David Montero said he feared pop culture was on the decline. I scoffed. I told him there was lots of great new hip hop--although Brian, responsible for bringing said hip hop into our home, Eeyored it and agreed with Montero and Nas that hip hop is dead.
What about Game's "Olde English," the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful song ever? (No, ever. It's not up for debate.) And that Timbaland beat for "The Way I Are" is so awesome that yesterday I played it on my pretend iPod in my head for 35 minutes on the elliptical. (I ain't got no Visa/I ain't got no Red American Express. I burned like a whole muffin's worth of calories!) Even the unbearable ego of Kanye West has managed to turn out two hot new tracks, I told Montero with irrepressible optimism. He's been in Pakistan, so he wasn't up on all this.
He moped on, But what about rock and tv and...Well, said I, what about that Killers song that goes, I don't shine if you don't shine and Sarah Silverman and Stephen Colbert with their own shows? Maybe it's just the first time I've descended from my mountain lair of intellectual superiority to pay attention, but this moment in pop culture seems just great to me. Fandamntastic. Seriously, do you watch Best Week Ever?
Of course I was positioning myself rather dangerously.
The very next day there was this adorable call-and-response on Wild 94.9:
Baby where'd you get your body from
Tell me where'd you get your body from
Baby where'd you get your body from
Tell me where'd you get your body fromI got it from my mama
I got it from my mama
I got it from my mama
At first I couldn't imagine who was responsible for this schlock. I should have put it together immediately that only will.i.am.shameless could make such a horrible, horrible song with a super catchy beat and only Fergie could lower herself enough to sing, All of this stuff right here/I got all this from my mama. As if family shit isn't crazy enough, now we have to bring in this creepy sexiness inheritance idea.
It didn't get better when I heard the new Justin Timberlake/50 Cent song, which sounded like a good idea at first. This track had "matchmaker" written all over it. By which I mean not that it sounded like it should have been on the "Fiddler on the Roof" soundtrack, but that it sounded like a pairing strategically designed by a focus group for audience maximization rather than an organic creative collaboration. I can just imagine some Yenta at the studio thinking, Fitty needs to reach more middle American white kids and Justin needs better hip hop cred...
Oh well.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Globalidatin
When my friends, and even my own kin, are turning up with people named Assaf and Mehr on their arms, from Tel Aviv and Lahore, respectively, or contemplating a move to Montreal to be with a canadien airplane mechanic, I have to wonder: has this globalization thing gone too far?
Brian's from Anaheim, and what with the OC/Inland Empire beef, I didn't know if our relationship could make it. When it's 85 degrees and he's wilting from "the heat," I still wonder, Is this going to work out? Are we just...too different?
Brian's from Anaheim, and what with the OC/Inland Empire beef, I didn't know if our relationship could make it. When it's 85 degrees and he's wilting from "the heat," I still wonder, Is this going to work out? Are we just...too different?
Thirtynothing
I'm turning thirty. What's that? Aren't I six months shy yet of twenty-nine? Oh sure.
But have you ever noticed how shocked and unprepared people are when they hit decades? Ten is fine. (Double-digits!) Twenty is yippee, I'm an adult. After that, decade birthdays are all too often taken as crushing reminders of failed hopes and mortality.
But isn't the real problem that these birthdays take people by surprise? ("Shit! I'm forty! I sort of vaguely thought I was still in my twenties.") This is very startling, and engenders feelings of panic. ("Jesus, I need to get my shit together.") So I'm getting ready for the big three-oh starting toDAY. 542 days should be enough for me to come to grips with everything I haven't accomplished, and maybe accomplish some of it on the side.
So here I sit, almost thirty and acutely aware of it. You may be almost thirty, too. Or possibly almost forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty. (If so, thanks for reading a kid's ramblings!) So I beseech you, start freaking out about it now. In fact, I'm going to start anticipating fifty now, too. It's like saving for retirement, easier if you start young.
I'd like to start anticipating eighty, but that's a bit of an optimistic presumption. Then again, if I start anticipating eighty now, surely I couldn't feel anything but lucky to make it there.
But have you ever noticed how shocked and unprepared people are when they hit decades? Ten is fine. (Double-digits!) Twenty is yippee, I'm an adult. After that, decade birthdays are all too often taken as crushing reminders of failed hopes and mortality.
But isn't the real problem that these birthdays take people by surprise? ("Shit! I'm forty! I sort of vaguely thought I was still in my twenties.") This is very startling, and engenders feelings of panic. ("Jesus, I need to get my shit together.") So I'm getting ready for the big three-oh starting toDAY. 542 days should be enough for me to come to grips with everything I haven't accomplished, and maybe accomplish some of it on the side.
So here I sit, almost thirty and acutely aware of it. You may be almost thirty, too. Or possibly almost forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty. (If so, thanks for reading a kid's ramblings!) So I beseech you, start freaking out about it now. In fact, I'm going to start anticipating fifty now, too. It's like saving for retirement, easier if you start young.
I'd like to start anticipating eighty, but that's a bit of an optimistic presumption. Then again, if I start anticipating eighty now, surely I couldn't feel anything but lucky to make it there.
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