Wednesday, 11 October 2017

Trouble & Squeak

Who'd a thunk it?  The casting couch is still a thing in good ol' Tinsel Town, and producer Harvey Weinstein is plumping up the cushions and draping the throw rugs (lovingly crocheted by nanna) in a decorous fashion to enable him to seduce and/or unfairly coerce, or just downright sexually harass some poor actress seeking work.

This really disturbs me.  We are in the twenty-first century and people still think it's all right to abuse their power like this.  He's apparently pulled out (no pun intended) of some planned rehabilitation to treat sex addiction because he didn't want to surrender his mobile telephone, which was part of the terms of treatment.  Exactly what is sex addiction?  I'm not a psychologist, so I can't really answer that one, but my layman's view is that Weinstein's just looking for an outlet to excuse offensive and revolting behaviour.  The fact that he supposedly abused his power thus is owing to the fact nobody would look at him twice if he was an office clerk, or street sweeper; the man has a head like a butcher's block and the physique of Jabba the Hutt.

My Facebook group is having some fun today.  Today's theme is songs by people with squeaky voices.  Among the postings are:

1. 'Long Haired Lover From Liverpool' by Little Jimmy Osmond.  To those of you who remember this, I am sorry to have reminded you.  Hey, the Osmonds are a very talented family, but this song conjures up a rather dud memory.  When I was about seven or so (which is around the time this toon was popular), I attended the birthday party of a rather repulsive kid.  This kid, along with two equally repulsive children, treated the guests to an impromptu and unasked for concert when they stood atop the barbeque (sadly unlit), played air-guitar and air-drums, and sang this song.  No, I shit you not.   When my delirium wore away, I went inside and asked the birthday girl's mother was it time for my mother to come and collect me yet.

2. 'Bop Girl' by Pat Wilson.  Ugh.  Just...ugh.  That's all.  Pat was the then wife of Ross Wilson, who had a hand in orchestrating this aural torture.  Ross Wilson is such a prolific figure in the Australian music industry, and this gets me wondering had somebody compromised the oxygen supply to his brain the day he devised this.  It's kind of like turning out the bedroom lamp and hearing a mosquito.  By the way, check out the twerpy film clip and  you will see a young Nicole Kidman smoking a ciggie.  Nowadays you probably would not see anybody sucking a ciggie in a film clip because that's too non-PC.  Wear a skimpy outfit that barely covers the vulva and dry-hump the air around you by all means, but DO NOT SMOKE A CIGARETTE IN A FILM CLIP!

3. 'Barbie Girl' by Aqua.  This is even more ugh-worthy than the aforementioned 'Bop Girl'.  Did ANYBODY actually like this song?  I sure as shit didn't, and neither did my friends.   'Come on, Barbie; let's go party.'  No.  Let's not go party.  Fuck off.  And when you get there, fuck off again.  Once you get THERE, fuck off some more.  Keep fucking off until you've fucked off right into the next dimension.

4. 'True Colours' by Cyndi Lauper.  Oh, man!  This is total fingernails down the blackboard stuff.  I've always liked Cyndi as a person; she comes across as grounded and sensible.  But this song sounds like someone S-L-O-W-L-Y releasing air from a balloon.  'True Colours'?  Just colour me nauseated when I hear this.

Well, that will do me for now.  I have some stuff to concentrate on.  Have an article to work on, and a body to work on at the gym.  My writers' group is due to meet tonight, too.  Thankfully, I have prepared my piece for that .

Ciao for now.

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