by Brando on June 10, 2010
Let’s see, we have obvious lifts from various works of Madonna (‘Like a Payer’ and ‘Vogue,’ specifically), shock-value defilement of religious symbols, men in various states of crossdress, and your typical full-of-poses dance choreography. Oh, and don’t forget a few references to Nazi Germany and the Halocaust. In short, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before, done previously and more genuinely by artists that have come before her. The video for ‘Alejandro’ seems like nothing more than Gaga attempting to demonstrate how “deep” and “important to our generation” she thinks she is.
by Brando on April 12, 2010
Only this time something was different. In my head. I don’t know if it was the booze (though it wasn’t the first time we’d tried it after drinking), or maybe the Greek Classics class I’d had that day was so damn boring that it literally left my body numb, but I was more than ever determined to, as a friend would put it, “have the sex.” I grit my teeth, closed my eyes, and told my friend to not stop no matter what (and considering all the times I’d inadvertently blue-balled him, I knew I didn’t have to tell him twice.)
by Brando on March 18, 2010
I tell this cautionary tale because it highlights a problem that I’m becoming increasingly aware of in single American society. Poor young ladies and gents who have been, for better or worse (oftentimes worse), conditioned by past relationships. We’re talking more than just the typical hang-ups and jadedness that comes from experience with relationships gone ary. No – we’re talking life altering, id-warping changes in personality and how one perceives reality and the people around them.
by Brando on March 4, 2010
Did I ever mention that the adage, “If it ain’t one thing, it’s something else” will be the title of my future autobiography? Because it seems to apply more to my life than anything else.
by Brando on February 23, 2010
I hugged myself as I walked down the street. I even lost myself in my haze of self-pity and shed a few tears on the bus. As I walked the final few blocks home, I felt like I was in one of those early 2000’s teen dramas – you know where the beautiful heroine has just been forced to eat a bit of humble pie and she’s walking down the street, dejected and alone, maybe there’s a little Michelle Branch playing in the background. I thought there was nothing I wanted to do more than lie in bed, cry my eyes out, and go to work the next day secure in the belief that I was meant to be alone and pitiable.
