Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Always better to over-fierce than under-fierce

There are a lot of things that I need to address in a very short amount of time, so I'm going to do so in a series of letters. Bear with me.

Dear Michael Crichton,

You picked a terrible day to die. It will eternally be overshadowed by Barack Obama's historic victory. Regardless, thanks for writing Jurassic Park.

Dear Barack Obama,

Don't make me eat my words (vote) on this one, dude. Congratulations though.

Dear California,

You fucked up.

Dear Really Excited Probably Gay Guy and His Wife Beard in front of us at Madonna,

You suck. You are seriously one of the most annoying concertgoers I have EVER experienced. Your relentless jumping and fist-waving prevents the rest of us from seeing shit. Emmanuel didn't pay $800 to see you fucking flailing around with your butt buddy. I was so happy when you got kicked out for like a minute, because I could see without distraction, but then you were allowed back and made an even bigger commotion I silently wished the lasers were real and would sweep into your row. I don't care if it took down your wifebeard as well as your molecular biology professor buddy and his mail order bitch, it would be worth it. God, lasers are cool.

Dear America,

You're a system that doesn't really work all that well, but at least (like the Good Doctor says) you've officially got soul.

Dear Pharrell,

Baby, why wasn't you there? So disappointed. I would hit that front, back, side to side. Yeeeah.

Dear Lady in the bathroom that told me I look like Katy Perry,

No, I don't. Yeah, I kissed a girl. It wasn't that great. Rather kiss a dude.

Dear Madonna,

I used to think you were a cold, money mongering robot that had a couple good songs back in the day. Last night, I found out that you are a human. A tiny, muscly human that could probably go to town on some garlic fries, but nonetheless a human. I was surprised at how much you actually sang as well as how steady and clear you were. I guess it makes sense, you are the self-proclaimed Queen of Pop. I'll be honest, when you fucked up the words to "Ray of Light" and attributed it to being "so fucking happy" that Obama won, it warmed my icy heart. Slightly. Thinking you were human made me remember being a wee toddler, wearing a leopard print silk scarf and diaper, dancing around my living room with my mom's microphone to "Lucky Star" while my mom did her Step workout. So I guess, in a way, my parents have you to blame for all this "I'm a jaded musician" bullshit I've put them through. One of my favorite things about you is that your songs don't sound identical to the album, they're unique to the tour, but in a good way. The metal version of "Hung Up?" LOVES IT. Your performance transcends just music, or just dancing. The videos, the sets, the lasers, EVERYTHING. The costumes? Amaaaaazing. They're all Givenchy and I heard you spent over $1 million on swarovski crystals alone. You had these amazing satin boots:

but this was one of my favorite outfits:

Girl, you so FIIIIIERCE!!!I'm sorry that San Diego sucks. Emmanuel told me the floor people get really serious and decked out in couture so I had to be really fierce but it was a bunch of old white people with too much goddamn money. Truth is, I'd rather over-fierce.


1 comment:

Your Maugham said...

Finally, a collection of letters that can compare with the likes of Browning's, Twain's, or Austen's correspondence.