Why I'm giving up the Gaga.

It's time for me to say goodbye. We had a good run, but the curtains have to come down.

I gave my all to love you. I loaded you up on every party playlist I was tasked with creating. I sang off-key to 'Love Game' every drunken opportunity I got. I defended you from critics, I highlighted your ingenuity and potential, and I deemed your sartorial choices as inspired. But enough is enough. I'm not going to take your antics any longer.

Maybe it's your fans. Maybe it's the fact that every dim-witted broad that called me a "lesbian" in high school like it was an insult now has two Bud Lights and practically creams their pants when someone plays 'Poker Face' on the jukebox, blissfully unaware that the song discusses fantasizing about women whilst fucking men. You've made it clear you identify with the freaks and the outcasts, but your bleach-blonde hair and catchy hooks have made you the idol of the run-of-the-mill folk. You traded your Times Square cabaret for Top 40 radio.

I can't blame you. I don't really believe someone can sell out, and if you want to bring gay visibility to the masses, I can't devalue that. But somewhere along the line, your head got more inflated than your Monster Ball ticket prices.

You just take yourself so seriously. As though making pop music is life or death. As though you are the future of entertainment as we know it. As though you didn't rip your musical stylings and attitude from those who came before - those who your young fans don't remember and certainly don't respect. But I'm your age, and I know you stole your "Born This Way" riffs from Madonna. I know your wacky costumes are more Cher than Stefani Germanotta. I know your glitter and androgyny originated on a man. I know your British affectation is inorganic, your impractical shoes are straight off the feet of Daphne Guinness, and the simple fact that I know this makes you tired. Meat dress aside, your repackaging of everything edgy makes you about as sad as Britney Spears' hair extensions.

Pop culture is not meant to be revolutionary. It's not traditionally meant to be political. If you want to make it so - do it - and own it. But at least fucking laugh at yourself. Don't show up at the Grammys in a pod you claimed to sit in for three days to marinate your 'artistic spirit' and then charge people a hundred dollars to see you sing for an hour. Take off the wigs and the heels and be real for five minutes. And the next time you go to a baseball game, just wear a fucking shirt like the rest of us.

I tried to Google "pictures of women with tools," but most of what I got was pictures of dildos. I'm not even kidding. Try it.

In light of the popularity of Women Laughing Alone with Salad, I thought I'd bust up some other stock photography I find hardly representative of actual life. I hate how in advertising, everyone is perfectly scrubbed and every event - even washing your fucking laundry - is TOTALLY AWESOME AND WORTHY OF SMILES. I get the point, every brand wants to imply that their products make you happy, either directly or indirectly, but let's be honest here: people in advertisements are assholes, and so are you if buy into what they're selling.

(No, I didn't buy these images. What do you think I am, a sucker? iStockPhotos can kiss my ass.)

I ALWAYS see pictures like this. They are meant to convey that drinking wine is a lady-friend-fun thing to do. They neglect the reality of wine drinking: you had a shitty day at work and you're terrified of getting fired, so the only way you can relax is by plowing through a bottle of Pinot Grigio and wishing that you won the lottery, or died, or won the lottery and died the next day because it isn't it ironic, don't you think? Please kill me now.

It really irritates me that every time you see an image of a casino, everyone is beautiful and well dressed. Every casino I've ever been to is chock full of fat middle-aged broads chain-smoking and wearing shirts with puff-paint cats on them. Ever been to Vegas? It's not full of attractive yuppies in silk. It's full of assholes in Ohio State sweatshirts who are going to see Celine Dion and play nickel slots.

 

 

YAY WE ARE WATCHING TV TOGETHER DURING THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY AND EATING POPCORN AND HAVING SO MUCH FUN.

No. Just... no. I watch Hoarders by myself at 3 AM while wearing granny panties and no shirt. Watching television is not some bullshit family bonding experience. I watch television because I don't have a life or a thought in my brain.

 

Can we just kill this stupid trope that for women, eating a piece of chocolate is like coming? The title of this picture is "Chocolate craving." I don't crave chocolate like I crave getting my rocks off, okay? I eat about twenty Reese's peanut butter cups when I'm on my period, but it doesn't make up for the fact that I'm bleeding. If I had to pick orgasms or chocolate, I'm going to pick orgasms. IT'S JUST CHOCOLATE.

In ads, old women fucking LOVE the pool. They love it. It's like as soon as you retire, they give you the keys to the local YMCA and you spend the rest of your days doing water aerobics with all your multi-racial best friends. The truth? I don't know a single old person who goes in a pool. I'm pretty sure it's because they're not morons and know that lots of water plus someone who can't move very well equals DROWNING.

Nobody fucking meditates. Nobody has a sense of "inner calm." That's why people invented whiskey and shoegaze music.

Woohoo! Dance party! Except there are only four people there! Standing on a fake bear rug! And none of them are holding alcoholic beverages! And for whatever reason, the host is a terrible decorator! This party fucking sucks.

Everyone thinks women suck at music.

A lot of people lately are up in arms as to whether or not they like Courtney Love. I truly can't think of a more polarizing figure when it comes to feminist circles. Love apologists claim her utter refusal to sit down and shut up is setting a good example for women who refuse to be well-behaved and aim to make history. Those against her accuse her of poor parenting, poor musical skills and even poorer grammar and spelling.

Now, I'm on the fence about C. Love. I watched the documentary Kurt and Courtney and found her to be conniving and greedy. I used to listen to Malibu on repeat when I was fourteen, but I never really cared for the rest of Hole's discography. But it got me thinking about outspoken female musicians, and what happens when they get involved with other musicians.

If something "bad" happens to a musician that society loves - be he John Lennon, or Kurt Cobain - it is immediately and overwhelmingly the fault of whatever woman he's fucking, unless she's a little docile model/housewife. How many times have we heard that Courtney is responsible for killing Kurt? How many times have Beatles fans called Yoko Ono a bitch because John Lennon fell in love with her and stopped making music with Paul, George and Ringo? Furthermore, if a male musician decides to take a break from music, everyone blames the change on that woman. The man is faultless, of course. It's that stupid whore who got knocked up / tricked him into marrying her / is using him for his fame and money's fault. And if an admired musician changes his style after being influenced by such a woman, the new sound is invariably "terrible" and his career is ruined.

This, my friends, is a recurring theme in pop culture, and it's based on one simple fact: people think women suck at music. There. I said what you were already thinking - or I least made it objective. If you have a penis, you were probably just thinking that women suck at music.

I hear this all the time from the segment of our population with external genitalia. The other day I played Metric in the car with Seth and got a reassuring "I don't like most of your chick music but I like this." They assume anything with female vocals that isn't a pop song is generally going to be whiny and poorly-written. Men also believe women are unable to play instruments. Take a look at the female musicians who are generally well-regarded by critics (who are also overwhelmingly male): Janis Joplin, Mama Cass, Patti Smith, Dusty Springfield, Aretha Franklin, Etta James. Singers. All of them. So-called "chick bands" that find popularity with the masses are almost always female-fronted with all-male backing members: the aforementioned Metric, No Doubt, Blondie, Rilo Kiley, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Sonic Youth, Portishead, Garbage, The Cardigans, and even my two favorite bands as a pre-teen: Save Ferris and Letters to Cleo. Can anyone even name a kick-ass female musician that isn't Kim Deal or Lita Ford?

I wouldn't say the dearth of brilliant female musicians is for a lack of trying. I think it has to do with the fact that in music, as in society, women are just expected to stand there and look pretty. Most women in the mainstream are there because they look good, not because they sound good. Rihanna can't even sing. Taylor Swift is a joke compared to Ani DiFranco - but one is 20 years old and has four Grammys and the other has put out 18 studio albums and only has received recognition for fucking CD packaging. The music industry is perpetuating the notion that women can't play well and that all-chick bands will never sell records, conveniently forgetting the massive success of groups like the Runaways and conveniently ignoring the massive talent of women.

And we as a society still want to believe that only the John Lennons and Kurt Cobains of the world will produce good music - until something with a vagina, a guitar, and an actual opinion comes along and screws it up. So for that, Ms. Love, rock the fuck on.

eight songs that make me want to pour hot wax in my ears.

I like to think I have refined taste when it comes to music. Among my friends, I'm usually the one sharing band recommendations, and I've had more than a few people I used to know contact me later and tell me they're still listening to a band I introduced them to. I would make the best rock critic probably ever.

As a whole, I think the music industry sucks ass and the crap they play on the radio could not be worse. But here are eight songs that I really, really abhor.

Katy Perry - California Gurls

 How subtle. I bet your parents are so proud.

It's not that I think Katy Perry is stupid. It's that I think she's a fucking moron. With a fucking terrible voice. This is one of those songs that sticks to your brain matter like that obnoxious residue from when you rip a sticker off too quickly. The song's premise isn't terrible, I guess, except she pretty much desecrated one of the greatest songs ever to be recorded. It features probably the worst Snoop Dogg appearance ever. And lyrics stating "we freak in my Jeep"? 1997 called, they want their lame-ass lingo back.


Pussycat Dolls - Don't Cha

There is nothing in the world more heinous than pop groups wearing matching outfits.

Without even getting into how "Pussycat Dolls" is the easily the dumbest name ever, and the fact "Cha" is not even a fucking word, and that I don't even get why there are five broads in this ensemble when only one of them actually sings, this is by far the most phony attempt at female self-empowerment that I've ever heard. Terrible shtick, terrible song. In short, I don't.


Black Eyed Peas - I Gotta Feeling

The band is comprised of will.i.am.a.narcissistic.prick, Tabooring, apl.de.ap.iece.of.shit, and the Ferg-monster.

I gotta feelin' that every time I hear the Black Eyed Peas, my entire day is fucking ruined. I can't believe our country is so braindead that they could be sold on a song proclaiming that "tonight's gonna be a good night." Real deep. If you listened really carefully during the moment this song was announced as number one on the Billboard charts, you could hear the sound of classical musicians everywhere dying on the inside. When life imitates art and Idiocracy reflects the state of American affairs, I bet you a million dollars everyone will be listening to the Black Eyed Peas.

I could pretty much make this whole list out of Black Eyed Peas songs, but I won't bore you, and I shudder every time I have to actually type the name of this insufferable, talentless, hideous gang of asshats.  They shall henceforth be known as The Douchebags Who Shall Not Be Named.


Avril Lavigne - Girlfriend

Avril, I think you found your true calling.

Hey! Hey! You! You! Fuck off and die, please.


Ke$ha - Tik Tok

You will never fucking be Cher. Don't even try.

I actually kind of liked this song the first two times I heard it. I thought it was sorta campy. And then I heard it another forty thousand times, and I realized that being continually subjected to that song is the equivalent of being locked in a hot, windowless room with vomit and crap all over the walls. If there truly is a God, he invented that song just to show you that in hell, everyone has a nasal voice, there's way too much glitter, every guy is potentially raping you, they use Jack Daniels instead of toothpaste, and there's a loud-ass clock ticking the seconds away. That's enough to make me into a believer.


Nickelback - How You Remind Me

Nickelback is the worst band in popular music today. I'm not even kidding. The intense popularity of Nickelback epitomizes everything I hate about this country. I would say that I want them to meet their end in a bloody plane crash, but that would seal their martyr status and probably make them even more popular than they already are, so I will request that they split up and order all radio stations and Best Buys to destroy all traces that their music ever existed.


Fall Out Boy - Sugar, We're Goin' Down

There is no way any of these guys had sex in high school.

I can't, for the life of me, understand why teenaged chicks eat stuff like this up. The style of singing is so ridiculously annoying, not to mention completely unintelligible. This is what it sounds like to me:

We goin' dow dow dobeedoobeedoobaaaa
And sugar we gotta down singa
I'll be a numb-er one with a boola
A loaded God complex, caca and pulla


Owl City - Fireflies

I want to punch him in his stupid giant head.

Just admit you completely and totally ripped off The Postal Service, you piece of shit.

I've got a secret.

One of my greatest character flaws is that I try to pretend to be cultured. I feign interest in the arts; I masquerade as a literature snob. To put it bluntly, I am far more crass than I let on to strangers and loose acquaintances. Outwardly, I am a devotee of the Western canon; inwardly, I want to read any book that has the word "penis" in it.

So I have been acting like I don't enjoy reality television. I know it's pretentious, but the social circles I've been frequenting lately are most definitely of a higher intellectual caliber. As such, I'm sure they find my unending appreciation of "The Real Housewives of Orange County" appalling. I could watch that shit for HOURS. I detest the people on the show and generally find their antics tasteless, but it amuses me nonetheless.

Since I'm 24 and MTV is now the dominion of the teenaged crowd, I've been denying my love for a certain hyper-tanned, Ed Hardy-wearing motley crew of ill repute. That's right, I fucking love Jersey Shore.

Now I know that you, assumed loyal reader and friend, are wondering why a person reeking of cynicism and feminism would support such a vapid entertainment outlet. So hear me out.

It takes a lot of guts to admit you've fucked someone. It takes serious balls to air your dirty laundry in public. It doesn't matter if everyone wants to hear it, or no one does. Imagine if all your weakest moments were videotaped. Imagine if everyone knew you slept with your roommate, and heard your drunken outbursts, and saw your naked breasts as you writhed in a hot tub.

Now, imagine if you didn't give a shit.

This is where the brilliance of this superficial social experiment comes in. 

I love the people on Jersey Shore because they're not attempting to be anything. They're not pretending their tits are real or their storylines are genuine. The whole experience of the show is so contrived that it goes past artificial and somehow comes back to real. We can see past what everyone expects them to do; yet when they do it, we don't blame them. We can't. We created them. They are the manifestation of all the dumbest, purest things we desire. We want sex and tequila and expensive sunglasses covered in rhinestones. The stupidest part is that we deny it.

That's not to say that I'm going to go douse myself in spray tan and bedazzle some crop tops. The greatest part about entertainment is that it can remain just that. I can watch empty people make out and make tons of money, and it really has no effect on who I am or who I will be. It's just oddly comforting that there's a group of people out there, charged with doing nothing but living out the ridiculously selfish fantasies of my generation, and I can watch them make the thousand mistakes I've made. They're not ashamed. And maybe I shouldn't be, either.

I watched Twilight and I didn't throw up (but my eyes almost rolled out of my head)

 Ten years from now, it won't be funny. Just sad.

I'm pretty slow on the uptake as far as pop culture goes. I probably haven't heard whatever popular song is on the radio, and I didn't even get into Gaga until somewhere around mid-November of last year. I'm the kind of person that has to Google discussion board acronyms. I read a lot of stuff, but I guess I just don't really retain it. Moreso, I guess I don't get the appeal. Pop music is unoriginal, rom-coms are formulaic and I couldn't care less which bachelor some bitch is going to pick for her fake engagement.

Given my aversion to things other people like, I have been morally opposed to the entire Twilight franchise since its inception, for two very simple reasons. One, it was written by a Mormon (see my problem with these precocious wholesome phonies). Two, it's about high schoolers. That's how I know it has to be bad. Teenagers are the most self-centered, histronic, and completely useless members of society. They're like babies who can drive and swear.

So my husband, the one who likes flowers and candles and romance - I'm not really cut out for that whole thing - urged me to watch New Moon with him on Saturday. I've never seen the first Twilight movie, but he described the plot to me in painstaking detail. Girl moves to town, falls in love with school hearthrob, he takes her for a nice little tree-to-tree jumping session in the forest. Standard fare, if you like things that are stupid and make no fucking sense.

From the minute the opening credits rolled, I was about ready to shoot up antifreeze. The melodrama is RIDICULOUS. It pretty much takes a whole movie to say that Jacob likes Bella, and Edward is a stupid martyr, and Bella is overdramatic and unstable and completely unlikeable. There is no reason why every guy in this backwards-ass town should be in love with her. She really brings nothing to the table. Standing there with your mouth agape is not a personality. Not to mention the fact that these 'vampires' who are supposed to hundreds of years old act like they're all fucking twelve. AND THEY SPARKLE IN THE SUN. No. Real vampires die. I'll gladly take Eric Northman over Carlisle Cullen and his terrible dye job any day.

I did a little research, and the rest of the saga would indicate that it was written by someone who is certifiable psychotic. Hybrid babies? Clawing their way out of stomachs? Implied romantic feelings between said babies and seventeen-year-olds? This is what happens when you go to a church that makes you wear sacred underwear. Bram Stoker (or what's left of his eyeballs) is no doubt rolling in his grave.

I think what this really is all about is this absolute batshit insane idea of love in the Western Judeo-Christian world. It perpetuates the notion that even if you are nothing special, which, (kind of) sadly, most people are, it is possible that someone with substantial power, beauty, intelligence or influence will fall in love with you. Heart-wrenching, overwhelming, unconditional love with you. It's the love of fourteen-year-olds who think they'll meet someone who is dashingly handsome and they'll be together forever. It's the wish and hope that a man exists who wants nothing more to take you as his wife and take your panties off with the most delicate of touches. It's the dream of someone who will take no liberties with you, afraid to bruise your petals. Girls as flowers. Men as bees. Your Prince fucking Charming who will rescue you from mediocrity and make you beautiful and immortal and never let you go.

Why are we so desperate for these fantasies, for these means of escape? Why do we numb ourselves with antidepressants and dreams that will never be actualized? Have our lives become so painful that we cannot accept nor embrace the people that exist within them, the genuine bonds that inspire both sadness and joy? Are we so hungry for Hollywood's notion of 'real love' that we are unwilling to be satisfied with an honest smile, a whisper in the dark, and an occasional shouting match? When did we as a culture decide that we can't handle the reality of pain? Why is no one willing to experience palpable, substantial emotional anguish that makes us question who we are, what we believe in? Why are people so fucking terrified of feeling things? 

I remember a long time ago, when I was sadder than I'd ever been in my life. I was in counseling and it was recommended that I go on antidepressants. I flat-out refused. I'd rather be myself and miserable than someone else and happy, I decided. I'd rather embrace the fucked-up, complicated, unfeigned world than buy into the bullshit fantasy and spend my days longing for imaginary characters and impossible situations.

"The reason you haven't felt it is because it doesn't exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me, to sell nylons. You're born alone and you die alone and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts. But I never forget. I'm living like there's no tomorrow, because there isn't one." - Don Draper

how do you not know he's gay?!?!?

I am the queen of speculation. I spend vast amounts of spare time speculating about people and their deepest fears/desires/secrets. It's an amusing way to pass the time - I particularly enjoy speculating about people speculating about me. Coupled with this brilliant imagination of mine is an almost dead-accurate gaydar. I believe I hold this gift because gay men flock to me - I am, simply, a gay man in a woman's body - and because of my judge-reduce-reject philosophy on strangers. Yes, I judge you, I reduce you to the most base elements of your personality, and then, I reject you. Unless I happen to end up liking you, but that's pretty rare.

So anyway, it always falls upon me to wonder - how do some people not know someone is gay?

I will admit - even with my acute homoception, I slipped. A kid who worked at my office was peculiar for numerous reasons, but something about him really bugged me and I couldn't put my finger on it. He had really unfashionable glasses and talked endless about the stock market, so why would I question his sexuality? It didn't dawn on me until I saw him strutting down Summer Street, lanky stubbled gay-babe in tow. HOW DID I NOT KNOW? The signs were right in front of me. He often spoke about visiting a male friend from college down in St. Louis. He was completely disinterested in breasts. He stole an expensive bottle of scotch from his father to give to one of our strapping young lads at the company. I was so foolish.

Regardless, it blows my mind that most of America is unable to detect the gay. Let's dissect the obliviousness, shall we?

Okay, let's start with the obvious. Ricky Martin.

I would make some sort of gay-Livin' La Vida Loca pun, but it's been done to death.

Girl shaves her face with a Schick Intuition. COME ON. Next.


Clay Aiken

He's wearing a thumb ring, for Christ's sake.

Now, I don't watch American Idol. But in my opinion, any guy who wants to go on national television and sing "Somewhere Out There" from An American Tail is gay as the day is schlong. NEXT.


Sir Elton

Anyone who likes zany glasses is gay. I happen to be the authority on this.

Do you remember when Elton John married a woman? He wore a white tailcoat and a purple bow tie. I'll let you visualize that one.


Liberace

Americans are so fucking stupid.



Hot Mormon dudes

I'll listen to your missionary LDS crap for some PIV.

When you are this attractive, why would you 1). remain a virgin until marriage, and 2). get married so, so young? Dude could lay any chick he wants, ever. But no, he's looking for a beard! How convenient is it to choose from a bevy of beautiful, pristine Mormon madonnas who just want to find "the one" and pop out some well-adjusted, shiny, attractive children? Then you'll maintain a sense of filial piety, have a trophy on your arm, AND you can pretend you're doing a guy during the mandated missionary lights-off sex.

Boy band members

There are more of them. Believe me. I'm sure of it.

I don't fucking get romance novels.

 I'm not heartless, I swear. Brokeback Mountain made me cry.

I know it's not going to shock anyone, but I really don't care for that whole "I have a uterus and thus I am only interested in storytelling about heterosexual love affairs with non-descript characters and one brutally over-dramatized sex scene" thing. I understand that there is a segment of the female population that secretly reads trashy Harlequin romance novels about ripping corsets and riding "members," and that's fine, because they keep that shit on the down low. Nobody would dare to read "Mistress: Pregnant by the Spanish Billionaire" anywhere remotely public.

But, unfortunately, it is socially acceptable to read the printed diarrhea that is any Nicholas Sparks novel. And I want to punch this douchebag in the face simply for introducing his particular brand of fantastical and formulaic love story into the cultural lexicon.

Yet another movie based on one of Sparks' books just came out, with Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth (don't worry, I have no idea who the fuck he is either) playing the romantic leads. Now, I'm not going to see this piece of shit movie - he's responsible for six of these god-awful things so far, and the only one I saw was A Walk to Remember because I was fifteen and a romance-junkie friend dragged me against my will - but I bet I can narrow the plot down in one sentence: Rebellious individual meets overly generous and kind person, they each learn the error of their own ways, make out, and then one of them dies.

.... And this guy makes MILLIONS of dollars? Why, you ask?

I'll tell you why - because American women are given no great fantasy. We all want to escape our lives, right? Transcend the banality of rising at the same time every morning, working in the same cubicle, bogged down by the decision of whether to have chicken or fish for dinner. Society has established numerous legal avenues for men to just get away from their lives - sports, whiskey, Xbox 360, Tolkien, sportscars, the list goes on, ad infinitum.

What do women get? Romance novels.

It's just assumed that LOVE is all we care about. It's just assumed that from the second we're born with a vagina we're just waiting longingly for our princes to come. All our dreams revolve around the white dress, the diamond ring, the moment of completeness when we find The One and can settle down and start popping out children and never worry about anything again except for The One maybe dying in a mudslide (Nights in Rodanthe) or dropping dead at 17 with leukemia (A Walk to Remember) or enjoying a wonderful life with us and then forgetting the entire thing in old age due to dementia (The Notebook).

So basically, Nicholas Sparks is dictating our greatest desires and deepest fears. I'm so glad there's yet another man who knows exactly what women want. I'm also so glad that the vast majority of women have absolutely no taste in literature, because they're all making me look so much more posh by default.

I don't think Beyonce is so great.

According to the Daily Fail, "Single Ladies" was voted the best video of the decade. Let me first just say that I, being a married old hag who only listens to Oldies 103.3, only first viewed this video several days ago. Now, I know Kanye is going to come out of the shadows and start walking on my keyboard or something, but I really don't get the appeal.

Yeah, she can dance. Who gives a shit? I mean, Diana Ross (my lord and saviour) was doing this shit forty years ago, and though she didn't involve so much ass shaking, she also didn't dress like an instructor at Miss Tina's Studio of Dance.



I found this video very repetitive and lacking character. Where are all the animated cats following her up flights of stairs? What about the dudes shakily drawn in colored pencil? Watching this even made me miss the bumblebee girl from that Blind Melon video.

All of this reminded me of how little social currency music videos have anymore. The impetus to go "viral" far surpasses the desire to create unique, visually stimulating works. Since MTV is now where intellect and originality go to die, I doubt we will ever see anything like the Pop-Up Video gems of the 1990s ever again. Directors who function as artists - see Chris Cunningham - are long gone, but so are the conventions that made the majority of music videos so watchable. I used to spend hours watching these things, and now they're relegated to the far reaches of the world wide web.

I present to you: five masterpieces of music video, the way it used to be.


Meatloaf - I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

Three words: Totally. Fucking. Epic. The only downside to this video is that it is soooooooooooo long.




Taylor Dayne - Tell It To My Heart

This is where Beyonce got it wrong. If you want to do the whole dancing-and-singing-on-a-white-background-with-accompaniment, you need to do in color, wearing bright red lipstick and you need a guy doing cartwheels in ripped jeans. Oh, and you need to move your mouth in completely ridiculous ways.




Toni Braxton - I Get So High

This video made me dream, when I was nine, about having my own apartment with an elevator and giant playing cards with which to rate various grown men. Toni is the master of weird haircuts and standing in front of blue bubble backgrounds. I have to say, this video is a great mix of storyline and frames of singing, a delicate balance that made the videos of the 90s so perfect.




Jamiroquai - Virtual Insanity

Jamiroquai rules. This is what videos should be like - aesthetically interesting, kind of weird, futuristic, with a little bit of casual footwork and an underlying dark element. The only reason this isn't my favorite music video ever is that Jay Kay is really not very attractive, and they hired a fourteen-year-old ICP fan to be the stylist. I don't know which is worse - the stupid hat or the Old Navy Performance Fleece.




Cranberries - Zombie

On a more serious note, this music video has a political message - one that made most of America almost understand what was going on in Northern Ireland. It's a powerful piece of imagery that actually means something, unlike 'If you like it, you shoulda put a ring on it.' Sasha Fierce ain't got shit on Dolores O'Riordan.

the Swift conundrum.

 She's legally an adult. I don't feel guilty.

All I've heard about lately is Taylor Swift. And for some reason, I can't get her out of my head. Maybe it's the fact that every radio station plays her three times an hour. Maybe it's the fact that MTV hasn't played music videos in six years, but somehow, hers are making the rounds. Maybe it's the fact that everyone on the internet is obsessed with her.

But I'm going to take the opinion of Sady Doyle at Bitch, who calls Swift out for being a less-than-ideal representative of a young woman at the height of fame.

Let's take a step back for a moment, shall we? Back to when I was 16. Back to when my parents found out I lost my virginity because Newsweek had written an all-too-paternalistic feature on how great all these untouched teenagers were. I decided to compose a letter to the editor arguing my view that one could be a smart, responsible, upstanding teen even if you've let someone round the bases. Due to my unending wisdom and eloquence even in 11th grade, they wanted to print my rant. So they called my house to ask permission. While I was at school.

What I was rebelling against when I was 16 is what Taylor Swift has come to represent - the I haven't-given-it-up-so-I'm-better-than-you morality. Being a virgin, by nature, should not make you a "good girl." But the concept is endlessly perpetuated, and I am unwilling to call anyone an unlikely feminist unless they're willing to challenge the "The Disney Factor." The only representations of young women between the ages of 15 and 21 are the virgins or the whores. Our society refuses to allow the middle ground - the not-overtly sexy teenage girl who doesn't totter around on stilettos, but has given a blowjob or two in her day. No one depicts what most would consider average teenage sexuality (need I remind, 63% of high schoolers have sex before they graduate) - you're either riding stripper poles or calling anyone who doesn't wear a promise ring a slut.

For me, here's a big difference between singing songs for a particular demographic, and presenting onesself as being PART of that demographic. Raffi records music for young children - but he doesn't pretend he's a five-year-old. Taylor Swift, though legally old enough to vote, smoke cigarettes, view pornography and serve in the military, is making music for girls that are fourteen and presenting herself in music videos as though she were fourteen. Surely Swift's life experiences can't just be boiled down to four years of high school, can they?

The common response to the argument against Taylor Swift is that those who dislike her image "carry baggage," and "made mistakes" and are jealous of her adorable purity. To say I am envious of her money and fame is not ridiculous - I make thirty thousand dollars a year, for Christ's sake - but I think I've seen more in my 23 years than Taylor could ever dream of, and I'm happy to have that experience. I just don't think young girls need more patronizing, another famous figure who's telling them that if you are female, and you LIKE SEX, you are BAD. In addition, she is framing masculinity in excessively limited terms as well - BOYS are going to push you to do what you don't want to, BOYS are clueless and only go for the girls in high heels, BOYS are going to break your heart no matter what you do.

I'm not going to say that Taylor Swift is a bad role model, because I don't think she is, in context of broader pop culture. But if you look at Swift in comparison to artists such as Jewel, Alanis Morrisette and Fiona Apple - all of whom helped write and cut their iconic American debuts Pieces of You, Jagged Little Pill and Tidal around the time they were 19, Swift's current age - you realize how far she has to come. Swift is lamenting on losing boys to high-heeled cheerleaders and fantasizing about becoming a princess. "Who Will Save Your Soul" addresses American consumer culture, addiction and prostitution, and Jewel said she wrote it when she was sixteen. Alanis, instead of cowering and crying about her breakup, rants and raves and misbehaves on "You Oughta Know," playing anything but the docile feminine doll that Swift has come to embody. Fiona made it awfully clear she's a sinner in "Criminal," and ultimately, this self-awareness made all of us realize how adult she and the other Lilith Fair era ladies actually were. They owned themselves and their images, even at 19.

My point? Let's give it up for the ladies of the 90s. At least they didn't have an agenda other than being totally fucking crazy, and awesome.