Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Queen of Soul, King of Bad Dancing
I saw Aretha Franklin in concert last night. Wow. She was beautiful, her stage presence commanding, her voice powerful. We were in the presence of greatness, and it was transcendent.
Astounding on a completely different level was the tall blond guy on the first row, who easily wins the crown of Worst of the Bad White Male Dancers. Drop a shoulder and shimmy, a little "washing machine" action, chicken dance to the ground, then pretend you're a salmon swimming upstream to spawn. That last scenario's unlikely, as his date kept moving further away from him as the evening progressed. No R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Astounding on a completely different level was the tall blond guy on the first row, who easily wins the crown of Worst of the Bad White Male Dancers. Drop a shoulder and shimmy, a little "washing machine" action, chicken dance to the ground, then pretend you're a salmon swimming upstream to spawn. That last scenario's unlikely, as his date kept moving further away from him as the evening progressed. No R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Telling Sue
The latest song stuck in my brain is "Telling Sue" by Assembly of Dust. It's a catchy little number -- somewhere in between Chris Isaak and the Grateful Dead. But I have a real problem with the lyrics. The chorus includes the line, "I''m a man and I must find my way. Mama mama can you tell Sue for me..."
OK, hotshot, you're a man. But if I were your mama, Junior, I'd tell you to sack up and tell Sue yourself.
Wuss.
OK, hotshot, you're a man. But if I were your mama, Junior, I'd tell you to sack up and tell Sue yourself.
Wuss.
