Kim Kardashian West (!) — the exclamation point is part of her new surname — looks suuuuper embarrassed in that slutty black get-up*, pushing an empty stroller (I’m assuming Baby North had better things to do), but Mrs. West does as she’s told by Miss Kanye, right? Or. Bloody. ELSE.
Sometimes I catch myself feeling sorry for Kim. My heart must need checking again.
* This outfit wouldn’t be quite as slutty if worn between 11:00 pm and 1:00 am.
Oh, for eff’s sake. I’ve been sitting on this crap all day long and only now bring myself to write these words: Paul McCartney is fronting Nirvana i.e. standing in for Kurt Cobain at tonight’s 12-12-12 Concert. I’ll wait a second for you to catch your breath if you hadn’t heard yet. I’ll wait even longer if you live in the Northwest, specifically in Seattle forpitysake.
Oh. It gets better. “The Cute Dumb One” had this nugget of gold in response to getting the gig:
“I didn’t really know who they were,” the 70-year-old Beatles legend told The Sun. “They are saying how good it is to be back together. I said, ‘Whoa? You guys haven’t played together for all that time? And somebody whispered to me, ‘That’s Nirvana. You’re Kurt.’ I couldn’t believe it.”
Wait. What? “You’re Kurt”?? As. Bloody. IF.
I’m more than willing to pit The Beatles vs. Nirvana, if only for tonight. This is the ONE night David Bowie could have taken a car down the street and played “The Man Who Sold The World“. No one would have been offended. In fact–we would’ve been thrilled.
I have a lot of odd little feelings watching Lana Del Rey’s mini opus, “Ride”. Nothing terribly earth-shattering, more like the silly practicality of what is laid out before the viewer.
Go on, now. Watch Lana as she cavorts with bikers, takes the ho stro’ while drinking orange soda, bends over both a balcony and a pinball machine, and moan-sings with the red drapes behind her as if she’s a character in a David Lynch film…then we’ll talk.
So. I know I shouldn’t be so GOTdamn sensible all the time. It’s a hassle, really, and makes me feel old and wet blanket-y, but I couldn’t turn OFF my internal “HEY, HOW’DSHE PAY FOR THAT?” Sensible Voice during Lana’s mournful drone for “Freedom” with a capital F.
Why shouldn’t we be allowed to wander the streets without a “real job“? Don’t you wanna just hang with some bikers for a few weeks at a sketch motel in Albuquerque? Because I do. But how’mmuh gonna pay to get my stiletto nails did?Tire swings leave nasty black marks on your shorts and legs, you know. Wait. My hair is flying in the breeeeze. I haveno idea how it got this clean, gorgeous and curly, do you? Look at that pretty fire. Where’s my pimp daddy? Can I play with that gun? Am I the only one who doesn’t stink around here? Seriously. My hair has never looked more lovely. Dancing, laughing and crying with my bikers. Aren’t we supposed to be wearing helmets? I was always an unusual girl. Am I no longer an idealistic dreamer? Derrrp, you’re OLD now.
So when did the voice of UN-reason sound so enticing? Because it always has…we just stopped listening. I think I should watch Rideone more time–and this time just let the images wash over me.