Birth Plan

Birth plan. Isn't that just the most obnoxious phrase? Birth plan. It just feels arrogant. If the levies in New Orleans taught us one thing, it's that human will and planning does fuck all in the face of enormous natural forces, and birth is nothing if not an enormous natural force.

So for those of you not in the know, a birth plan is basically what it sounds like--an outline of how your ideal delivery will go. Now, what I didn't realize until, like, today, was that, apparently, your birth plan is actually something you have written out and take with you to the hospital. I thought it was just something you talk about with your partner and doctor. At first I was all "That is so lame!" but upon hearing Josh's reaction of "That actually sounds useful and makes a lot of sense," I realized that, yes, that was true, and that I was being reactionary (if you can believe such a thing).

So one's birth plan is basically just a list of "I statements" ("I would like to be offered an epidural" "During delivery I would like to squat/stand/lie down/be on my hands and knees" etc.) and wishes for your baby ("Please do not clamp the baby's cord until it has stopped pulsating" [SIDENOTE: ... ew] "I would like to give the baby his first bath" ).

So okay. Despite the fact that I still find the phrase utterly obnoxious, I've softened on the whole business, though I'm not going to be particularly picky about my birth plan. There are a few things I would like to happen, a few things I would not like to happen, but other than that it's like "Can we do it this way? No? In your medical opinion this would be better? Okay. Let's do that." Ultimate birth plan? "This little bastard has been living inside of me at huge expense, rent-free, for forty weeks. Get him the hell out."

But I had a thought: wouldn't it be kind of great to have birth plan that had nothing to do with the birth or the baby, but just a list of things you want while you're in the hospital?

My Birth Plan

• I would like to be offered a Luigi's Italian Ice (lemon) every hour on the hour
• I would like a purple blanket. Not mauve. Not periwinkle. Purple.
• I would like a room with a window overlooking a tree with a nest of baby squirrels in it. If it's an oak tree, great, if not, I can deal with it.
• Please make sure there is a copy of The Histories by Herodotus on my bedside table. I won't read it, but, you know, just in case I need it.
• I will bring a full-sized copy of The Coronation of Napoleon by Jacques-Louis David. Please hang it on the wall behind me.
• I would appreciate if all nurses would speak to me as though they were Muppets on Sesame Street (please note: if you're going to do it in the style of the Muppets on The Muppet Show, don't even bother).
• I would really appreciate actual Muppet nurses.
• Today's secret word is "Please." Any time you hear it, scream real loud!
• My husband will be playing "Danny Boy" on the jaw harp for me for the duration of my stay. 
• Call me Ishmael.

Birth plan: Like or dislike

Verdict: Grudgingly like. Now where are my Muppet nurses?

The Royal Wedding

When I was a little girl, I was determined that, one day, I was going to be a princess. Mama Bogwitch held up a magazine with Prince William on the cover "If you want to be a princess, you'll have to marry this little boy." I thought about it and, pretty quickly, came up with a plan to fly to England, woo the prince, and live in a castle and wear ball gowns and tiaras all day.

My desire to wear ball gowns and tiaras and live in a castle has remained steadfast over the years. My opinion on becoming royalty, on the other hand, has diminished. Not just diminished: sometime around 13 or so, I realized that 90% of world monarchies are made up of inbred, entitled assholes who made their fortunes by exploiting the masses (especially the brown, black, yellow, and red ones in faraway countries) and base their right to do this on the idea that they're God's special little snowflakes.

Mind you, I have nothing against individual members of the royal family (maybe Harry: real sensitive when half your hometown was pretty much destroyed by these fucks within living memory, douchebag); in fact, William seems like a perfectly lovely young man and I wish he and his bride-to-be Kate all the best. But this doesn't stop me from despising all the ridiculous hoopla surrounding "the royal wedding."
I mean, these are two people you will never, ever meet, who live in a country most people will never visit, whose lives have no bearing on your own. Their nuptials are  huge public expense the public will not benefit from (aside from the boon to London tourism). And Americans: didn't we fight the Revolutionary War so we wouldn't have to get our panties in  a bunch about these people's great-great-great-great-great grandparents? And the rest of the world: weren't you colonized by these fucks and had to struggle for your autonomy? Why is anyone excited about this?

Many people I know are planning to wake up early on Friday morning to watch the festivities in real time... that would be about 5 in the morning East Coast time. Herewith, I present five things you could do instead of watch the royal wedding...

5) Watch the 1998 classic Elizabeth, the story of  British monarch whose reign was made all the greater by the fact that she did not marry.


4) Get rid of your Princess Diana memorial Beanie Baby: It's not going up in value and it wasn't a good investment. Give up on the dream that this stuffed animal is going to put all your grandkids through college. It was a lovely gesture, but it's time to admit defeat.


3) Look at your own wedding album or the wedding album of someone you know and love: Because isn't that so much nicer and more meaningful?

2) Sleep: Because, let's be honest, this makes the most sense.

1) Watch hardcore pornography: Okay. This is what I want to do, mainly because it's basically the polar opposite of the overly formal, fairytale fake, fluffy nice bullshitery of the royal wedding. Moreover, the people who are super into the wedding are the most likely to be scandalized by porn. Just picture the following conversation...

Flighty Co-worker #1: It was even more beautiful than Charles and Diana's wedding! Oh I know she was looking down on her son and smiling!
Flighty Co-worker #2: Oh the dress! The cathedral! The pageantry! Wonderful! Just wonderful! This is the event of a generation!
#1: I got up at 5 a.m., ate a scone with some English breakfast tea and drank it with my pinky out!
#2: I put on my good jewelry and listened to Mozart in the background.
#1: What did you do, Jamie?
Jamie: I watched hardcore pornography.
#2: What?
Jamie: Yeah! Tanya's Tits 5. And after that, Welcum to My Dungeon. Between the two of them, I mean, they covered all the bases. It was great.

So there you have it: my royal wedding alternative suggestions. If you have suggestions of your own, please feel free to share.

The Royal Wedding: Like or Dislike.
Verdict: Dislike... now where did I download Ass Angels 2?

Winter Is Coming

 

Oh yes. Oh fuck yes.

I saw an HBO team setting up this little beauty at the entrance of Central Park (across from my office) today and knew how I would be spending my lunch break. The geek girl in me couldn't resist.

But don't get me wrong people--I have seen what happens when women dare ascend the throne too precipitously. Such a usurpation takes years. Therefore, like another Jaime before me, I have merely sat upon the throne to see who would come for it while securing it for someone else: William, the first of his name (technically, he is "sitting" on the throne in this picture). His father and I shall serve as regents until he reaches his majority. I figure it was best if we made the claim early. Some New York parents start applying their fetuses to exclusive pre-schools--I've decided to one up them by making my kid a king.

(I know this isn't exactly a witty return to the blog after weeks of inactivity (work has been insane) but more, less fan-girl-y posts to come shortly.)

A Literary Analysis of Rebecca Black's "Friday"

The internet truly is a grand thing. Last weekend, Rebecca Black's video for "Friday" went viral and has since been dubbed "The Worst Song Ever." (Though, to be fair, sometimes it's "The Worst Song Ever?" so I guess the jury's still out.)

Anyway, so as of Friday, March 18th, I had never heard of Rebecca Black. When I saw Levar Burton's tweet " In honor of Friday I have decided to let Rebecca Black out of the trunk of my car..." I thought he was talking about 70s horror movie maven Karen Black. But there's a difference, apparently. This is Karen Black...

 

This is Rebecca Black...

 

For good measure and the sake of clarity, this is  Karen Black in the 1975 classic Trilogy of Terror after she has been posessed by the spirit of a murderous fetish doll...

   

Clearly not the same person. Okay, so now we're clear.

Anyway, since Levar Burton/Kunta Kinte/Geordi LaForge/Reading Rainbow Guy is the man, I decided to Google this not-Karen-Black person. Turns out Rebecca Black is a 13 year-old who sings the song "Friday." I watched the video in stunned silence which, I understand, has been the reaction of many people.

However, the stunned silence of the masses is borne of not truly understanding the video. They see it as a girl from Anaheim Hills singing a mediocre song written by a third rate record company in an attempt to launch a child-star to temporary fame, followed by rehab and a mundane, pathetic adulthood. 

But, as Alexander Hamilton said "The masses are asses."

"Friday" is among the brilliant (dare I say the most brilliant) works of art of this or any other generation. Without further ado, I present the lyrics and a scholarly assessment of their merit (in red italics). 

(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)

Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah

Yeah-ah-ah

Yeah-ah-ah

Yeah-ah-ah

Yeah-ah-ah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Right away, we see a couple of things going on that indicates the brilliance that will follow hereafter. In the midst of seemingly mindless (or at the very least meaningless) words, we see the name of the record company, "Ark," symbolizing the tyranny of modern corporations and their hold over the artist. The placement of "Ark" at the very beginning (and after several "ah"s, a sound that simultaneously can mean pain, revelation, horror, or satisfaction) is like a secret message to the savvy listener "Help me. My record label is controlling what you hear. They stifle my creativity." This renders the remainder of the verse an act of begrudging compliance, as indicated by "Yeah" (a positive word--acceptance) followed by several "ah-ah"s (once again, a sound that can be taken to mean pain or even a scream).

Seven a.m., waking up in the morning

Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs

Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal

Seein' everything, the time is goin'

Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'

Gotta get down to the bus stop

Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)

Most people read these lyrics as simply being about a girl waking up to go to school. Is it about this? Yes. But to leave it at that is being willfully facile. Clearly, there is some very complicated word-play and Eliot-like symbolism here, starting with with the first line. The use of "a.m." and "morning" in the same line indicates that this is a routine followed with mundane monotany. The word "gotta" appears six times in this verse, emphasizing that this is also a rigid and compulsory routine (and, of course, hearkens back to the first verse and its themes of control). I am particularly interested in the line "gotta be downstairs." Again, many people see this as an indication that the narrator has to go to the first floor of her house to eat breakfast. But could it not be interpreted as a statement of realization of where she is, as in "I thought I was upstairs, but I now believe I must be downstairs"? Of course, "downstairs" is a metaphor for Hell. In short, this line is the realization that the narrator is in Hell, emphasized by the lines "Seein' everything, the time is goin'/ Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'" In Hell, the narrator realizes she has to escape (a metaphor for Rebecca and her record label?) and realizes she can escape by going to the "bus stop" (spiritual release?) and seeing her "friends." Above and beyond simply being school chums, these friends could represent a number of things. The narrator's inner demons that she must face before escaping Hell; the aspects of her soul that will redeem her; the archangels, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael? Is it a reference to the "comforters" in the Biblical story of Job or the 13 (then 12) Apostles of Christ? Or perhaps the levels of Hell Dante must descend into before eventually reaching Purgatory and ultimately heaven? A description of these "friends" in the following verse provides clarity.

Kickin' in the front seat

Sittin' in the back seat

Gotta make my mind up

Which seat can I take?

We see the narrator's friends as simultaneously active (kickin') and passive (sittin'), reflecting her own confusion and turmoil. The word "gotta" appears again, and the urgency is palpable: which seat will she take? What is her role among these "friends"/demons/angels/literary allegories? This is more than a 13 year-old choosing where she will sit in a car full of friends. (Which, even on a literal level is brilliant, as 13 year-olds cannot drive. So the literal interpretation of this, which has been flawless in its realistic depiction of a teen's morning so far has now been turned on its head: proof that this song must be interpreted on several different levels.) This is about a young person faced with a decision that will redeem or damn her.

It's Friday, Friday

Gotta get down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend

Friday, Friday

Gettin' down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend

Perhaps the most (intentionally) puzzling aspect of this song is defining "Friday" in this piece. Etymologically, "Friday" comes from the Old English "Day of Frige," an ancient love goddess. Is "Friday" the redemptive power of love? "Gotta get down on Friday" would indicate that one must humble himself before this power in order to be saved and that everyone is looking forward to the "weekend" (Heaven) to which Friday (redemptive love) is the gate. This is repeated for emphasis and, indeed, serves as the song's chorus.

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Fun, fun, fun, fun

Lookin' forward to the weekend

Part of the chorus, this verse hearkens to slave spirituals in which Heaven is a jubilant place/state of mind wherein we may be free from the toils of the world. Simple, repeated lyrics hold deep meaning through repetition. The message becomes clear: Heaven will be a place of celebration and victory over suffering and death.

7:45, we're drivin' on the highway

Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly

Fun, fun, think about fun

You know what it is

I got this, you got this

My friend is by my right, ay

I got this, you got this

Now you know it
In this verse (as in the first, when the narrator is in Hell) time is used in an interesting way. We have a second use of actual, temporal time (7:45) as well as the abstract perception of time (Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly). The narrator challenges us to choose (as she has) which concept we subscribe to in our own lives: do we ourselves act upon logic or faith? Perhaps more than any other, this verse challenges listeners to question their own beliefs. The lines "You know what it is/ I got this, you got this" is intentionally vague. What is it that we have? And what does the narrator have? Are they different things/beliefs or shared possessions/beliefs? "My friend is by my right, ay" is, of course, an allegory for one's ego and id. The last line ("Now you know it") is of course dramatic irony: we do not know "it," and no one ever can for certain.

Kickin' in the front seat

Sittin' in the back seat

Gotta make my mind up

Which seat can I take?

It's Friday, Friday

Gotta get down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend

Friday, Friday

Gettin' down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Fun, fun, fun, fun

Lookin' forward to the weekend

See comments on the chorus above. The repetition, of course, is poignant, stressing the urgency of this message.

Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday

Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')

We-we-we so excited

We so excited

We gonna have a ball today

Tomorrow is Saturday

And Sunday comes after ... wards

I don't want this weekend to end

Again, the concept of time (in this case, linear) is played with, as is the concept of Friday as the gate the the jubilant Kingdom of Heaven. The last line ("I don't want this weekend to end") is at once clever word play, a wistful longing, and a rejection of the concept of linear time referenced in the first part of the verse. This section flips its message at the last moment, leaving the listener without a solid concept of the narrator's own belief of temporal/linear time and the abstract perception of time.

R-B, Rebecca Black

So chillin' in the front seat (In the front seat)

In the back seat (In the back seat)

I'm drivin', cruisin' (Yeah, yeah)

Fast lanes, switchin' lanes

Wit' a car up on my side (Woo!)

(C'mon) Passin' by is a school bus in front of me

Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream

Check my time, it's Friday, it's a weekend

We gonna have fun, c'mon, c'mon, y'all

Interestingly, there is a second speaker. In the tradition of the Greek Chorus, this speaker reiterates what has happened and gives an glimpse at things to come. All the same themes of time, "friends," and the redemptive power of love into Heaven are represented, but altered slightly. For example, the changing of third-person omniscient to first-person perspective is indeed interesting and now does with personhood what the rest of the song has been doing with time. This speaker has not chosen a seat, but is driving the car, and "switchin' lanes." The ability of this speaker to be in control, "switch lanes" aka alter the course of human action, know all the actions of the narrator, and predict the future ("We gonna have fun, c'mon, c'mon y'all"), coupled with his frustration with linear time strongly indicates that the speaker is God.

It's Friday, Friday

Gotta get down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend

Friday, Friday

Gettin' down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Fun, fun, fun, fun

Lookin' forward to the weekend

It's Friday, Friday

Gotta get down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend

Friday, Friday

Gettin' down on Friday

Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)

Fun, fun, fun, fun

Lookin' forward to the weekend

This last repetition of the chorus is even more jubilant that the previous iterations and is an interesting juxtaposition from the beginning verse with its lamentations and angst. The narrator has found joyous spiritual fulfillment. The structure of this piece is (as previously indicated) very similar to that of The Divine Comedy, and deserves an equally prevalent place in world literary canon. 

Maternity Pants

So I've never been a huge fan of Plato, but every now and then I find him useful: like the other day. Remember in Republic he had a bit called The Allegory of the Cave? From Wikipedia...

Plato describes a group of people who have lived chained to the wall of a cave all of their lives, facing a blank wall. The people watch shadows projected on the wall by things passing in front of a fire behind them, and begin to ascribe forms to these shadows. According to Socrates, the shadows are as close as the prisoners get to viewing reality. He then explains how the philosopher is like a prisoner who is freed from the cave and comes to understand that the shadows on the wall do not constitute reality at all, as he can perceive the true form of reality rather than the mere shadows seen by the prisoners.

As you can see, Plato really liked to point out how much smarter he was than most people. Plato's vanity aside, who hasn't felt like the philosopher who has seen the outside of the cave from time to time? If you never have, watch Republican politicians talk on CSPAN, or a tea party rally and see if you don't find yourself shouting "How can you people not see that this isn't real?!" This past Thursday, I had a cave moment.

After an ultrasound and waving to my baby (who waved back, and who looks like an actual mini baby now, by the way) I decided it was time to pick up a pair of maternity pants. It's winter in New York, but the only clothes that fit these days are my skirts and dresses: there is only so far wool tights were go, so pants have become a necessity. So I popped over to The GAP.

First of all, GAP Maternity takes up a small corner of Baby GAP: this is dangerous. It is dangerous because you're putting hormonal women, excited about having babies in a room full of clothing like this...

This is an itty bitty tutu for itty bitty babies. I mean... come the fuck on. Look at it! How is one to resist? If I find out this little homunculus is a girl, right back I go. Damn marketing geniuses, those people at The GAP. Anyway, after a little bit of shopping around, I picked up these pants, which are considerably less adorable than an itty bitty baby tutu but are nevertheless cute...

As you can see, these pants look just like regular, non-pregnant lady pants. They're perfectly adorable... and they. feel. a.maz.ing. Holy shit, you guys. You just can't understand. You know how most dress pants cling in certain places, or the button digs into your tummy after a big lunch? Non-issues! These pants don't have buttons! Above the hips is just a huge stretch, tube-top looking thing that currently comes up to just below my boobs (as the tummy gets bigger, this band will go out rather than up). This got me thinking: if these pants are so comfortable and they look just like normal pants, why are we not all wearing them all the time, regardless of our gestational state or gender? Why are we slaves in the cave of buttons and zippers? Why do we not believe in the freedom of enormous lycra bands that allow us to gain, like, 50 pounds and not have to buy new pants.

Your pants are not reality! I have been outside of the cave, you slaves! This is where true beauty lives.

Maternity pants: Like or dislike?

Verdict: Like. I don't think I'm ever going back. 

An Analysis of the Jasmine Revolution from the Guy Who Knocked Me Up

Here's a rule of the interwebz I wish everyone would learn: sometimes, your commentary isn't necessary because someone has made your exact point far better than you ever could. Now, while I am rarely bested in witty reparte, rhetoric, or general wordsmithery, I do concede when it happens: enter my husband's take on Egypt's Jasmine Revolution.

Fortunately for my ego, I married this bloke (pictured... shrouded in mystery, just the way he likes it) so my jealousy is mitigated by the fact that I practically own him.

Josh's Analysis of the Jasmine Revolution: Like or Dislike?
Verdict: Like. It makes me glad he didn't marry and impregnate some other floozy first.

The Grammys

The Grammys were on last night and the only reason I know this is because my TV was on E!’s red carpet pre-show when I turned it on. While I have zero interest in the Grammys (more on that later) I do enjoy fashion and the Grammys tends to be the most provocative of all the awards shows, so I was happy to see what people were wearing. Of course, before she even arrived, “Lady Gaga” was the name on everyone’s lips.

My love of the woman is well-known. I am not ashamed to say I adore her (no matter how hard Josh tries to make me ashamed). Her music goes to show that pop can be just plain old fun. Her performance art and showmanship is insane, her fashion choices fantastic, and her dedication to LGBTQ equality is something I really admire.

So she shows up on the red carpet in an egg, carried by several half-naked supermodels in facial prosthetics and some yellow-shower-curtainy material. Her genius creative director, Lori Ann Gibson, informed Ryan Seacrest in the entourage’s only pre-show interview “She is incubating. She won’t be born until her performance this evening.” Lady Gaga herself artily pressed her hand to the translucent (but not transparent) egg to assure her presence, but did not say a word.


Okay. Some people have derided the egg as a ridiculous stunt. But you are going to shut your gob and listen while I tell you why this is fucking brilliant.

1) It’s fitting. The title of her song and album is Born This Way, so the idea that she is being born, while not the most profound metaphor, is still fun (and at about the level of earnest Grammy watchers could be expected to understand).
2) It’s performance. The fact that she was “being born” for her performance is incredible and, in fact, stretched the whole number beyond the three minute stint on TV. Her show started when she hit the red carpet and ended at the end of the number. Commitment.
3) What else was she going to do? When you’re Lady Gaga and it’s the Grammys, do you really think a meat dress is going to hack it? No. The Grammys is (allegedly) about music. This is her industry—a show, not an outfit, was the only course of action.
4) It’s fucking hilarious. As Josh pointed out, people take Lady Gaga more seriously than she takes herself. “They forget that part of her bit is to be funny.” She showed up in a fucking egg people. In an egg. If you think the comedy was lost on her you are mistaken.
5) It’s a fuck you to the sycophants on the red carpet. Lady Gaga found a way to avoid talking to Seacrest. That in and of itself is brilliant.

After the Lady’s entrance, I tuned out. I figured I could check out her performance later. (I did: mediocre, I must say.)

I did this because I hate awards shows. Desperately. They are self-congratulatory circle jerks that don’t mean anything. After living in LA for almost two years, it became immediately apparent that the entertainment industry is pervasive in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Even people who aren’t directly involved in it are directly involved by it and therefore have a vested interested in individual projects and performers. For example: you’re in the Academy (pick one, any one) and someone you are going to be doing a project with next year is up for an award. Now, if s/he wins, that means you get to slap a “Grammy Award winner” in front of their name in the credits of whatever you are doing and thereby gain your project prestige and, in turn (and this is the clincher here) more money.

I will say this: with the Oscars, I feel this politicking is more blatant in the results. When it comes to the Grammys… I never see much sense in it. In 1998, the absolutely horrific song “Sonny Came Home” won for “Song of the Year” and I vowed never again to take the awards seriously. I haven’t and it’s worked out for me. For example, this year’s winner of the category was Lady Antebellum’s country pop hit “Need You Now.” Here are the lyrics, broken down TAO style…

(Verse One)
Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor (“Picture perfect,” eh? Original word package. And are the memories scattered all around the floor, or are pictures scattered all around the floor?)
Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore (Great rhyme.)
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time (So… do you cross your mind all the time or does the person you’re talking about. That’s a pretty murky pronoun, don’t you think?)


(Chorus)
It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now(I think it’s reasonable that you are alone after 1 in the morning. Relax, clingy.)
Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now(I want you to know that this makes you sound like a total fucking psycho. If your ass called me up with that attitude, do you know what I would think? Dodged. Fucking. Bullet.)
And I don't know how I can do without(Without what? There are lots of things people can't do without, but I don't think you're referring to any of them.)
I just need you now.


(Verse Two)
Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door(So this part is sung by a dude. And even if you had never heard the song, you’d know that because he’s a manly man who drinks whiskey cuz this is a country song.)
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before (Another truly powerful rhyme: door and before. Cool.)
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time (Oh my gosh! Do you get it, you guys?! They’re thinking the same exact thing about each other, even though they’re not together anymore! They’re soulmates!)


(Chorus)
It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now(That’s right, folks. This is a song about drunk dialing. Because getting a drunk dial from someone, or convincing a weepy friend not to text an ex-boyfriend after three vodka sodas and a shot isn’t enough. You need to hear a song about it every five minutes on the radio.)
Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now (A drunk dude who’s lost control: great combo.)
And I don't know how I can do without (For fuck’s sake, without WHAT?!)
I just need you now


Woah, woah
Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all (I’m suing: clearly, Lady Antebellum has read my high school diary. And honestly, past the age of, like, 21 tops, there is zero reason these words or even this sentiment should pass your lips.)


It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now (Here we go again: we didn’t get the point the first two times, I guess.)
And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now (Seriously, this song was just design for simpering sorority girls to get misty over at the local bar on a Friday night, wasn’t it?)
And I don't know how I can do without (Let’s take this verse to fill in the blank in our heads and giggle. I chose the word "porn.")
I just need you now, I just need you now (This is definitely a drunk dial. Imagine this last bit said all slurry. “I…. I jest neeeeed yu NAOW. Ijusneedjunnnnnao.”)


Oh baby, I need you now (… I don’t even think this line needs a comment.)

The Grammys: Like or Dislike
Verdict: Dislike. I dislike anything that Mumford and Sons is nominated for but doesn't win...