White House
White House Bar & Grill XIII: aka the Kit Cat Lewis Lounge
Macdaffy - 02:34 a.m. Pacific Time - Oct. 25, 2005 - #8685 of 9551
God bless Rosa Parks.
My existence is an expression of the hope that she and black people like her gave to parents like mine. Her sacrifice assured them that their children would live to see a better day. Her bravery assured them that Emmett Till did not die in vain. Her courage assured them that this nation just might live out the true meaning of its creed: that all men are created equal. Her faith assured us that race is a lie.
I can't convey the hope and the optimism that Rosa Parks' simple act engendered in black people. All I can say is that I am living proof of the faith of my parents in the American dream. They bore my younger brother and me with every confidence that our character -- the values that they instilled in us -- would see us through.
Look at where my parents came from: "You can't." "You won't." "Don't you dare." "You'd better not."
Rosa Parks was the refutation of all of that. I feel my connection to that denial of racism and despair.
God bless Rosa Parks. God bless the nation that made her possible. The goodness that mourns her is still who we are, despite all the obstacles thrown against us. God bless America.
Movies
Bizarre Hatred of Random Celebrities, Part the Fifth
AmyC - 04:32 a.m. Pacific Time - Oct. 28, 2005 - #199 of 277
When I ducked into the drugstore yesterday to hit the ATM, that horrifying ditty "Sad Songs Say So Much" by Sir Elton Fatass Hairplug Professional-Blonde-Mourner Bastard John was blaring away on the speakers. Jesus H. Crabshack, that is a horrible song! And it's been stuck in my head for nigh on 24 hours now!
The worst part of that song -- aside from the cheesy '80s arrangement and faux-breathy backup singers and the fact that it exists at all -- is that Sir Hairplugs and his Allegedly Brilliant Co-Writer can't even come up with any examples of what sad songs say that makes them compelling enough to sing about on this meta-level, so they try to make their point by bludgeoning us repeatedly with the same memorable yet meaningless phrase in hopes that no one will ask further questions, not unlike a Bush press conference.
"Sir Doughboy, can you tell us what it is about sad songs that led you to sing their praises and recommend to the world that we, quote, 'tune in and turn them on'?"
"Sad songs they say/ Sad songs they say/ Sad songs they say/ Sad songs they saaaaaay sooooooooo much!"
I mean, you can't refute that argument, can you? And it doesn't matter if you try, because he'll just keep saying it!
Also, the song contains a line that is actually not "they reach into your room and feel your genitals" but sure sounds like it and always manages to creep me out completely.
And I saw a clip on another show recently of Sir Meatface on "Inside the Actors' Studio" (which just on its own, what the fuck why?) and he appeared to be wearing a white caftan over his pants and under his suit jacket. Yes, Sir Whiny, that makes you look thinner just like your Beatle-rug makes you look younger! You've fooled us all into thinking you're not a sweaty, tubby geriatric git who's just sitting around waiting for another one of your famous friends to die so you can ride that fame train just a little bit longer by writing some goopy "tribute" (preferably using another of your old hits for the melody so you don't have to think too hard and strain your "hair") that you can sing on "Oprah" because, you know, sad songs say so much.
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