lundi, avril 21, 2008

Cereal Philanderer

Working nights as I do is dangerous. What with Youtube and such. You wake up in the morning, pour your soy milk over your shredded wheat, and realize:

I just spent the night falling head over heals in love with Feist.

I know, I know, I can already hear you saying, "What about Regina Spektor?"

Look, I'm not saying it wasn't a spektacular year with her--and you have to admit, my affair with her lasted a good deal longer than the disastrous Natalie Imbruglia phase--but she never, I don't know, responded to me, per se, in a way that made me feel like she was as into it as I was. And her music will always have a prominent place in my home, because you can't expect something so deep and meaningful to just wash away with the next rain, you know?

Not that I don't get what you're getting at. I know I haven't listened to Tori Amos in years. But you have to remember: She left me. One day she was looking me right in the eye as I sat in the fifth row. The next day she was surrounded by screaming teenage girls and didn't have the time. It took me a long time to move on. Ran around with Fiona Apple for a while. Even had a fling with Charlotte Gainsbourg--although we both knew it was only because she was ostensibly French, and because the girl from Portishead was so inaccessible and smoked too much.

Look, this wouldn't even be an issue if Audrey Hepburn hadn't decided to get old and die. How do you think that feels?

So believe me when I say, me and Feist are for real. Because at some point, in the cold light of the morning, Desperado has to come to his senses.

jeudi, avril 10, 2008

My Movement(s)

Having lead the fight to bring them all home and to leave no child behind, I helped found the movement to keep hope alive. I campaigned to stop the madness, the violence, and the cruelty--to put an end to the insanity, stop the suffering, clean up the everything. I ran a race to end every disease. I thought globally and acted locally, and vice-versa. And when at length the world was healed, and civilization an enlightened paradise, I stood on the corner of Main Street and Destiny and took a moment to exchange satisfied smiles with a humanity saved by activism.

The first person I saw reached out to me in love and shared an earbud with me. We set the i-pod to shuffle and we walked together in peace and harmony.

Until that fateful moment, when the protest singer, the pop tart, the indie rocker, the punk rebel, the soulful balladeer and the hip hop gangstah icon all united to make me realize how empty my dream had been. Over and over again, I realized I had not, in fact, stopped the madness. Without exception, their tainted lyricism shattered my alabaster vision of humanity's social exaltation. For they all made the same fatally dehumanizing error, the eradication of which is my new cause, the new political action that will give my life meaning and grant connectedness to my self-esteem:

Watch for the deft promotional campaign, write to your elected representatives, send your donations--unite with me and all who see the absolute necessity of ending the horrific injustice of rhyming "GIRL" with "WORLD" in every damn song and at every possible opportunity. No one is immune. Even Fiona Apple has been among the guilty. The Beastie Boys. The White Stripes! Everyone. They must be stopped. This evil practice must not be allowed to continue. At some time in the distant past, our ignorant ancestors listened to their cave music (classic rock) and had no idea. We cannot hold it against them. But now we know. Mother Earth cannot be asked to tolerate a humanity that is crushed with a foreboding sense of doom every time the word "GIRL" is uttered. There must be sanctions, legislation, and collective shame upon all perpetrators.

Elitist, out of touch, nose-in-the air politicians say that in these desperate times you're all clinging to crutches of guns and religion. I believe you're better than that. Cling with me to the crutch of Protest. Wake up!  Join up! 

Maybe together we can save this world.