I am currently listening to the Birthday Cake remix by Rihanna. This is the first time I've actually listened to the song, but I can already tell this is THE worst song ever made.
Yeah, I shouldn't have to mention the main reason the song achieved dubious honors. Chris Brown guest sings in it, and this is a big frickin' deal to entertainment media since it's the first collaboration with the two since Chris Brown beat the crap out of Rihanna in his car.
Since the incident, Chris Brown's public opinion has plummeted, and his PR firm has deftly swept in to adjust and mitigate the damage. Brown originally was marketed as a Hip-hop R&B teenage heartthrob, singing cheery, popp-ish hip hop songs such as Kiss Kiss and Double Your Pleasure. After the incident, Brown sported a new image: getting tatted up, rapping poorly in the properly named "Look at Me Now", and getting into stupid feuds with professional wrestlers over Twitter. Congrats, Chris Brown, in two years you have successfully changed your public appearance from dime-a-dozen teenage heartthrob to dime-a-thousand tatted up rapper guys with a cherub voice. He is scum, his music sucks, and he knows it.
Rihanna's career has enjoyed a change in direction as well. Two years ago, Rihanna acheived a T-Pain level of oversaturation: her trademark "uh uh ohwhowhoawhoa"s being used in nearly every R&B song needing female vocals. Unfortunately, time passed her by, and Nicki Minaj's "edgy" post-modern rap style has taken over what was rightfully Rhianna's.
With both former lover's careers at uncertain nexuses, the two icons of contemporary R&B decided the best way to turn heads would be to collaborate and produce this piece of crap. The lyrics involve licking birthday cake, even though it's not Rihanna's birthday. I don't see the problem in having a cake when it isn't your birthday. I had a piece of cake just last week, and my birthday was just over a month ago.
Whenever someone's act grows stale in the music business, especially when the directed audience is younger and the product is more innocent and radio-friendly, the next move is to make the product risque--show that the singer has a wild side in his or her music. Brittney Spears did it. Christina Aguilera did it (miserably). Justin Timberlake tried to do it. Now Rihanna has done it, along with Chris Brown's turn out of necessity.
Birthday Cake Remix's lyrics talk about how Rihanna is going to make me her bitch with her birthday cake. A motherf*cker is muttered by Brown nonsensically. While Rihanna has subtly been implying her wild side with several previous singles, namely Say My Name with Drake and S&M (a song that creepily references her past abuse by Brown), now we have reached peak scandalous.
Regardless how annoying and droning this song serves to be, the song could be the next greatest thing and it still would be a piece of dog crap. The entire point of this remix is the shock factor of Brown and Rihanna joining together to collaborate, whatever the end product is. I am not usually one to get on my soapbox about women's rights, but the message is horrible here. Chris Brown beat the crap out of Rihanna, and Rihanna justifiably broke up with him over it. The press lauded Rihanna for standing up for herself against Brown's uncalled for motives. This song completely defeats that, especially with the lyrical content about how Brown hasn't "been" with Rihanna in a long time; and how he wants to quickly rectify that. So--yes, girls--if your man beats the crap out of you, be mad at him for a little while. Even break up with him. But come back to him soon and have all the wild sex you can with him. Eat that birthday cake. Rihanna did it, and the press is lapping it up. It must be ok.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
04/12/12
For the past four days of work I've been working as a server, mostly just to get the feel of things with the job if ever I should need to work as one during my actual employment. As a server, I'm instructed to be friendly and positive to make the customers feel welcome and readily open to buying more things. None of this should be particularly interesting as it happens at every restaurant and with everyone.
Usually when I see a group of people leaving the restaurant, I will tell them to have a good afternoon/morning/evening, and--more lately--to come see us again. This is almost automatic, and I do this in more places than just my restaurant; I do it almost everywhere.
Near closing time tonight our last large table, one with about five or six people, was leaving. I crossed paths with this party as they were leaving and gave my friendly parting message, telling them to have a good night. An elderly gentleman, between 70 and 80, on an oxygen tank stopped me and said "Hey, why do you tell us to have a good evening? Some of us can't, I just lost my wife". I told him I was sorry, but I hoped the expression on my face said more than my generic words. "Something better to say", he continued, "is..." he trailed off. "Have a good day, young sir", he finally said as he patted me on the arm and walked off. His escort, a younger woman I assumed to be his daughter or other family member, looked back at me with an appreciative gesture.
The exchange initially came as a shock to me; but as I thought about it more and more, he was right. A great sadness came over me as I continued to chew what the man said. I don't really know what about his words hurt me so much, but they did.
As I was cleaning the table, the server who waited the particular table helped me with it. I told her about what the man had said, and asked her if the topic had come up during their dinner. She showed a bit of thespian shock and pity when I told her the story, but then told me--with the regular clientele, this stuff happens all the time. We then finished up the table and started closing for the night.
Usually when I see a group of people leaving the restaurant, I will tell them to have a good afternoon/morning/evening, and--more lately--to come see us again. This is almost automatic, and I do this in more places than just my restaurant; I do it almost everywhere.
Near closing time tonight our last large table, one with about five or six people, was leaving. I crossed paths with this party as they were leaving and gave my friendly parting message, telling them to have a good night. An elderly gentleman, between 70 and 80, on an oxygen tank stopped me and said "Hey, why do you tell us to have a good evening? Some of us can't, I just lost my wife". I told him I was sorry, but I hoped the expression on my face said more than my generic words. "Something better to say", he continued, "is..." he trailed off. "Have a good day, young sir", he finally said as he patted me on the arm and walked off. His escort, a younger woman I assumed to be his daughter or other family member, looked back at me with an appreciative gesture.
The exchange initially came as a shock to me; but as I thought about it more and more, he was right. A great sadness came over me as I continued to chew what the man said. I don't really know what about his words hurt me so much, but they did.
As I was cleaning the table, the server who waited the particular table helped me with it. I told her about what the man had said, and asked her if the topic had come up during their dinner. She showed a bit of thespian shock and pity when I told her the story, but then told me--with the regular clientele, this stuff happens all the time. We then finished up the table and started closing for the night.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Why I'm a Terrible Person (pt. 1)
I have several reasons why I think I'm a terrible person. I originally was going to write a longer one detailing another example today, but I'm exhausted, lazy, and eager to do a shorter one instead. So here goes.
I currently work at a restaurant and have been there for almost three full weeks. I'm in this management training program, and--if all goes well and I stick with it--I will be an assistant manager in a little over two months. Originally, I assumed this position alone, but as of last week two other guys started the program as well. Since I was hired before they were, I am further along in the program and work independently. They work more as a team.
Yesterday we all conveniently took our breaks at about the same time. One of the guys, Dom, is a lazy fuck. I see him goofing off all the time, hanging out in the front making idle conversation and abusing the crap out of the free meals managers are allowed. He's also fairly mild mannered and shy. The other manager to be, James, is a completely different story. He will talk to the sunny side of a barn and be happy to do it. Unlike Dom and me, he has been in the restaurant business since his teenage years and has plenty of stories to tell.
The break quickly turned into a session of James telling us some of his stories about working in the restaurant business. A few of his stories involved drunken customers, fights that have broken out, and other ridiculous, redneck things. He was trying to compare working in a restaurant to serving in active duty in Iraq or serving a few years in jail. He "has seen everything" he could see during his time at restaurants. He has even seen someone die, which leads to the point of this story.
Always eager for time killing conversation, I was at first eager to listen to James' stories. After awhile, however, boredom and my short attention span began to settle in; and I began my "auto-pilot" responses of just smiling, nodding my head, and saying "yeah" over and over again. Once he mentioned seeing a man die, my attention fully perked back up. I asked him what happened, and he told us that a man once keeled over in a cafeteria line once. He was old, around 80 or 85, and his aorta exploded. James stressed the fact that this freak accident was (obviously) so severe that, even if EMTs were available on the spot as it happened, there was nothing that could be done.
He mentioned the serious concept of the aorta explosion with such noncommital, deadpan delivery that I burst out laughing. His delivery and the insanity of such a thing happening came across as not only humorous, but downright hilarious. Dom looked at me like I had just slapped him in the face, and James' look was not far from that of his; my reaction to his story was obviously not what he had anticipated.
Anyway, that's what makes me a bad person.
I currently work at a restaurant and have been there for almost three full weeks. I'm in this management training program, and--if all goes well and I stick with it--I will be an assistant manager in a little over two months. Originally, I assumed this position alone, but as of last week two other guys started the program as well. Since I was hired before they were, I am further along in the program and work independently. They work more as a team.
Yesterday we all conveniently took our breaks at about the same time. One of the guys, Dom, is a lazy fuck. I see him goofing off all the time, hanging out in the front making idle conversation and abusing the crap out of the free meals managers are allowed. He's also fairly mild mannered and shy. The other manager to be, James, is a completely different story. He will talk to the sunny side of a barn and be happy to do it. Unlike Dom and me, he has been in the restaurant business since his teenage years and has plenty of stories to tell.
The break quickly turned into a session of James telling us some of his stories about working in the restaurant business. A few of his stories involved drunken customers, fights that have broken out, and other ridiculous, redneck things. He was trying to compare working in a restaurant to serving in active duty in Iraq or serving a few years in jail. He "has seen everything" he could see during his time at restaurants. He has even seen someone die, which leads to the point of this story.
Always eager for time killing conversation, I was at first eager to listen to James' stories. After awhile, however, boredom and my short attention span began to settle in; and I began my "auto-pilot" responses of just smiling, nodding my head, and saying "yeah" over and over again. Once he mentioned seeing a man die, my attention fully perked back up. I asked him what happened, and he told us that a man once keeled over in a cafeteria line once. He was old, around 80 or 85, and his aorta exploded. James stressed the fact that this freak accident was (obviously) so severe that, even if EMTs were available on the spot as it happened, there was nothing that could be done.
He mentioned the serious concept of the aorta explosion with such noncommital, deadpan delivery that I burst out laughing. His delivery and the insanity of such a thing happening came across as not only humorous, but downright hilarious. Dom looked at me like I had just slapped him in the face, and James' look was not far from that of his; my reaction to his story was obviously not what he had anticipated.
Anyway, that's what makes me a bad person.
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