The big question today, so it would seem, is whether the onstage kiss between desperate try-hard wannabe Madonna and rapper Drake was staged, or a spontaneous display of rawness and raunch by the power of the cougar (as I'm sure ol' Madge wants us all to think). Well, it wasn't the latter. Madge is no cougar. She's an attention-seeking publicity whore with questionable talent. I'm sure she doesn't really care what some random in Australia thinks, but what this random thinks is this: she's totally pathetic. 'Look at me, everyone! Look how controversial and sexy I'm being!' Now this just in: those antics are not sexy. I will type it again slowly: Not. Sexy.
The kiss was just as puke-worthy as the one with Britney Spears was years ago (seriously, who wants to pash Britney Spears). I don't care if Madge wants to indulge in a little girl/girl fun, or kiss some young bloke. What bugs me is her constant urination down our legs, and trying to convince us that's rain.
Years ago, whilst still working as a paralegal/secretary, one of the younger staff told me how big a fan she is of the Annoying One. 'She's so talented,' she said, in all seriousness. I sought clarification. 'Oh, just the way she reinvents herself all the time'. I put forward my theory that the constant reinvention is a ploy for publicity to detract from the fact her songs are really pretty pedestrian, and her singing voice sounds like a cat crapping a piano.
It is my staunch belief that a person with natural talent and charisma doesn't have to resort to imbecilic antics and publicity stunts, like putting out a coffee table took of nude pictures that supposedly represent your sexual fantasies. The arrogance of that made me want to stab a baby kitten! ('Hey, look everyone! This is what I think about when I'm flicking the bean! Am I relevant and cutting-edge, or what?'). The pathetic press conference she gave when the Princess of Wales was killed, in which she begged for privacy, had me in turns vomiting like a demonically possessed adolescent, and wanting to bloody hit somebody! She stood there at a microphone on a lectern, and said, 'I felt I was in that car with her.' This year marks eighteen years since Diana's death, and that stupid and insensitive, not to mention completely ersatz comment still really gets up my nose.
Whether the kiss was staged, the guy's reaction looks pretty natural. Wiping the girl-germs away like he's erasing a stain. Oh, if only we could erase the memory of having seen it.
Yesterday, I telephoned the local AM station with an anecdote - the request was for people to call in with the best piece of advice they had ever received from their mother. I was not one for taking my mother's advice because I believed it all to be spurious ('you're pretty enough without make-up', or 'you're too young for boys'), but there was one sterling pearl of wisdom that has remained with me for forty-plus years. When I was climbing into the bath as a little tacker, my mother handed me the washcloth and said, 'Don't wash your bum, and then wash your face.' That is a rule I follow rigidly to this day. It is ingrained in me and I hold it dear. It is almost as inherent as the rule the Mounties always get their man. So I rang up and regaled the airwaves with this, and was told I was now in the draw to win tickets to see Spandau Ballet. Oh. The guy said, 'Are you a fan of Spandau Ballet, Simone?' What could I say? I had to be honest and say, 'No, I've always been more of a metal fan.' However, I also have a chance to with $200 worth of jewellery, so that would be good. Oh, don't get misunderstand me. I do think the band have talent. Tony Hadley is still a worthwhile vocalist. I'd just rather sit in the back yard and watch ants scurrying between blades of grass than attend a Spandau Ballet concert. I hated all that New Romantic stuff, which my runaway mouth found itself saying to the DJ yesterday.
So what with New Romantics and cold phony wannabes, I think I would have quite happily by-passed the Eighties.
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