst. Then 9/11 happened. And everyday beloved grandmothers and deli owners and hairstylists and little brothers are dying and our hearts break for them, if only to shield us from horrors that the human heart cannot handle. On this day in history.

“Rivets”
At the annual parade I carried you on my shoulders.
We kissed directly between the broken-down Ferris wheel and the cotton candy stand.
I could feel the metal rivets of your jeans pressing up against me.
I pressed back.
Your hair smelled like sugary peanuts. the kind they only sell in plastic bags out of carts with no wheels.

Near us someone wins a prize for throwing a baseball at nine-neatly stacked glass coke-a-cola bottles.
I tell you those games are usually rigged.
You put on chapstick with the tip of your finger and it makes me think about lemonade from a stand and sex and the tightness of your jeans and the rivets pressing up against me.

You laugh at the pickle on a stick as a boy runs by frantically searching for his older brother
who is not so coincidentally kissing a red-haired girl near the tilt-a-whirl.
I reach my hand out to stop the boy from interrupting.
You laugh.

I’m not gonna lie. I like Reba McEntire a lot. I’ve had this plan in my head since I was maybe 8 or 9 that I would write her a letter telling her I was dying so she could come and visit me. I never thought it through much after that, but I just assumed she would be so taken with my charms that she wouldn’t even remember that I faked a terminal illness to get her there. The worst part of this scenario, the absolute worst part, is that I still consider doing this sometimes as a 23-year-old man.

Last night I was walking home from the gym and listening to my iPod on shuffle. “She Thinks His Name Was John” came on and I found myself walking up Bergen street with tears welling up in my eyes. I guess the juxtaposition of the cool night air, my exhaustion from the treadmill and the fact that I haven’t listened to the song in ages just brought about more emotion that I was prepared for. It’s also a damn sad song. Let’s look:

Lyrics

“She Thinks His Name Was John”

She can account for all of the men in her past.
Where they are now, who they married, how many kids they have.
She knew their backgrounds, family and friends,
A few she even talks to now and then.

But there is one she can’t put her finger on.
There is one, who never leaves her thoughts,
And she thinks his name was John.

A chance meeting, a party a few years back.
Broad shoulders and blue eyes, his hair was so black.
He was a friend of friend you could say.
She let his smile just sweep her away.
And in her heart she knew that it was wrong,
But too much wine and she left his bed at dawn.
And she thinks his name was John.

Now each day is one day that’s left in her life.
She won’t know love, have a marriage or sing lullabies.
She lays all alone and cries herself to sleep,
‘Cause she let a stranger kill her hopes and her dreams.

And all her friends say what a pity what a loss.
And in the end when she was barely hangin’ on,
All she could say is she thinks his name was John.
She thinks his name was John.

Conclusion
This song came out in 1994. And in terms of HIV / AIDS, 1994 was light years away from the awareness of 1984, but compared to 2004, it was the still the dark ages. Reba faced a lot of backlash from performing a song not only about a woman having promiscuous sex, but about a woman, not a gay man, dying of HIV/AIDS.

The song so perfectly captures with its lullaby melody and quiet tone the way that someone can be swept away in another’s eyes and the next thing you know, the bad decisions come screaming out of the ether. I enjoy the way the song tells an AIDS story in an unconventional way. Reba is not hitting us over the head with anything. She’s using subtle language and clues to explore the narrative of a woman facing up to her sexual misconduct.

And I think that the real grief of the song comes from it’s title: She thinks his name was John. The fact that this man, this one-night stand, has essentially killed her is sad. But the saddest part comes from the fact that she only has a vague recollection of his name. That she thinks his name was John. It just breaks your heart.

The Numbers
Creepy: 15%
Sweet: 5%
Gut-Wrenching: 80%

The Queen of Country does not need a flashy production / Nicholas Sparksy music video to accompany her song. The power of the lyrics and the power of her voice do all the work for her. Although had she made a music video for this, with her track record, it would have been stellar.

Babies are everywhere.
There’s that new H-Bomb of adorable movie about them coming out, that E*trade baby is getting his (its?) own show, and infant beauty pageants are still going strong. But what to listen to when thinking about babies? We have the positive songs about raising kids, the nervous songs about expecting and the whatingodsnameamigonnadonow songs about the joys of that little pink plastic stick reading positive. Let’s have a listen.

“Papa Don’t Preach” — Madonna

“Brick” — Ben Folds Five

“Arms Wide Open” — Creed

“Baby of Mine” — Allison Krauss

“I Hope You Dance” — Leanne Womack

“Zion” — Lauren Hill

“All that she Wants” — Ace of Base

“Teach Your Children Well” — Crosby, Stills and Nash

“In My Daughter’s Eyes” — Martina McBride

“Just the Two of Us” — Will Smith

On April 12th, 1989 Garth Brooks released his first album, self-titled, Garth Brooks. And thus a country music / stadium pyrotechnic phenomena was born.

While Garth’s later albums will grace us with such hits as “The Thunder Rolls” and “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places”, his self-titled album gives us one of the schmaltziest and most emotionally manipulative country songs ever: “The Dance”.

With the melodrama of a Nicholas Sparks novel, “The Dance”, tells the story of a lover looking back on his lost love and finding himself thankful that even though he went through all the pain, he would have missed the chance to dance with his girl. The song is actually a well-written and deep hearted ballad, but when Garth sings it, it takes on this Arena-esque feeling that simply takes all of the magic out of the lyrics. You can almost hear waves of single women and their mothers overcome with grief as he strums those first chords, well someone strums because Garth can’t be bothered to really play any music, but nonetheless, the women weep. Then, said women open their pocketbooks and run to the store to buy the album, then to the concert, then to the store to get their man a cowboy hat just like Garth wears when he sings “The Dance”.

And I would love to post the song or perhaps a youtube video of Garth singing it, but, like the true asshole he really is, he will not allow his music to be leased both on iTunes and on Youtube. So if you want Garth Brooks, you gotta pay for it. But this video is the guy who actually wrote it. So kudos to you guy. Garth Brooks can suck it hard. Brought to you by This Day (April 12th, 1989) in History.

“March 14th”

a small stone holds strong against a sea of crashing water.
meanwhile they clamor in droves at the prospect of
freedom from death.

reprieve never comes for true suffering.
so they rally.
a hundred million people against one death.

they call upon the risen lord jesus and
allah.
they use
crystals and burn incense.
old italian women kiss the feet of their crucified lord.

little children believe in the power of wishing while a hundred million people storm the fortresses of death.

death holds strong.

in a brightly colored classroom, amidst crayon drawings of the stations of the cross
a little boy wishes for his mother.
death tightens his shoelaces.

the class takes a moment to pray.
death pushes back.