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.

EVERYTHING ISN'T ABOUT YOU!

I'm pretty sure I have Premenstrual Dysmorphic Diet-Pepsi-obsessed Dayquil-swilling Distemper Disorder. Why? Well, I'm pounding even more of the aspartame treat than ever, my throat is fucking sore, my boobs have hurt for a week and I really can't stand anyone nowadays. Especially internet commenters.

Yeah, I know. "Who cares?"

I CARE. I work a boring desk job in which I have nothing to do half the day. So I read. A lot. I read Jezebel. All day long.

So the other day, this big Jez shitstorm hit, when one of the editors published an article on sexual consent that all the humorless feminists obviously wouldn't agree with, and the commenters lost their goddamn minds. You'd think they'd never encountered life outside of an encapsulated sounding board, where men can be total assholes and people don't always share your opinions. The idea that they'd even have to face a point of view not in line with their own - and ARGUE its merits - made these women more inflamed than a hemorrhoid.

The editor apologized, noting that she put the post up right before the holiday and wasn't as attentive to the reaction as she should have been. The commenters weren't going to hear it. Someone actually said, "You couldn't do your job because it was a HOLIDAY?" How dare she travel to go spend time with her family on a national holiday when people on the internet are MAD?! The editor then posted a counterpoint article. It wasn't good enough.

So anyway, the content of the original piece was fairly vague and stupid - some American guy goes to Paris, wonders why American chicks aren't as hot and easy as French ladies, and says that maybe we USians sanitize our sex a bit too much. I didn't much care for the article, and I thought it was poorly written. I thought the guy sounded like a douchebag with a fixation on European women. He could have had a point and started a real discussion, but fell short.

But more than anything, the entitlement of these internet lurkers made me want to vomit.

The world does not fucking revolve around you. Somebody wrote something you don't like? Tough fucking shit. The Gawker Media Corporation is not beholden to you and your opinions. The editors of a web magazine do not owe you anything. If anything, they're beholden to the people who buy advertising on their site and pay their bills. People were seriously saying "I am not satisfied with this. I am owed an apology."

Really. REALLY?! You're that mad about the fucking internet? Do you know how many people in the world don't use the internet? ALMOST FIVE BILLION. Do you treat everyone you encounter in your real life like that? Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't have a real life. You spend six hours a day asking people you'll never meet what you should do about that internship that you really wanted but didn't get. 

Maybe that's the scourge of the modern age - absolute and utter narcissism. There are actually people out there believing a company that's the second largest online newspaper in the world should bow down, admit defeat, and let the 200 people who comment regularly control the content that tens of thousands of people read every hour. It goes beyond this to every element of our lives - people who make kissy faces in their Facebook profile pictures which they change twice a day, friends who get pissed off because you don't respond to their text messages immediately, women who are average weight and height and attractiveness and think they're models. I'm just so tired of the fact that everyone in my generation thinks they're some big fucking star.

I'm truly sorry, really I am, but you're going to work a boring job for 45 years. You're going to pop out a couple of mediocre children, you're going to marry someone who's going to get fat and bald, and your idea of a good time will end up being white zinfandel and a U2 cover band. You're not going to go great places and do great things. You're not going to drive a Porsche, you're not going to attend fancy galas, and when you die, there will be but a small crowd of people there to see you into the ground. Just give it up.

Obviously everything isn't about you. It's about me.

Ugly people are better at sex.

I spend about 80% of my free time drinking, and 10% of it in the bathroom. What do I do with the other 10%? Invent ridiculous theories on why we are the way we are, what's wrong with the youth of today, and why I can't stop eating cheese at every meal.

Welcome to my new feature: Barstool Sociology, where I share my infinite wisdom and my inability to be politically correct.

Today's theory: Ugly people are, by default, better at sex.

This one's a no-brainer. In our society, the prettier you are, the less you actually have to do. You can make a career out of looking good all the time. You can date anybody you feel like, and they'll most likely just be in awe that you're willing to be seen with them in public. You can get into clubs for free, you can charm even the most influential of figures without ever opening your mouth. So most people are who beautiful never try, because they never have to.

But, if you're not jaw-droppingly gorgeous, like most of us, you have to cultivate a personality. You have to inure yourself to the people you're pursuing. If you want to sleep with people who are more attractive than you are, you have to be more than a one-trick pony. You have to have at least a few redeeming qualities - maybe sharp wit, good comedic timing, and the ability to offer a partner mind-blowing oral sex.

When we have really good sex, we are thinking one of two things about the person we are with:

• I am enjoying this because the person I am sleeping with is very attractive.
• I am enjoying this because the person I am sleeping with is very good at it.

Rarely, very, very rarely, will a person be thinking both things at the same time. And if you ever are, I recommend asking the person to marry you, because it ain't gonna happen again.

Here's the thing: ugly people have to be good at sex, or the more attractive partner that they've been with will never sleep with them again. The worst sex I ever had was with someone whom I slept with out of guilt and desperation. Unsurprisingly, he was also the most physically unattractive person I ever slept with. It was like getting punched in one breast, and then the other. I had to add a mutant of a human to my "list," and I didn't even get my rocks off.  He apparently didn't understand that since he was far more unattractive than I am, he is required to try harder. He was required to work at it if he ever expected me to bear with looking at his hideous face and mediocre body ever again. Needless to say, I spent the next three brutally long months of my life screening my phone calls and ducking out of my dorm room at odd hours.

This paradigm, however, thus makes individuals who are average to slightly above average in attractiveness the ideal partners. If you date someone outrageously gorgeous, you'll be subjecting yourself to dead fish syndrome or a two-pump chump. If you date someone hideous, you'll be subjecting yourself to takeout and Netflix every night because you're too humiliated to be seen in public with them. According to my theory, most individuals need to date someone who is attractive enough that looking at them is enjoyable, but just ugly enough that they are concerned about your eye wandering and will overcompensate in stairwells and friends' bathrooms. Consider all your mating problems solved.