Two stories in two days make me realize what a complete genius I am--and still without a MacArthur Foundation grant for blogging! There is not one iota of justice. I will be starting up the Occupy This Bitches! movement in a matter of nanoseconds, "camping out" in a feather boa and cha-cha heels in protest.
Need proof that I snark, therefore I am somebody? Read on, dear web denizen, read on.
Exhibit A.
This article from The Guardian newspaper in the UK, which discusses in detail the odd juxtaposition of joy and pathos that was the music and lyrics of ABBA. Sound familiar? Well, pay attention, it should! My friend Snappy and I discussed that very same thing just a couple of weeks ago in the comments section of this post about Foster the People.
The timing is kind of perfect, because it really brings home a point I have been trying to make since my early teens--there was always more to ABBA than really daft costumes, overuse of blue eyeshadow, and Euro-aspartame demeanor. A lot more, tak så mycket! I'll save the 98 remaining theses on this topic for another day, another door, but I am glad to see someone address this important issue of our times in a current UK daily newspaper.
Seriously, can you imagine living in a country where members of the press feel free to wax about 32-year-old, almost forgotten pop songs? Or where in the comments section a reader challenges the author with an even more light-and-depressing and more obscure ABBA song, "The Day Before You Came"?
Ah, the tango that makes you want to kill yourself! Beauty stab!
No, instead in these parts we get music from five minutes ago (Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, God bless 'em all) and an endless supply of crazy (Rick Perry, Lady Gone-Gaga Bachmann, and Herman Ke$ha Cain).
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Essentially, Americans are an unhappy people. And the economic crisis is more symptom than cause of that unhappiness.
Sorry, folks, but there are no ponies, there are no rainbows.
Exhibit B.
My other example of brilliance (if I do say so, and apparently I do) extends back almost to the beginning of this blog, a rather insouciant take on the more-questionable-than-ABBA wardrobe choices of a recently departed dick-tator, His Supreme Sartorial Meshuganess, Muammar al-Ghadhafi.
My review of Muammar's spring and fall lines was a bit slapdash, I'll admit, but I was only able to "liberate" so many photos from various sources. Nevertheless, I received some good feedback on it. And I was especially pleased over the references to Mr. and Mrs. Putin.
And yet . . . despite my quick riffing, I was clearly onto something, as my friend the Gladman pointed out to me earlier today.
"Hey, wait a minute! Didn't you do this weeks ago?
"Further proof that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (or blatant plagiarism).
"Your talent may be wasted in [your chosen professional world of dubious reknown] . . . just saying."
Don't I know it, sister wife!
Part of the point of my restarting my blogging life was to . . . well, there's a manifesto in me somewhere that will hopefully see the light of a computer monitor before long . . . but let's just say for now that I wanted to have some fun, entertain myself and make others laugh, and exercise my writing mojo on various and sundry.
Definitely no regrets on any of the above. I think I'm enjoying writing more than ever nowadays as in this blog I tend not to fuss so much over particular entries and, instead, just enjoy imposing on others the ridiculousness I carry around in my head throughout. Lucky vous.
If I had a little more time these days, I'd take better notes and share more. I'm still trying to make sense out of the dream I had about Morgan Freeman the other night, in which I was driving *him* around.
So my writing is striking a chord, whistling a tune, and tapping some feet here and there. Hurrah for me! Maybe someday I can translate whatever it is I do to an even wider world, a dedicated (and paying) audience. But for now, it feels very good just to make some friends happy. And maybe myself, too.
Need proof that I snark, therefore I am somebody? Read on, dear web denizen, read on.
Exhibit A.
This article from The Guardian newspaper in the UK, which discusses in detail the odd juxtaposition of joy and pathos that was the music and lyrics of ABBA. Sound familiar? Well, pay attention, it should! My friend Snappy and I discussed that very same thing just a couple of weeks ago in the comments section of this post about Foster the People.
The timing is kind of perfect, because it really brings home a point I have been trying to make since my early teens--there was always more to ABBA than really daft costumes, overuse of blue eyeshadow, and Euro-aspartame demeanor. A lot more, tak så mycket! I'll save the 98 remaining theses on this topic for another day, another door, but I am glad to see someone address this important issue of our times in a current UK daily newspaper.
Seriously, can you imagine living in a country where members of the press feel free to wax about 32-year-old, almost forgotten pop songs? Or where in the comments section a reader challenges the author with an even more light-and-depressing and more obscure ABBA song, "The Day Before You Came"?
Ah, the tango that makes you want to kill yourself! Beauty stab!
No, instead in these parts we get music from five minutes ago (Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, God bless 'em all) and an endless supply of crazy (Rick Perry, Lady Gone-Gaga Bachmann, and Herman Ke$ha Cain).
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Essentially, Americans are an unhappy people. And the economic crisis is more symptom than cause of that unhappiness.
Sorry, folks, but there are no ponies, there are no rainbows.
Exhibit B.
My other example of brilliance (if I do say so, and apparently I do) extends back almost to the beginning of this blog, a rather insouciant take on the more-questionable-than-ABBA wardrobe choices of a recently departed dick-tator, His Supreme Sartorial Meshuganess, Muammar al-Ghadhafi.
My review of Muammar's spring and fall lines was a bit slapdash, I'll admit, but I was only able to "liberate" so many photos from various sources. Nevertheless, I received some good feedback on it. And I was especially pleased over the references to Mr. and Mrs. Putin.
And yet . . . despite my quick riffing, I was clearly onto something, as my friend the Gladman pointed out to me earlier today.
"Hey, wait a minute! Didn't you do this weeks ago?
"Further proof that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (or blatant plagiarism).
"Your talent may be wasted in [your chosen professional world of dubious reknown] . . . just saying."
Don't I know it, sister wife!
Part of the point of my restarting my blogging life was to . . . well, there's a manifesto in me somewhere that will hopefully see the light of a computer monitor before long . . . but let's just say for now that I wanted to have some fun, entertain myself and make others laugh, and exercise my writing mojo on various and sundry.
Definitely no regrets on any of the above. I think I'm enjoying writing more than ever nowadays as in this blog I tend not to fuss so much over particular entries and, instead, just enjoy imposing on others the ridiculousness I carry around in my head throughout. Lucky vous.
If I had a little more time these days, I'd take better notes and share more. I'm still trying to make sense out of the dream I had about Morgan Freeman the other night, in which I was driving *him* around.
So my writing is striking a chord, whistling a tune, and tapping some feet here and there. Hurrah for me! Maybe someday I can translate whatever it is I do to an even wider world, a dedicated (and paying) audience. But for now, it feels very good just to make some friends happy. And maybe myself, too.
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