So the wife and I are at something of an
impasse: Brittiny wants li'l Brooklyn to listen to country music while I would prefer she be exposed solely to good music, ie, Jack Johnson or O.A.R. On the one hand perhaps Brooklyn should get a taste of what the whiny Bible Belt has to offer in order that she recognize and appreciate truly good music. On the other, the Child Protective Services will probably have sufficient legal standing in any court to take our child from us if we expose her to more than 30 mins of hick music in any given day. There's always this delicate balance when raising a child between exposing them to something that can stunt their self-actualization (ie, Country Music) and sheltering them from what the world has to offer to the point that they are unable to cope with daily life (see
Ricky Schroeder).
Anyway, to bolster my point that Country Music (or
Western Whine, as some like to call it) is depressing, sappy and chock full of trite lyrics, let's examine a popular Country song,
Austin, by Blake Shelton:
She left without leaving a number
Said she needed to clear her mind
He figured she'd gone back to Austin
She talked about it all the time The chick left without leaving her number because you're a lose-bag, Blake. She probably got fed up with you because @ 37 years of age you still think it's cool to jump into your '85 Dodge Aires wagon through the opened driver side window (ala Dukes of Hazzard) and insist that every single sentence out of your mouth be prefaced with, "
I tell you what..." Or maybe one day as she sat at home watching Jerry Springer reruns and gnawing on pork rinds she realized there are plenty of eligible bachelors in the greater Waco area, thus no reason for her to be saddled with a toolbag such as yourself.
It was almost a year before she called him up
Three rings and an answering machine is what she got: Nice, Mr. Shelton, I really like the way you rhymed "up" with "got". That's brilliant. Seriously, I hope you're proud of yourself for finding some random 7 year old kid and cajoling him into attempting a rhyme out of those crap lyrics.
If you're callin' 'bout the car I sold it
If this is Tuesday night I'm bowling
Rhyming "sold it" with "bowling"? Whatever you're paying that 7 year old kid - it's too much. Next time make sure you don't pick someone from the remedial class to do your lyrical work, okay?
If you got somethin' to sell, you're wastin' your time
I ain't buyin'Actually, this line would more properly be "I ain't buying because I'm still in debt from the lift kit I put on my Bronco II. That plus Copenhagen just went up 75 cents."
If it's anybody else, wait for the tone
You know what to do
And PS, if this is Austin, I still love youI could go on an on with this song... it's horrible. But Wifey reminds me that "not all Country Music is garbage". So let's take a look at a few selected hits from the Country Music Billboard top 25:
- #5 - Do You Want Fries With That?: by Tim McGraw - No thanks, Tim, I'll pass. But that's a handy phrase to teach your faithful fans as they will spend the majority of their adult years bouncing from one fine fast food employer to the next. Maybe a followup album could include the songs My First Trailer Park and I Financed Your Cubic Zirconia Down at the Pawn Shop.
- #6 - Alcohol: Brad Paisley - I remember Mr. Gentry (my 10th grade English teacher) telling me that all good writers must stick to what they know. George F. Will writes about politics rather than whether Brittany Spears is "frumpy" as a pregnant woman. Well, Country Music singer Brad Paisley has followed this axiom and chose to write about getting liquored up - touche.
- #12 - Redneck Yacht Club: Craig Morgan - Well, the premise of this song is pretty much a farse. Rednecks on yachts? The title should be Rednecks on pontoon boats or swampers. In the Redneck vernacular a yacht is something you should be engaged in doing - ie, "Yacht could wear these to your job interview, Brandine."
- #16 - Hicktown: Jason Aldean - his song rhymes "Bronco" with "truck pull"... but the best lines have to be: "Well you can see the neighbors butt crack nailing on his shingles; And his woman's smokin Pall Mall's watchin' Laura Ingles". Wow, that is some talented butt crack to be up there roofing - I wish my butt crack could do that. These lyrics add credence to the unofficial Yankee custom of deducting IQ points immediately upon hearing a Southern accent.
Anyway, I hope not to offend anyone who fancies the Southern twang, rather, I hope to help them help themselves. Remember, friends don't let friends listen to Billy Ray Cyrus.
And now the obligatory shots o'
Baby Brooklyn...
with the brain, with his knitted brow, his destended nostrils, and compressed lips, but with every muscle of his arms, back, and legs, with his clenched fist and gripping toes" - AUGUSTE RODIN
my Brooklyn think is that she thinks not only with her baby brain, with her furrowed brow, her flared nostrils as she adroitly fills her bulging diaper, and rooting lips, but with every fat roll of her neck, 3 AM feeding, and diaper blowout, with her clenched fist and smiling blue eyes" - BRITTINY EPPERSON
