The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Friday, May 13, 2005
Fuck Britney Spears! I’m An Elvis Man
Wakey wakey!
I was going to go to sleep, but suddenly I’m not tired. I suppose that means that I’ll write instead, though my thoughts are sparse and disjointed. I fell asleep to the sound of Tipsy and Queen last night, falling asleep much too late, then waking up much too early to the sound of Brian Dewan. Despite the master’s golden pipes, my eyes were heavy and I craved the warmth of my Batman sheets, koala blanket, and Pee Wee’s Playhouse comforter. Nevertheless, I forced myself up from bed, ate my breakfast of noodles and an apple, and groomed myself. On this particular morn I thanked my stunted genes for the extremely slow rate at which my facial hair grows. The time I would save not having to wearily shave was well worth the shame of being the last kid in my class to grow pubic hair. I gave a quick buffing to my shoes which I’d already coated in polish the night before, and pulled on the white shirt I’d ironed shortly after. People can accuse me of many things, but never can it be said that I’m not a snappy dresser.
There’s no point at all to me writing what I just wrote. I really have no intention of going into detail about my job interview, or writing paragraph after paragraph about how I arrived more than an hour and a half early, and I believe the interview went very well. I need not mention that it was for an employer I respect (one which DOESN’T funnel money into PACs and the Republican Party), very much a step up from the last employer I had (which funded the Bush-reelection… make that Bush-election… headquarters in Burlingame). Oh I would have loved to have put the screws to my old boss, whom I caught making an illegal campaign contribution to the Republican Party, with the help of a little bit of computer investigation. I would have turned him in too had the evidence not been so weak. Evil bastard. His bald son (who replaced my boss, his loyal employee, canned after 30 years) later fired me.
You know, just yesterday I turned on the television and was confronted with the vision of Gwen Stefani’s newest music video. It was completely unwatchable crap, as usual, though the consistent (overly consistent… labored, ridiculous amount of) Gwen Stefani ass-shots (in nearly nothing) also left me unable to change the channel. I do love the female form after all, and without question, Gwen Stefani has gotten a HELL of a lot better looking than she was 10 years ago, back when she really couldn’t dress and No Doubt grated on my nerves. But though I’ve since been a mess of impure thoughts (the kind I’ve not known since back in the day of the Spice Girls' Say You’ll Be There video; oh man did I have it bad for Ginger), at the time of the viewing I was merely filled with feelings of severe annoyance.
Where do I start?
I’ve long since accepted the fact that Gwen Stefani and No Doubt make some horrendously mediocre music, and that, for some reason, the general public seems to eat this crap up. Fine. I learned to just block it out when I heard the audio-swill playing. I can take all the trite lyrics and poor song-craft. No, the thing that really annoyed me was the sight of all the Japanese girls dancing video. Oh, I love Japanese girls (I think they’ve partially been a factor in my enjoyment of Gojira films), but there’s something very wrong about what’s going on here.
Anyone who’s seen her other videos from her solo album has likely noticed that there’s been Japanese girls in all her videos from her most recent album. There’s no point to this; no instruments being played by these jewels of the Orient. Nay, they’re eye candy, window dressing, sight gags, objects to be viewed for our enjoyment. You see, Gwen Stefani is a race-exploiter.
You may recall, not so long ago, back when Gwen Stefani was on her Hindu and Indian kick. That lasted for quite a while before her interest fizzled out. She dated an Indian guy, wore a bindi on her forehead (which I always thought was particularly ridiculous to begin with, kind of like when Shania Twain brags about her Native American heritage), and shoved Indian kids and imagery into her music videos. Until she got bored anyway.
When was the last time you saw Gwen Steffani in a bindi? I guess untold centuries of culture is only worth something when it suits your mood.
Now it may seem that I’m getting worked up over nothing, and quite possibly I am, but it seems to me that all cultures should be appreciated and respected everyday, not just one particular culture when the fancy hits. This bit of single-culture fascination, this fixation on visual appearance and exploitation doesn’t seem to me to be the least bit respectful. It instead reminds me of the time in America when Asians were patronizingly mocked as “those delightful Orientals” and you could see hideously-drawn caricatures of them in the funny-books, and hear heavily-accented stereotypes of them on the radio. It reminds me of the Amos and Andy Show; it reminds me of Richie Valens, and how he had to change his name in order to fit into the mainstream media (and America’s concept of just what a proper Latino was). Quite frankly, it reminds me of the still much-too-common feeling in much of white America of how they want minorities to be seen (and only then in a context that white America is comfortable with) and not heard (particularly, not to express any REAL aspect of their actual culture). Cosby Show anyone? Bryant Gumbel? Wayne Brady? (No offense intended to either Bill Cosby or Wayne Brady, both of whom I respect greatly. Bryant Gumbel, on the other hand, can suck my balls.) Oh, white America loves a minority when they’re palatable to their senses.
So this is what it comes down to: Gwen Stefani symbolizes (to me at least) everything that is wrong with America, particularly white America. This is what we are to the rest of the world. This is why we can blow Middle-Easterners into bloody chunks everyday, and yet most of America doesn’t seem to care, or feel bad about it… even those who actually acknowledge the fact that we ARE blowing these people into bloody chunks. You know why?
Because we’ve turned the minorities of the world into teddy bears. We’ve turned the darker skinned and the folded eyed into penguins and baby chimpanzees in diapers. Oh certainly, we love to see them, we love to feel amused by their zany antics, crazy ways, silly dress, and strange behavior. We love to laugh at these creatures, and use them for the eye candy in our music videos.
Because we’re not seeing them as people. We’re not granting the notion of these being people such as ourselves; these being our equals. We’re not giving thought to the fact that these people have their own cultures, their own rich histories, their own knowledge and traditions centuries-old.
Nope, colonial Britain never ended. The view of the world remains the same. These are those “vile savages”, those “uneducated ape-men”, those “silly and amusing creatures”. These are our clowns, our hobbits, our trained animals. These are things we put on display in our zoo. Our glowing, cathode-ray zoo.
So I say think about this next time you watch a video with a fat Pacific-Islander dressed as Buddha, or a bunch of Japanese girls not saying anything, but just smiling, giggling, and being cute for the camera. For that matter, think of this next time you see a bunch of bikini-clad girls in a hip-hop video, because it’s the exact same thing. Do you think an East-Coast rapper is considering a female’s education-level, personal convictions, and religious upbringing when he pours that bottle of Kristal all over her?
I may be ranting, but I’m just trying to get a point across here. I wonder if back when Gwen Stefani was busy getting Japanese girls to look cute for her, if she was even aware of whom Musashi was. I wonder if she’s ever read The Book of Five Rings, or is even aware of its existence. I wonder if she knows of the tales of Feudal Japan or of Japan’s early dealings with the Dutch, or perhaps who Amaterasu is, or anything of Shintoism. Does she know who the AUM cult were? I wonder if she even knows that Japan kicked the living crap out of the Russian military in 1904. I wonder if she knew what the Bhagavad Gita was back when she wore a bindi.
What’s my point? I’m tired. I don’t even know anymore. I guess I’m saying that these are our brothers, our sisters. That person you see has hopes and dreams, and their own personality, just like you. That kid in Iraq that gets the cluster bomb dropped on his family doesn’t like it any more than would your cousin in Kansas. And when he prays to his god for safety, he knows fear every bit as strongly as you do, say, when you can’t pay for the mortgage on your house and you’re wondering how you’re going to feed and clothe the kids. We’re all in this together, and it’s about time we all started seeing each other as people, and not with the same amount of consideration you might use for a sticker on a skateboard.
Oh, and Gwen Stefani is going to burn in Hell for royally fucking up a great song from Fiddler On the Roof.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
I was going to go to sleep, but suddenly I’m not tired. I suppose that means that I’ll write instead, though my thoughts are sparse and disjointed. I fell asleep to the sound of Tipsy and Queen last night, falling asleep much too late, then waking up much too early to the sound of Brian Dewan. Despite the master’s golden pipes, my eyes were heavy and I craved the warmth of my Batman sheets, koala blanket, and Pee Wee’s Playhouse comforter. Nevertheless, I forced myself up from bed, ate my breakfast of noodles and an apple, and groomed myself. On this particular morn I thanked my stunted genes for the extremely slow rate at which my facial hair grows. The time I would save not having to wearily shave was well worth the shame of being the last kid in my class to grow pubic hair. I gave a quick buffing to my shoes which I’d already coated in polish the night before, and pulled on the white shirt I’d ironed shortly after. People can accuse me of many things, but never can it be said that I’m not a snappy dresser.
There’s no point at all to me writing what I just wrote. I really have no intention of going into detail about my job interview, or writing paragraph after paragraph about how I arrived more than an hour and a half early, and I believe the interview went very well. I need not mention that it was for an employer I respect (one which DOESN’T funnel money into PACs and the Republican Party), very much a step up from the last employer I had (which funded the Bush-reelection… make that Bush-election… headquarters in Burlingame). Oh I would have loved to have put the screws to my old boss, whom I caught making an illegal campaign contribution to the Republican Party, with the help of a little bit of computer investigation. I would have turned him in too had the evidence not been so weak. Evil bastard. His bald son (who replaced my boss, his loyal employee, canned after 30 years) later fired me.
You know, just yesterday I turned on the television and was confronted with the vision of Gwen Stefani’s newest music video. It was completely unwatchable crap, as usual, though the consistent (overly consistent… labored, ridiculous amount of) Gwen Stefani ass-shots (in nearly nothing) also left me unable to change the channel. I do love the female form after all, and without question, Gwen Stefani has gotten a HELL of a lot better looking than she was 10 years ago, back when she really couldn’t dress and No Doubt grated on my nerves. But though I’ve since been a mess of impure thoughts (the kind I’ve not known since back in the day of the Spice Girls' Say You’ll Be There video; oh man did I have it bad for Ginger), at the time of the viewing I was merely filled with feelings of severe annoyance.
Where do I start?
I’ve long since accepted the fact that Gwen Stefani and No Doubt make some horrendously mediocre music, and that, for some reason, the general public seems to eat this crap up. Fine. I learned to just block it out when I heard the audio-swill playing. I can take all the trite lyrics and poor song-craft. No, the thing that really annoyed me was the sight of all the Japanese girls dancing video. Oh, I love Japanese girls (I think they’ve partially been a factor in my enjoyment of Gojira films), but there’s something very wrong about what’s going on here.
Anyone who’s seen her other videos from her solo album has likely noticed that there’s been Japanese girls in all her videos from her most recent album. There’s no point to this; no instruments being played by these jewels of the Orient. Nay, they’re eye candy, window dressing, sight gags, objects to be viewed for our enjoyment. You see, Gwen Stefani is a race-exploiter.
You may recall, not so long ago, back when Gwen Stefani was on her Hindu and Indian kick. That lasted for quite a while before her interest fizzled out. She dated an Indian guy, wore a bindi on her forehead (which I always thought was particularly ridiculous to begin with, kind of like when Shania Twain brags about her Native American heritage), and shoved Indian kids and imagery into her music videos. Until she got bored anyway.
When was the last time you saw Gwen Steffani in a bindi? I guess untold centuries of culture is only worth something when it suits your mood.
Now it may seem that I’m getting worked up over nothing, and quite possibly I am, but it seems to me that all cultures should be appreciated and respected everyday, not just one particular culture when the fancy hits. This bit of single-culture fascination, this fixation on visual appearance and exploitation doesn’t seem to me to be the least bit respectful. It instead reminds me of the time in America when Asians were patronizingly mocked as “those delightful Orientals” and you could see hideously-drawn caricatures of them in the funny-books, and hear heavily-accented stereotypes of them on the radio. It reminds me of the Amos and Andy Show; it reminds me of Richie Valens, and how he had to change his name in order to fit into the mainstream media (and America’s concept of just what a proper Latino was). Quite frankly, it reminds me of the still much-too-common feeling in much of white America of how they want minorities to be seen (and only then in a context that white America is comfortable with) and not heard (particularly, not to express any REAL aspect of their actual culture). Cosby Show anyone? Bryant Gumbel? Wayne Brady? (No offense intended to either Bill Cosby or Wayne Brady, both of whom I respect greatly. Bryant Gumbel, on the other hand, can suck my balls.) Oh, white America loves a minority when they’re palatable to their senses.
So this is what it comes down to: Gwen Stefani symbolizes (to me at least) everything that is wrong with America, particularly white America. This is what we are to the rest of the world. This is why we can blow Middle-Easterners into bloody chunks everyday, and yet most of America doesn’t seem to care, or feel bad about it… even those who actually acknowledge the fact that we ARE blowing these people into bloody chunks. You know why?
Because we’ve turned the minorities of the world into teddy bears. We’ve turned the darker skinned and the folded eyed into penguins and baby chimpanzees in diapers. Oh certainly, we love to see them, we love to feel amused by their zany antics, crazy ways, silly dress, and strange behavior. We love to laugh at these creatures, and use them for the eye candy in our music videos.
Because we’re not seeing them as people. We’re not granting the notion of these being people such as ourselves; these being our equals. We’re not giving thought to the fact that these people have their own cultures, their own rich histories, their own knowledge and traditions centuries-old.
Nope, colonial Britain never ended. The view of the world remains the same. These are those “vile savages”, those “uneducated ape-men”, those “silly and amusing creatures”. These are our clowns, our hobbits, our trained animals. These are things we put on display in our zoo. Our glowing, cathode-ray zoo.
So I say think about this next time you watch a video with a fat Pacific-Islander dressed as Buddha, or a bunch of Japanese girls not saying anything, but just smiling, giggling, and being cute for the camera. For that matter, think of this next time you see a bunch of bikini-clad girls in a hip-hop video, because it’s the exact same thing. Do you think an East-Coast rapper is considering a female’s education-level, personal convictions, and religious upbringing when he pours that bottle of Kristal all over her?
I may be ranting, but I’m just trying to get a point across here. I wonder if back when Gwen Stefani was busy getting Japanese girls to look cute for her, if she was even aware of whom Musashi was. I wonder if she’s ever read The Book of Five Rings, or is even aware of its existence. I wonder if she knows of the tales of Feudal Japan or of Japan’s early dealings with the Dutch, or perhaps who Amaterasu is, or anything of Shintoism. Does she know who the AUM cult were? I wonder if she even knows that Japan kicked the living crap out of the Russian military in 1904. I wonder if she knew what the Bhagavad Gita was back when she wore a bindi.
What’s my point? I’m tired. I don’t even know anymore. I guess I’m saying that these are our brothers, our sisters. That person you see has hopes and dreams, and their own personality, just like you. That kid in Iraq that gets the cluster bomb dropped on his family doesn’t like it any more than would your cousin in Kansas. And when he prays to his god for safety, he knows fear every bit as strongly as you do, say, when you can’t pay for the mortgage on your house and you’re wondering how you’re going to feed and clothe the kids. We’re all in this together, and it’s about time we all started seeing each other as people, and not with the same amount of consideration you might use for a sticker on a skateboard.
Oh, and Gwen Stefani is going to burn in Hell for royally fucking up a great song from Fiddler On the Roof.
The Virgin Prince
