I’m sorry but milf + Katherine Harris? And I’m in the top 20?
I really need to rethink my life.
I’m sorry but milf + Katherine Harris? And I’m in the top 20?
I really need to rethink my life.
D sent me an email reminding me and I couldn’t believe it. Has it really been a whole year? A full calendar year since Natalee Holloway drunkenly stumbled out of an Aruban bar and into the hearts of the cable news industry? It seems like only yesterday that future Dr. 90210 patient, Beth Holloway Twitty, lit into the American public for not doing enough to find her daughter and/or made pleas to bring the killer(s) to justice.
Oh. Wait. It was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. And the day before…well, you get the idea.
How many pleas has she made? Here’s a quick formula – (Number of days missing * 3 cable networks) + (Number of days missing * .5 [for rebroadcasts and local appearance]) = Total pleas.
The overarching question, though, is what we have we learned?
Um. We’ve learned that America cares about the richest and prettiest girls? Well, ok, we’ve learned that, but what else? We’ve learned that a good PR firm can do just about anything? Yeah, there’s that, too. But, most importantly, we learned that there are enough people in the world looking for something to distract them from their own miserable lives that they’ll bring down the Blogs For Natalee website to grieve someone who mostly likely wouldn’t spit on them if they came face to face. I picture something like this
Well, my husband and sons died over in Iraq to make sure that Saddam Hussien couldn’t bring down anymore of our buildings and since we couldn’t make ends meet, they all borrowed against their paychecks at 35% interest and now the collection agency wants the money and is trying to reposess my trailer and my job just got outsourced to China and my daughter just had her fourth child because she can’t find an abortion clinic but that ain’t nothing to what poor Beth Holloway Twitty must be going through. I sure hope that President bush does something to help her out because she, above everyone else, really needs it.
Something like that.
Two other quick thoughts on Natalee and then my commemorative gift.
1) I’m shocked that there is no podcast devoted soley to Natalee. I guess some people are just ill-weather friends.
2) Google Natalee Holloway with or without quotes. My God, you’re lazy. Ok. I’ll provide the link for you.
And now for your very special gift (and again, you can thank D). Loretta posted a sly, satirical swipe at the van der Sloots, whose son, Joran, undoubtedly killed Natalee and if the Aruban police are too stupid, buffoonish and corrupt to figure this out then we should invade Aruba. Sadly, though, Loretta could only write the words. I’m not sure if she doesn’t have sound editing software or if she doesn’t do a good Kermit. Like Jack Bailey in Queen For A Day, I’m here to make her dreams come true!
Enojy The Aruban Connection!
And here they are!
They’ll stand in back of me while I write this post. I don’t need them, of course, and, frankly, I needed to modify the intent of this post just to accommodate their presence. I’m not planning on writing about gospel choirs, Jesus, faith, black people or religion. At least not that kind of relgion. But after watching the American Idol final last night it’s clear that you must use a gospel choir whether you want to or not.
A month or so ago, someone accused me of snobbery and snottiness because I don’t participate in mainstream American culture. I don’t watch much prime time network TV. I don’t rush out to see whatever movie happens to top the box office. I only listen to KISS 108 when I ferry my daughters around. When I do dip my toe in it generally confirms what utter shit it is.
Quick story – In 1994 Forrest Gump hit the theaters and America went cah-raaaaazy! Everywhere I went people raved about this life-changing, soul-stirring, inspirational movie. The trailer made me vomit. I could hear the story pitch – “Retard inadvertently teaches those around him important life lessons”. Grrrrrr. No thanks. One night I sat in an AA meeting venting about something or another and made some cutting reference to Forrest Gump and its disposable, feel-good pop psychology that disapated fifteen minutes after you left the theater. A woman came up to me after the meeting, very upset. Had I actually seen Forrest Gump? Well, no, I hadn’t, but I saw the trailers and some of the clips. She let loose on me, telling me the movie taught her so much; it changed her; it was the most spiritual thing she’d ever seen (and here, I held my tounge and didn’t ask her if that included the Bible); and who the HELL did I think I was criticizing something with only a passing knowledge of it. She was right, of course, and I promised to watch it. My wife giggled as I plugged it into the VCR. I honestly tried to watch it with an open mind. I lasted about an hour before I allowed the first MST3K comments to escape my lips. If I remember correctly it was the look-how-many-songs-there-are-with-the-word-running-in-them sequence. But I finished it.
Watching the final sing-off of American Idol filled me with the same familiar contempt. As Paula Adbul told Katherine McPhee (McPheever!!) that she finally looked like she was having fun singing The Horse and the Cherry Tree I wondered if, perhaps, I truly was schizophrenic. As “Kat” (meeeeow!!) processed the notes of the song from her diaphram through her vocal chords and shaped her lips to form the words, I heard not only the song but the voice of her coach – “Ok, Kat, now bounce over to the drummer on the left hand side and smile…not that much…ok…better, better…pivot with your back to him…good…shimmy down a little. STOP THE TAPE. Let’s work on that shimmy. It’s a little stiff.” Yes, she hit the notes (for the most part) but that’s all. I doubt she could tell you what the words meant or even the emotion the song means to convey outside of “it’s kinda blues-y, I think.” “Over the Rainbow”, which apparently clinched her place in the competition, pointed up the stunning shallowness with which she approaches a song. To paraphrase Truman Capote – that’s not singing, that’s arranging. Watch it again. She doesn’t falter out of an emotional connection with the song, it’s strictly technical. Keep your eyes on her eyes. You can see her thinking about every single note.
By contrast, Taylor Hicks can barely keep it in his musical pants. Outside of his creepy GOD-do-I-love-Michael-McDonald appearance, he reminds me of the guy at the party who thinks he can dance and thinks everybody else thinks he can dance, too. Living For The City, at least, had energy and oomph. My middle-school daughter tells me that everyone at school hates him. “Because he’s old,” I asked her? “No,” she said, “because he’s a doofus.” Later, my wife pegged it – “The middle schoolers hate him because he acts like he’s in middle school.” When he kept rooted to the stage to sing Levon, it worked much better. It kept his energy focused which created a nice tension. But Taylor’s voice doesn’t handle the quiet parts well. He barely hung onto the notes.
And then the final songs. The one that would become their single if they won.
And then gospel choir.
When they came out for Kitten, I thought, wow, that’s pretty stupid and ostentatious. There’s a long tradition of white people and gospel choirs. Sing it! I WANNA KNOW WHAT LOVE IIIIIIIIIIS/I WANT YOU TO SHOOOOW MEEEEEEEEE! Did it fit with the song? Not really.
But when the same choir came out for Taylor’s song…what the fuck? Who’s the agent for this choir and does he represent comic/writers? I’ve got a gospel choir. There’s a picture of them right up top. Can I be the next American Idol?
It’s depressing. In the end, it doesn’t matter who wins. American Idol isn’t about finding the best singer with the best song. Chris Daughtry, who, I guess, got kicked off last week, blew both of them away singing Bad Day at the end of the show. It didn’t count since he had no gospel choir backing him, though. American Idol is about marketing.
The performers don’t matter. It’s about selling “McPheever” and “Soul Patrol” not the talents behind the names. Think about Boogie Nights. “Dirk Diggler. Great name!” I’d lay money that 10% of the members fansites and web boards work for Fox, relentless keeping the buzz alive and shaping the opinions of those eager to help that sweet little Kat McPhee achieve her dream by racking up charges on their home phone and cell phones.
The songs don’t matter. What does it say when you can randomly throw a gospel choir in behind a song? Sure, call me a snob, but I’m not interested in a world where every song on the radio easily crescendos into a gospel choir or where life is like a box of chocolates.
Doctors work at hospitals. Did you know that? I did but I didn’t quite extrapolate it out properly. Still, I don’t think that I should be faulted for that. I mean, jesus!
Before heading to to the ER (or more properly, the ED, since I think they got a bit pissed with their relation to the TV show) I stopped upstairs at the cafe for a Coke. Huddled around a table, four doctor (three men, one woman) intently watched the screen on a laptop. The men all seemed fairly interested. The woman, a little less so. She sat back in the booth rather than lean intently towards whatever engrossed the guys. It struck me as an odd tableau.
The cafe shares a wall with the gift shop and the middle of the wall turns into windows between the two, and that was the exact point where the quartet sat. Well, I needed some Breath Savers and my spidey sense tingled. What the hell were they watching?
I bought my Coke, walked next door and, despite the fact that they had their back to me, snuck along the wall to the window to spy on the doctors. Shelves holding various doo-dads of personal hygeine products and statues of hyper-infantilized girls wearing over-sized bonnets and holding tidings of better health split the window horizontally into fourths. Rather than obscure the view, it framed it perfectly. There on a nice, bright fourteen inch screen with a pretty decent video sat an eight inch tall vagina. A gloved hand pushed some kind of tape into it. Another pair of gloved hands snugly placed a clamp on the clitoris. I don’t know exactly what operation this was, but the guys dug it. After all, pussy is pussy and male doctors are still male.
And they work in a hospital so watching videos of vaginas in the hospital cafe…well…let’s just say it’s one of the perks of the job.
Well, my nephew is a big computer geek. He does the church’s webiste and I guess it does look pretty fancy the way the cursor turns into a cross and the way the words “Praise Jesus” kinda come out like a tail at the end of the cross and swoop around when you move it. Me? I ain’t got much use for that stuff. You gotta be real careful when you’re on the Internet. I don’t trust anything that got made by a Liberal. Those two boys that shot up their high school spent a lot of time on the Internet and look how they turned out.
But my nephew, he keeps telling me that I don’t know what I’m talking about and that a lot of God fearing Christians use the Internet for good and to fight against evil. I wasn’t entirely convince. He started talking about my radio show, though, and how powerful it was for him and his friends (“if a bit old timey on the music”) and how he’d like to share it and wouldn’t God want as many people to hear it as possible. Well, it ain’t my place to know what God wants, I told him. He agreed with that but said that we oughta take advantage of the technology to spread God word of love and condemnation of homosexuals and liberals to anyone who would listen.
“We can podcast your show, Uncle Billy Bob!”
I was still pretty against it, but then he told me that even the Reverend James Dobson had a podcast. It’s not like I can come anywhere close to the message that Rev. Dobson puts out. Not a lot of people can. But if you feel like listening to me flap my gums for an hour or so while I play so good ole gospel music you can use your computer to listen the podcast of Billy Bob’s Hour of Bein’ Good.
If anything you’ll at least get a good nap out of it!
God bless ya!
As all the kids around all the schools in Massachuetts chant the age old rage against preciptiation
Go fuck yourself
We fucking hate you
a brief light shone through in that iTunes accepted my podcast for distribution. I’m sure it will burn up the charts if only to speed back down like a well-piloted bobsled.
Tell your friend to subscribe! – http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=154561986&s=143441
Also, the best damn page on the web – Ricky Gervais Flannimal Cam. I’ve had this up for a couple of hours. Completely hypnoitc!
Finally, to the poor bastard in the Middle East looking for “FreeBDSM” on MSN Arabia, I’m assuming you’ve either just gotten out of Abu Grahib and suffer from withdrawl or you’ve got an overly romanticized vision of the place.
I’m sorry to spring it on y’all on such short notice but I just got the word yesterday and since I had an all-day prayer meeting I didn’t find out until last night and after I found out a boy I’m helping not be gay called me and said he heard temptation knocking on his door and…well, I guess you don’t need to hear my complaining. After all, God was carrying me in his big old strong arms.
What I’m trying to get at is that the sodomite’s over at WMFO must’ve got a lot of complaints about all the homosexuals playing that band Fish all the time and that demon hip-hip music so they decided to even it out by giving Jesus a chance and allowing me to be his mouth piece. That’s right! Despite summer bein’ the hardest time of year to get a show on a college radio station, I managed to wrangle a show outta them! Praise God!
The Billy Bob Neck Hour of Being Good starts Tuesday, May 16th at 11am and every week after that! It’s a whole hour of nothing but Good News, guidance and gospel and I think it’s gonna be a whole lotta fun.
So listen in on 91.5FM if you’re in Boston (or Sodomy Central, as we call it) or listen over the World Weary Web at www.wmfo.org.
God Bless You!
PS – My nephew set up some kind of myspace thing, which I’m not sure if I’m all that happy about. I don’t know why someone hasn’t set up GodSpace.
Who the hell do ski jumpers think they are and why do they think they’re so above everyone else??
She’ll Be Coming ‘Round The Mountain – Carson Robison
Crackhead – BJ the Messenger
Hip To Be Square – Huey Lewis and the News
Cowboys Heimweh – The Anita Kerr Singers
In Canada – BJ Snowden
Why Was I Born? – Libby Holman
I Could Never Be Blue – Hasil Adkins
Unrequited To The Nth Degree – Loudon Wainwright III