Wednesday, February 27, 2008

I feel like Roses

Under the weather at the moment. By that I mean I can hear the weather on the floor above me, and am being kept awake trying to figure out what all the weird noises that it's making are.

And no, it's not because I keep being involved in online chats like this:

PRAT: Please, allow me to respond to your points one by one, in such a condescending way that I make it clear that I am in all means your intellectual superior, Australian-boy!

ME: Fuck you now I list a gignatic essay that I've had to abridge just to fit in one post relating just how badly you misread my entire argument, how your latest points are nothing but retarded gibberish and my top 100 reasons you should have been strangled at birth.

PRAT: I see that I may have misunderstood what you said and did not mean to make you upset.

ME: Apology accepted as if it were a kick to your balls, mofo.

PRAT: Now I make a needly post where I pretend to be gently enquiring as to your previous behaviour but really I'm demanding an instant apology before I cry like a bitch.

ME: I hate you even more than I did last post.

PRAT: Waaaa! Mummy he said bad things about me!!!

Maybe I should just change my OG name to "The Hatemachine" and be done with it?

Anyway, I'm in a bad state because it is Summer and I have a frigging cold, because every time it looks warm and I go out to do anything in short sleeves and pants the temperature drops a full ten degrees leaving me in a permanently freezing state for the last..erm, two months? Now I think I've gone beyond a cold to a fever, because my bare skin is always frozen over, but when I wrap up I'm almost in a sweat and generally I feel unable to do anything.

Summer and fever do not mix well for me.

I've spent the day entirely inside with little to do, especially given the dead nature of the Chatham thread on OG due to a fucknuckle leaving me no choice to unleash the dark side of my mind and thus scare absolutely everyone else off and the fact that Spara has finally learnt a thing or... no just a thing about faking some basic writing skill. (Adjectives in prose - I said it. Throw enough adjectives in a slow, opening prose sequence to 'build up tension' and people think you know what you're doing. It doesn't take a genius to work out the write words [hint: the ones best-sellers use constantly] and keep the narrator detached and vaguely sinister. People won't read between the lines and they assume you have talent. Only took him, what, five years to work it out?)

To my shame, although I have spent a fair bit of this enforced convalescene writing, I spent most of the day in my zombie state playing an ancient game by the name of Shane Warne Cricket. My copy is, naturally, abandonware, you know, that stuff that Wikipedia tells you is the most illegal stuff in the entire planet, and has no sound. So I put on Windows Media Player and play either a BF story (Faith Stealers at the mo... a lot better than I expected!) or a music playlist.

Now, for some reason I cannot fathom, the playlists I was using contained one of the worst songs ever written - Roses by Outkast. I say one of, because Outkast put out at least two albums before, as I like to believe in my wishful thinking, accidentally firing themselves into the sun. I dare, therefore, to check on the 'acting' career of their lead 'singer', Andre 3000, a man who's name garners more vaccuum cleaner jokes than any other in the world.

The thing that makes Roses bad is not just the ineptness of the lyrics, but the style of the music behind them that causes the song to get stuck in your mind for a long duration - especially when you're currently incapable of thinking about much stuff at one time. BUT the lyrics, I would say, is definitely the worst.

(Note, lyrics used from a site where they have been ineptly transcribed for my own amusement)

Caroline! Caroline!
All the guys would say she's mighty fine
But mighty fine only got you somewhere half the time

Outkast are black, did I mention that? I guess it's redundant as it should be clear that they, like all high-profile African American musicians broadcast their independence from the white man by consistently using a stilted, stereotypical form of grammar (or lack thereof) to communicate everything.

Anyway, Caroline is the subject of this song, in a roundabout way. As is clearly stated, she is a physically attractive woman, but there is more to here than meets the eye, according to Andre 3000...

And the other half either got you cursed out, or coming up short

Possibly she is not a nymphomaniac? I can't be certain what this means. Personally 'coming up short' sounds like a euphemism for premature ejaculation. Co-incidence?

Yeah, now dig this,

I'm already listening, Andre. Are you afraid I'm just going to walk out? This is only the first verse!

even though (even though)
You'd need a golden calculator to divide (to divide)

I'm not sure if this is the lyric - it could just as easily be 'go and calcutate the two to five', but it sounds typically Outkastian.

The suggestion is that a calculator made out of solid gold is somehow more effective than a regular calculator, especially for calculating minimal amounts. This doesn't seem likely considering that gold is a far more malleable metal than most and isn't a very effective conductor - a golden calculator would function in a more sluggish manner than most and would break easily after persistent use of its buttons.

Or maybe Caroline is a possible Cyberman?

The time it took to look inside and realize that
Real guys go for real down to Mars girls, yeah!

What we're meant to divide the 'time' by remains forever a mystery, as clearly Mr 3000 is keeping his theories secret. For the meantime.

Again, it's a struggle to not see a misogynistic undertone here - 'down to Mars', suggests 'off the planet', 'out of this world', other such terms for 'wild' which, in turn means 'will have sex with you for no reason because she's crazy!' when used by Americans.

Unless we assume Andre is an Ice Warrior fetishist. This song really is far more palatable for Doctor Who fans...

I know you'd like to thank your shit don't stank
But lean a little bit closer
See that roses really smell like boo-boo
Yeah, roses really smell like boo-boo

This is important to take note of, as this is the chorus of the song and is therefore the bit that gets said 800 times before it's finally over and will be stuck in your head. And it's not a good one, is it?

At this point, Andre mysteriously stops addressing the issue of his nymphomaniacally-deprived ex and begins addressing the audience directly, accusing them of aggrievous vanity with regards to their own bodily waste. What this is based on, I'm not sure. Has Andre noticed an increase in fecal pomposity incidents in recent times? This could be true of myself, as I have practically no sense of smell, of course, but I am aware of the existence of such an odour and I'm sure most humans on Earth are.

His message becomes stranger, though, as he defends the aroma of feces with unexpected vigor. Apparently, the sweetest-smelling flowers smell exactly the same.

So... what's that about?

(Also, he really does say 'thank')

Caroline! See she's the reason for the word "bitch" (bitch)
I hope she's speeding on the way to the club Trying to hurry up to get to some Baller or singer or somebody like that And try to put on her makeup in the mirror And crash, crash, crash.. into a ditch! (Just Playing!)

This bit is quite funny... the first time you hear the song. It won't be long before you start thinking "Wait a minute.. he just used a joke to save himself from writing three lines in a song. That's saving himself only one rhyme to write" Further proof that Mr 3000 can't write a song for shit (or Roses) and is well aware of the fact.

She needs a golden calculator to divide (to divide)
The time it took to look inside and realize that
Real guys go for real down to Mars girls, yeah!

Slightly confused now, as surely Caroline hasn't realized that real guys go for down to Mars girls? Otherwise she presumably would still be shackled to Andre 3000's bed and this entire song would not have existed...

*Sigh* If there's one thing I expect from my lyrics it's a sense of continuity.

Well she's got a hotty body, but her attitude is potty
When I met her at a party she was hardly acting naughty

Okay, here's the rap segment in this verse, handled by one of the unknowns in the band who is actually capable of rhyming a lot of words, though to be fair the use of hip-hop allows words to be used utterly indiscriminately because the speed of delivery generally prevents people from noticing how little sense it makes.

Nothing new here, though, the themes of hotness combined with a lack of nymphomania frustrating young guys is maintained and my heart continues to bleed.

I said "Would you call me?"
She said "Pardon me, are you ballin'?"

"Would you call me?" seems like a clumsy pickup line to me. Possibly 'balling' means 'under the influence of snowballs', which seems like an appropriate response.

I said "Darling, you sound like a prostitute pursing"


Oh so you're one them freaks, get geeked at the sight of ATM receipts

I've no idea what this means. She assumes he is a metamorphic creature who transforms into Steve Urkel when encountering evidence of electronic transfers?

But game been peeped, dropping names she's weak
Trickin' off this bitch is lost
Must take me for a geek a quick way to eat
A neat place sleep, a rent-a-car for a week, a trick for a treat
Now go on the raw sex, my AIDS test is flawless
Regardless, we don't want to get involved with no lawyers
And judges just to hold grudges in a courtroom
I wanna see ya support bra not support you!

I don't even have the power to analyse this stream of verbal diarrhea. As I said, rappers can get away with anything. If you want to try and decipher any meaning from this, other than the fact that her side of the bargain of the relationship is to get her tits roughly ogled, knock yourself out.

Better come back down to Mars
Girl, quit chasin' cars

The 'cars' she is chasing are presumably men not wanting to exploit her entirely... or she is a fan of Snow Patrol and Andre is kindly asking her to stop buying their albums.

What happens when the dough get so low
Bitch, you ain't that fine
No way.. no way.. no way

And just to finish things off on a nice note Andre 3000 informs the heroin that she isn't attractive enough to prostitute herself in the future when in financial strife so may as well shack up with somebody right now.


I've got nothing else to say so I guess I'll end this post on a low note. See you on Mars.


Cameron Mason said...

Oh that wacky lunarsea.

And by wacky I mean smug git.


Youth of Australia said...

Sorry about that man.

I hate the lunatic. Anyone who mispells "lunacy" and then struggles for quotes from Eric Saward in that whacky "hey, they're actually talking about ME you rtards!" way and with that stupid avatar of a gormless tit in front of some sphinx wannabe. Every post screams 'IM SILLY AND FUN AND TAKE FAR TOO MUCH HEROINE! I LOVE SPARACUS AND ANYONE WHO DOESN'T IS A JELLY! JELLY JELLY JELLY! LET US ALL FONDLE EACH OTHER'S MOBILE PHONES! WEEEEE!'

I fucking hate that guy.

At least there's a chance of conversation with Spara.

On that topic, part two of the latest story is up on the blog. I hope it makes you smile.