Pop Star Dating Service

March 18, 2010

at your service.

Excellent quality. This is a real photo, ladies and gentlemen, taken only a few years before the King of Pop’s untimely death. True story. Don’t bother looking it up.

I was driving on my way to the train this morning, when The Girl Is Mine by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney came on the radio. Remember that one?

All right, fine, no radio station in its right mind plays The Girl Is Mine; I actively chose to listen to it on my Michael Jackson History cd. Jeez. Cut me a break, yeah? So, I like music I can happily snap to in the wee hours of morning. I do. And you do, too.

But I was really listening to the song this time, and listening to the lyrics finally as an adult (Thriller came out a year before I was born, actually). And this girl they’re passively fighting over like two very lame things—I mean, what a bitch. Yeah, seriously. She’s all telling Paul he’s her forever lover (which, really, he needs to just chill about because it’s not like he doesn’t have Linda waiting at some vegetarian restaurant for him somewhere anyway) and telling Michael—whom I think we can all agree was a very confused man already—that after loving him she couldn’t love another. Can you say mixed signals? Honestly. Ditch the girl. She’s clearly a liar.

I suggest you bark up another tree, gentlemen. Hey, how’s about Olivia Newton John? I mean, she would be hopelessly devoted to you. I see some real potential there. Or, you know what—maybe Bonnie Tyler, who needs someone to warm her up a bit after her heart was totally eclipsed. Which hurts, let me tell you. She’s probably all too happy for a rebound. And that charming girl Rhianna will even let you stand under her umbrella. Ella. Ella. And hey, my girl Regina Spektor actually has a song called Fidelity. That’s a step in a more positive direction, if that’s what you’re looking for (which I assume is the case, since you clearly state you both cannot have her, that it’s one or the other—I DARE YOU TO NOT BE BOPPING ALONG TO THIS SONG NOW).

Or…hmm…who else? Yvonne Elliman, for instance, doesn’t want anyone at all if she can’t have you. How’s that for commitment? Commitment whether you’re willing or not, fellas. Damn.

And Kylie Minogue is so obsessed with you, she can’t get you out of her head, so that’s something. But then…yeah, you know what? That sounds a little clingy there. Nevermind. That’s all you need—her pulling an Australian Glenn Close on you, and then your rabbit’s dead, and it’s a big messy ordeal; no. Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind.

Okay, so, Paula Abdul is forever your girl. If you like your girl sloshy, sloppy drunk and winking at you at odd moments. Or if you’re looking for a more maintenance-free partner, Whitney Houston will just be your baby tonight. Your baby, nonetheless. You gotta respect that.

You’re going to want to steer clear of the man-eaters Daryll Hall and John Oates were dating. You’d just run into the same problem. Avoid Carly Simon, who is on to you and will call you out on all your vain bullshit (and rightly so), and that would just be embarrassing, considering the egos on both of you. And if you’re looking for a girl who really only has eyes for you, also probably avoid more sexually empowered women like Madonna, who would only end up showing you the difference between being like a virgin and being an actual virgin. Mmhmm, I’m like a virgin too, only with a much more active sex life… *high five* *high five*

Ooo, no wait—better idea. One of you can date Brandy and one can date Monica. Then they can stop fighting over the boy who’s jerking them around, and you four can collectively heal your intimacy issues together.

Or, failing that, I hear the chick from the Divinyls likes to touch herself. Rock. Don’t forget to invite Cyndi Lauper.


From the Desk of the Unhip

November 24, 2009

God help me, curiosity often gets the better of me when there is much hype about something or the other. I heard about Adam Lambert on the AMAs being a sex god, and for lack of anything at all better to do on my lunch break, I meandered over to YouTube to check it out.

Is it just me, or could that whole segment (they might have already taken it down by the time you read this) have been a scene out of a Christopher Guest movie? It was absolutely so over-the-top ridiculous, to the point of hysterical comedy. I felt like I was watching Adam Lambert do a parody of himself. Think Rex Manning attempting to impersonate a post-meltdown MTV comeback Britney. Shoving his crotch in the faces (which looked strained and uncomfortable) of a stage full of confused, writhing sex-slaves who wait for him limply only to start flopping around spasmodically at his clumsy, overly pushy attention. And dressed like KD Lang wandered onto the set of Lost Boys.

The dancing really wasn’t confident; rather, it seemed forceful due to overcompensating for lack of rhythmic talent. I assume they did this in front of a giant flashing background to create a sense of shock and awe that distracts the audience from what’s going on in the foreground. The vocals should have been lip-synched, since so much breath seems to have been taken out of the man during moves he learned in (I assume) An Idiot’s Guide to Dominance. The mauling, er, kiss at the top of the set looked like he intended to punch the guy with his mouth. Etiquette, please. And the song itself was almost certainly written by music execs pandering to the illiterates of the dance generation. Or if it was written by him, it was with them whispering it into his ear.

Additionally—from someone who’s known her fair share of dominants—I can confidently opine that this man is clearly otherwise on the M end of the S&M, which I assume is why this is uncomfortable to watch for the trained eye. And I should know; we can smell our own.

In sum, can someone please call Madonna up to the stage to show this boy what he’s doing?

And, you know, for my money, Brett Michaels getting dropped like a sack of potatoes will forever be the hands-down best awards show clip out there. It doesn’t actually get any better than that.