The Horror! The Horror! (also: Prince's NAACP Award, etc.)
In the upper right corner of my Blogspot blog (and yours too) is a button labelled Next Blog, and in some kind of addled fog I spent an hour late last night clicking it repeatedly to read as much as I could of 40 or so of my neighbors' blogs in the new galaxy of cyberspace called the Blogosphere.
The Horror! The Horror!
Oh, well, the Sorority Girl and the fellow who has devoted his life to binge drinking and the Expert Day Trader and the many bloggers in very tight personal relationships with Jesus are probably bored to screaming tears or repulsed to vomiting with my adventures riding the Zeta Beam to Vleeptron. They can just Bite Me, and obviously I am just Biting Them, but I don't think I'll be biting too many Next Blogs much more. I have a sensitive digestive tract and nervous system.
Sorority Girl (I think her name is Muffy or Buffy or Twinki or Sylli or Ayrehedde or Feloni) posted that she just read a new study about sorority girls on USA campuses which say that bizarrely high percentages of sorority girls (women? must I say women?) engage in inordinately high rates of sexual promiscuity, drug and alcohol abuse, eating disorders, abusive relationships with Todd from the Football Team, and I don't know what-all, but it's all self-destructive behavior and probably isn't helping them bring their organic chem or quantum mechanics grades up to a C by semester's end.
Color her shocked and dismayed, certainly very disappointed, with her Greek sisters.
In fact there are no hints on SG's blog that any of these sweetie-pies ever go to any classes whatsoever. There were lots of photos of her sorority house bedroom, some with the bed made, some with the bed unmade, and a nice photo of the bathroom she shares with six or seven of her closest sisters (LOTS of bottles of Goop). She has a very nice patchwork quilt.
Another Blogeusse reports this week that she is devastated. She just bought Tori Amos' latest CD (or whatever tangible or intangible form new music is sold in these days), put it on the Victrola, and was horrified to discover it sucks bigtime.
Call me a prophet or a visionary, but I thought Tori Amos' music sucked bigtime ten years ago. (For one thing, I thought it was a direct rip-off of Kate Bush. I have had one major stiffy for Kate Bush since the first time I heard her shriek "Wuthering Heights." It got a lot worse after I SAW her on a video. Be Still My Heart. Donald Sutherland was in one of her videos -- ya think they ...?)
In my Legendary Unsupervised Totally Free Bachelor Decade I was briefly dating one sweetie-pie who was trying to drag my sorry superannuated ass to a Tori Amos concert, but fortunately we broke up before the concert date. We did not squabble about who should get the mega-pricey tickets; I handed them to her gingerly with a set of sterilized barbecue tongs, with my blessings. (Every Sunday night she also made me sit next to her and watch "Touched by an Angel." I really don't like plots constructed around giving adorable spaniel puppies or little freckled 6-year-old boys named Mikey terminal leukemia.)
I am not the first Horny Old Fart to discover that the fundamental problem with Age-Inappropriate Romances is The Music. I am trying to listen to Die Zauberflote, and she is turning the volume on my stereo up to 11 and out comes stuff about my homies in the hood popping a cap in my bitch 'cause she's a ho. Clearly this is some sort of Excruciating Fingernails-on-a-Blackboard Punishment from a Disapproving, Scowling God.
God, please note: I am happily and permanently married now to a wonderful Age-Appropriate musically tasteful, brilliant and beautiful woman. Don't make me listen to any more gangsta rap or Tori Amos or Lilith Faire stuff ever again please.
I am sure she is a certified Geezerette now, too, but ya know who I really liked? Joan Osborne. I thought "One of Us" was just a startlingly original lyric and song.
And somewhere lost in an old dead inaccessible hard disk is an .mp3 cover of it done by Prince, or, as he was called at the time, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, or TAFKAP, or just an ineffable guy wearing a gaudy Ankh-ish sorta thing around his neck.
That cover RAWKED!!!! It's not on any of his albums, and I had to track it down all over the Internet until I finally found a Swiss Guy who is the World's Greatest Prince Fan, and he had it. I had to beg for it in an e-mail entirely in French, which I sincerely hope he enjoyed. (HAHAHAHA LE STOOPID AMERICAIN IS TRYING TO BEG ME FOR A PRINCE SONG EN FRANCAISE WHICH HE SPEAKS COMME LE MERDE HAHAHAHAHA I WILL FIRST PRETEND K JE NE COMPREND PAS HAHAHAHAHA) Anyway, Jean-Claude sent me the .mp3 and IT FUCKIN RAWKS!!! IT FUCKIN RAWKS!!! and I want it again so bad so if you happen to have Prince's cover of "One of Us," SVP sendez cette au moi vite vite merci beaucoups.
Prince (that's what he calls himself again these days) is about to get a huge Image Award from the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). (February, the shortest month of the year, is the USA's Black History Month. I am not the first horologist of either skin tone to notice this.)
Can you remember a single Prince song that involved the Joy of Firearms? Driveby shootings? The need to discipline enslaved females with regular doses of abusive violence? Gang violence? Fear? Intimidation? Murder? Prisons?
No way. Prince is/was all about romance and love and lighthearted incurable satyriasis and voluntary multi-racial orgies in Minneapolis and Having A Wonderful Time. Totally non-violent guy.
Musically -- Beyond Original, Beyond Brilliant, he created an entire New Musical Universe.
His outfits: I rushed right down to k-Mart and bought The Prince Collection, sox to scrotum bulge cup, and I have been looking exactly like Prince ever since, so if you're ever in Northampton and you see a perfect Prince doppleganger, all in deep purple velvet supertight pants, pierced and pouting and marcelled, only he's Caucasian, come on over and introduce yourself, that's me!
And if you send me that Prince .mp3 of "One of Us," pal, mon ami, mein Freund, mi amigo, you've just earned yourself a Free Vleeptron Entire Pizza with Double Anchovies and Pineapple, even if you are Swiss.
The world's greatest Prince fan is Swiss -- go figure.
Well, for a decade or so, if you wanted to find the Internet's premier Parliament Funkadelic George Clinton fan site, you had to click into some weird-ass sleeper cell in Hamburg DE. (Crazy Dredlock George produced Prince's pay-per-view Y2K Millennium Eve music special, when he sang "1999" for the Very Last Time, and that fuckin rawked too! Best fuckin Millennium Eve I ever had!)
I GOT to spend more time in Hamburg one of these days!!! Been im und aus der Banhof, and while waiting for my train, around the block (past SEX KUTIE WORLD and LIVE HIER SEX SHOW) for some tourist sauerbraten (not bad!), but I GOT to get out and see der Stadt! What the fuck goes on there??? How the hell did Hamburg get like that?
I hope the War on Terrorism ends well, but I really hope it doesn't turn Hamburg into some sort of Smiley-Face Euro-Disney. UNESCO should step in and make sure Hamburg stays Hamburg forever. Marseilles, too, I guess, but I've never been there, maybe it's all movie hype.
Too late for Interzone, it no longer exists and it's got (some) laws now.