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It's the lull between the storms here. According to the weathermen who have proven themselves to be cataclysmic dunderheads of the first water, it was supposed to be peaceful last night and today, but imagine my utter lack of surprise when I was awakened at six o'clock this morning by a peal of thunder so loud that the windows rattled. The storm that wasn't supposed to be here until the day after tomorrow had apparently mastered the space-time continuum and decided to come early. Whee! Thankfully, the roomie managed to get this crate unplugged before it sustained any damage, and I passed the next ninety minutes with Carlito, my kitty-shaped pillow friend, over my face.
Then, or so the celestial clairvoyants promised, it would rain from noon until nine. Fine. I took my book into the bathroom, while my roomie hopped the bus to the grocery store. Three hours and one hundred pages later, and not a drop of rain. So, I have roomie check the doppler radar at Weather.com . Lo and behold, not a cloud in my neck of the woods for two hundred miles. Gainesville, on the other hand...
0 for 2, nitwits.
They claim that it's going to rain from noon tomorrow until midnight Sunday, but I have my doubts. Indeed, I think I'll rely on the doppler radar to which they have access, but never use. It has rarely steered me wrong.
So here I sit, quaffing Gobstoppers and waiting for my tea to finish steeping. As soon as it does, it will be time to fic. The Sooper Sekrit HPverse fic is going well, smooth and sweet as buttermilk, and SLS 51 is about to come out of stasis now that Lucius has finished primping. The boys in the basement have done well in clearing the cobwebs and sorting the dross from the silver. Weather permitting, it'll hit the web in ten days.
Last night while I was disengaging my brain from the daily grind by watching TV, I wound up watching VH1's 40 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs...Ever . I can't deny that there were some truly heinous offerings on that countdown-Loudness springs to mind immediately-but many of the songs listed seemed to make the list not for the atrocious lyrics or mangled, ear-raping guitar work, but for the cheesy, inexplicable music videos and overwrought, spandex-clad pelvic gyrations that they inspired. Yes, watching Kip Winger pirouette across the stage and make rubbery, orgasmic faces in the "She's Only Seventeen" video is hilarious and about as metal as Burt Bacharach wrapped in tinfoil, but that has nothing to do with the song in question.
Let's review, shall we? A metal song should have one or more of the following traits:
-A reference to the devil, Satan, demonic armies, Armageddon, nuclear holocaust, the shambling undead, stupefying levels of drug use and alcohol consumption, indiscriminate sex with ludicrous numbers of nubile, big-breasted women whose oral facility is unrivaled in this dimension, the size of one's genitalia, screeching paeans to one's sexual prowess, leering odes to underage girls.
-A screeching guitar solo most likely performed by a PCP-crazed orangutan.
-M80s exploded inside an oildrum, AKA drums.
Having established the requisite criteria, let us examine the chorus of the song in question:
She's only seventeen
Her daddy says she's too young
But she's old enough for me.
Reference to the devil or demonic forces? Nope. Ditto on Armageddon, nuclear holocaust, and drug and alcohol consumption. I suppose one could make an argument that the seething. red-eyed masses staggering around the parking lot before a Winger show could be mistaken for the undead, but it's a stretch. Winger fans, by and large, are a sedate bunch when compared to Sepultura fans, say. So no zombies of an angry god's vengeance.
On the sexual side of the rock n' roll coin, however, whoo, it more than rises to the occasion. Leering ode to underage girls? Double check. References to sexual conquests? You bet. In fact, it's a cornucopia of sexual innuendo, and quite catchy to boot. On that score, it fulfills its sworn duty admirably, and thus, does not deserve to be on the countdown.
There were others, too, that had no business on the list, like Accept's "Balls to the Wall" or Iron Maiden's "Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter." Cheesy, sure, but they rock. Period.
And to be honest, I liked most of the songs they listed. Mr. Big's "To Be With You" is a sappy ballad, but it's a good song, and I seem to recall that VH1 played it into the ground during its run and sang its praises. Ditto for Creed's "Higher" and Slaughter's "Up All Night". To turn around ten years later and sneer at how lame the songs were is hypocrisy in extremis.
It occurs to me as I putter around the vast expanse of LJ that so many of the stories we begin here are never finished. We refer to incidents and happenstances and never mention them again. For instance, whatever happened to the woman![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pandora_nervosa saw struck by a car? Did she survive? Or mysduende's LASIK surgery. Has her restored eyesight held, or was it temporary?
So I came up with an idea. Call it a meme if you will. If you are so inclined, flist, peruse the three hundred odd entries in my LJ and find one that intrigues you. Then, ask me to expound on it, and I will.
Also, here are a few topics I've always meant to discuss, but never have. Choose one, and I'll post on the subject:
-The film Bloody Sunday
-Terry Schiavo
-Million Dollar Baby
-Why I no longer support Metallica
-My meeting and brief friendship with Kirk Hammett.
-My fear of the toilet and shower.
If I don't rush into the breach again before Monday, have a wonderful Easter, and may the Lord bless and keep you.
Then, or so the celestial clairvoyants promised, it would rain from noon until nine. Fine. I took my book into the bathroom, while my roomie hopped the bus to the grocery store. Three hours and one hundred pages later, and not a drop of rain. So, I have roomie check the doppler radar at Weather.com . Lo and behold, not a cloud in my neck of the woods for two hundred miles. Gainesville, on the other hand...
0 for 2, nitwits.
They claim that it's going to rain from noon tomorrow until midnight Sunday, but I have my doubts. Indeed, I think I'll rely on the doppler radar to which they have access, but never use. It has rarely steered me wrong.
So here I sit, quaffing Gobstoppers and waiting for my tea to finish steeping. As soon as it does, it will be time to fic. The Sooper Sekrit HPverse fic is going well, smooth and sweet as buttermilk, and SLS 51 is about to come out of stasis now that Lucius has finished primping. The boys in the basement have done well in clearing the cobwebs and sorting the dross from the silver. Weather permitting, it'll hit the web in ten days.
Last night while I was disengaging my brain from the daily grind by watching TV, I wound up watching VH1's 40 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs...Ever . I can't deny that there were some truly heinous offerings on that countdown-Loudness springs to mind immediately-but many of the songs listed seemed to make the list not for the atrocious lyrics or mangled, ear-raping guitar work, but for the cheesy, inexplicable music videos and overwrought, spandex-clad pelvic gyrations that they inspired. Yes, watching Kip Winger pirouette across the stage and make rubbery, orgasmic faces in the "She's Only Seventeen" video is hilarious and about as metal as Burt Bacharach wrapped in tinfoil, but that has nothing to do with the song in question.
Let's review, shall we? A metal song should have one or more of the following traits:
-A reference to the devil, Satan, demonic armies, Armageddon, nuclear holocaust, the shambling undead, stupefying levels of drug use and alcohol consumption, indiscriminate sex with ludicrous numbers of nubile, big-breasted women whose oral facility is unrivaled in this dimension, the size of one's genitalia, screeching paeans to one's sexual prowess, leering odes to underage girls.
-A screeching guitar solo most likely performed by a PCP-crazed orangutan.
-M80s exploded inside an oildrum, AKA drums.
Having established the requisite criteria, let us examine the chorus of the song in question:
She's only seventeen
Her daddy says she's too young
But she's old enough for me.
Reference to the devil or demonic forces? Nope. Ditto on Armageddon, nuclear holocaust, and drug and alcohol consumption. I suppose one could make an argument that the seething. red-eyed masses staggering around the parking lot before a Winger show could be mistaken for the undead, but it's a stretch. Winger fans, by and large, are a sedate bunch when compared to Sepultura fans, say. So no zombies of an angry god's vengeance.
On the sexual side of the rock n' roll coin, however, whoo, it more than rises to the occasion. Leering ode to underage girls? Double check. References to sexual conquests? You bet. In fact, it's a cornucopia of sexual innuendo, and quite catchy to boot. On that score, it fulfills its sworn duty admirably, and thus, does not deserve to be on the countdown.
There were others, too, that had no business on the list, like Accept's "Balls to the Wall" or Iron Maiden's "Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter." Cheesy, sure, but they rock. Period.
And to be honest, I liked most of the songs they listed. Mr. Big's "To Be With You" is a sappy ballad, but it's a good song, and I seem to recall that VH1 played it into the ground during its run and sang its praises. Ditto for Creed's "Higher" and Slaughter's "Up All Night". To turn around ten years later and sneer at how lame the songs were is hypocrisy in extremis.
It occurs to me as I putter around the vast expanse of LJ that so many of the stories we begin here are never finished. We refer to incidents and happenstances and never mention them again. For instance, whatever happened to the woman
pandora_nervosa saw struck by a car? Did she survive? Or mysduende's LASIK surgery. Has her restored eyesight held, or was it temporary?So I came up with an idea. Call it a meme if you will. If you are so inclined, flist, peruse the three hundred odd entries in my LJ and find one that intrigues you. Then, ask me to expound on it, and I will.
Also, here are a few topics I've always meant to discuss, but never have. Choose one, and I'll post on the subject:
-The film Bloody Sunday
-Terry Schiavo
-Million Dollar Baby
-Why I no longer support Metallica
-My meeting and brief friendship with Kirk Hammett.
-My fear of the toilet and shower.
If I don't rush into the breach again before Monday, have a wonderful Easter, and may the Lord bless and keep you.