Number of Twitter followers of Nicki Minaj to date: Over 8 million
Number of Twitter followers of Katy Perry to date: Over 14 million
Number of Twitter followers for Rihanna: Over 12 million
And just of shits and bigger shits,
Number for Twitter followers for Ke$ha: Over 2 million.
That’s a combined total of over 35 million followers. That’s a lot of people.
Now, I haven’t blogged in a while, I know. Would you believe me if I told that my lack of freak encounters has caused me to have writer’s block? I know I should not be counting on the unsavory characters of society to fuel my blog, so I thought I’d take a different route. Let’s turn the freak spotlight on myself this time.
Now, I’d like to think that I’m not the dimmest lightbulb in the basement but I seem to have trouble understanding how 35 million other people in this world can make any sense of Nicki Minaj and her fellow bubble-gum radio wave surfers at any place, time, or state of mind other than on a Saturday night at a shady night club after ingesting 7 tequila shots and a Tim Hortons honey glazed donut on the drunken way home.
Mind you, before I go any further with this rant…err…I mean, findings of my socio-musical experiment, you have to know that I always had a bit of a proud, I-have-better-taste-in-everything streak in me that I have desperately tried to keep in check. For example, when I was 12, all my girlfriends were doodling the words ‘Mrs. Nick Carter’ in their textbooks. I, on the other hand, was making palaces in the sky over grainy photos of Prince William cut out from Kuwaiti newspapers. It wasn’t that I thought that Nick Carter and his Backstreet friends were beneath me. I just thought that Prince William (with all his hair back then) was so many levels above them.
(Dear 12-year-old Karen,
Prince William still >>> Nick Carter.
PS: you’re way better looking now.)
So what I want you to understand from this post is that I’m not hating on mainstream bubblegum pop. I’m just judging it…if that’s okay.
Now that I got that giant disclaimer out of the way, let’s move on with my judging rant.
For once, I have actually given the other side a chance. I listened to Nicki Minaj and Rihanna this morning as opposed to my usual “
suicidal hipster” easy listening music of Ingrid Michaelson and Lyyke Li.
My morning commute to work is neatly divided into three stages. Or rather, three bus transfers, so to speak. I’m not a morning person, so the music I listen to first thing in the morning is very imperative in influencing whether its going to be a day where I’ll be throwing up rainbows and daffodils on everyone I meet or whether I’ll be banging my head repeatedly against a large metal pipe.
I thought it would be wise to spare myself of all musical exposure for the first bus ride. You know, just to prep myself and make it a fair playing field for Minaj.
As it so happened, Katy Perry was first on my list. Not gonna lie , I actually enjoy her in small doses. Teenage Dream, which used to be a song that made me want to jump into a canon, had silently grown on me like dandelions.
Rihanna and Drake were next on my list. I listened to Drake justify getting high on his birthday and then trying to find solutions to tricky math problems like square roots that would drive math teachers worldwide to an early grave. It wont be long before he collaborates with Miley Cyrus and tries to find the cure for cancer while he’s high…on his birthday. It was a very honest effort to try and keep listening for more than 20 seconds before I absolutely had to stop for some air. Fail.
For the grande finale, I turned my ear to the great Minaj. I have to say, “Superbass” is VERY catchy…but then again, so is the flu. I found that I could not listen to that song without imagining myself with no pants and swimming in a large ocean of Peptobismol. To my non-North American readers, peptobismol is a bubblegum pink colored concoction used to treat diarrhea. Ironically, just the sight of pepto gives me the runs. The thought of swimming in it was the final straw in effectively and completely ruining my morning. Metal pipe it was going to be.