A Letter to the Virgin Mary
Mary, Baby,
Look, I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I’ve got to put My foot down and stop this behavior of yours. Don’t get Me wrong – it was funny at first. I was all, “Haha, Mary has shown up in the bark of the tree of knowledge again.” And “Oh shit, now she’s in My cheese fries!” But it’s not funny anymore. I think it’s creepy. And I created creepy! Just yesterday the lines of My palm transformed into a red, chapped image of your face.
I went to Miss Shaka down the street so she could deign to interpret my fate and when I showed her My palm, all she did was cry, “Oly voodoo, eetza miracle!” and repeat 10,000 Hail Marys. When your face appears on the hood of My Caddy as I roll down the street sippin’on gin and juice and the blood of Christ, I do not consider that as adding to the overall pimpitude of my ride. I had to write “Mary is my homegirl” under it to cover for Myself. As you can see, this gotta stop. I’m done game-hatin’ and now I gotta hate the playa, and Mary, you da playa. In the past 24 hours alone, I have seen you in the mirror as I pop My God- zits, on the shower door glass when I shave My God-bits, in My holy water AND holy OJ, in My Divine-o’s, and in the face of 17 different blind children. Oh wait, scratch that bit about Divine-o’s. I guess all of our faces appear there in the little-chewy marshmallow form. Those guys at General Mills didn’t get Jesus right at all. Too big in the hips. I mean, I’m just sayin’: those aren’t My hips! Maybe if you stopped appearing all over the place and clocked in more time train- ing with the Holy Spirit Crunch Time video set I got you, people wouldn’t think Our Son has big-booty hips...I’m sorry baby. I didn’t mean that. What was I saying?
Look. I understand why you find it necessary to remind me of your exis- tence everywhere I look. I’m late with my alimony payments; but I told you baby, once my miracle spring water infomercials take off the ground, I’m gold! I know I haven’t called you in a while, but my Cingular has been cutting out for periods of more than four hours! As for these allegations that I raped you, maybe emotionally, I’ll admit it, but that’s the whole thing with Immaculate Conception! Gabriel said you were chill with it.You signed the contract. It was a done deal. Besides, I didn’t even get near your nether-regions, ok Miss Virgin with a capital V! When I met you, you were still hanging out with that loser Joseph and his Hasbro tool set. I took you and made you a star! Without me, you’d probably be stuck in a manger and asleep on the hay not because of our amazingly conceived publicity stunt (“conceived” Haha. I still got it. Bam!), but because that’d be your bed! Didn’t God make sure to hook you up in heaven? Weren’t you on the last episode of Cribs, MTV Heaven edition? So quit complaining and, more importantly, get out of my life. For once, Mary, I’d like to take a walk and not find your image on the tongue of my vintage Nike Dunks. So give it a rest. The joke is old.
Peace out,
God
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Air Mail, The Yale Herald, 11/16/06
A semester in Paris: Putting the study in study abroad
Air Mail
Answering your cell phone in the middle of class is a skill. During my time at the University of Paris III Sorbonne-Nouvelle, I have witnessed two variations on this art form. One involves lowering your head very slowly, wedging the phone between ear and desk and whispering, “Oui?” The other involves answering it as if you were on the street, using a modified indoor voice, hoping the professor doesn’t notice you whispering into your palm. While answering your phone in class is a big no-no in America, in the Parisian university system, there is seemingly no set of rules—unspoken or otherwise—when it comes to how the students conduct themselves in class. I’ve sat next to girls conversing loudly for all two hours of class, people blatantly sleeping on their desks, and countless students furiously texting. Students always sigh a raspy breath of relief half way through class when they finally get their cigarette break and rush to the door, cigarettes and lighters at the ready.
The main reason behind the behavior of the students is that the French education system is nationalized, making it a free-for-all in more ways than one. The college application process, the bane of our senior year, is virtually non-existent for our French peers. Only those applying to the grandes écoles, universities for engineers, and other special schools have a competitive application process. For the rest, all that is required is a Baccalaureat degree and a small tuition fee. The government covers the remainder of their tuition. The system is meant to be egalitarian and allow a higher education for all, but the reality is that life at the universities becomes much more chaotic. It’s also no surprise that the dropout rate is sky-high. The Economist’s recent survey of France placed the dropout rate of a university in Toulouse near 46 percent [“Lessons from the campus,” 10/28/2006]. It’s no wonder that students aren’t paying attention in class. Unlike Yale students, they don’t have to fight to be there.
But even this situation doesn’t fully explain the professor-student relationship. In America, we were all told when we went to college that there would be no hand-holding. We’d be forced to take our educations in our own hands, to seek out help when we need it. The difference into Paris is that there seems to be hardly anywhere to go to seek help. Students and professors are almost never on a first-name basis. Some of my professors are utterly shocked when I come up to them and ask them questions at the end of class. During the orientation for my study abroad program, we had to take courses on methodology for literature, art history, and history. Each assignment, whether it’s a dissertation, commentaire composé, or exposé, has a strict format in both visual presentation and content, and students are expected to approach the assignment in the same way. I am still shocked at how much of what we learn here has to do with regurgitating the lecture and at how little creativity is involved. It takes some getting used to, but in the end, it seems much easier than anything I’ve had to do at Yale.
Another huge difference is the way courses and lectures are organized. The French approach to education is cemented in a strict structure wherein the method of teaching is standardized by discipline. When my professor steps into the classroom he begins lecture right away, and when he is finished speaking, he packs up his briefcase and is on his way. At the first class meeting, the professor hands out a very rough syllabus, and what is known as a bibliography. Unlike at Yale, where readings are outlined by week and assignment number, French students are given a list of books that apply to the course. In theory, they are meant to choose books that are relevant to their work for the semester from this list and use them to complete assignments, and the essays and work they have to complete over the semester may or may not have a listed due date. This whole process has given new meaning to the phrase laissez-faire. French students are used to this, especially since they have to choose their major right out of high school, and can’t take classes in other disciplines. The things I have had trouble adjusting to are old-hat for Parisian students.
One thing I am grateful for is that once I got past all the confusing elements of my classes at Paris III, I found that the content of the courses I’m taking is very good. I can’t say great, because all of my courses are for first year students, so they tend to be surveys. I chose first-year classes because I have to take them in French, so it’s easier on my listening comprehension skills (which I’m proud to say, have improved dramatically after two months of total immersion). Although the system can be very frustrating, it’s definitely a worthwhile experience—I’m forced to self-motivate in a way I’ve never had to before. But if there’s one thing my time here has made me realize, it’s how eternally grateful I am for the American education system. I can’t wait to get back to Yale, where I can e-mail my teachers, know exactly how much work I have, and enjoy a passion and enthusiasm for learning that only a few French students I’ve encountered have exhibited.
© 2004 The Yale Herald | The Herald is an undergraduate publication at Yale University. | Please see the Contact page to reach us.
Air Mail
Answering your cell phone in the middle of class is a skill. During my time at the University of Paris III Sorbonne-Nouvelle, I have witnessed two variations on this art form. One involves lowering your head very slowly, wedging the phone between ear and desk and whispering, “Oui?” The other involves answering it as if you were on the street, using a modified indoor voice, hoping the professor doesn’t notice you whispering into your palm. While answering your phone in class is a big no-no in America, in the Parisian university system, there is seemingly no set of rules—unspoken or otherwise—when it comes to how the students conduct themselves in class. I’ve sat next to girls conversing loudly for all two hours of class, people blatantly sleeping on their desks, and countless students furiously texting. Students always sigh a raspy breath of relief half way through class when they finally get their cigarette break and rush to the door, cigarettes and lighters at the ready.
The main reason behind the behavior of the students is that the French education system is nationalized, making it a free-for-all in more ways than one. The college application process, the bane of our senior year, is virtually non-existent for our French peers. Only those applying to the grandes écoles, universities for engineers, and other special schools have a competitive application process. For the rest, all that is required is a Baccalaureat degree and a small tuition fee. The government covers the remainder of their tuition. The system is meant to be egalitarian and allow a higher education for all, but the reality is that life at the universities becomes much more chaotic. It’s also no surprise that the dropout rate is sky-high. The Economist’s recent survey of France placed the dropout rate of a university in Toulouse near 46 percent [“Lessons from the campus,” 10/28/2006]. It’s no wonder that students aren’t paying attention in class. Unlike Yale students, they don’t have to fight to be there.
But even this situation doesn’t fully explain the professor-student relationship. In America, we were all told when we went to college that there would be no hand-holding. We’d be forced to take our educations in our own hands, to seek out help when we need it. The difference into Paris is that there seems to be hardly anywhere to go to seek help. Students and professors are almost never on a first-name basis. Some of my professors are utterly shocked when I come up to them and ask them questions at the end of class. During the orientation for my study abroad program, we had to take courses on methodology for literature, art history, and history. Each assignment, whether it’s a dissertation, commentaire composé, or exposé, has a strict format in both visual presentation and content, and students are expected to approach the assignment in the same way. I am still shocked at how much of what we learn here has to do with regurgitating the lecture and at how little creativity is involved. It takes some getting used to, but in the end, it seems much easier than anything I’ve had to do at Yale.
Another huge difference is the way courses and lectures are organized. The French approach to education is cemented in a strict structure wherein the method of teaching is standardized by discipline. When my professor steps into the classroom he begins lecture right away, and when he is finished speaking, he packs up his briefcase and is on his way. At the first class meeting, the professor hands out a very rough syllabus, and what is known as a bibliography. Unlike at Yale, where readings are outlined by week and assignment number, French students are given a list of books that apply to the course. In theory, they are meant to choose books that are relevant to their work for the semester from this list and use them to complete assignments, and the essays and work they have to complete over the semester may or may not have a listed due date. This whole process has given new meaning to the phrase laissez-faire. French students are used to this, especially since they have to choose their major right out of high school, and can’t take classes in other disciplines. The things I have had trouble adjusting to are old-hat for Parisian students.
One thing I am grateful for is that once I got past all the confusing elements of my classes at Paris III, I found that the content of the courses I’m taking is very good. I can’t say great, because all of my courses are for first year students, so they tend to be surveys. I chose first-year classes because I have to take them in French, so it’s easier on my listening comprehension skills (which I’m proud to say, have improved dramatically after two months of total immersion). Although the system can be very frustrating, it’s definitely a worthwhile experience—I’m forced to self-motivate in a way I’ve never had to before. But if there’s one thing my time here has made me realize, it’s how eternally grateful I am for the American education system. I can’t wait to get back to Yale, where I can e-mail my teachers, know exactly how much work I have, and enjoy a passion and enthusiasm for learning that only a few French students I’ve encountered have exhibited.
© 2004 The Yale Herald | The Herald is an undergraduate publication at Yale University. | Please see the Contact page to reach us.
REVIEW: Marie Antoinette, The Yale Herald, 11/3/06
I wrote a response to this review published in the Herald. This is the unedited version, because the edited one is not online for some reason.
In last week’s issue of The Herald, Espinosa wrote, “If you don’t like Marie Antoinette, you’re probably missing the point.” I am writing this response because I disagree so vehemently that it makes my blood boil. I originally intended to write this review for the Herald myself, but since I am in Paris, time flies and I forgot to do it. I would like to argue that you cannot only dislike, but you can loathe and deplore Marie Antoinette even if you get the point. Instead of just saying that Marie Antoinette is a “substance-less piece of shit,” let me respond point by point.
Espinosa understands exactly what Sophia Coppola is trying to do, which is catch the ennui and isolation of this young girl removed from her family and placed in the French court. The main problem is this is the only film the point makes, and by the end, you just don’t care how miserable or misunderstood her life is. After all, if this truly “screams Paris Hilton and co.” like Espinosa claims, ponder this: have you ever shed one tear, or felt an ounce of pity for that spoiled, worthless brat? The day I feel sorry for someone who is rich and can have everything in the world is the day I swallow the cyanide capsule I’ve been keeping in my molar for such an occasion. It’s just not enough to keep a viewer entertained because it is so repetitive, so drawn out, and so easily graspable within the first half hour. Yes the visuals are stunning and everything is impeccably arranged. Yes this is a reflection of celebrity culture. But the truth is I get enough of watching this sort of behavior by reading US Weekly and Pink is the New Blog (trent.blogspot.com). In Marie Antoinette, if you aren’t intrigued by this point, if you don’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the lead (who is in every scene and almost every shot), you are going to have one hell of a painfully boring two hours to sit through.
One of the other major downfalls is the integration of hipster culture into the film. It just does not fit. Instead of coming off as clever and interesting, it comes off as forced and overplayed. The best parts of the film are when Coppola sticks to history, and shows court life as it really is. The scenes where Dunst and Schwartzman eat dinner in the most formal and awkward manner possible is a great example of this. The use of converse next to traditional footwear doesn’t make it seem like Coppola is winking, but rather like she’s saying “look! I’m so young and hip! Isn’t this film young and hip? Only hipsters wear converse! Marie Antoinette is a hipster! Isn’t that cool? Can’t you relate?” No, Sophia, I can’t relate. Why don’t you try editing your scenes shorter so that every long take isn’t so painful it makes me want to tie my overpriced Red Vines into a noose and hang myself from projector in the back of the theater?
A few other things I could probably discuss at length if given the time or space, as it were: 1) A serious under use of Jason Schwartzman, who’s comic relief as Louis is much much needed. 2) Kirsten Dunst can’t act her way out of a bag in this film (see: the scene where she’s “crying” after hearing from her mom. 3) The scenes illustrating the awkwardness of their marriage are repeated way too many times. 4) This may have been an accurate portrayal of the queen, but if her life is really so one note, maybe Sophia should have focused on things other than how much money Marie Antoinette could spend, and how sometimes, she gets upset. 5) They stop the action right when it gets good! The only thing that would have saved this boring exercise in self-indulgence via nepotism would be Marie Antoinette’s head served on a plate. Now that’s something I could really sink my teeth into.
In last week’s issue of The Herald, Espinosa wrote, “If you don’t like Marie Antoinette, you’re probably missing the point.” I am writing this response because I disagree so vehemently that it makes my blood boil. I originally intended to write this review for the Herald myself, but since I am in Paris, time flies and I forgot to do it. I would like to argue that you cannot only dislike, but you can loathe and deplore Marie Antoinette even if you get the point. Instead of just saying that Marie Antoinette is a “substance-less piece of shit,” let me respond point by point.
Espinosa understands exactly what Sophia Coppola is trying to do, which is catch the ennui and isolation of this young girl removed from her family and placed in the French court. The main problem is this is the only film the point makes, and by the end, you just don’t care how miserable or misunderstood her life is. After all, if this truly “screams Paris Hilton and co.” like Espinosa claims, ponder this: have you ever shed one tear, or felt an ounce of pity for that spoiled, worthless brat? The day I feel sorry for someone who is rich and can have everything in the world is the day I swallow the cyanide capsule I’ve been keeping in my molar for such an occasion. It’s just not enough to keep a viewer entertained because it is so repetitive, so drawn out, and so easily graspable within the first half hour. Yes the visuals are stunning and everything is impeccably arranged. Yes this is a reflection of celebrity culture. But the truth is I get enough of watching this sort of behavior by reading US Weekly and Pink is the New Blog (trent.blogspot.com). In Marie Antoinette, if you aren’t intrigued by this point, if you don’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the lead (who is in every scene and almost every shot), you are going to have one hell of a painfully boring two hours to sit through.
One of the other major downfalls is the integration of hipster culture into the film. It just does not fit. Instead of coming off as clever and interesting, it comes off as forced and overplayed. The best parts of the film are when Coppola sticks to history, and shows court life as it really is. The scenes where Dunst and Schwartzman eat dinner in the most formal and awkward manner possible is a great example of this. The use of converse next to traditional footwear doesn’t make it seem like Coppola is winking, but rather like she’s saying “look! I’m so young and hip! Isn’t this film young and hip? Only hipsters wear converse! Marie Antoinette is a hipster! Isn’t that cool? Can’t you relate?” No, Sophia, I can’t relate. Why don’t you try editing your scenes shorter so that every long take isn’t so painful it makes me want to tie my overpriced Red Vines into a noose and hang myself from projector in the back of the theater?
A few other things I could probably discuss at length if given the time or space, as it were: 1) A serious under use of Jason Schwartzman, who’s comic relief as Louis is much much needed. 2) Kirsten Dunst can’t act her way out of a bag in this film (see: the scene where she’s “crying” after hearing from her mom. 3) The scenes illustrating the awkwardness of their marriage are repeated way too many times. 4) This may have been an accurate portrayal of the queen, but if her life is really so one note, maybe Sophia should have focused on things other than how much money Marie Antoinette could spend, and how sometimes, she gets upset. 5) They stop the action right when it gets good! The only thing that would have saved this boring exercise in self-indulgence via nepotism would be Marie Antoinette’s head served on a plate. Now that’s something I could really sink my teeth into.
Summer Singles, The Yale Herald, 09/02/05
I'm posting the unedited version because the published article had to be padded.
If there’s one thing to say about pop music this summer, it’s that 2006 was the summer of the pop comeback album. Let’s check out this all-star lineup: Justin Timberlake, who’s single-handedly bringing back something that never really left, Nelly Furtado, recipient of a Jewel post-Spirit marketability makeover, Christina Aguilera, the voice, Jessica Simpson (did you hear she’s single? Oh you did? Ok. Nevermind.) and the newcomers, Paris Hilton and Fergie. And nothing, I mean nothing, matters more than the first single. The real question is: is J-Tim really bringing sexy back? Or had it already been broughten? Read on for the answer.
The smartest move Xtina ever made was getting rid of that X and all that we came to associate with it. She’s no longer attempting to be overtly-edgy or dirty (more like disgusting) and has become a classy chanteuse. “Ain’t No Other Man” proves that Christina Aguilera really has amazing pipes and is probably the most soulful and talented of the pop vixens. The song allows her to flaunt her versatility and belting power as it has real substance and clever melodies, a feat considering what usually passes for a hit song these days. Her forthcoming album is a two-disc set, one a tribute to classic jazz / R&B, and the other a traditional pop-hop venture. “Ain’t No Other Man” seems to be a perfect fusion of this new Christina with elements of both thrown in.
“Promiscuous Girl” is just baaaarely a Nelly Furtado song. Her vocal tracks could easily be replaced by the Rihanna’s and Ciara’s of the world, or more fittingly, by Missy Elliot. The genius behind this track is that it is so wholly and distinctly a Timbaland creation with the kick-ass production and deep bass beat we have come to expect of him. The summer of 2006 has really come to love this melding of pop and hip-hop and this is probably the most successful combination to appear in the mix. I have come to believe that almost everything Timbaland touches turns to Top 40 gold, and Nelly Furtado should thank her lucky stars that she has this collaboration in her pocket to help her shed her “I’m like a bird” image. Without him, she might not have been able to pull it off.
Ugh. Don’t even get me started on Stacy Ferguson of Kid’s Incorporated’s duo Stacy and Renee. Fergie my ass. First, she makes a comeback and ruins the Black-Eyed Peas (or makes them a super-group, one of the two). Second, she dubs herself “The Duchess” and makes the cash money millions off a song, “London Bridge,” that makes no sense whatsoever. Sure, maybe it’s clever that she chose the M.I.A. and “Holla Back Girl” approach to song writing. Yeah, maybe the chorus is catchy. But what the hell is she even talking about? “How come every time you come around, my London London Bridge wanna go down.” It sounds like her penis is on upside-down if you ask me.
How is Jessica Simpson so radically behind the times? Almost no one is making pop music that sounds like “A Public Affair” anymore. It’s so cutesy and inconsequential it’s hard to listen to the whole song. Maybe some pop-fluff is what appeases the pre-teenagers around the world, but Jessica will never be able to compete in the big-leagues without a hip-hop influenced single. I know she’s very successful, and some might even say talented, but she owes her success less to her talent and more to Us Weekly and MTV. Get with the times, Jess.
Justin Timberlake has come a long long way. With Justified, it became clear that J-Tim’s future success would rely on his hip-hop chops and sweet R&B voice. “Sexy Back” is the perfect summer single. The beat isn’t as groovy and sexy as on “Promiscuous Girl,” but Timbaland still manages to bring on the funk. This beat is tailor-made for Justin, keeping in mind that he’s a white boy who comes from a boy band background. It’s not so radically different as to completely change how we see Justin, but instead is the logical next step in his musical progression.
“Stars Are Blind” by Paris Hilton: Too bad they’re not deaf. The only thing worse than this song is Kevin Federline’s bastard child of a song, “Popo Zao.”
The one popstar you’ll notice absent from this list is Britney Spears Federline. Summer 2006 would have been an amazing time for her to make a killer comeback with ex-boyfriends and rivals doing the same. (By the way, Is it just me, or doesn’t it seem like Justin is deliberately referencing “Slave 4 U” with lyrics like “Dirty baby / you see these shackles / baby I’m your slave?”) Maybe J-Tim can help Brit get her sexy back, but perhaps she has wandered too deep into the land of the fugly to ever return to the top of the pops again. Judging by this summer’s list of comeback albums and singles, she’s going to have her work cut out for her.
original article here
If there’s one thing to say about pop music this summer, it’s that 2006 was the summer of the pop comeback album. Let’s check out this all-star lineup: Justin Timberlake, who’s single-handedly bringing back something that never really left, Nelly Furtado, recipient of a Jewel post-Spirit marketability makeover, Christina Aguilera, the voice, Jessica Simpson (did you hear she’s single? Oh you did? Ok. Nevermind.) and the newcomers, Paris Hilton and Fergie. And nothing, I mean nothing, matters more than the first single. The real question is: is J-Tim really bringing sexy back? Or had it already been broughten? Read on for the answer.
The smartest move Xtina ever made was getting rid of that X and all that we came to associate with it. She’s no longer attempting to be overtly-edgy or dirty (more like disgusting) and has become a classy chanteuse. “Ain’t No Other Man” proves that Christina Aguilera really has amazing pipes and is probably the most soulful and talented of the pop vixens. The song allows her to flaunt her versatility and belting power as it has real substance and clever melodies, a feat considering what usually passes for a hit song these days. Her forthcoming album is a two-disc set, one a tribute to classic jazz / R&B, and the other a traditional pop-hop venture. “Ain’t No Other Man” seems to be a perfect fusion of this new Christina with elements of both thrown in.
“Promiscuous Girl” is just baaaarely a Nelly Furtado song. Her vocal tracks could easily be replaced by the Rihanna’s and Ciara’s of the world, or more fittingly, by Missy Elliot. The genius behind this track is that it is so wholly and distinctly a Timbaland creation with the kick-ass production and deep bass beat we have come to expect of him. The summer of 2006 has really come to love this melding of pop and hip-hop and this is probably the most successful combination to appear in the mix. I have come to believe that almost everything Timbaland touches turns to Top 40 gold, and Nelly Furtado should thank her lucky stars that she has this collaboration in her pocket to help her shed her “I’m like a bird” image. Without him, she might not have been able to pull it off.
Ugh. Don’t even get me started on Stacy Ferguson of Kid’s Incorporated’s duo Stacy and Renee. Fergie my ass. First, she makes a comeback and ruins the Black-Eyed Peas (or makes them a super-group, one of the two). Second, she dubs herself “The Duchess” and makes the cash money millions off a song, “London Bridge,” that makes no sense whatsoever. Sure, maybe it’s clever that she chose the M.I.A. and “Holla Back Girl” approach to song writing. Yeah, maybe the chorus is catchy. But what the hell is she even talking about? “How come every time you come around, my London London Bridge wanna go down.” It sounds like her penis is on upside-down if you ask me.
How is Jessica Simpson so radically behind the times? Almost no one is making pop music that sounds like “A Public Affair” anymore. It’s so cutesy and inconsequential it’s hard to listen to the whole song. Maybe some pop-fluff is what appeases the pre-teenagers around the world, but Jessica will never be able to compete in the big-leagues without a hip-hop influenced single. I know she’s very successful, and some might even say talented, but she owes her success less to her talent and more to Us Weekly and MTV. Get with the times, Jess.
Justin Timberlake has come a long long way. With Justified, it became clear that J-Tim’s future success would rely on his hip-hop chops and sweet R&B voice. “Sexy Back” is the perfect summer single. The beat isn’t as groovy and sexy as on “Promiscuous Girl,” but Timbaland still manages to bring on the funk. This beat is tailor-made for Justin, keeping in mind that he’s a white boy who comes from a boy band background. It’s not so radically different as to completely change how we see Justin, but instead is the logical next step in his musical progression.
“Stars Are Blind” by Paris Hilton: Too bad they’re not deaf. The only thing worse than this song is Kevin Federline’s bastard child of a song, “Popo Zao.”
The one popstar you’ll notice absent from this list is Britney Spears Federline. Summer 2006 would have been an amazing time for her to make a killer comeback with ex-boyfriends and rivals doing the same. (By the way, Is it just me, or doesn’t it seem like Justin is deliberately referencing “Slave 4 U” with lyrics like “Dirty baby / you see these shackles / baby I’m your slave?”) Maybe J-Tim can help Brit get her sexy back, but perhaps she has wandered too deep into the land of the fugly to ever return to the top of the pops again. Judging by this summer’s list of comeback albums and singles, she’s going to have her work cut out for her.
original article here
Future Predictions, The Yale Herald, 4/21/06
Excerpt from a Herald A&E Staff piece.
I’m going to assume that it’s not a coincidence that, when I was asked to write this, I had already watched two episodes of a My Super Sweet Sixteenmarathon. So here are the things that MTV would have me believe would make the future better (according to the episodes of My Super Sweet Sixteen that I happened to watch):
1.Bright pink poodles with nails to match.
2.Elaborate costume changes every half hour.
3.An appearance by Kanye West (or Diddy) (or both!)
4.A horse-drawn Cinderella carriage.
5.The constant presence of back-up dancers.
6.An ugly best friend who is clearly using me for my money. I guess a hot friend would work, too. As long as they’re using me for my money.
7.Parents who don’t really love me and think they can make up for it in presents.
8.One car for the weekdays, one for the weekends (top down, chrome spinnin’).
9.An ingrate for a daughter.
If this wouldn’t make the future better, I don’t know what would. Except maybe for more products and services from Google, or a time machine, if it still counts as the future, so I could go back and re-plan my Sweet Sixteen accordingly.
I’m going to assume that it’s not a coincidence that, when I was asked to write this, I had already watched two episodes of a My Super Sweet Sixteenmarathon. So here are the things that MTV would have me believe would make the future better (according to the episodes of My Super Sweet Sixteen that I happened to watch):
1.Bright pink poodles with nails to match.
2.Elaborate costume changes every half hour.
3.An appearance by Kanye West (or Diddy) (or both!)
4.A horse-drawn Cinderella carriage.
5.The constant presence of back-up dancers.
6.An ugly best friend who is clearly using me for my money. I guess a hot friend would work, too. As long as they’re using me for my money.
7.Parents who don’t really love me and think they can make up for it in presents.
8.One car for the weekdays, one for the weekends (top down, chrome spinnin’).
9.An ingrate for a daughter.
If this wouldn’t make the future better, I don’t know what would. Except maybe for more products and services from Google, or a time machine, if it still counts as the future, so I could go back and re-plan my Sweet Sixteen accordingly.
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