Everybody's a Critic
Anybody catch the Grammys tonight? Man, talk about your majorly craptacular spazz-fest. Is that a form of epilepsy that Mariah Carey has? Is it not at all treatable?? And what about the squeaking?!? Somebody needs to pour a couple quarts of motor oil down that ho before she blows a gasket.
My ex-mother-in-law very kindly (no, I mean that) invited the kids and me over for the evening, to have dinner (which was yummy) and watch the Grammys, which I've never seen before. They were pretty much what I expected. The tribute to Sly and the Family Stone was particularly painful, and did an excellent job of demonstrating that, using only a handful of self-important minor celebrities, a high-tech sound board, a dazzling light show, and a few grand worth of cocaine, you can suck every last drop of soul out of what was a pretty rocking piece of music. Was it just me, or did Sly walk out on it? There was so much squealing and parading around going on up there I couldn't tell for sure. Also, it's possible my brain was hemorrhaging at that point.
Sir Paul, bless his heart, has no voice left anymore. And damn them! They got my hopes all up by giving David Bowie some kind of lifetime achievement award, but he wasn't actually there. (I'd put up with a lot for David... call me!) U2 won lots of awards, which I don't particularly begrudge them. I'd've been kind of pissed if Coldplay had won for that one song that sounds just like that John Mayer song from a few years ago.
Best non sequitir of the evening? When some guy from the Pittsburgh Steelers came out and said, "My dream came true Sunday in Detroit."
Now there's a sentence you don't hear every day.