FOUR (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} girlboymusic) wrote,@ 2008-02-19 14:47:00 |
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| Current mood: | minty |
| Current music: | Kelly Clarkson - "Hole" |
| Entry tags: | pop/culture, read this |
"Maybe we can talk about music?" "Get outta here! And don't come back for five to seven days!"
I can't figure out of this is a joke. Is it obvious and I'm just missing it? Caitlin Moran says women don't think about music -- they have a "pure" emotional response, which relieves them of the responsibility of knowing who Ahmet Ertegun is:
Women, on the other hand, prove that they love a song by either screaming: “I love this song!” and getting up and dancing to it, or wailing: “I love this song!” and bursting into tears. Women make jokes about the band’s hair, drink a shot of tequila for each time Rihanna sings the word “umbrella”, and work out in which order they would have sex with the band lineup – a popular, diverting game known as “Shag Order”.
Hm. Forget first lines, here's a new meme: Guess My Shag Order. I'll give you an easy one: In which order would I have sex with the members of Platinum Weird?
(I want to meet the woman who can survive "a shot of tequila for every time Rihanna sings the word 'umbrella,'" by the way.)
Meanwhile, it's okay for women to want to bang band members, but it's not okay for a man to own more than one copy of an album -- to his wife, it's akin to bringing home another woman, says Pete Paphides:
For men, it might be that record collecting is a displaced throwback to hunter-gatherer times. Dragging the carcass of a wild ox back to your North London home is a logistical nightmare. Record collecting is a pleasant alternative. Certainly, in the dusty secondhand record shop where I regularly browse I have only seen one woman there. Well, she wasn’t really a woman. She was my daughter. And when she woke up and realised where she was, she screamed until we finally left the shop.
Pixie, remember that time we had a sex change and went to Princeton Record Exchange? Let's do that again. (Oh shit, remember Abbey Road? I miss Abbey Road. Wasn't that where I got my copy of Buckingham Nicks? The fucking FBI, man.)
