How You Doin’ Blondie?


Lonely Are The Brave

I was in my car today when I heard the opening chords for the Eagles’ “Desperado” playing on the radio. It’s always been one of my favorite songs, primarily because I so closely identify with the sentiment (even more so, lately).

So I turned up the volume and started to sing along, and by the time I got to the last verse, my eyes were watery and I felt a little bit sick to my stomach (a symptom indicitive of sadness, for me).

Then I looked in my review mirror and saw this chiseled guy with a crew cut, behind the wheel of an F-350, also singing along to a song that he obviously felt perfectly illustrated the complexities of his interpersonal relationships.

And that’s when I realized I must’ve looked pretty fucking gay at the stoplight, staring forlornly off into the distance, mournfully crooning, “Your prison is walking through this world all alone. Oh, Desperado…”

Pre-tty fuc-king gay.

 

They obviously do it better.



Game Over
May 20, 2008, 2:36 pm
Filed under: John Wayne, Life, Music, News, Politics | Tags: , , , ,

 While I was getting a pedicure today, I picked up a recent issue of “The New Yorker” and started thumbing through it. Just by chance, I happened upon a little 5 inch blurb sandwiched between two advertisements, written about the poster boy for Social Consciousness, David “The Game” Banner. Although I’m sure “Rhodes Scholar” was your first guess, Banner is, in fact, a rapper. The article was about Banner’s newest song, “911 is a Joke (Cop Killa),” whose primary focus is the New York shooting of Sean Bell. Apparently, the three detectives that were brought to trial on various charges related to the case were acquitted. Of the acquittal, “The Game” was quoted as saying this:

“I think one of the problems with America is that we’ve adapted Bush’s cowboy mentality to everything. With the Sean Bell situation New York is basically saying, ‘Fuck niggers.'”

Sigh.

No, Mr. Banner, what New York is saying is, “Fuck large, rowdy groups of people in night clubs of ill-repute who are involving themselves in altercations and threatening the use of firepower.” 

If that’s a cowboy mentality, yippee-ki-yay, mother fucker.



It’s Primary Charm Is The Chorus…

…which goes, “Blondie blondie blondie blondie blondie blondie blondie…”



Never Had So Much Fun In Yo Life
May 16, 2008, 11:07 pm
Filed under: Humor, Life, Music, sex | Tags: , , ,

I have come to the realization that, deep down on the inside, I like rap music.

At least 3 of the 10 available memory buttons on my car radio are programmed to hip-hop stations.

I can accurately sing the lyrics (in the correct tempo) to multiple rap songs, usually without the aid or accompaniment of the song itself.

My favorite rapper is T.I. who began his illustrious career as “Tip” but due to his heavy Southern drawl,  “Tip” was often misheard as “Chip”. He began pronouncing each letter individually, and became known as “T.I.P.”, which was later shortened to “T.I.” T.I.’s newest song is actually a collaborative effort between Young Jeezy, Usher, and himself, remixing Usher’s recent hit “Make Love In This Club.” I experienced difficulty attempting to upload the music file to WordPress, so I found the song on YouTube and posted it instead. The man you hear sing first is T.I.  (and in the video, T.I. is the one on the far left with the chain around his neck). Sigh, what a wordsmith.

 

 

I am not so far gone, however, that I actually purchase any albums that would in anyway contribute to the financial gain of any of these “trap stars” [trap star: verb/young man or woman who is successful in the urban trade of illicit goods]. I figure, if I don’t actually buy the music, I’m not actually supporting their greedy, misogynistic endeavors, right?

 



Just Drifting Through
May 11, 2008, 8:55 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, Life Experiences, lust, Media, Music, Quotes, Random, random musings, sex, thoughts, Volvo | Tags: ,

“Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I wonder where all the porn stars go
‘Cause when you need one, they are never aroundI think they moved out to the suburbs
And now they’re blonde, bland, middle-class Republican wives
They all have blonde, bland, middle-class Republican children
Blonde, bland, middle-class Republican lives

Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I think I know where all the porn stars go
They all become Volvo-driving soccer moms”

 

Sometimes, though, there are such things as Volvo-driving porn stars. I substantiate this claim with the red Volvo S40 currently parked in my driveway.



Money hoes and clothes
April 18, 2008, 5:01 pm
Filed under: Greed, hip-hop, Media, money, Music, Rap Music, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

Of all my automobiles, my favorite is my Volvo. It’s a 2006 S40, passion red, and it’s essentially a crush-proof box. The first car I ever owned was a Volvo, and I really fell in love with them. It’s an odd car for your average twenty-something single to own, Volvo’s are notorious for being the ride of choice for the stodgy white-bread class…which is the bulk of it’s appeal. I hold a considerable amount of contempt for these kids today, with their flashy Acura’s and Lexus’ (Lexis’s? Lexuses?) who will spend $600 for a pair of sunglasses or $1000 for a pair of sneakers just because they bear the Louis Vuitton stamp. They acquire and acquire and acquire all theses THINGS, all these status symbols, and they don’t realize that they look like fools. They’re so ridiculous, they’re caricature’s of themselves.

So I enjoy my Volvo; I take great pride in the fact that my neighbor, the one with the musical career of dubious distinction, has never once expressed even a remote interest in my S40. I like that I’ve yet to see a Volvo cruise slowly down the street with base music reverberating from the speakers and chrome monstrosities affixed to the wheel-wells. But perhaps the key ingredient to my Volvo enthusiasm has been the fact that never, not once, have I ever heard a Volvo be mentioned in any capacity in a rap song.

Until today.

I turned on the radio in my car today in time to catch the following line:

“…pimpin hoes that drive Volvos and Rodeos…”

I later identified the song as “Niggas” by the Notorious B.I.G.:

“To all my Brooklyn ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Uptown ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Bronx ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
To all my Queensbridge ‘Niggas!! (Niggas!!)’
‘Nigga nigga nigga..’

Back up chump, you know Biggie Smalls rips it quick
and kicks it quick, you know how black niggaz get
with the hoods fatigues with the boots with trees
Smokin weed, flippin ki’s, makin crazy G’s
Hittin buckshots at niggaz that open spots
on the avenue, take my loot, and I’m baggin you
Pimpin hoes that drive Volvo’s and Rodeos
Flash the roll, make her wet, in her pantyhose
Damn, a nigga style is unorthodox
Grip the glock, when I walk down the crowded blocks
Just in case a nigga wanna act out
I just black out, and blow they motherfuckin back out
That’s a real nigga for ya

[Chorus]

When we smoke spliffs, we pack four-fifths
just in case dread wanna riff
He get a free lift to the cemetary, rough very
Not your ordinary, we watch you get buried
That’s a real nigga for ya
Get mad do a quarter flip the script, and rip your lawyer
Spit at the D.A., cause fuck what she say
She don’t give a fuck about your ass anyway
Up North found first stop for the town
of fist-skill, where the hand skills are real ill
You’ll be a super Hoover doo-doo stain remover
Ha hahhh, yo G, pass the ruler

[Chorus 2X]

Money hoes and clothes
Blunt smoke comin out the nose, is all a nigga knows
Flippin on foes, puttin tags on toes
Watchin the stash grow, clockin the cashflow
The neighborhood gravedigga
Gettin paid so much, all the bitches wanna see a nigga
I guess they figure I’m paid, I wanna get laid
or since I got loot I wanna knock boots
I’d rather beat my dick than trick
and if she don’t suck then we don’t fuck
I’d rather make a buck, drive a fat-ass truck
Grab the 9, two clips, and run amuck
Yes, flex at the two or three Benzes
I wreck shit, what the fuck you expected?
A fly guy? Well fuck it, I’m the high guy
from Bed-Stuy, puttin the swellin on your eye
and your nose even, when I choke ya you stop breathin
And when Jake come, I’m leavin!”

I am indescribably depressed.



Somewhere Otis Redding and Lou Rawls are Weeping Quietly

I’m telling you, this urban demographic and their music industry, it’s a Grammy  goldmine! It’s a regular chart-topping factory! Especially with this character I’ve been hearing about lately, this “Fat Joe,” my he is quite the wordsmith. I stumbled upon another gem of his, this one entitled “Still Not A Player,” featuring Monsieur “Big Pun.”

Does this gentleman have a fan club? How might I gain membership?

 

 

And yes folks, he really did just say “I’m not a player, I just fuck a lot.”



Everybody Here

If I’m reading Michael Stipe correctly, I think the idea is that everybody has a burden they feel they have to carry, the trick is getting the fuck over it.

“No one remembers and nobody cares”

Preach it, brother Stipe

 



Ladies and Gentlemen, Poet Laureate Robert Sylvester Kelly:

    I heard a song the other day, and the lyrics in the opening chorus gave me pause. The name of the song [and I use the term very, very loosely] is “Make it Rain”; penned by Messrs. “Lil’ Wayne” and “Fat Joe,” featuring a guest appearance by R.Kelly. As a woman, I should be offended by the chauvinistic and frankly degrading lyrics Mr. Kelly is crooning; but as someone who considers themselves a novice at the game the big boys play, I was highly entertained by the song’s stark materialistic and animalistic overtures:

“I be drilling these chicks like Major Payne
When I make it rain, they be like ‘Kell… do it again’
From the club to the coupe, inside my gates
Up in my bedroom screaming each other’s name
They was perty perty, and I was flirty flirty
Lil’ dro, lil’ bub now they gettin’ dirty dirty
Don’t ask me what my name is, stupid bitch I’m famous
You gon’ make me aim this, leave your ass brainless
I’m tryin’ to stay R&B but these streets is a part of me
So don’t get it twisted
You see I order one bottle, then I talk with one model
Then I order more bottles, now I got more models
I’m from that city where them niggas don’t play me
I take a chick to my room like cave man
So ask your girlfriend my name, I bet she go
‘Skeet Skeet Skeet Skeet, Weatherman ’bout to make it rain!’”

 

I particularly enjoy the line wherein Robert raps incredulously, “Don’t ask me what my name is, stupid bitch I’m famous.” I simply must find an opportunity to use that line…perhaps during my tete-a-tete with Diane Sawyer when I’m identified as [insert powerful man’s name of your choice here]’s proverbial “side dish”…



Question: Tell me what you think about this

After it’s all said and done, I’ve used them as much as they’ve used me.



Life Choices in A Minor…Take It Away, Elton

When I started out on my own, I never experienced that pivotal “fork in the road” moment that so many people talk about. Never really had to make any big do-or-die commitment. There was just an exception here, an aquiescence there, and now here I am. Tricky bastard, indifference.

Goodbye Norma Jean
Though I never knew you at all
You had the grace to hold yourself
While those around you crawled
They crawled out of the woodwork
And they whispered into your brain
They set you on the treadmill
And they made you change your name

And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never knowing who to cling to
When the rain set in
And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a kid
Your candle burned out long before
Your legend ever did

Loneliness was tough
The toughest role you ever played
Hollywood created a superstar
And pain was the price you paid
Even when you died
Oh the press still hounded you
All the papers had to say
Was that Marilyn was found in the nude

Goodbye Norma Jean
From the young man in the 22nd row
Who sees you as something as more than sexual
More than just our Marilyn Monroe
 

 

 



We All Live In A Yellow Submarine

I suspect that unemployment played a significant role in the creation of this music video…BUT, be that as it may;

the music is genuis. Take a bow Paul & John.



Oh, How I Wish He Was Here
December 9, 2007, 1:55 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Music, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

So, so you think you can tell, Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade, your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

And did you exchange, a walk on part in a war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

Running over the same old ground.

What have we found?

The same old fears.

Wish you were here.



Ill-equipped to Act, Indeed
November 19, 2007, 11:26 am
Filed under: Life, Music, Reflections, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , ,

It’s funny that a free on-line forum has done more for me in the area of introspection than almost a decade of expensive, time-consuming therapy.

Living on a lighted stage
Approaches the unreal
For those who think and feel
In touch with some reality
Beyond the gilded cage

Cast in this unlikely role
Ill-equipped to act
With insufficient tact
One must put up barriers
To keep oneself intact

Living in the limelight
The universal dream
For those who wish to seem
Those who wish to be
Must put aside the alienation
Get on with the fascination
The real relation
The underlying theme

Living in a fish eye lens
Caught in the camera eye
I have no heart to lie
I can’t pretend a stranger
Is a long-awaited friend

All the world’s indeed a stage
And we are merely players
Performers and portrayers
Each another’s audience
Outside the gilded cage.

 



I Honestly Don’t Know How Else To Put This
November 4, 2007, 8:37 pm
Filed under: Electra Complex, Life, love, Music, music video, Reflections, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , ,


Damn That Beach In Greece

Sometimes I can hear a song so clearly in my head that I can actually hear the artist taking a breath on the downbeat. When I found myself staring at S. washing his car and began to feel that familiar, pathetic, need to have a man’s attention, I imagined this song queuing up in the background.

One Two Three Four
Tell me that you love me more
Sleepless long nights
That is what my youth was for

Old teenage hopes are alive at your door
Left you with nothing but they want some more

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, You know who you are

Sweetheart bitterheart now I can tell you apart
Cosy and cold, put the horse before the cart

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are

One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then
One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are
Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are
Oh, who you are

For the teenage boys
They’re breaking your heart
For the teenage boys
They’re breaking your heart



Whew, the crash is going to be specTACular
October 23, 2007, 2:23 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Music | Tags: , , , , , , ,

I met Lene once, in Ibiza, and I was surprised to learn that not only is she familiar with the Frege-Hilbert Controversy, she can coherently outline the flaws in Hilbert’s axiomatic theories. I wish we’d kept in touch.



The Uppers Must Be Working
October 23, 2007, 2:15 pm
Filed under: love, Music | Tags: , , , , ,



Why yes Bob…
October 21, 2007, 4:14 am
Filed under: Life, love, Music, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

…as a matter of fact it is rather hard when you discover that he really wasn’t where it’s at, after he took everything from me that he could steal.



Here, we allow the variable x to represent Love…

…and for the sake of this equation we define Love as being a symbiotic relationship in which one species benefits and the other is harmed [often irreparably]. So, if x = Love and Love = Parasitic Symbiosis, then x = job security for Dr. J [heretofore known as “my psychoanalyst”].



Thanks Jack, but my psychoanalyst has been saying that for years