So, this happened a few days ago:
[17/12/2011 18:58:59] Louise: hey how do you feel about michael buble?
[17/12/2011 20:02:43] Rammi: Apathetic.
[17/12/2011 20:03:00] Rammi: But if you buy me his album I will kick you in the face.
Which led to this:
17 December at 20:12 – Rammi: …Louise just asked me how I felt about Michael Bublé.
17 December at 20:13 – Rammi: I made it clear to her that I’d kick her in the face if she bought me that.
17 December at 20:13 – Sinéad: LOL
17 December at 20:14 – Sinéad: had no idea you were THAT strongly opposed to THE BUBBLY
17 December at 20:14 – Sinéad: (does he have a nickname or something? I just made that up)
17 December at 20:14 – Rammi: OMG YOU BOTH NEED TO BE TASERED.
Which made me realise I have a lot of irrational hatred for “the bubbly” (ugh). There’s no reason to hate him; he’s a successful musician whose songs make women all over the world swoon. I still do, though. Here are the reasons why.
- His songs – the ones released as singles, anyway – suffer from the Stephenie Meyer effect. The resounding theme is “OMG, YOU’RE THE PERFECT GIRL FOR ME” sometimes with an added “but Y U NO with me? *sadface*” He cleverly uses lots of “you”s so the people listening to him can easily put themselves in Bella’s, um, I mean, the subject’s shoes, and believe he’s singing a song to them personally. This probably accounts for 99% of people saying they love him (and 87% of all statistics are made up, but what of it)? “I just haven’t met YOU yet,” “I’m just too far, from where YOU are, I’ve gotta go home,” “YOU’RE every line, YOU’RE every word, YOU’RE everything,” and, er… These are the only Bublé songs I’ve downloaded, for some reason (the fact that I even bothered to download them shocks me already). Nicely played, Mr. Bublé. Nicely played.
- I used to listen to a lot of Magic 105.4. If you haven’t listened to this radio station before, they play a mix of golden oldies and easy listening pop from the current charts. Now, back when Bublé had just released his first album, someone at the radio station really got into his song. Every day, without fail, wedged in between Marvin Gaye’s I Heard it Through the Grapevine and something ridiculous by Aretha Franklin, I’d hear someone crooning, “Let me go hooooooooommmmeeee….” Seriously, mate, if you’re going to whine so much about it, JUST GO HOME AND STFU.
- Bublé feels like a robot dreamt up by movie execs for soundtracks. The worst example of this I’ve seen is in The Wedding Date. It’s a nice short romcom, but THERE ARE THREE BUBLÉ SONGS IN THE SOUNDTRACK ALONE. THREE! I was watching this over Christmas, and the only thought running through my head was, “Did Bublé sponsor this film or something?” Grr.
- He does something weird with his mouth when he sings. It leads to hilarity such as Russian Unicorn, which is the only reason this is so low down in the list.
- He’s so smooth it hurts. The voice, the suits, the dishevelled hair, that lost puppy dog stare… COME ON.
- LOOK AT HIS WIFE. Now, I’m as straight as they come, but you can’t deny it: that woman is HOT.
- He has that ambiguous hair colour that is ginger in some lights, but refuses to EMBRACE THE GINGER.
- He’s written a fake song for 30 Rock. I love that show so much, and if any other musician had done it, I’d be thinking, “Wow, this guy is awesome/writes great songs/has a good sense of humour.” But, since it’s Bublé… Goddammit.
- Update, 5:17PM: As if to prove point 3, I just got to the end of a Christmas movie (don’t ask, it just popped up randomly on Hulu and I was bored), and right before the credits rolled, a mystery Bublé song about Christmas played. Yes, I now recognise his voice anywhere. AARGH. I can’t believe he managed to Bublé-bomb me.
- HE RECENTLY RELEASED AN ALBUM OF CHRISTMAS COVERS. That should be enough reason for you to hate him.
…If you read this a few hours ago, then yes, I have added to the list of reasons why I hate “the bubbly.” I guess the point of this was to tell you to refrain from buying me anything of Michael Bublé’s for my birthday/Christmas/Valentine’s Day/any holiday, ever.
“I read your blog.” A flattering phrase, coming from 99% of the population – I’m honoured to know that some people read and like what I write. But there’s an exception to this rule: those I converse with almost exclusively offline. Hearing “I read your blog” from them is just painful. For me, a blog is a personal space, a space where you can rant without judgement from the general internet populace.
See those links on my blogroll there, under the heading “Friends”? Yeah, I never click on them (unless they ask me to). Why? Well, the reason is threefold. One, they never update, and they’re even lazier than I am about blogging. Two, I don’t have the time these days, and three, I don’t particularly want to be inside their heads. You see, some of my favourite blogs deal with tricky subjects, and get very personal. I’ve learnt many of my online friends’ deepest darkest secrets through the medium of blog posts, and whilst I know how to deal with these sorts of things online, and we have these extremely close bonds because of all the stuff we’re willing to open up to each other about, I know I’d fall apart if I had to handle these issues with someone I had to see nearly every day.
Ever since one of my RL friends told me she reads this blog sometimes, I’ve become more self conscious about what I can and can’t post here. I mean, if I have an argument with someone she knows, I can’t exactly moan about it here, because it’s unfair on her if I’m making her choose sides. Also, it just makes it worse if she passes on what I’ve written to the other person. But then, it’s just sucky if I can’t write what I want. I shouldn’t have to change what I do for someone else. A few years back, I tried to get away from the privacy issue by creating a new alias for myself, but that didn’t really work out because I didn’t feel comfortable pretending to be something I wasn’t.
So, this is a sort of plea to the friends I converse mostly with in real life – GTFO my blog. Please give me my privacy back – I’d like to continue to use this space as my online journal, which is kind of hard to do when I know you’re reading. I know curiosity’s an annoying thing, but if you really do want to read me bitching about you (because I know I will at some point), please don’t tell me you’re doing it. If I’m ready to tell you something, I will.
I originally wrote a version of this post on 30th June 2008 on my now defunct Vox blog, but as I was going through my old posts today, I realised it’s not in my Typepad backup. I’ve rehashed it because it is one of the only blog posts I’ve written that I like.
Over the years, the internet has allowed me to connect with many different people from all over the world, regardless of their age, gender, race, sexual preferences or location. My closest online friends and I have all had different experiences, and have come from different walks of life, but we’ve all somehow managed to find something in common with each other.
If you find me online, you’ll see that I can talk about viral videos, blogging, popular websites and shiny gadgets just as well as the next geek you’d happen to pass on the street. You’d probably find me slightly irritating at first, but love me once you got to know me. But whatever respect or warm feelings you may have had towards me is lost once you start asking questions about my age. You see, with every age comes a preconception of what you’re going to be like, and how you’re going to react to certain things. And despite the glaringly obvious proof that stereotypes aren’t true, when it comes to first impressions, knowing someone’s age is a real buzzkill.
Let’s face it. I still have a lot to learn about life. At this point in time, I haven’t reached the right number of years to command undying respect, but I think everyone deserves the right to be treated as people, not just numbers. I can conduct myself in an acceptable manner (when sober), and obviously have my own opinions on everything, so why shouldn’t I? It’s reached the point where I now refuse point-blank to give my age, because I know that I will be judged on that immediately, and anything else I say will have no value.
Some of you will know that I’m a bit of a social networking addict. I’ve been an active member of microblogging websites such as Twitter and Plurk for a good few years now. In a short space of time, I’ve talked to a lot of very interesting people, whose ages range from 13 to 60+. A few years ago, I was on a microblogging website, and I saw this update from this much older person, as it were, asking why someone of the age I was then (a completely different generation to him) would want to follow him. I mostly find new people to talk to from mutual friends, found his profile through a mutual friend and thought his updates were interesting. Do you have to be a particular age to be able to find someone interesting? I’m not saying random friend requests aren’t annoying – I reject most requests from people I don’t know on MySpace/Facebook/whatever. But with microblogging sites, things are different – I mean, updates like ‘I am eating tacos’ aren’t exactly groundbreaking, are they? If you like someone’s updates, you follow them. It’s as simple as that.
What’s stopping people of different ages from being friends? Two of the loveliest people I’ve met online have an age gap of over 20 years. The people I meet up with are mostly different ages from me (whether that be older or younger), but that doesn’t stop me from talking to them.
If you’re scared of offending sensibilities or corrupting others by ooh, shock horror, interacting with different generations, then you’re way too late. Have you seen the stuff that the media aims at people? Nothing you can say or do is shocking. We’ve seen it all before. We’re smarter, wiser, (better, faster, stronger, etc.) and changing technologies mean we know more than you did several years ago. Instead of running away from the most socially-aware population in years, you should be embracing them instead. …Literally, if you must. I like free hugs as much as the next person.
Why must potential friendships be ruined by pre-judgement? I don’t care if you’re male or female, old, young, straight, gay or asexual; if you’re interesting and I like talking to you, then I can call you my friend. End of. Judging others takes up too much time; time that could be spent plurking and tweeting every single aspect of my life… Er, I meant I could be spending my time on something much more valuable.
As the old adage goes, ‘never judge a book by its cover’. Friend me, follow me, unfollow me, delete me, block me… Do what you want (it IS the Internet, after all). But make sure it’s for all the right reasons, i.e. you find me too annoying to deal with, instead of just seeing a number and basing all your future judgements of me on that.
Don’t judge me for being my age, however old you think I may be, and I promise not to judge you when you say an idiotic thing to me.
Dear gadgets,
I don’t know what I did that was so wrong, but it must have been something horrible to make you hate me so. If I could fix it, I would, because nothing compares to the hell you’ve put me through in the last couple of years.
You’ve made me go through one portable cassette player, two portable CD players, one Game Boy Color, an iPod Nano, two iPod Touches, three iPhone 3Gs, and have made me waste countless hours of my life at the Apple Store trying to get my Mac fixed. Not to mention all the wires I’ve broken throughout the years, both internally and externally. Let’s examine these in more detail, shall we?
Let’s start with you, portable cassette player. I adored you, although I still feel slightly guilty about having a hand in your death. Things were going swimmingly between us until I put a mystery tape into you one day. Things started unravelling, and your little door thingy (?) refused to open. For some reason, I can’t remove the tape, and I’m slightly afraid to. After several years, I’ve come to the conclusion that you two belong together, like some twisted Romeo and Juliet. I never heard what that final tape was.
After the portable cassette player came two shining portable CD players. With the first one, it was love at first sight. It served me well, but it failed to tell me that it was not not water-resistant – how can you have a relationship based on lies? It met its end in a puddle outside my school… After it had been raining, I slipped into a dent in the road that I swear wasn’t there before, and water filled my bag. ;_; Nothing I did could ever make it work again.
Trying to get over my grief, another CD player arrived the next day. I believe this one died peacefully, after a secret terminal illness that it just didn’t feel comfortable telling me about. After six months of service, your buttons just stopped responding. I hope your last six months were tolerable, if not pleasant. Cliff Richard on repeat has a way with other people that makes them want to hurt themselves. Now that I think about it, I don’t blame you, second CD player, for dying completely.
After the sound-related gadgets came the the “Atomic Purple” Game Boy Color. This just fizzled out one day, without any warning. I never really played you, as I’m really bad at computer games, but I mourn you all the same. With a little bit of prodding, I guess I could get you working again, but for reasons unknown/reasons involving a cat, the charger ended up being horribly mutilated, and your battery door cannot be prised open due to an unknown sticky substance.
My gadget pain does not end there. After these failed attempts at using entertainment-related gadgets, I decided to stick to one brand, in the hopes that my loyalty would pay off, and the gadgets would finally love me back. This was not to be. Apple is the company that has put me through so much heartache in the last few years. Thankfully, I have a good insurance policy (yay for Argos!) which means I can trade a gadget in as soon as it breaks.
After a long break from anything electronic, I bought an iPod. You were pretty and silver and I loved you. However, I do get a sense that my love was unrequited. As time went on, you lost your shine, became more and more tempermental with me, freezing your screen and refusing to show up when I plugged you into my computer. Then, one day, you gave in completely, and died whilst I was listening to Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush. I like to think that Cathy’s spirit in Wuthering Heights was partly responsible, but I should’ve seen the signs. You were breaking up with me, and had been trying to for a long time.
So, doing the only thing I could do, I exchanged my ex-iPod for a younger model, à la Ronnie Wood. Out of all my toys, I think it’s safe to say that the iPod Touch was my one true love. You taught me basic SSHing skills, showed me how to jailbreak/use applications, and made me become an expert at hunting for Wi-Fi hotspots. I never wanted to part from you, but my excessive hacking of your system made your death come all too soon.
There really isn’t much I can say about the iPod Touch I got as a replacement. It certainly was slimmer than its predecessor, and had this posh Nike + iPod thing, but we never really bonded. I was too scared to jailbreak you, but you slowly withered away too. Screen freezes and frequent losses of data that restoring could not fix were what sealed your fate. I believe this iPod had some life left in it, but I shipped it off to my cousin before he could change his mind. It’s your problem now, sucker! ^_^
With two iPod Touches down the drain, I bought an iPhone. My iPhone history is pretty short; I managed to go through three within the space of a year.
The first one suffered from that lovely affliction called “stuck on loading screen” (yes, I restored and restored, but I think I corrupted one of my backups somewhere along the line, because it never worked).
The second? Well, software-wise, it was fine and dandy. The silent button falling off was what made it go into the Apple Store and never come out again.
Currently, I am on my third iPhone, praying that it doesn’t break before April 2010, when I can finally get an upgrade.
Lastly, the biggest problem I’m having gadget-wise is with my Mac. I got this Mac in November 2008, hoping for better things. Alas, it was not to be. “I’m better than a PC”, my ass. Your battery is fairly dodgy, sometimes only charging up to 90%. Your fan is tempermental, makes a stupidly loud buzzing noise, doesn’t work hard enough meaning the computer overheats within 5 minutes, yet behaves when in the company of an Apple Genius. This means I always look stupid when I complain about the “loud” fan. >.> Thankfully, you haven’t died on me yet, but I’m not holding out much hope.
Overall, I think I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll never get on with devices of the electronic variety, even though I’ll always love them like a fat kid loves cake.
What is love? Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more.
I don’t understand them, to be honest. Getting all worked up because some new piece of merchandise has been released, or crying hysterically because the object of your fandom has got themselves a girlfriend/boyfriend. People getting hordes of fans are human. They shit, piss, burp and fart like the rest of us. I once read an interview by a band (I forget who), and one of the female members was recounting a story where they had been asked to sign something for a fan as they were getting tampons in a supermarket. Surely no one needs to be followed as they’re doing the shopping?
I’ll admit that I get excited when something new I like gets released, and will attend concerts and book signings, etc, if the person I want to meet is in my area, but that’s as far as my fandom goes. I also try to keep a realistic sense of things – why would I stand for hours in the rain to meet someone who won’t remember or care who I am in the crowds of people? I would love to meet some of the people I admire, but I also know that my life won’t be over if I never get the chance to meet them. It’s not their fault that they’re responsible for something I like, and it’s sheer luck that they’re able to make a living out of it. They don’t need screaming people in their face wherever they go because of it.
Thankfully, fandom is also a very fickle thing. Last year, one of my friends drove me crazy with her obsession with a certain actor. This year, she completely ditched that obsession for another person who she didn’t even care about until a movie made him more famous than he was before. When I asked her what happened with her previous obsession, she told me that she never really liked that person much anyway, and then proceeded to chew my ear off about what her latest object of desire had been up to.
…The many hours that I had to listen to her talk about how amazing the previous actor was and how she’d be a fan forever disagree.
I guess obsessive fans see the object of their fandom as a supplement to a real boyfriend/girlfriend, and some people I know even prioritise them over their actual boyfriends/girlfriends/friends, which is when it starts to get a little worrying.
I was talking to someone on Twitter about fangirliness, and they told me, “I always feel these uncontrollable rushes of love for people, and sometimes I act rashly,” and I can see how admiration for a person can quickly cross into obsessiveness, but that still doesn’t stop me from cringing inwardly every time someone screams, “[insert name here], I’m your No. 1 fan!!!!1111″
Recent Comments