An essay from the past

Boo, that last post was not interesting. I have dug (have digged? Did dugged?) through Ye Olde LiveJournal and found this, from when I was much cleverer and more funny. Funnier. And better at grammar.

04.14.2006
An Essay, entitled “I can’t quite understand my hatred for Michael Bublé”

His voice is amazing, his musical tastes are appropriate, and he’s not hidjeous to look at — but gawd! I despise him.

From the moment I saw his CD, I knew we couldn’t be friends. I must have heard him somewhere because I knew his voice and music was meant to sound like Frank Sinatra, but when I saw his CD I just thought, “look at that pretentious prick… mutter mutter… thinks he’s Frank Sinatra reincarnated to end the world or something… mutter…” I knew no more than that, until my mom sent me the DVD of his PBS concert special which I’ve just watched. And though it doesn’t quite make sense to me still, I Just Don’t Like Him.

At first I thought, maybe it’s because he moves around so awkwardly – like if Elvis and Frankie ran at eachother as fast as their post-mortem legs would allow and collided into one singular deformed showboater. Now, I have nothing against hams, it is a PBS program afterall and the standards are raised from simple concert to a Special. But then he tries to act like he’s conducting his band, which he most certainly isn’t, and anyone can see his pianist (teehee! I can see your pianist!) — erm, anyone can see that his pianist is the one running the show.

Then I thought, maybe it’s because he seems to think he’s the long-lost bastard child of the Rat Pack, but again logically I should like such a thing – I did go to that cheesefest of a dinner theater in Vegas hosted by Frank, Dean, Sammy, and Joey the XXXXIVth wherein I was the Only Person in the Crowd Under 49 and Dino made a pass at me in front of my parents in the lobby after. Well, why shouldn’t Bubbly think that? He has a mighty powerful set of pipes and he’s got the mannerisms and phrasing down to a T – and goodness knows I’m all for an ego when there’s something to back it up. But he just has nothing of his own – I mean, Harry Connick can sound a helluva lot like Ol’ Blue Eyes, too, but at least he has his own sound and some… creative musical talent of his own.

Or maybe it’s just that if you’re going to insist on reliving the 40’s, you should stick the hell to the 40’s and sing loudly over the whine of hearing aids as the oldfolks sway as gently as their walkers allow. I couldn’t handle it when the camera panned to the token concert skank-fest shot through the audience, and those scantily-clad whore-bitches were mouthing the standards in a way that gave a new meaning to the phrase “I’ve got you under my skin.”

And when he tries to be funny, I just want to help him improve his higher register by kicking him in the balls. He seems like he was that idiot in high school who thought he was the funniest shit to ever hit the fan and somehow convinced a few of the jocks to believe him, then in college he excelled to pledge I Felta Thigh fraternity and pulled off a 2.1 GPA in General Drinking Studies. I almost thought I could give him a second chance when he said that “Jazz is like a good blues band that fell down the stairs,” but then he started making fun of JOSH GROBAN, and even when the real Josh came out he couldn’t convince me this guy was worth another chance b/c Josh didn’t even sing anything.

So in conclusion it seems that I can’t watch Bubbly perform, although he is pleasant to listen to. But then I guess if I wanted to listen to someone who sounds like Frank Sinatra, I could just… listen to Frank Sinatra.

I’ve concluded, therefore, that such a person would only be of value to me if I owned a nightclub and could exploit him like a circus freak; or if we were dating and I forced him only to communicate in song and NEVER EVER TRY TO USE WORDS BASED ON HIS OWN THOUGHTS.

From one waste of existence to another:

Dear Michael,

You are not Frank Sinatra. Stop it.

P.S.
Could you tell Jamie Foxx that he’s also not Ray Charles

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