I love rock n' roll...And also, chick songs.

                                   

A couple of days ago while browsing through my music, I stumbled upon my long forgotten Chick Songs folder wedged in between Nirvana and Creed. Joan Jett, Britney spears, Avril Lavigne, Rihanna, Kelly Clarkson, Shakira, the works. So my week was spent on Piece of me, Complicated, underneath your clothes et all and I have to say...I was pretty psyched. It reminded of the days when I wanted get that trippy tattoo Joan has (still do), or write clinically depressed songs like Avril and thought I was at the height of cooldom cause I could sing I love rock and roll word to word. Albeit off key, yes, but the point is I grew up on them (along with the boy band association of course) and they've all influenced me in some twisted way or other. Musical finesse was never an issue back then, the trashier the better.

Anyway, I played them all back to back, over and over again and now I can't stand them anymore. It's like you sit next to a cute guy and you're happy and shit, but then you fall asleep and drool all over him. Yeah I know, it's quite a bad simile, but hell it sure is true. They're fun for sometime, you bop around, be happy, but then after a while you feel like throwing babies and kittens off cliffs and watching the Saw series. But I am pretty fond of them. I also have no idea as to why I call them Chick songs, considering I too am, well...a chick. However, you can never really say that you're over chick songs. They're always with you. One moment you're worshiping them, and then suddenly they became lame you're dissing them and then after a time comes a point when you're bored with good music and you put them on and dance along like a crazy octopus.

Oh Lurve!

"I think I'm falling in love with him" she said, in the midst of bopping around to some chick song.

"Eh?" I said. 'Eh?' I thought.

That made me think. A lot.

What is this love all about?

So I wrote a trashy song,

and played it all night long.

How do they know if it's love or plain ol' infatuation?

Why put yourselves in such a sticky situation?

It's all sad poetry and depression,

or just a way to get some action.

I know I can't rhyme for nuts,

cold cuts, huts and walnuts.

Sue me if you dare

And see if I care.

I know people who fall in love twice a week

Their future does look a little bleak.

They thrive on it like centipedes in my drain

Oh lord! Will they ever use their brains!

They mope and dope during fights and break-ups,

but wouldn't have it any other way.

Just some minor hiccups,

with unfailing confidence they say.

It's like food and water to them

Like that omnipresent winter phlegm

Rippling muscles and pretty pouts

What is all that hype about?.

I know people, who love multiple others,

One wonders if they need blinkers.

Desperation?. I think not.

All they need is to smoke some pot.

Without love their hearts are barren,

I'm sure it has its perks.

Here's when I quote Woody Allen,

and say whatever works.

Of the heaving bosoms and enigmatic sheikhs...

                                       

...

I've been dying to write this one, but hadn't written it yet in the fear of losing the pathetically small number of readers that I have. But you know what? Screw it.

My tryst with these books originally started by me ridiculing every aspect of them. I still do. However, curiosity won over too much sappiness induced nausea, and I read a couple of them. Next thing I knew was that the curiosity had turned into a grudging liking. Now, I won't claim to be a romantic, because I'm really not. I'm actually quite a bumbling baboon when it comes to the matters of heart. But that doesn't mean that I do not indulge in an occasional fantasy about running away to Florence and meeting a great guy who will wax endless poetry on my bushy hair and equally bushy eyebrows. But that's another story for another random post.

Harlequin, silhouette, they all have the same basic idea. The heroine, aged 18-20, is somewhat clever, almost always an orphan, which lends sympathy (and frees the woman from family obligations), thin (lithe, petite, athletic, you pick), never has bad hair days, even in extreme humidity, and is possessed with the ability to look stunning in any situation. The hero is significantly older, aged 30-40, enigmatic, 'with cool, soul searing eyes' (for some reason, the hero's eyes are always described in degrees of temperature, cool, warm, cold, you get the idea.), 'strong, rough hands' (to grope effectively? to snap the female's neck if she gets too clingy? break rocks?), he is often the heroine's employer. The couple marry or, if already husband and wife, settle their differences and make a better start.

Also, they have the cheesiest lines ever invented. For example,

"Oh Mitch! Devour me!" Maggi (2 minutes noodles) to Mitch

"I will...only if you promise to devour me first" Mitch to Maggi (noodles? no?)

teehee!

You see my point. They seem like characters from the third world countries, who haven't had a good square meal in days.

But, even with the most horrifying pick lines, hilarious titles (Forcefully married, Ruthlessly bedded...it really exists, no shit) and soporific, predictable plots, they still manage to hook you. You know what's going to happen in the end, but you still can't put them down. You know why?.

It's those happy endings.

Everybody loves happy endings because they seldom occur in real life. Real life's ugly, escapism, good. We read mills n boons and co. not for the story, but for that last page when the hero draws the heroine into his arms and tells her that they're going to be ok. We all want someone to tell us that it's going to be ok, to have our problems solved, to basically have that happy ending.

So yeah, I still read them occasionally, smuggling them inside some critically acclaimed bestseller. You know you do too.

Quite So

While you're at it, do read my other blog.

Quite So

cheers :)