Monday, February 11, 2008

What a waste of my suffering

I have little to say about the Grammys, which is now ancient history, except that: Tina Turner in silver lame hot pants, Foo Fighters, Amy Winehouse rubbing towards her cooter and singing out the side of her mouth, and even little big-haired Carrie Underwood -- I LIVE. The rest of that crap just confused me and made me have a strange sensation of embarassment for rich and famous people I don't know 1000 miles away.

I have something in common with all those people, of course. And it ain't, of course, wealth beyond my wildest dreams or fame and the adoration of countless idiots around the world. It is a desperate, life consuming desire for approval and being liked. After all these years I still just want to be one of the popular kids, all grown up. On Saturday night it became evident why this has not and will likely never happen. I'll leave that to the imagination because honestly I don't even remember much. "I didn't learn a lot in class...but I know it don't come in a shot glass..."

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