Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Saturated Blue Skies

Today is a particularly stunning day in Columbus, Ohio. I sat in the park during lunch, and could hear crickets, birds chirping and even seen the rabbit that lives downtown that I tell all my friends about and they don’t believe me. My only priorities for today include walking slower and being less productive. It was a certain feeling of gezellig that has settled over the city, encouraged by the abnormally cool August temperatures this week.

I think I’m in love, again. I hope he is the one. If not, he’s the prototype. Have you ever bought a cell phone, excited because it has all the features you think you need: a camera, speakerphone, Bluetooth a VCR/DVD combo? And for six months you are showing off your phone’s slide features and marveling at the clear voice quality. Then the cell phone provider releases this new model that has a camcorder instead of a camera, and hold 2,234,756 phone numbers. And your spoiled American self starts to think, ‘What did I ever do without this phone?!’ Well that’s kinda how being in love is with me. Except, this time, I feel satisfied with the flaws in the guy that I have. As with my cell phone, I am realizing I never really needed all of the shit I thought I needed. And if I need it, I don’t have to get it from a man. So for any other man who plans on falling in love with me…this guy I’m crushing on now is the example for you to follow. The prototype with flaws I can live with.

My ex-boyfriend called me the other day, which isn’t too horrible. We’re pretty amicable, even though he jumped the couch a couple times during our months long break up. He ended up with my Jill Scott CD and my Speakerboxx…I got a couple of his shirts to sleep in and his body wash…and my dignity, I think. Well anyways, why is it that every time an ex calls me, I assume he’s either got AIDS or getting married? I always get a little nervous when his face pops up on my phone.

I had to flex my journalistic muscle yesterday. And it felt really good to stand up for myself as an artist. I don’t know why people assume that just because your job is aesthetic, it is easy. When you think and observe for a living, people think that it is this experience that is 90 percent inspiration and 10 percent weirdness, when actually it’s about 90 percent remembering all the theory from college (and interviewing techniques from Oprah) and 10 percent weirdness from standing around, looking at people’s reactions and reading lips, which adds up to 100 percent work. And the most insulting thing to tell any artist is that you want them to do free work for you for: exposure, networking, the good of the community or because they are the best artist to do it. Exposure, networking, the good of the community or being the best gets me nowhere closer to my Mac Mini.

Isn’t it a shame when people like Eminem have to go to rehab for drug addictions. I’m sure Mariah Carey, Moby, Britney Spears and all of the other people he’s shitted on are laughing harder than Janet after a late-night with Jermaine Dupri (and I don’t care what he says, its’ odd as shit that Ms. Jackson is dating Mr. So So Def. And for the record, Chris Rock’s wife is hot, I doubt if he’s jealous). I mean, Weird Al Yankovick can never be sick or be hurt…so many people would have the opportunity to make fun of him. So rule number one of parody: stay healthy.

Who gave R. Kelly the red light to perform at the 2005 MTV Awards? Who over the age of 21 still buys his music? Supporting R. Kelly is like letting your diabetic uncle slam on some Little Debbie’s when you know his ass should be eating a fruit cup or something. The man is a maniac, maniac in the studio! And that isn’t some slang way of saying he’s a great musician either (I don’t know when terms like being a beast, monster or a fiend became positive affirmations, by the way).


At 1:31 PM, Anonymous Bella Dawn said...

Good observations..u shoulda called me i love lunch in the park!

At 5:06 PM, Blogger Ms. Mel said...

nice blog... i enjoy your style


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