As I’m sitting here listening to some music REALLY LOUD,
- Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)
- Where The Streets Have No Name / Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You (Pet Shop Boys)
- Daddy’s Money (Ricochet)
- Open Arms (Collin Raye)
- Open Arms (Journey)
- Defying Gravity (From “Wicked”)
- You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive (Brad Paisley)
- Dead Man’s Party (Oingo Boingo)
- Bad Habit (The Offspring)
- Skin (Rascal Flatts)
- Paradise By The Dashboard Light (Meat Loaf)
- Girls With Guitars (Wynonna Judd)
- New Orleans (Toby Keith)
…a news headline catches my eye and I realize that we’re wasting our time worrying about Brexit, Zika, the US Presidential race, global climate change, and any multi-gigaton nickle-iron asteroids coming at us at 0.9c. HERE’s what’s really important (and I should warn you before you click on the link, the first picture shown there made me want to gag and laugh hysterically simultaneously):
That “look” by Taylor says it all. Worth a thousand words? Try a trillion.
I remember when she broke on the country/western scene with her first hits. 2006, she was 16, naive, innocent, and squeaky clean. I heard her doing an interview on the local country radio station, with her mom with her as she was touring around the country, and she was just giggly.
Her first song was cute. Her next hit was sweet. Her third was cute and sweet. Her fourth was a cookie-cutter copy of her first, second, and third with the serial numbers filed off. And her fifth. And her sixth. Every. Single. Song!
High school! Sock hops! Puppy love! First kisses! Broken hearts! Eternal, undying, chaste, platonic love for all of time!
Every. Single. Song!
I dare you. Name one song that doesn’t fit the mold. I’ll wait…
I thought so.
Then the squeaky clean, virginal, teeny bopper, high school cheerleader image started to shift. It wasn’t about what she was singing (which even on album number five and world tour number four and movie appearance number five and television show appearance number three and monstrously huge award number eleventy-seven was absolutely the same as everything before) but about who she was dating.
Was she hanging out and falling in love (eternally, undyingly, chastely, platonicly) with the high school quarterback? Or some really sweet kid she had met on her tours? Or the boy next door?
Not unless you live in Beverly Hills and the boy next door has just as many awards as you do.
Joe Jonas, Taylor Lautner, John Mayer, Jake Gyllenhaal, Conor Kennedy, Harry Styles, Calvin Harris. Tom Hiddleston.
Give me a freakin’ break!
And the paparazzi and tabloids and celebrity reality shows have eaten it up like nothing since Tracy and Hepburn. Even someone such as myself, who only knows about such things enough to (hopefully) win on “Jeopardy,” is inundated with Taylor, TAYLOR, TAYLOR!!
And now it’s causing people to “question love”? More importantly, let’s get back to that picture in the article cited above.
Taylor is her own industry at this point, rivaling Oprah herself, making more money per concert than you, me, our families, and everyone we know will make in our entire combined lifetimes. Therefore, one can only assume that she has a whole cadre of folks who are very well paid to make her look fabulous and stunning every second of her life.
And they made her look like this?
Almost makes me want to listen to a Donald Trump campaign speech.