I’ve been pissed at some things this past week that I can’t rant on just one thing. So here they all are!
I’ll never understand the likes and dislikes of some people. It’s one thing to be an entertainment junkie and not “get sports”, but to say you have “no shame” in watching some reality show garbage on the Bravo channel and think sports is “uninteresting” and “annoying” is a declaration that warrants a mandatory visit to a psychiatrist to see if you got shit brains. (Most likely.) Sports, in a way, is a reality show. The difference is that there’s substance and actual talent in a sports game than the scripted, predictable fuckery some people heinously subject themselves to in 98% of reality “shows” out there. (The 2% is for the actual good–yes, good–reality shows out there, such as The Voice, that British baking show on PBS, and, the most fabulous show of ’em all, Cops.) And there are actual stars in sports–the ones that have pure talent, work hard in their craft, and succeed in it. It should be a crime to link the words “reality show” and “star” together, as being publicly known on a reality show does not make one a “star,” no matter how reductive the star system in today’s entertainment is becoming.
Then there are those who like actual entertainment but still hate sports. I’ll give a passable shrug out of respect if your form of entertainment involves PBS shows, movies from the Golden Age of Hollywood (or from the 70s-90s), and music from the Rolling Stones and John Coltrane. But if your entertainment includes liking the “music” of Beyonce and Lil’ Wayne, those “21/22 Jump Street” flicks and the like, and “Family Guy” shows, all the while still side-eyeing sports, well…I’ll answer your side-eye with a murderous stare.
It is not 2003, but when someone brings up iconic pop tarts Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears in the same sentence, I feel like I got sucked back to an era when the
craptag hashtag was referred to as the “pound sign,” when people walked on the streets without a cell phone in their face but in their ears, and when low-rise pants annoyed the shit out of me. (You know, the good times.) Sometimes I come across people’s opinions on both, and the ones that get me just as stabby as low-rise pants are the ones that say “Britney is seemingly nice…people like her…she’s led a tough life…” while dismissing Christina as “sooooo mean…a total diva…sings way over the top…” Well, at least she sings; the other one I don’t think so. Yet there are people that are so protective over someone who, if you took away her mental and personal problems, is still just as musically-challenged as almost all of today’s overhyped pop tarts who can’t live without autotune, tight clothes, and social media. The same people that bash on someone who has actual talent, can sing and write her songs, has a backbone, and led just as tough of a life as the musically-challenged piece of overhype they protect?!?!
No matter what troubles Spears goes through, I can’t pity her wholeheartedly because I’m just not a fan. I can never be a fan because she’s not my kind of shit, period. I always felt she was lightweight, musically, and didn’t have that much of a backbone. (Yet was marketed as someone with “power” and “strength” by many magazines, lololol.) I remember how the media was with her ten, twelve years ago, and she was just as omnipresent in the tabloids as the K-trash cunt clan are these days. Whatever good/interesting Christina did then, it was almost always trumped by nonsense Spears news that the media was so over-saturated with, which made her so damn annoying to me. Hello, MTV VMA kiss with Madonna. (Of course, people these days don’t remember all that, because, you know, it happened ten years ago, which is ancient history to some.) And while I don’t hate her now as much as I did then, nothing in this world–not even a one-night stand with Sidney Crosby to make me change my mind–could get me to be a Brit-Brit fan. So Christina’s a total bitch for calling Mickey Mouse an “asshole” while celebrating her birthday at Disneyland. So fucking what. Give me a total bitch with talent who can sing over the girl who can’t sing for her life that’s got mental problems and thus we have to be “sympathetic” to her.
(Lest you should think I’m a total Christina “stan” and defend her every move, I have to say that some of her recent career moves have been questionable. That performance she did with Lady Gaga in the final episode of The Voice a couple seasons ago was weird and eyeroll-inducing; I thought she hated the hell out of that Gaga bitch, and vice-versa. Then I’m hearing stuff about her upcoming album. Um, “caviar ratchet”, she says? I hope she doesn’t go the Rihanna route for her entire album, and just use that whatever-the-hell-that-is shtick for one song. I’d rather hear her straight-up sing–no autotune!–for the rest of her new material. That’s her strength that I think can revive her career tenfold.)
As long as my cell phone continues to unexpectedly shut down or freeze whatever application I’m running, or mistake my need to exit out of an app for “voice search”, or have the inability to teach me fluent Spanish, I can never call it “smart” like some refer it to. Calling it a “smart phone” while my phone does this shit on me is quite the oxymoron, isn’t it? My phone may be getting buggy, so if it was really smart, it shouldn’t get buggy. It should be smart enough to shield my phone away from goddamn bugs and viruses, so my apps wouldn’t freeze/shut down unexpectedly!
RIP the real Rock Star. The one that lived a tough life, played actual instruments, wrote their songs and some intriguing lyrics to their songs, didn’t give a fuck what they looked like, didn’t give a shit if their songs/albums sold a lot or debuted atop the charts (but it happened to them, anyway), never sucked up to the fashion industry, did a lot of drugs, drinking, and horny groupies, and managed to live longer than expected. The Rock Star image started to perish when rappers and teeny-bop pop tarts in the 2000s started calling themselves “rock stars” while having no clue who Motorhead or Anthrax are. There was Disney’s Camp Rock, Kuntface West, and Miley Virus, all associating themselves with the “rock star” moniker. Also known as the 1-2-3 punch that sent the Rock Star image into a life-threatening coma. It officially died when some dumbass “source” called this boy band guy a “rock star” upon learning of his new relationship with some basic skinny blonde model. Deteriorating health over the past years is the cause of death.
I shall pour out some liquor in honor of the Rock Star, then bash the bottle over my head before head-banging to “Iron Fist.”