"I could put you in a log cabinsomewhere in AspenGirl aint nothin' to the PainIt aint trickin' if I got it- what you askin' forPut you in a mansionsomewhere in WiscAnsinLike I said it aint nothin' to the PainWe could change our last name, what's happenin'Cause you look so gooooooooodTell me why you wanna work hereput you on the front page of King magazine,but you gone get yourself hurt hereAy baby, I brought you in the back just to have a conversationI really think you need some ventalationlets talk about yoooooooou and meeeeeeee.(CHORUS)Ooh I can't believe itOoh, ooh she all on me (on me)Man, man I think she want me (want me)No I can't leave her lonely, naaaaaaaaawYou don't understand, she make the people say yeah, yeah, yeahShe hit the main stage, she make the people say yeah, yeah, yeah"
Wait. He took her to a back room and can't believe she's all over him? He doesn't want to leave her lonely? This girl is good. She definitely got that champagne room renewed for another hour. Isn't this the same rapper whose last single was called I'm in Love with a Stripper? Well, I hate to be the one to finally break it to you, Mr. Pain, but I think you're the one who's gonna get hurt here. And YOU'RE the kind of idiot that's got her wanting to work there. Why would she move to WiscAnsan and relinquish her power, and how the hell did I miss this guy when writing my last entry on pleasure and PAIN? It is painful to listen to these lyrics, but it kinda sorta sounds okay. It's catchy?
It seems clear to me that we're to the point now, in this crazy world, where comedians either have the best or the worst job; I'm still unsure which. Obviously there's a lot to make fun of, but it's so bad that commentary isn't always necessary- or possible. This shit is so dumb that all you need to do is point at it and make a face. What more can you really say? And it's not just the media. Yes, music, TV, even books are dumbed down more than ever- it's all certainly becoming dangerously unintelligent- but, whether it's because life is imitating art or art life, one can simply walk down the street and see the same kind of lechery and wickedness that's on TV. It's real.
I'm not just talking about hip hop anymore.
From the streets all the way to the corporate penthouses, our priorities are screwed up. Men have a false sense of what they deserve and women are feeding the belief with a false sense of what's important. The strip club is a microcosm of the real world! Greed is good and honest people are a dying breed- these near extinct individuals barely appreciated. They're looked down upon!!
Case and point- I used to hang out with a ridiculously rich, elderly man and his mistress. I know, I'm not proud. To give myself some some credit, 'hang out' is a poor choice of words. What happened was occasionally I would fold to the invitations of a certain billionaire and his much younger girlfriend when they dangled tickets to events I could never obtain on my own. It wasn't exactly painful to be around them, it was just awkward. They were nice. Front row seats, however, didn't mask the fact that we were a suspicious crew of which I was uncomfortable to be a part of. If I was looking from the outside, I'd laugh at me. I also would assumed we were both sleeping with the old man (and then I guiltily remember a lecture from my old man about the importance of my reputation). Ugh. Still I went along at times, seduced by a lifestyle that I've come to grips with only being able to dream about since I will not sleep with an old man until I, too, am old.
Still, even though I'm blatantly open about this boundary and she was kind, every time I hung out with The Mistress I was subjected to her rants about my poor choice in men. These vampires of youth were always trying to pull me in! Think like them! It took all my energy to stand my ground- refusing to meet with The Billionaire's friends outright only to be besieged in a sneak attack of wealthy, unattractive suitors once I fell into the expensive dinner trap the next time I saw her. Damn I'm such a sucker for free food. I know, I know, your other young 'friend' is now a working model with a billboard in Times Square paid for by a gentleman you set her up with, blah, blah, blah. Good for her! It's just not for me. Would you pass the black truffle canapes? Do you think he'll put me in a car back to Brooklyn after we're done or should I get going and get on the train before it's too late?
Of course my old school values only made me more desirable to these people who always get what they want, and so I was invited to other places in spite of my refusal to go along with the program. And the cringeworthy moments followed, as I deserved. Once we attended a rap concert, fifth row center, when I was embarrassed by The Billionaire's attempts to be acknowledged by the performer while he was on stage. I wish it was in vain, but apparently we were there specifically because of some business deal between the two, some investment in this rapper that the smitten, old man had agreed to. And so The Billionaire texted the musician from the floor of Madison Square Garden to prove their connection, even going so far as to show me the rapper's responses. "Wow! He knows you! Congratulations?" ...and he just noticed me with you. Awesome. It was so lame.
"Illusion is the first of all pleasures." -Oscar Wilde
Apparently the uncool old money types are not the only ones falling victim to the illusions of our modern world. T-Pain sounds like just as big a loser as The Billionaire. Let me remind you: crooning towards the end of the above quoted song T-Pain says, "She hit the main stage, she make the people say yeah." We sing praise to stripping in our pop music. 'Pop' as in 'Popular', the most popular in the world. For those of you that didn't realize...
Who's fault is it? Dirty old men? And there it is, my tell, what I think may be my biggest obstacle in the way of my happy ending: the temptations of the testicles... or is it the teasing of the trimmed and taught? I dunno. I blame somebody. Something's wrong. While I'm busy reading books, drawing pictures and going to museums in Brooklyn, just across the bridge women are spending their time and money (and other people's money) on perfecting the way they look. As if growing up subjected to the illusionary methods of the media- airbrushing, lighting, makeup, etc.- wasn't enough, today's women are aiding and abetting those same illusions into the real world. Now everybody's jaded and I can't compete! Or, rather, I don't wanna play. The more aesthetically beautiful women become, the more the entire natural dynamic of the world is tangled and confused. Closer and closer to physical perfection, farther from mental stability, more capable of toying with the minds of men they used to not be able to attract with their God-given traits, love is in a state of anarchy; men don't even know what it is or how to recognize it! Too busy looking for the kind of beauty that has haunted them since the first porno they watched at ten, men may be the biggest victims... after me.
Look at Janet Jackson and her ugly, short beau Jermaine Dupri. The first reaction of most is something like, "What the hell is she doing?", but consider what I'm saying. What does Janet really look like? What's under all that work and money? Maybe they're, somehow, a cute couple in a normal world. Maybe he's out of HER league. Will we ever know?
Mom was right. Life really isn't fair.
So what will happen to me in this skewed life? While the 'others' tan on exotic beaches, vacations paid for by pathetically hopeful men, I'm stuck working night shifts and holding tight to my values, refusing free trips even with the promise of a separate room because, well, it just seems WRONG. While 'they' are peeled and pulled to perfection, I decide to keep my spots, scars, and crooked teeth (from a ski accident and a great story, by the way). My 'worth' drops and yet my mind expands. How does that work? The more I learn, the fewer options I have in men. Sometimes I wish for my ignorance back! It's like the more I know the more intimidating I am- "overly opinionated", "bitchy", "bossy". While the secretly kept women buy the perfect haircut, designer clothes and shoes and handbags, perfume, lotions, sprays, makeup and surgery, I opt for a wardrobe from Target and a trip to visit old friends across country- quality experiences and time spent. They get free dinners from high class restaurants, doggy bags and all, while I eat the cheapest food I can find until my body screams from MSG poisoning and I'm forced to detox or shop for expensive organic food and follow recipes alone. Hmmmm. I suppose I could have the unwanted peach fuzz on my lower back lasered off- all the unsightly hair on my entire body even- make myself as smooth as an Asian baby because that's what men want, but I'd rather take an exotic vacation or go back to school. Electrolysis can wait for now. Who really wants a landing strip when they're ninety anyway? The bush could come back!
Aren't I doing what I'm supposed to do? Will I be rewarded? In the end, the highly maintained woman wins something I don't, because she is mysterious along with physically perfect. She is hard to get, busy hiding her secrets from the regular guy she's dating- the one more on her level. He is intrigued. I am too real, too obvious, too game-free because I DON'T WANNA PLAY!
Is it obvious I'm bitter?
I won't even get started on the article I just read about a new Reality TV College. I'll just point it out and make a face. Do people pay to "learn" how to be on REALITY TELEVISION now? I give up...
No comments:
Post a Comment