Filed under: The Inanity Files
Jason DeRulo: Whatcha Say
This song is basically about a guy attempting to atone for cheating on his woman. Here’s how he does it:
“I know what I did wasn’t clever/but me and you were meant to be together.”
I object to the use of the word “clever” in this context. I’m sure the point was that it rhymed but that doesn’t make it any less stupid. It’s not about being clever or not clever; it’ s about right or wrong. Using the word “clever” makes it sound like he was trying to be sly and regrets getting caught more than the actual cheating. Not the way back into your girl’s heart my friend. Let’s try another tactic:
“But when I become a star we’ll be living so large/I’ll do anything for you.”
Besides being a selfish egomaniac, he’s implying that his girl should forgive him because soon he will be rich and famous and if she takes him back he will bestow these riches upon her. I’m not going to lie, that argument has some weight with me, but it also borders on calling her a prostitute. And if he can’t keep it in his pants when he’s poor and anonymous, why in God’s name should she believe he will manage to stay faithful to her when he’s rolling in dough and surrounded by groupies? I for one am not convinced.
Chris Brown featuring Lil Wayne: I Can Transform Ya
Chris Brown in general is a mine field, so I’m going to avoid looking for deeper, domestic-abuser-hinting moments in his lyrics and instead focus on some questionable lines rapped by my boo, Lil Wayne.
“I transform her to Ducati and then I transform me to a Bugatti.”
I had to look up what a Ducati and a Bugatti even are, and they are a high end motorcyle and a high end sports car, respectively. The whole song appears to have a Transformers theme, which might make sense if it were associated with the Transformers movies, but it’s not, so I’m a bit lost. The general narrative of the song, if you will, seems to be a man telling a woman why she should fuck him and how good it will be, but the fatal flaw here is that men think cars are sexy. Women, not so much. I don’t want to be transformed into a motorcylce, and I think it’s vaguely insulting that the woman gets transformed into the smaller, cheaper of the two vehicles. Also, cars can’t fuck.
“I transform smaller and she puts me in her pants.”
Talking about getting smaller is generally not the way into a woman’s pants. Then again, Lil Wayne’s first kid was born when he was 15 and his 4th child by his 3rd baby mama is due this year. Oh, and his 3rd child (by a different baby mama than the 4th) was just born last month. So perhaps he knows more about getting into chicks’ pants than I do.
Drake featuring Kanye, Lil Wayne, Eminem: Forever
I’m not even going to talk about the fact that I like ANOTHER Drake song. Moving on to the lyrics:
“If I was at the club you know I ball, chemo.”
That’s Drake there. Perhaps I am just too white to understand this reference, but I have no fucking idea what it means. At first I thought the line was, “if I was at the club you know I’m bald, chemo,” which confused me because it was vaguely insensitive to cancer patients and because I didn’t know what being bald had to do with being at the club. After looking up the lyrics I’m more confused.
“I stuck my dick inside this life until that bitch came.”
That’s the king of good publicity Kayne speaking. He’s talking in general about his total domination of rap music, but since he’s congratulating himself, his dick would be him and this life/bitch would be music/fame/whatnot, correct? So if we’re if going to follow the logic of the metaphor, shouldn’t he be coming, not the life/bitch he has completely dominated? Unless his domination is so thorough that the life/bitch enjoys it as much as he does? But as my friend Stephanie astutely pointed out, there is no way in hell that Kanye West shows any concern for whether or not his partner comes.
“I had raped the game young, you can call it statutory.”
Kanye again, and I just don’t feel like rape or stat rape is something to make light of, especially when you have the image problems of Kanye West.
“Trade the Grammy plagues to have my granny back/remember she had that bad hip like a fannypack.”
It’s nice for Kanye to shoutout to grandma, but how is a bad hip like a fannypack? And is that really the most memorable thing you can say about your dead grandmother?
“Chasing the stardom will turn you into a maniac/I used to want this thing forever, y’all can have it back.”
I briefly entertained the notion that Kayne was having a moment of true self-reflection. Than I remembered that this is Kanye West we’re talking about it, and the fact that these lines are uttered by him are what render them ridiculous.
Backstreet Boys: All I Have to Give
“Does he leave you when you need him the most?/Does his friends get all your time?”
DO his friends get all your time, not does. DO. Grammar people, grammar! It’s called the English language; get acquainted with it.
You know who I don’t like? People who adopt inane, unlivable life philosophy catchphrases and actually purport to live by them. I went out on a date once that could only have been worse had it ended with criminal charges (which most likely would have been murder charges, against me, for ripping his throat out simply to get him to shut up). This particular date was multi-faceted in its nearly comical badness, beginning with the fact that he was 45 minutes late to pick me up from the metro stop. And it was raining. When I got into his car he told me that he hoped I wasn’t mad that he was late, he had been working from home and lost track of time, but that if I was mad, I would get over it.
I’m fairly certain that at one point two guys were hitting on my date and even though he doesn’t swing that way, he was such an attention whore that he ate that shit up with a spoon while I sat by twiddling my thumbs. At one point when we were walking up stairs he slapped my ass. He spent a solid hour telling me, from start to finish, the dramatic story of his ex-fiance and how she came to be his ex. He prodded me for information on my exes (which is a pretty weird first date manuever) and after I mentioned one who had a Hispanic first name, he started interrupting me every time I referred to that ex to say, “Pedro,” which was not my ex’s name. Nothing like a little racist humor to break the ice.
He lived in DC and I live about 45 minutes NOT in DC, so he kept buying me drinks even though I said I was good and reminded me roughly 100 times that I was welcome to stay at his place and shouldn’t even risk taking the metro to my car and then driving from there. You can’t blame a guy for trying to get some ass, but you can arguably blame him for being so obvious about his efforts to use alcohol and a missed metro train to do it. I kept saying I should really be heading home and he kept saying he had one more awesome place to take me to.
The last stop on the awesome train was a bar patronized soley by black patrons, and I am perhaps the whitest person alive. I don’t mean culturally white, although I’m pretty white in that respect too, but I mean I am literally nearly transperent, a la Nicole Kidman, so I have the kind of whiteness that stands out even to a crowd of white people. This guy was white too, and he claimed to frequent the bar, but when we walked in and were the only white people there, time ceased. I know it’s impossible to say this without sounding kind of racist, but I’m really not racist, I really do have friends of every color, exes of every color, etc. Still, we’re talking severly awkward moment here. I wouldn’t have blamed any patron of that bar for turning to his neighbor and being all, “You think these crackers got lost? DC tourists?”
As we stood awkwardly at the bar, he proceeded to tell me how beautiful my hair is and started stroking it, running his hand through the hair around my face. Then he said, “You look really uncomfortable that I’m touching you like this,” and proceeded TO CONTINUE DOING IT ANYWAYS.
The real clincher though was when he started on about his motorcycle and skydiving, then said, “People always think I’m crazy for being such a daredevil, but my philosophy is you have to live in the moment, so I don’ t worry about what might happen.”
This is not a viable life philosophy unless you’re Paris Hilton or you’ve been born into royalty, and even for Paris, living in the (let’s make a night vision tape of us fucking) moment has consequences. You know why living in the now doesn’t work? Let’s imagine my day today if I constantly lived in the moment. I would probably walk into the cute new intern’s office, lock the door, and fuck him on the desk. There’s a glass panel next to the door so everyone walking by would see what we were doing, you say? I say, even hotter. That’s assuming I even came to work today, which I wouldn’t have, because I would still be living in the moment of sleeping my ass in. I would have gone ahead and bought the $435 dress I covet from Nordstrom’s because I wanted it. Credit card bills, you say? Not in this moment, say I. Of course I could probably get away with living in the moment for 30 days tops before collections would be hunting my ass down and that intern would have sent the police to my door. I wouldn’t have any of my degrees because I usually would have chosen smoking pot, sleeping, or shopping over attending class. Or all 3.
Point being, no one can truly live in the moment because we have to do certain things like earn money or go to school or visit grandma even though she’s weird and her last tenuous grip on reality is her relationship with her cats. We do these things because we live in a society that requires them, and we do them so can we get to those special moments worth really living in. But those moments are not every moment of every day, and I hate people that talk about how they live in the now. It’s the kind of bullshit guys hoping to get laid spout to impress a girl by making her think he’s dangerous and exciting and worth boning. It’s crap. From a first date guy’s perspective though, waxing poetic about the value of living in the moment does make some sense. That jackass really believed his own hype, but touting the benefits of making thoughtless decisions with complete disregard for future consequences does seem a relatively sound strategy for a guy prowling for pussy.
Filed under: The Inanity Files
I was driving the other day and I passed this little tiny strip mall, so small it was really more strip than mall. It literally consisted of three stores, and it caught my eye because over the doorway of the middle store hung a banner that read, “A flag is the perfect gift!”
Have you ever in your life been shopping for a gift for someone and suddenly thought to yourself, “Eureka! I should buy Susie/Joe/my mother/whoever a flag! Just what he always wanted! Why didn’t I think of this before?”
No one wants a fucking flag as a gift. My parents had a tradition that every Christmas they would put a couple of pairs of new socks in my stocking (a tradition maintained to this day, and yes, of course I still have a stocking; Christmas is serious business). I would always moan and groan about getting socks as a present, but they were accompanied by a whole crapload of other better presents, and even though they weren’t exciting, I put those socks to use. Everyone needs socks. No one needs a flag. Flags are not only undesirable, they’re not even useful.
The only places I ever see flags are schools, office buildings and hockey games, and it’s always the same flag. Perhaps it’s a sign that I’m severely deficient in the patriotism department that I don’t have my very own American flag, but I don’t want one. Where would I put it, or any other flag for that matter? I don’t have a flagpole in my front yard.
I always assumed shit like this was purchased online from some kind of speciality store, because I can’t believe that a store the size of my bedroom selling nothing but flags can actually stay in business, but maybe it was there before the internet streamlined shopping and the owners just aren’t quite ready to lower the flag on their dream (see what I did there?). I just thought it was utterly random that this store even exsists, and highly amusing that someone there thought marketing flags as the perfect gift was going to fly (see what I did there, too? ). I think the whole thing is kind of dumb, but I have to admit, if you found me a flag like this:
I would find a place to hang it.
Filed under: The Inanity Files
What a truly fascinating television network TLC has become. Their current claim to fame is being the home of the adorable family of multiples/turned cheating bitter divorcees Jon and Kate (plus 8, although no one seems especially interested in the kids anymore). The best show on the network is What Not to Wear, hosted by the ever-charming Clinton and his sassy partner in crime Stacey, both of whom actually seem to have a real fashion sense and give good advice. (The only obstacle on that show is accepting that no matter what, when stylist Nick gets you in his chair, he is going to try to chop all your hair off. Fact.) While some of TLC’s lineup features shows about shopping for the perfect wedding dress or receiving a style makeover, TLC is also the proud home of a number of reality documentaries showcasing people who are some level of freak of nature.
Let me be frank: I can’t turn away from a show about deformities or medical anomalies. It’s utterly compelling to watch twin savants go about their daily business of being identical and savant-y. A special about primordial dwarves? I’m there. I think for the most part, I understand why the people on these shows participate in them. They are bringing attention to a little known and often under-researched condition, like primordial dwarfism or progeria, and I would assume, getting some financial or medical assistance from TLC for sharing their plight. More power to them.
TLC also spends a lot of time on obesity. They have an entire show revolving around doctors that perform nothing but weight loss surgeries. We all know that obesity is a major problem in America, and I think addressing that and documenting the real struggles of real people has at least a little value beyond that of pure entertainment. I am, however, amazed at the people willing to participate in these shows. I won’t even wear a bathing suit in public and I’m not being followed around by a camera that is there to record every bite I take and every flab I make for the viewing pleasure of the entire nation. But again, I get that these shows arguably serve an educational purpose, and I think that’s great.
Sometimes though, in an effort to differentiate one of their offerings from 3 or 4 strikingly similar shows, TLC adds insult to injury. Case in point: the documentary 650 Pound Virgin. At a certain point, don’t kick a dog when he’s already down, you know? It’s bad enough that this guy, David Smith, reached 650 pounds and suffered all the emotional and health issues that accompany that. The man even has a tragic story of childhood abuse and losing a parent as a teenager to boot. I think we all kind of figured that a guy who has weighed upwards of 300 pounds since his late teens probably wasn’t super popular with the ladies. He is now 32 years old, 240 pounds, and adorable. He has even become a personal trainer. Couldn’t his inspirational story be told without harping on about the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid?
Matt Lauer interviewed David Smith and while I’m not a regular watcher of The Today Show, I do hold a soft spot in my heart for Lauer ever since he called Tom Cruise out on the crazy a few years back. And I like him even more now, because during his 5 minute interview with Smith, he allowed him to preserve his dignity by focusing on his amazing accomplishment without ever once asking him if he’d made any progress in cashing in his v-card. You can watch the interview here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/31845266/ns/today_relationships/
According to the accompanying article, Smith would not directly say if he is still a virgin, meaning he’s either a true gentlemen (awww!) or he’s smart enough to realize that while it may be good program marketing, advertising your inability to get laid is not the best way to increase your access to poon.
*If you have an affinity for creepy artwork that expertly details the human form at its absolute weirdest, you can find this sculpture and plenty more where that came from at http://www.tiptoland.com/index.htm. I don’t know where in one’s home one might display one of these pieces, but you have to admire the workmanship.
Filed under: The Inanity Files
During my morning commute I sometimes listen to a local radio station that plays mostly pop music and is geared toward a young audience. The radio personalities all purport to be in their mid to late 20s and the station airs Ryan Seacrest’s nationally broadcast midday weekly program, so you can imagine the demographic they’re aiming at. At least once a week the morning show does a bit entitled “War of the Roses.” The basic premise is to help the caller determine whether or not his or her significant other is cheating. So a girl will call in because she suspects her boyfriend is seeing someone else, and the DJ will call the boyfriend (with her on the line, silent) and pretend to be a flower company doing a promotion. The DJ offers to send a dozen roses free on the boyfriend’s behalf. If the boyfriend doesn’t name his girlfriend who called in as the recipient of the roses, then we have on-air proof that he’ s a cheating bastard. If he does name her as the recipient, then we have proof that she is crazy and jealous for no reason…or that her boyfriend has heard the radio show before and is hip to this game.
Now I don’t know about you, but I would be pretty skeptical if some random person called my cell claiming to want to send free roses on my behalf. I would assume it was a solictor, tell him not to call back, and hang up. I’m guessing that happens fairly often when they try to pull this stunt, but they don’t air those failures.
There are so many other reasons why this a dumb idea. I understand why the station does it, because God knows, people love train wrecks. What baffles me is why anyone calls into the show and volunteers to participate, because there are only a few possible outcomes, and none of them are good. To wit:
Best case scenario: Your boyfriend chooses to send the roses to you. This means one of two things: A. Since the two of you are dating, you probably live in the same area and possibly even listen to the same radio station or are at least semi-familiar with it, so your boyfriend knows about the show and is smart enough to play along and futher cover up his infidelity by acting like he didn’t know this conversation was staged by a radio DJ. He has the flowers sent to you and proclaims his deep and abiding love for you on the air. That’s touching, but you’re stupid, and he has effectively pulled the wool over your eyes YET AGAIN. Or, B. He really isn’t cheating on you and really didn’t know about the show, but now he’s super pissed off at you because you not only suspected him of cheating but chose to accuse him of it indirectly in a public forum. One time when I was listening, the guy said he was so excited he was chosen for this free flower promotion because he was going to propose and already had a dinner planned, so having flowers arrive at the dinner would be perfect. The girl interjected at that point to gleefully proclaim she would marry him, and after the DJ explained to this poor schmuck what was really going down, he rescinded the proposal. (I still wonder though if he never really intended on proposing at all and was a cheater, but knew about War of the Roses and decided to play along and make his girlfriend feel like a complete ass, thus putting her in the position of being super apologetic and afraid to ever accuse him of any wrongdoing again, thereby stringing her along even longer. In which case that man is an evil genius.)
Worst case scenario: He is cheating on you, and now you and the entire metropolitan area know it. Feel better?
I think some of the participants figure that if the person is cheating, what a better way to call him or her out on it than by embarrassing that person publicly and having the supreme joy of telling him off with the assistance of your local sympathetic radio DJ and the listening public. The problem with this route is that these people obviously have no shame. The cheaters usually take the indignant route and start justifying why they’re cheating and blaming the other party. They always, always act like jerks and are NEVER apologetic. And even if they were apologetic, would that help? It would obviously be a hollow apology made only after being caught red-handed. It means nothing and it’s insincere. And if your significant other is cheating, how does letting the whole world know that you were swindled improve the situation?
Probably the best one yet was this morning. It was a guy calling in to set up his girlfriend, and he knew she was cheating. How? Because she was pregnant and he had had a vasectomy before he met her. He was straight up honest about the fact that his intention was solely to humiliate her. Nice. One could make the argument that he should have told her about the vasectomy, but her reaction was priceless. She went from telling him this was crazy and that somehow he had managed to knock her up against all medical odds, to talking about the possibility that there be another explanation in about fifteen seconds. Her other explanation? She phrased it as a hypothetical situation that “people” sometimes experience…waking up drunk and not being sure what happened the night before or with whom. A bad liar and a drunken whore. Classy.
Filed under: The Inanity Files
There are some things in this world that are just plain dumb. They’re not really malicious and they don’t cause people any harm. They just elicit a very particular brand of head-shaking bafflement. Let’s begin with a trend in vanity license plates that I’ve observed.
I was driving home during rush hour yesterday when a black Escalade pulled up alongside me. As traffic inched slowly forward, the Escalade moved slighty ahead, and guess what its license plate said? ESCALADE.
Clever. And so original.
This trend seems to be most popular among higher-end cars, as if the driver wishes to take another opportunity to remind the rest of us that his car costs about 4 times as much as the ones we’re driving. And although it’s pretentious and a bit obnoxious, I suppose it’s less stupid when the driver of a BMW does it than when the driver of a Kia Rio does. But it’s not the in-your-face materialistic bragging that bugs me; it’s the sheer idiocy of it. It’s the vehicular equivalent of writing your own name on your forehead. It’s just dumb, and while I think the people who do this imagine a reaction along the lines of, “Wow, that person has a sweet-ass ride, I wish I had his car,” I think the more common response is more like, “Wow, that person is a moron who probably has to write his own name on his forehead so he doesn’t forget it.”
Let me be clear though that I am not condemning the very concept of personalized license plates. Far be it from me to inhibit self expression. Occasionally a license plate even manages to encapsulate a deeply felt emotion that I share, such as the IHATE66 plate that I see on my way home from work most days whilst fighting always-horrendous traffic on, you guessed it, Route 66. I think my main concern about the concept of vanity plates is that I don’t know if it’s wise to draw extra attention to oneself. But perhaps that is just because I’m the only daughter of a man who instilled in me the belief that vanity plates are essentially just gift-wrapped invitations to rapists/serial killers to easily stalk you and determine the most efficient time and place at which to abduct you, thus beginning the process that eventually ends with your bones being turned into a set of windchimes. Still, I have to admit, sometimes vanity plates are damn amusing. Like this one:
I find it hard not to admire someone who so successfully utilizes various aspects of the license plate beyond just figuring out a way to fit his name and birth date into the seven allotted spaces. Thanks to Kim for turning me onto this gem. It’s not her license plate but she does appreciate the sentiment.
And then there’s this diamond in the rough:
You have to admire the sheer balls of the guy who filled out the application for a University of Virginia plate with the UVA logo followed by the letters “agina” on it. I don’t know this guy, but I bet he’d be fun to have a beer with.