The Day the Music Died...Again.

KWalsh just sent me a youtube of what can only be described as the most inappropriate appropriation of hip hop culture in the history of the world.

His name is Justin Bieber, he appears to be about 12 years old, and he appears to be stealing the white-boy soulful swagger of Justin Timberlake and the swoopy bangs of Pete Wentz.
I bet MJ is rolling over in his grave.

The premise is this: Justin is just kickin' it with his brace-faced homey, playing some video games, when R&B superstar USHER--who he's apparently house-sitting for--calls and asks if he'll hold down the fort. Like any rambunctious tween, Justin breaks out the "Spontaneous House Party" app on his iPhone, and hijinx ensue!
You know what, before I go on my rant, why don't you see for yourselves:



I mostly blame Jesse McCartney, whose cover of T-Pain's "Buy You A Drank," gave suburban white boys the hope that, with enough twang in one's nasal pre-pubescent voice, they could be "down." Here are my biggest problems with this:

1. Usher's appearance in this video makes me angry. Why on earth would Usher have a 10-year-old Caucasian boy housesit for him? How do they know each other? It's already taking every iota of brain power to suspend the disbelief that this child is a "singer" or "musician," let alone a close and personal friend of Usher Raymond IV. Usher has the voice of an angel, and his was the first concert I ever attended as a young lass in Detroit, Michigan (Usher, Monica, and Immature--fucking dream team). He holds a special place in my heart. I even stood by him during his break up with Chili from TLC. How he could appear in this tween's rip off of every pop-R&B song ever made is both baffling and deeply hurtful.
2. He is the youngest person at his own party. All of his friends are in the 18-25 demographic (the brace-faced homey disappears after the first scene), and clearly his balls haven't even dropped. Also notice that he is exactly at breast height of every woman at the party.
2a. The girl he is courting--you know, who he croons to--is clearly pulling a Mary Kay LeTourneau.
3. He sticks his index finger in the air exactly 39 times--not counting the time he holds up 2 fingers, when he sings, "i'll give it to you." Get it?
4. Every mannerism/gesture is taken from every talented R&B singer that has come before him, and a few are just basic charades pantomimes. He touches his bird chest as though I am supposed to truly believe the intensity of his emotion. Like when he sings, "even though it's hard, love is all we got." He speaks from experience.
5. This was brought to KWalsh's attention on MTV. Seriously, this is what's on MTV? I feel so old and crotchety saying this, but music is now crap. These are the people getting record deals nowadays? This is enough to make the baby Jesus cry. No wonder so many of the kids today are 16 and pregnant.

Oh my god, I can't wait for the angry tween comments to this post.

Performance Anxiety

So, as I said in my previous post, there is a red-haired man that's got me swooning! As I also said, he is leaving me for my hemisphere. Other than the terrible irony and complete unfairness that is an Australian man leaving me when I'm in Australia, this now means two of my future husbands will be in Canada: him and Michael Cera.

I don't know how I'm supposed to live in a world where everything I love is sent to Canada. I'm gonna have to get Obama to do something about this.

Anyway, we were talking about exchanging some music to broaden his horizons and provide him with some new tunes as he embarks on a new voyage. I believe his exact words were, "I want some cruisey tunes."

Though he uses this word often, I'm still not quite sure what 'cruisey' means. This is one of those Aussie terms that I'm still grasping three months in. Like that time he said there was a "biffo at the cricket," which I assumed was some sort of foodstuff, but actually means "there was a fight a the cricket match."


Basically, I think "cruisey" means laid back, rhythmic tunes you can sort of bop to--the kind of jam that puts a pep in your step, but doesn't overwhelm an afternoon bbq. Regardless, I'm basing my CD creation on this theory.

Guys, this is a very high-pressure situation. Remember back in the middle-school days when you were totes crushin' on someone, and you wanted to show your luuurrvvv? You went back home, broke out a cassette, and got to recording tunes that you were convinced proved your coolness--and your ability to be the perfect partner. The result looked something like this:


Remember how hard making a mixtape was? Stopping, pausing, trying to keep the flow seamless, so you'd even rewind a little bit to make sure the time between songs wasn't too long? It was a labor of love, and by the time you handed over it was not unlike your still-beating heart--only way less gross.

To this day, nothing proves you're into a guy like rolling up to him slowly and whispering in his ear, "Damn boy, you so fine I wanna make you a mix tape."
Go ahead, try it on your next crush.

He's going to judge me based on my musical taste! What if he listens to it and is like, "oh em gee, she sucks balls. but not mine. no sir, not mine." ?!?!??! This is very stressful. He will be listening to these tunes as he backpacks the Canadian wilderness. I will use these tunes to keep myself on his mind even when we are separated by thousands of miles. I can NOT have him remembering that I'm kind of lame.

As you can see, I'm really into him. So into him that I did not blog about him for a week and refuse to talk about our actual interactions because the only comedic fodder comes from my giddiness, not his foolishness. So into him that he left his man-deodorant at my place before his flight, saying that I should hold on to it cause he can't take an aerosol can on the plane, but I'm pretty sure he's leaving it here because he wants me to sniff it and think of him.
So into him that I almost told his brother how I felt.
I IM'd the friend of mine who got me in touch with him, and our conversation would have gone something like this:
me: HEY GIRL
HOW DO I GET [FRED WEASLEY] TO MARRY ME?! IT'LL BE LIKE IN HARRY POTTER BOOK 5 WHEN THEY ALL NEED DATES FOR THE YULE BALL AND FRED ASKS OUT ANGELINA, THE BLACK GIRL!!!
my friend: roofies. [i think she would have said this]

Instead, it went like this:
me: HEY GIRL
then, for some reason unbeknownst* to me, I paused and waited for her to respond. I never do this, seeing as I have a lot to say at all times.
my friend: hey Sojourner, this is her boyfriend [and my Weasley twin's brother!!!]. she's out right now.
me: oh, hey, sorry about that.
her boyfriend: no dramas.

AAHHHH! Can you imagine how that would have gone if I'd kept talking?! I'd be the mayor of Awkward City!!!

So I'm sitting here at 11:30 am on Australia Day trying to get some cruisey tunes. I made one sure-fire winner only to discover that the disc won't play in a CD player. I AM BEING FOILED BY TECHNOLOGY!!

I now have to go buy new blank CDs that are more versatile. This is way hard, guys.

As I wipe the sweat off of my brow, I try to remember that this is just a nice thing, and he'll appreciate my follow-through-- even if he thinks I have the musical taste of an emo 14 year old.

But, um, seriously, how do you record music so that it plays a subliminal message that makes him want to wed me in a rushed Canadian ceremony?

Whoever's got the answer gets to be the flowergirl.


* I'm trying to bring this word back into the general lexicon. What do we think?

I May Be A Quitter, But At Least I Don't Litter*

I have to quit my job.

For serious.

This place is just a bizarro world in which I'm the town crazy, only I'm the one walking around thinking logic and spouting talk that makes sense.

My first inkling that this was getting to be too much was when I started my shift at 8pm on Tuesday to find the place packed. I was shocked; the drunkards don't arrive until 10pm at the earliest. I then followed the crowds gaze and discovered that there was a bikini contest going on. Ladies from all over the world paraded around in their finest beachwear as the crowd clapped and hollered.

The announcer introduced each girl as she walked across, praising her virtue.
"Sarah is from England, she likes vodka-lemonade and Italian men!!!!" At which point Italian men would whistle and English guys would boo.

After the contest, I noticed a few of my female coworkers were wearing bathing suits under their work shirts. Apparently, they had participated in this contest. Ah, to be 18, pierced, and full of confidence.

My next tip-off was on Christmas Eve, where I worked 6pm-3am, and the night started off with a "Jager Train." For only $6 (down from the $9 normal price) patrons could buy a shot on the jager train, which was set up all along the bar. The goal was to break the Australian record for longest Jager train. Instead, it just meant that people got drunk and annoying way earlier than usual.

I've also been sick like whoa recently--probably because I sleep odd hours and eat way too much fast food at 4am. My body is rejecting this lifestyle and telling me to sit my ass down. I even had to leave my 10pm shift on Friday after only 2 hours, because I could not breathe and the bad house music was making my head pulse even more.

Last night (Saturday) I worked 7pm - 3:30am, without a single break. What's curious about this is that the cute blonde girls always get breaks, and sometimes get to even skip out on clean-up if they start work before 8. One of the girls, who started an hour after me, was told to go out for a cigarette break and no one even told me we were shutting down my side of the bar. Um, I think I'm being oppressed, and I'm hella pissed. I'm gonna have to bring this up with Obama, cause these white folks are straight trippin'! This shit's reminding me of plantation days.

And if those aggregious crimes against the blacktress weren't enough, the DJ last night played terrible music, the worst of which was a.... dance remix of Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car'. I kid you not. It was horrible, and I think Tracy, if she were dead, would have rolled over in her grave. In fact, I bet she had nightmares last night which caused her to roll over in bed.
And this song was played TWICE--along with a dance version of 'Wonderwall' by Oasis.

Clearly this is not my element. I did not come down under to spend most of my waking hours reeking of beer, insecurity, and work visas. I can't even do a weekend getaway, and the city is hella wack (um, don't know why I went late-90s-California on you, sorry), and I'm in desperate need of an escape. With an ever-changing schedule, even taking a class is out of the question.

And remember mom's old saying: when you start taking shots of whiskey to get through your day at the office, you know it's time to get the hell out.

TRUTH.

*trying to find the silver lining here, and figured rhyme was the way to go.

I don´t think I´m Lovin´

I honestly don´t know what can be said about this video. I just need someone else to see what I saw yesterday on my new favorite channel full of German and other foreign music videos. It´s called "I´m lovin... LRHP." LRHP stands for Little Red Hot Pants.
Has this boy´s balls dropped yet?