08/11/99
Clique

I saw Detroit Rock City last night, right? You should have heard me singing "Strutter" in the shower this morning. I mean, I was getting the Paul Stanley shimmy moves and everything.




So I feel like yammering. Yammer yammer fucking yammer.

I'm not saying that I have anything interesting to say, necessarily, but by god I'm gonna say it anyway!

And now I have nothing to say. Fascinating.

It's devilishly hot here. Still. The heat index was 234 degrees farenheit here today. True story! This is like, four weeks running. Miraculously, no one has died from the hot weather here in Memphis. As I said last summer, perhaps this is due to Memphians having the good sense to come in out of the fucking heat. Does that sound logical?

So the wife is watching Sex and the City right now and Sarah Jessica Parker is just singing her little heart out. This reminds me of Cameron Diaz, who always sings like a tone-deaf little birdie in all her movies. She's really cute, you know? And she really can't sing.

Sonya is all excited about her upcoming Duran Duran shows. As is Jen. I was theorizing earlier today. Here's my theory.

The Williams Theory of Durannies

Duran Duran fans are very, very fond of Duran Duran. Especially the female fans who are in their late twenties. Why is this? Granted, Duran Duran made some nifty music back in the day, but so did lots of other bands. None of them seem to have the ravenous popularity amongst such a specific demographic as do Simon, Nick, et al.

Here's why. While pre-teen and early-teen boys can aim their budding libido at any female who happens to come into view, girls of the same age tend to focus on more specific targets. This explains the popularity of the Backstreet Boys and Ricky Martin now. Obviously, girls back then had much better taste.

Anyway, the target for the fledgling lust of young girls back in the early eighties was Duran Duran. They love them not only for their catchy tunes, but also for the fact that Duran is all wrapped up in their sexual development. Now, when these same chicks hear, say, "Girls on Film" on the radio they remember not only the song itself but the first buddings of sensual longing in their virginal, coltish loins.

Guys my age have the same reaction when they hear "Cruel Summer." At least they do if they jerked off to pictures of Bananarama all the time.




Here's another thing. We've all seen Pretty In Pink, right? You've seen it, you love it. Here's something that always bothered me about the movie, though.

Molly Ringwald, when talking about Andrew McCarthy and all his snooty friends, calls them "richies." For me, that particular epithet doesn't hold much weight.

"You damned richies! You're so...so...rich!"

"Yup."

Call me old-fashioned, but "richie" doesn't have nearly the slur-action of, say, "poor white trash." I have the same problem with "honky" or "cracker." It just doesn't bother me at all.

Honky honky honky cracker cracker cracker.

It doesn't offend me at all. Put it in anybody's mouth and let them hurl it at me: no effect.

Might want to work on your slurs, there, guys. Just a note.




Well, well, well. Looky here. Those wacky journal-keepers are at it again; it looks like a regular orgy of self-congratulation over there.

In the great big high school that is the online journal community there are your cool people, your popular people, richies, sportos, dweebies, dickheads, sluts, goths and freaks. There are also some kids who always have to run around, organizing, volunteering, running for student council and (in this case) tacking awards on things.

And then there's the kid who sits at the table in the corner, wearing his shades, who sneaks behind the gym to smoke. He gives less than a fuck about being social.

And his journal is called wonderland 2, know what I'm saying?

"Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Who next?"





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