Quelle surprise - in my quiet desperation I reached for some YouTube videos of vintage Whitney Houston before she turned into a crazy crack addict. And it worked! I'm a little bit happier now. I suppose this might be a temporary form of therapy.
I forgot how empowering Whitney used to be. Yes, it helps that a number of her hits have turned into gay anthems, which appeals to my inner fag hag. Beside her, Destiny's Child/Beyonce are second-rate, trying hard copycats. This is how it's done.
That just made sound like some superfierce queen idn't it? There's no hope for me, is there. Two snaps! Two snaps and an air kiss!
Some Mariah pre-boob implants and the ever-reliable Celine Dion also helped brighten my evening just a teeny bit. I love the nineties.
How did we go from the moving, stirring songs with meaning to the crap that just keeps playing on repeat these days? Songs used to have meaning. I'm a brainwashed consumerist, true - but the poppy "hitz" of yesteryear still hold a lot of substance even now, ten years later. This is it. Proof positive that we are all on the slow march downhill to Brain-dead City.
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