A Grain of Salt

Trapped

I cannot believe that I haven't yet written about the most exciting social event in recent history: The San Francisco Film Society's presentation of a sing-a-long version of R. Kelly's "Trapped in the Closet." In case anyone is not yet aware of this "hip-hopera," let me just say that it is a 22-part music video series, created by -- and starring -- R. Kelly, that chronicles the intertwined adulterous affairs of a bunch of different people, including Omar from "The Wire," with a narration sung entirely by the RK himself. It's not really worth trying to describe the plot (for background, read this very funny article from the New York Times --which describes it as a tale of "violence, infidelity, and violent infidelity"). Suffice it to say, though, that it starts off with R. Kelly hiding in his lover's closet brandishing a Beretta, and eventually involves a midget.

Anyway, on a very rainy Friday night, a huge crowd of people gathered in a performance space in San Francisco to watch the entire 22-part series and, the theory went, sing along to it. (This is made easier by the fact that R. Kelly uses the same beat, background and melody for the entire 'hopera.) Personally, I wasn't sure what to expect -- my last singalong experience was a "Sound of Music" screening in the Castro theater, for which they gave out goodie bags containing plastic springs of Edelweiss, and people dressed up as toast and jam. It was one of the best nights of my life. At Trapped in the Closet, the goodie bags were replaced by special R. Kelly condoms, printed with the tagline "Oh my god, it's a rubber (rubber, rubber)" -- which, if you've seen chapter 2, is hysterical. That pretty much sums up the difference between the two experiences. (Though, if there are any creative types out there with time on their hands, I'd highly suggest that someone do a Trapped in the Closet/Sound of Music mashup in which Julie Andrews and R. Kelly switch places.)

The night got off to a great start when the emcee came out and welcomed the crowd by singing his own verse of trapped in the closet, complete with falsetto, and then invited audience members to come up on stage and sing about their own days in the manner of R. Kelly. Having not forseen this audience participation, I was unprepared and hovered in the back, next to a large speaker, as some guy named Matt got up on stage and, well, totally rocked it. He must have been a plant. But I digress. My point in this post is to say, first, that if you are offered a chance to go to an R. Kelly singalong, I highly, highly recommend that you take it. And secondly, some of the more useful aspects of going to an actual singalong, instead of watching the entire series on your computer, are as follows:

-if you watch it alone, you will get confused and bored
-there will be no one around to turn to and sing, "shit, think, shit, think" every time a decision needs to be made
-you won't get an R. Kelly rubber
-you won't get to listen to the commentary provided by the emcee, which was not only funny, but quite useful. Like, for example, when he pointed out that while things make relatively good sense up to chapter 6, after that some point -- for some reason never fully explained -- R. Kelly switches from using the first-person to the third, suddenly morphing into two separate characters: the ethereal, white suited R. Kelly narrator figure, and the plot's protagonist, who suddenly starts being referred to as "Sylvester"
-the night probably won't end with a dance party

In summary, I highly recommend singalongs of all types, especially those that include free gin tastings and mandatory mid-screening dance breaks to "Bump and Grind." Two enthusiastic thumbs up.

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

Fergalicious

Anyone who's listened to any hiphop station in the past month knows that, beside's Akon's romantic ballad "Smack That," there are two or three songs that seem to be on repeat -- including (but not limited to) Beyonce's "Irreplaceable," and Fergie's "Fergalicious."

Now, I know it's rarely fruitful to get up in arms about the lyrics of pop music, but I just have to comment on Fergalicious because I'm sorry, I just can't over it: why does she think it's okay to make her name into an adjective? Doesn't she feel a *little* bit silly saying "It's Fergalicious" over and over again? (Followed by the claim, "So delicious," and the explanatory statement that her body is "vicious" because she "be up in the gym just working on [her] fitness" --which, for the record, does not rhyme with Fergalicious.) I say this not only because it's strange to, well, make an adjective out of your own name ("It's Cathralicious," anyone?) but also because Fergie itself is a really ugly word.

Saying that brings back a memory of an awkward moment in my 10th grade English class when my teacher went on and on about how the name Zelda--used in Ethan Frome--was the ugliest name he'd ever heard, and then a girl raised her hand and said, "That's my mom's name." So apologies to any Fergies out there--my issues are not personal; they're the same ones that pop up every time I hear the word BART used for Bay Area Rapid Transit. Something about that combination of letters just irks me.

But I'm losing my point here: the song's lyrics are driving me crazy. I'm also fixated on the multilingual countdowns used to mark time. "Four tres two uno!" Como se dice "Fergalicious" in Spanish?

One more thing about "Smack That." Has anyone put any thought into his suggestion that they "maybe go to my place and just kick it, like Tae Bo"? By which I mean, has anyone out there actually done Tae Bo, and then tried to think about it as a simile for hooking up? Because, sweaty though it may be, I don't think that Tae Bo would get many people in the mood for romance, focused as it is on kicking the shit out of imaginary attackers. Perhaps he just was having trouble finding something that rhymed with his previous line, which ends with "Lamborghini Gallardo." But why the Gallardo, Akon? That just makes your job difficult. End with lamborghini and you've got more rhymes to choose from.

"Why don't we just jump up into my lamborghini/go back to my place and watch some naughty TV."

That would work. Or, if he wants to keep the workout reference, they could jump up in the lamborghini, then "go back home and do it like we're Rodney Yee"?

Or how about, "You don't know what to do after the lamborghini/Next time you're writing lyrics, Akon, you should call me."

Yes, I like that much better.

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

Women's Liberation

Also worth mentioning is this article from The Washington Post, which chronicles a press conference held between the media and the creators of a new Pussycat Dolls reality show, in which women vie to be the next member of the Pussycat Dolls.

For anyone who doesn't remember the 'Dolls' earlier oeuvres, they include hits like their 2005 single, "Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?" and the more recent "Loosen Up My Buttons," the video for which is basically a striptease.

How ironic, then, that the producers of the reality show were trying to peg it as being "empowering" to women because, as one of the executives put it, "These are women that have wanted to be a part of it because they feel that it is empowering to get up there and dress up like a doll. . . . It's something that every girl in the world . . . wants to do." They even mention that it might harken the arrival of "third wave feminism."

I find this so funny. Even funnier is the fact that one of the reporters, who'd been told he must not understand the Pussycat Dolls' message/appeal because of his age, responded, ""In no way did I say I don't find the Pussycat Dolls entertaining. I think hot girls are tremendous. I'm just totally baffled at how you get from 'Dontcha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?' to celebrating women."

And at another point, one of the executives makes a reference to Jean Paul Sartre.

Oh god, it's so good. I just wish I'd been at the conference.

(Also, how funny if there were an older version of the Pussycat Dolls that had hit singles with names like, "Loosen Up My Bunions"? Just thought I'd throw that out there.)

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

Hips Don't Lie . . . Or Speak Spanish

You know how certain people are particularly susceptible to getting sick? I think I've got something like that, except that instead of illness, I'm predisposed to getting pop music stuck in my head. The latest culprits are Ludacris's "Shake Your Money Maker," The Pussycat Dolls' horrendous "Loosen Up My Buttons" (feat. Snoop Dogg) and perhaps worst of all, Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie."

I say "worst of all" not because I don't like the song (I do. I'll admit it). I say "worst of all" for its lyrics. Has anyone listened to them? Let me give you a sample. And please remember that the man in question is Wyclef Jean who, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, insists on mentioning the 'Fugees in all his songs--not unlike Will Smith's habit of sampling "Gettin' Jiggy With It"'s "Hah hah, hah hah!" into everything he does.

Ahem:

Shakira Shakira!

I never really knew that you could dance like this

You make a man want to speak Spanish

Como se llamas (Si!)

Bonita (Si!)

Mi casa su casa

Shakira Shakira

Then Shakira responds:

Ooh baby when you talk like that

You make a woman go mad

I have a question: by make a woman "go mad" does she mean "cringe"? As indicated by my attempts at transcription, I am no scholar of Spanish myself. But I know enough to decipher that Wyclef's poetry can be translated as, "What's your name? Yes! Pretty! Yes! My house your house!"

Perhaps I'm an elitist, but I have a hard time accepting the rhyme of "like this" and "Spanish." But more importantly, what about "Yes! Pretty! Yes!" makes a woman swoon? It reminds me of David Sedaris's attemps at French in "Me talk pretty one day." Let's hope that also happens to Wyclef.

Take that, Rewind it Back

There is little that bothers the Salt staff more than pretension. And, therefore, there is nothing that is bothering Catherine more at this moment (besides slight diabetic regret for just having eaten a muffin) than an article about Usher's song "Yeah, Yeah" that was recently published in an unnamed prestigious publication (for anonymity, we'll refer to it as The N__ Y___er). In a breakdown of Usher's recent hit, the author discusses what makes "Yeah, Yeah" tick. Personally, we here at Salt would say that its top-of-the-charts status is related to the fact that it's catchy as hell, and involves the line "Me and Usher once more and we leaves 'em dead/we want a lady on the street but a FREAK in the bed." But the author has the following to say: "'Yeah!' consists mainly of four shrill synthesizer notes, a wayward bell and some handclaps. The keyboard motif never changes; the only sign that the chorus has arrived is a sour little flute sound bumping leisurely down to land on a blue note. . . [Usher] sings the way he dances, tossing packets of information into the air like text messages, each idea formed but not obviously connected to the next one. When a certain word delights him, he'll harmonize with himself and send his voice around the stereo field like Tinker Bell."

A wayward bell and some handclaps? Text messages? Tinker Bell?

Yeah.

Outkast's Roses

The Editors of Salt are currently hard at work at learning Big Boi's contribution to Roses. Does anyone have an opinion regarding the following section:

Well she's got a hotty body, but her attitude is potty
When I met her at a party she was hardly acting naughty
I said "Would you call me?"
She said "Pardon me, are you ballin'?"
I said "Darling, you sound like a prostitute pursing"
Oh so you're one them freaks, get geeked at the sight of ATM receipts

Gene thinks pursing should read "pausing," hence a tasteless dig on money-grubbing women. Perhaps Big Boi knows many of them, but it still seems unfair.

Catherine thinks pursing should read "palsy," hence a tasteless dig on the eponymous disease. Catherine adds that it would both be unfunny and make no sense.

kelis - hot or not?

Gene is saying Kelis is hot. Catherine is taking the negative on this, but she does appreciate her feminine curves and, let's face it, the way her milk shakes. Judge for yourself:

For Formica

I'll be the first to admit that I have dryhumped a countertop in my time. I never thought it so much as a milkshake as just a way of expressing my great affection for formica. -- Gene

Milkshake

According to the 37 definitions listed on urbandictionary.com, a "milkshake" can be anything from oral sex to breasts to cum to deep throating to "female pimp juice" to "the pelvic thrusts of an urgent antelope."

According to Kelis, a "milkshake" is "just that thing that makes a woman stand out from everyone else. It's a thing that makes you sensual and warm and maternal." She continues, "It could be about breasts but I don't have huge tits, so you gotta work with what you got."

The question "What the fuck is a milkshake?" has been bothering me (and, by transitive, Gene) for about a month and a half now so, after reading through all the possible definitions of the term, I decided to finally watch the video to see which interpretation seemed best. I must admit that Kelis's quote had made me hope that what seemed at first like a reference to blow jobs was perhaps actually an empowering statement about female sensuality. I also was intrigued by the line "you must maintain your charm/same time maintain your halo/just get the perfect blend/plus what you have within." Was she bringing up the virgin/whore complex AND suggesting that inner beauty is what counts?

Unfortunately, the video goes against this idea; apparently "the thing that makes [Kelis] stand out from all the rest" is an ability to fellate maraschino cherries and an unnerving tendency to masturbate on diner countertops. The video, which features subtle hints at sexuality like finger sucking, cigar-smoking, and churning, frothy, white creamy beverages, culminates in a ice cream cum shot where the diner's patrons are splattered with vanilla milkshake.

This video obviously upsets me because it perpetrates the equation of female power with female sexuality, sexuality that is geared toward attracting men rather than pleasing oneself. However, instead of going on a tirade against degrading and stupid music videos, I've decided upon a "tips for the single girl" interpretation of "Milkshake." In other words, if you accept Kelis's definition at face value, what empowering advice can you take from her video? Always carry a straw. Lick things often. Make sure that you are accompanied at all times by an edible representation of your body parts, so as to "suggest" sex without saying it out loud--cf two eggs sunnyside up (your breasts) or two rolls, pulled fresh from the oven in front of a drooling line cook ("buns"). When all else fails, dry hump a countertop.