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| Spinning some Slayer. |
Tomorrow is April Fool’s Day.
And I am not playing any tricks, nor am I currently accepting applications for tricks to be played upon me. In fact, heads will roll. Real ones. (Not pretend, April-Foolery ones.)
Last year I convinced my family that, while caring for a five month-old, I was ecstatic to announce a new pregnancy. (Ha HAH!) And, if you’ll recall, my sister Em- having not the TIME to read down to the bottom of the email- believed this to be the case for a good week.
But somehow, it’s just not quite so chuckly anymore. No fake announcements. No ice cubes in shoes. No spiders, dead or otherwise, anywhere in the vicinity of my face or anywhere my face may be tomorrow.
Have you ever seen a [me] pregnant woman cry? Imagine Ugly Cry times Frightened Cry times Frustration Cry times a thousand. And toss in some extra hormones and a few more pounds. Minus a little sleep and anything that could pass for a normal level of internal balance.
You’ve been warned.
Now, onto The News.
Have you heard the newest Britney Spears song? It. Is. Awful. And not just because I’m *cough30cough* getting a little older, and not even because she has never (ever) been my type of jam. (Mmm, jam.)
It was “penned” by the train-wreckiest gal of them all, Ke$ha.
Give it a li’l listen.
Here’s my biggest problem with it: Britney’s people spent a good decade trying to convince the world that she’s Not A Girl (Not Yet A Woman,) Not So Innocent, etc., etc., ad nauseum. Now it’s all like- Hey, I’m a seven year-old girl. Let’s modulate my voice into an even younger sound! While we’re at it, let’s toss in some vaguely threatening sexual lyrics aimed at, to the best of my knowledge, the DJ. (And not to be super judgey, but did we really need another song about a DJ not understanding your need to get out on the floor and, you know, dance like you’ve been needing to do all day? I’m pretty sure the DJ gets paid hourly. He WILL spin some tunes.)
From the lack of crazy tabloid exposure, I’m gonna assume that Ms. Spears has it together with her kids (no more soda in baby bottles, etc.,) and is by all accounts A Woman. Would it kill her to sound like a grownup, musically?
Granted, my standards are pretty high. My favorite female singer of all time is Etta James (and a close second is my sister, Rachel.) I was a little kid during the height of arena rock, but I learned pretty quickly that Lita Ford was no one’s little girl. And the only reason Joan Jett wanted a certain song to play was because she was gonna seduce the heck out of seventeen year-old boy leaning against a jukebox. And Pat Benatar? She could’ve transitioned from “We Belong” to an “Aida” aria without blinking. (In fact, you EXPECTED her to.)
Okay, no more soapbox. I’ll stop waving my cane at the youngsters.
Nora wants to go hear some Tori Amos, anyhow.
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