Family concerned with local mans' obsession to television show.

Relatives of a local man are becoming deeply concerned over their son’s obsession with fictional television show The Wire. Relatives say that their suspicions over the mental health of Sam Burnett , 22 were raised when he watched the first two seasons of the popular detective show over one weekend. “It started innocently enough, he’s always been someone who gets obsessed over TV shows, so I gathered this was just another instance of that” his mother, 48 said earlier this week. However, her suspicions over her son’s mental wellbeing increased when he began acting strongly. “Whenever I’d ask what he wanted for dinner, he’d look at me and say ‘Shot and a Deer, Delores.’” said his mother, “That’s not my name!” She also said his son would walk up to people on the street and start shouting at them. “Got them Red Top’s, Got them WMD’s yall” was the most common stream of nonsensical words.
Sam’s behavior got even stranger; say’s his younger brother Shannon, 19. “I walked past his room the other night and heard him muttering to himself ’I swear if Mculty hurts Amy Ryan I’ll fucking kill him.’, how does that work? Only one of those people actually exists ”
The final straw came when he was discovered intoxicated on Jameson’s whiskey with a knife to his face. “All he was did when he saw us was start yelling ‘OMAR IN THE CUT YO’”
Hopes for his safety were raised earlier this week when he locked himself in his room for ten hours to watch the final season. When he emerged, it appeared that the self imposed exodus had drastic effects. “When he came out of his room, he seemed normal again, you know, he wasn’t talking like one of…those people.”
While things are looking up for the family, the weeks ahead may prove to be rocky ones. Mrs Burnett said even though her son’s Wire marathon had ended, the new season of shows may destroy his tenuous grip on reality. “Supernatural [the television show] has started again, which means that he’s started putting salt over all the doors and windows.” While tales of demons may be disturbing, the real danger lies in a show usually associated with belly laughs. The popular NBC show The Office, and it’s female co-star Jenna Fischer return to screens this week, something that Mr Burnett is overjoyed about. “He doesn’t think that anybody knows about the shrine to her he was under his bed” said Mrs Burnett, “but we do. We all do.”

You, you must be thinking of someone else.

Pop music, like a randy teenager, has always had trouble distinguishing between the concepts of ‘love’ and ‘sex’. Although obsessed with both of them, it can’t seem to decide which one it prefers. For every song that encourages healthy relationships (Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight), there are ones that encourage less healthy ones (You Shook Me All Night Long).

Sometimes the lyrics hardly matter- does anyone care what Rihanna’s Umbrella is saying? Does it even matter when she’s not wearing anything in the videoclip? Rhianna and her succession of thinly veiled -and occasionally not even that-singles are evidence to something obvious to anyone who two eyes and a pulse- singles are the most sexual part of the music industry. Not necessarily in their lyrical content (although the most successful are inevitably the audio equivalent of a ‘come hither’ look), or in the previously mentioned risqué video clip, but rather in what they represent. For the listener, they’re the musical equivalent of the one night stand. There are no explanations, excuses or background information on the encounter. You listen to Umbrella (ella-ella…). Girlfriend, or whatever other piece of tacky piece of guilty joy is clogging the artery of the airwaves, and have a great time. Yeah, the chord progressions have been done a million times, the voice correction is obvious a mile away, but damnit, Katy Perry is talking about having kissed a girl! That means lesbian overtones!

With a single, you don’t expect anything once the song is finished, and the song doesn’t want anything from you. You’re free to enjoy whatever insipidly enjoyable song the music industry churns out next. Now, compare this to the equivalent of a monogamous relationship- the unwavering devotion to a band. While a one night stand with some song might be easy, this one takes hard work- all the CDs (legally bought!), the live bootlegs of their unreleased songs, and even that weird Japanese only release that was on eBay for an ungodly sum.

I’ll put my negatable reputation on the line and say that I’ve done this for three groups- Death Cab for Cutie, Elliott Smith, and Fleetwood Mac- all of which I think of in the most unsexual possible way ever- which from what I’m told, is just like being married.
Contrasts this to the single, where the overall body of work doesn’t matter, just the..um…overall body of the person doing the singing. It’s a facet of the industry that’s founded almost entirely on the sexual tones to the song to sell. Of course, that’s nothing new- conservative ire was raised at Presley over fifty years ago, and nothing has changed. Hell, sexual deviancy is almost expected among our pop stars today. Nobody’s surprised when Britney Spears is caught not wearing underwear. Disturbed- sure, but the surprise ship sailed somewhere during 2002.

So, is music becoming more sexualized, or is the music industry itself becoming more sexualized? Is it becoming more standard to give us, the consumer, a string of songs that are ultimately meaningless?
It seems that –in keeping with this analogy that seems more insane by the minute- youTube- and the internet in general- is becoming the pop culture equivalent of divorce, destroying any chance we have a meaningful relationship with a pop group.
Baring the pseudo cult that’s formed around 70’s rock revivalists The Hold Steady, is it even rational to think that a band could garner such support that a name for their fans becomes commonplace –i.e The Grateful Dead and their Deadheads? Even when something as all consuming and unifying as the internet should support such relationships? Does the concept of loving a band it even matter when there are four minute slices of anonymous happiness waiting for us?

Kanye West arrested at airport.

Apparently tensions started when West was told his ego was too big to be classed as carry on baggage!

No, really it was becasue he alienated the other passengers- on his private plane! HI-YO.

The feud is getting worse though, now the airport has introduced a new seating system dedicated to Kanye: Now it goes: Economy Class, Business Class, and Lack-Of Class!
'
Slightly Worse Ones:

Oh, and now he's thinking of changing the album title to 747's and Heartbreak.

Still, I don't see why he had to be in the airport, I mean, couldn't he have just walked across the water if he needed to ge overseas?

The saddest thing? Kanye West has ruined this day Now we're all going to have the negative association between September 11 and Airplanes.

Note to self: You are not in The Wire, stop using the word 'Police' as a noun.

So, I’m walking along, thinking about why I always open uninteresting stories with ‘so’ and wondering how I can sneak onto Australian Idol and trick that cute redhead into loving me when I notice the new issue of Rolling Stone. Considering I was in a newsagent, this wasn’t a surprise. After all, Rolling Stone is a magazine, and newsagents regularly stock magazines. Truth be told, I was attending the newsagents that day to purchase a magazine. But that was a couple of seconds ago, now I have to somehow indicate my distaste for Rolling Stone before I can move on with my day. Just as I began to raise my lips into my best impression of a condescending smirk, I notice the cover.

Since I can’t find the cover on the internet, I’ll supply you with my recreation:



(said recreation, along with snarky comment)


And my reaction to seeing it.


.001 Seconds: Hmmm,. Maybe if I told her I was an A&R for a record company or something….Hey it’s the new issue of Rolling Stone, what a crock! Allow me to create a dismissive smirk, indicating my distaste for the publication what has never done anything to me.

.005 Seconds: Now, with my eyebrows properly raised, let me use my lips to create aforementioned dismissive smirk….Wait a second, is that Zooey Deshenal (name butchered due to laziness), the She from She and Him? Holy shit, is Rolling Stone’s credibility restored?

.072 Seconds: Now Sam, stop looking deeply into her deep blue eyes, you need to buy this magazine and read about She and Him. Wait a minute, what if the balding newsagent reads my blog? He’ll laugh me out of the store for buying a magazine that I constantly bag. Hmmm, perhaps a plan is in order…

1.29 Seconds: Damnit Sam, I told you to stop looking at her eyes. You need a plan. Maybe you should read the accompanying text. After all, now that they have Zooey on the cover, who knows what they else they’ll have. Maybe an interview with Mark Kozelenk. Or a guide to spelling his last name properly. Or a guide to tricking cute redheads on Australian Idol into liking yo….HEY WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE, THAT’S KATY PERRY! What a fucking crock.

1.42 Seconds: Hey, I haven’t blogged in a while, maybe this could be an amusing anecdote. Damnit, Katy fucking Perry. Damn her and her Cherry Chapstick. .13 seconds later and I still can’t believe it.

So wait a second...

Americans either have the choice of a vice president who's:

A redneck (which will never happen)

Or the dude from/assossiated/beefing with G-Unit?

Well, that sucks.