Is “Semi-Charmed Life” The Best Pop Song Ever Written?

Yes.

Oh, you wanted a whole post about this? I don’t know if I can manage that, but how about a top ten reasons list? Wait, you’re sick of numbered lists? Bullet points it is! Here’s why Third Eye Blind’s “Semi Charmed Life” is the best pop song ever written.

  • You know this song, at least peripherally. That’s how great pop music works: everyone who was around when it was released is familiar with it.
  • This song is about drug addiction, overdosing, and oral sex, but you probably didn’t know that. That’s also how great pop music works: the song is so good you bop along with your mom and dad to a radio spewing intimate details about blow jobs and crystal meth.
  • It dates itself just enough to feel 90s (see lyrics “velvet dress” and the poppy grunge sound of the guitars) but not so much you can’t love it in any decade.
  • “Do do do do do do dooooo, do do do do do do dooooooo”
  • There are about three different versions of the song played on the radio not including the versions with various levels of bleeping. I remember when it came out that the pop station “B103.9” of my youth would reverse A LOT of tiny parts of the lyrics to the point that today I still sing “Doing cnvkweroiufsckncdhffhsdkfh til you break IT WON’T STOP!”
  • Did I mention the “dos”?
  • “The four right chords can make me cry” and the song is basically just four chords (like all great pop songs).
  • It starts all at once with this weird little intense drum solo thing and as soon as you hear it you know you’re in for a good fucking time (like I imagine one’s first time on speed might be).
  • The breakdown where it’s all chill and cool which seems to mimic the slow, dreamy, trippy sleep you might slip into when you start coming down.
  • “But I’m not coming down!”
  • This is one of those 90s songs that’s simultaneously sad and happy at once. Even if you don’t know the theme or most of the lyrics, the concept of a “semi-charmed kinda life” is one of those “aww that’s nice…wait” kinda phrases. Stack on top of that the reaching “good-byeeeeeeee”s and sandwich it all between how happy a “do do do” should be, but how strained and almost mocking they sound and you’ve got a good feel-weird hoagie going on.
  • “And I speak to you like the chorus to the verse / Chop another line like a coda with a curse” is pretty fucking great. Any song that’s kinda meta really gets me.
  • DOO DOO FUCKING DOO, BITCH!

 

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Thoughts On TV

I haven’t had cable for years now, and no Netflix for probably a year. While I do have Amazon Prime and access to a couple other avenues for watching television and movies, I haven’t watched actual television, with the channels you can click through and commercials,  in a long time. Until today.

What is going on with America’s Funniest Home Videos? It’s basically exactly the same show as when I was five years old. Confusingly, it has this ad for uploading your video from your phone to their site, and yet many of the videos look like they were shot on a big ole camcorder from the 90s. It’s very anachronistic, this show that has worked in current technology but visually remains unchanged.

Here are my AFV conspiracy theories: 1) An intentionally grainy filter has been put over all videos, 2) It is a requirement that people wear swishy windbreakers in at least half of all new videos, 3) Swishy windbreakers are computer generated onto the people in the videos 4) AFV is really just a huge ad to bring back swishy windbreakers.

“Ree” Drummond is ADORABLE. Please tell me more about ranching while toasting me up a bun, ma’am. Also, you deserve a better husband.

“Sci” might be a channel, and that might stand for “Science.” There were like a bunch of shows about space in a row that I couldn’t differentiate between. Now that’s all well and good, but the channel kept running a commercial for a show called something like “Evidence For The Truth” which appears to be about…reptilians? Aliens? Fish people? I don’t know, but it worked and I wished I’d been watching it, but I did learn you can fit two Earths into that one big red storm on Venus (which is grey in the middle, not red, conformed by science).

SAME COMMERCIALS EVERY BREAK, but those Allstate Mayhem commercials are top notch. Also did you know that J.K. Simmons is the voice of the Yellow M&M?

Cake Wars still exists, and it’s very clear they are faking everything, and yet, AND YET, it’s still on. People are acceptable actors, it turns out. At least acceptable enough to warrant a three hour block of Food Network.

Jackson Galaxy and his facial hair will always have a special place in my heart.

Success Is A Fuckboi

I mused on success recently, and while doing so I had a thought. Success is often personified as a woman, fickle and choosy, mysterious and aloof, other feminine words and synonyms, but I don’t know about all that. Women are only “mysterious” because when we don’t want the thing that men think we should want, they quickly throw up their hands and deem us complicated and irrational, as if we’re actual people or something. So then anything difficult and baffling gets clothed in a slinky black dress, stilettos, and a wink.

Instead of a pearl-adorned, sultry demoness, I, as my post title has already revealed so this isn’t shocking but I needed this sentence to be longer stylistically, like to think of success as a fuckboi.

successisa

There are a number of ways to spell it, but I find “fuckboi” to be the most charming because it really encompasses the meaning of the term: childish, a product of the internet era, and visually both displeasing and appropriate. Fuckbois are the masculine answer, I believe, to thots, and if that doesn’t mean anything to you then we are not exactly in the same boat, but we’re probably rowing adjacent to one another in the ocean that is rapidly evolving internet linguistics.

A fuckboi, as far as I understand, is a boy–specifically not a man by action but likely by legal age–who fucks you, literally and figuratively. He is a “tease” and a “slut” but with a penis (so of course we have to come up with a new term for him), and he also seems to be particularly astute at manipulation with a specialty in gaslighting. A school of naive or historically abused heterosexual women are drawn to the fuckboi despite how poorly he treats everyone else in his life, likely because the fuckboi is often attractive and suffering (see: profiting) from some form of cluster B personality disorder so can reign in his shittier characteristics long enough to convince a sexual conquest that he is “really a nice guy underneath it all” at least long enough to “hit it an quit it,” often multiple times.

Okay, got it? Well, if not, we’re moving on anyway. So I find success similar to the fuckboi, at least in my success-less current state, but having had a few minor highs in the views and likes departments recently (and having one bad experience with a dude who was a fuckboi in every way but looks and name about a decade ago). Both are attractive, especially from afar and in photos. Success has a hard jaw, spends a descent amount of time in the gym, and an impressive “I tried really hard to not look like I’m trying hard” sense of fashion. When he gets a bit closer you might see him stiff a waiter or not hold the elevator for someone clearly running for it, but you excuse those behaviors because god damn, Natalie, have you seen that fucking smirk?

You hear a lot of stuff about Success, how maybe he’s not worth it, he’s had a lot of partners and they didn’t really work out, but your internalized misogyny comes crawling up from the nastier parts of your soul, and you think, “jealousy is a hell of a drug, bitches!” and you put yourself out there. You might even change yourself a little to be more attractive to him. I mean, it’s just a Brazilian blow out, why can’t I reinvent myself, Natalie? God, don’t be so judgmental, you don’t understand how hard it is to maintain curls in this kind of humidity, okay!?

When Success texts you for the first time your heart beats so hard you’re sure he can hear it through the phone even though text messages don’t have sound and no one actually calls anyone else in this economic climate. (I haven’t dated in a long fucking time, so Success probably actually sends you a message on Tinder, but just roll with me okay?) Success isn’t really that funny, but you laugh at his jokes, and he’s not that clever, but you’re willing to dumb yourself down a little for him because God and 8% body fat gave him an inguinal crease to die for, and his profile picture is just a bare torso so it’s not like you can avoid it, Natalie, I mean it’s right there.

But Success is flippant and enigmatic. Everything he says is up for interpretation, and even though the strong, independent woman that you know you are (because Natalie keeps texting you the Venus symbol emoji) is sure you shouldn’t be trying to please him, you find yourself doing things you never thought you would for a boy. Your Instagram feed is somehow both a little racier and also a little more self-loathing than normal, and you get crankier with the other people in your life so when they balk at you, you label them toxic and cut them out. Your normal meter is broken, but you can’t recognize it in all those pieces under Success’s Adidas.

But it all seems worth it when you get a taste of Success (I am so sorry for that image). He’s calling you “babygirl” and “love” and blowing up your phone with so many notifications that you missed when Natalie’s dog had to get surgery because his stomach was actually where all her missing socks were going. You’ve seen what Success can do and you want more, everything else be damned.

Then…it all stops. You don’t want to seem desperate, and frankly neither of you declared yourselves monogamous or that you were in a relationship at all but you’re still you, and you want answers. Looking back at it, Success never really commented on your posts publicly, and his relationship status was already “It’s Complicated” before you even met, but you’ve got proof of something somewhere, don’t you? Are your feelings worth nothing? Success continues to allude you, and when you call him out, he tells you that you’re the crazy one, you’re making this out to be so much more than it was, and you’re not even really that hot, so he was doing you a favor that one time you asked him to come over at 1:00am to “help explain Rick and Morty to you.” And by the way, that photo you posted of yourself on the beach last week isn’t super flattering and you should probably untag him from it.

Now truly alone, you call up Natalie, but she’s too busy with Max the hosiery hound for your inevitable bullshit, so you turn to vaguebooking, quoting song lyrics from when you were a sad-sack teenager, and stalking Success’s social media for a glimmer that maybe he misses you too. Spoiler alert: SUCCESS DON’T MISS NOBODY. (Until it’s convenient for him, but he doesn’t mean it.)

And that’s the clutch, guys. Success really doesn’t miss anyone because it doesn’t need anyone, least of all you or me. Pandering to success long term probably won’t work out, but maybe it’s okay to try because it can be fun and even rewarding if you’re an egotistical fuckhead *clears throat and puts down front-facing camera* Sorry, what were we talking about?

Maybe this analogy isn’t fair because success doesn’t really make choices, that’s the masses (and those controlling mass media to some point, but this isn’t the place for conspiracy theories), but it’s probably as fair as calling success a pretty lady that won’t give you the time of day. The only truth is that success is fickle, but maybe someday if you love yourself enough, you’ll be able to nail down something that suits you better and loves you back. Or something equally mushy and gross.

Also, listen to Natalie every once and a while, okay?

 

Normally I don’t credit the photos I use because I get them from Pexels with specifically no attribution required licenses, but because I’m using this guy’s photo in what can be seen as a negative light, I’d like to say explicitly that I’m not commenting on the subject or the photographer of this photo being an actual Fuckboi™ and would like to credit him. Go give R Fera some love.

Thoughts While Watching 1999’s “She’s All That” For The First Time In Probably 10+ Years

(Note, I only started taking screenshots at the very end. Sorry.)

No one looks like that in high school. Not in the 90s anyway.

Matthew goddamned Lillard.

Did Usher actually attend this school as a student? Or was he just the school’s hired DJ? Why does a school need a DJ, hired or otherwise?

The things the edgy girls say to Laney in art class are SO FUCKING MEAN that I almost did a spit take. That shit is HARSH and a million times worse than anything Taylor does.

If I wasn’t attracted to women before Mac, I sure as fuck was after.

“Supersize my balls.”

I can’t tell if it’s a wig or not, but Laney’s long hair is weird. It is a wig, isn’t it?

Simon and I know exactly same amount about alcohol.

“What is Shampoo?”

Rachel Leigh Cook coming down the stairs to “Kiss Me” is i-con-ic.

“GIVE IT TO ME BABY!”

Petition to bring back the man-titties-out soccer shirts!

Zack’s blonde friend really takes a turn in the second act. Hey, that’s Paul Walker! Aw, takes a turn…oh no, I made myself sad.

Was Usher actually ever on set with any of the principle cast?

LANEY USES POOL PARTS IN HER PAINTINGS OMG WHAT A SMART FUCKING CHOICE FOR THE PROP DEPARTMENT. ALSO HOW IS THAT NOT A PIECE OF HER IN HER ARTWORK, MS. ART TEACHER?

Zack’s internal struggle is beautiful.

Was this movie sponsored by The Real World?

DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER THE REAL WORLD?

Did anyone go to a school where people freestyled at all let alone about who was going to be prom queen? Do you think they wrote those freestyles and then titled the movie or decided on the title and then wrote it into the rap?

The pube pizza scene was something I had blocked out of my memory 19 years ago, and I am pissed off I’ve been subjected to it once again.

Their one use of “fuck” is spot on.

I really appreciate how they portrayed both Zack and Laney’s dads.

The prom photographer is all of us.

Why is Lil’ Kim in this movie if she doesn’t have any lines??

This guy’s hair:

hair
Inspiration: Pineapple

Taylor is wearing butterfly clips, face glitter, and gold lipstick to prom. Goddess.

taylor
Get on my level, Zack!

Usher implies he taught the students the choreography that the “dance team” performs during prom which suggests he may also be the dance instructor at the school? This weirdly makes sense to me, but I’m pissed off we never got a spin off called They’re All That And A Bag of Potato Chips staring Usher, Lil’ Kim, and Gabrielle Union going to and winning state.

Basically, the concept of the Usher DJ is a really novel idea, and I love it.

usher
WHY WOULD I EVER WANT TO ESCAPE THIS, COMPUTER, WHYYYYYYY???

This guy’s hair again:

this guy
I’m sorry, dancer, you didn’t deserve this.

She’s All That is basically Grease at this point, and I am here for it.

The dancers are wearing dance shoes. No matter what kind of dress they have on, they’ve all got Broadwayesque boxy heels on. I’m also here for that.

They should have made a live action Captain Planet with these guys as Earth and Fire:

cp
RIP Mr. Walker

Unpopular Opinion: Taylor deserved to be prom queen. She’s clearly going to peak in high school, she needed it more.

The race for Laney’s virginity admittedly makes me uncomfortable, but I’m unsure how this could have been written better. At least it works out well with Laney defending her own honor.

Usher is literally credited as “Campus DJ.” This doesn’t answer any of my questions.

Final Thought: This is an A+, high quality, 100% amazing FILM, and I recommend it to all of you right this very instant.

Blogmas: 5 Last Minute Gift Ideas

I’ve thankfully finished all of my Christmas shopping with four days to spare, but I know not everybody is quite so lucky. To help out those poor, unfortunate souls with no idea what to get their spouse, coworkers, or other obligatory gift recipient, I’ve put together a list of five gifts you already have in your own home just waiting to be given to that lucky someone in your life. How convenient is that?

IMG_20171220_195406069Festive Diamond Sphere Decor

Imagine gifting a loved one with a beautiful globe of precious, shining gems they can place upon their Christmas tree. They may not even be able to discern that this fancy-shmancy looking ornament is nothing more than a ball of tinfoil, tightly packed by your own hands and impaled on one of the hooks you found unceremoniously one night with your bare feet while trudging to the bathroom, wondering how the fuck you didn’t find it two weeks ago when you packed away the unused decorations. Bonus if you’ve wrapped something up inside. Doesn’t matter what, everyone enjoys a surprise. I’ve put an old baby carrot in mine. It’s symbolic of the baby Jesus. Bonus to the bonus, this can be used as a cat toy!

IMG_20171220_195039887_BURST000_COVER_TOPHair Ribbons

We’ve all got a girly-girl to bequeath with a gift this season, but why get her the same old pink things she probably already owns when you can give her a hand-crafted, upcycled, laundry-chic accessory? Two used dryer sheets and a little knotting skill, and you’ve got an A+ gift that will have the whole world asking “Who is she?” and “Why does she smell so good?” (A valid question when someone’s wearing trash in their hair.) As a plus, your gift receiver can use this to play with her cats too!

 

IMG_20171220_195223877Best Friend Forever

Every child wants to wake up to a puppy under the tree on Christmas morning, but not every parent wants to wake up to a puppy piddle puddle where the tree used to be every morning after that. A good alternative is gifting the child in your life a pet that requires next to no responsibilities: a pet rock. Check your front or backyards, your giftee’s new best friend is certainly already out there, just waiting to be adopted. And if the giftee already has a cat, it won’t feel intimidated or bullied by Rocky.

IMG_20171220_195625029Sportball 5000 XG Turbo Pain Reliever

Active people. We’ve all got one in our lives, running from here to there, wearing tight clothes, eating a salad like they’re some kind of fucking rabbit. But they’re actually people, and you can probably hand off a gift to them as they jog on by. The Sportball 5000 XG Turbo Pain Reliever utilizes revolutionary crystalline hydrogen dioxide technology enwrapped in a patented malleable containment field. Applied directly to any spot of discomfort instantly relieves inflammation and pain, and will leave your gift receiver with a smile of pure satisfaction. This gift is also transformative! Sometimes you’re just lifting too heavy to take a break, and before you know it you need to hydrate and do it now! Drink up on demand with the S5XGTPR as it converts into an emergency hydration packet. Your cat can also utilize the Turbo Pain Reliever, albeit not for very long.

IMG_20171220_195817925A World of Possibilities

Chances are, you managed to actually purchase a gift for someone, at the very least you snagged something for yourself on black Friday, and you probably have the empty box from that purchase lying around. Well, wrap that baby up and hand it off! No, don’t put anything inside it, trust me. This can go one of three ways:

  1. They open the box, find nothing inside, then you tell them you’ve given them the most precious gift of all: time. When they don’t understand that right away, explain that the time they would have spent utilizing a gift from you can now be spent on something else–whatever they want, in fact. Tell them they are so very welcome as they will be too astounded at your genius to remember to thank you.
  2. They open the box, find nothing inside, then you scream “Oh my _insert_diety_here_! Where is…how did…what in the world? It was there! Right there, I tell you!” The receiver will undoubtedly get caught up in your flabbergastment, most likely to the point they will forget to even ask what it was you had boxed up, but in the unlikely event that they do question you, insist it was the absolute most perfect gift, specifics are unnecessary and, in fact, would only sadden them since they don’t have the gift now. If they give you any kind of skeptical look, immediately go on the defensive, “What? You think I just wrapped up an empty box and gave it to you? What kind of monster do you think I am? How very dare you!”
  3. They open the box, find nothing inside, then thank you profusely for getting them the perfect gift for their cat.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this list of last minute gifts. You are so very welcome.

Edit: Omigosh I forgot the music! I am so sorry, Dear Reader. To make up for it, please enjoy The Boss sliding down your chimney:

Blogmas: In Photos

Since I’m an old lady, I need to go to sleep immediately when I’m out late and by late I mean 10:30, so I’m phoning this in, but you should know I had an awesome night and you should be totes jelly you weren’t there.

A Question For You (seriously, please comment)

Let’s do a creative exercise, shall we? This is a game I like to play with Husband on occasion, but I’ve elaborated here a lot. You don’t have to post your answers, but by god would I love it if you did.

Tell me about yourself. Not current dimensional timeline you. Tell me about you in dimension 104-D where alternate reality you is a pop* superstar. I want to know the following:

Your stage name or band name (or both!):
You music sounds like a mix between these two artists:
Instrument/s played (voice counts):
First Single:
World tour theme:
Compilation album title:
Name of another famous person you’re rumored to have hooked up with:
Name of the musician you do a Christmas duet with AND the song:
Name of the film or TV show (can be fictional, but please elaborate) you inexplicably guest star in and the role you play:
Your favorite candle scent:
That time you fucked up but everyone forgave you for it because you’re so damn awesome:

*Pop = popular, not pop music per se, BUT IT CAN BE.