This Week In La La Land- American Music Awards



The American Music Awards were filled with artists to ridicule, dig and wish laryngitis on.

Let’s start with Rhode Island’s very own shining star, T. Swizzle. The girl can act, she can saunter, she can emote, but the pop genius just can’t sing. It’s okay, neither could Madonna. And, Madonna never had those legs.


Your luscious legs make up for your off-key pipes.

Taylor’s obviously hoping that Lorde’s coolness can seep into her pores if she ingratiates herself into Lorde’s family. That must be why we were forced to watch Taylor dance with Lorde’s mother. What? Was Lena Dunham busy? Mrs. Lorde, you are taking up valuable space. If I want to watch some old hag with bad hair dance, I will look at myself in the mirror.


This is a coveted spot, bouncers, please remove Mrs. Lorde.

Oh, and poor Selena Gomez. She also cannot sing, but she talk-sings fairly well. Was that song about Justin Beiber breaking her little heart? Were people in the audience crying because her performance was so bad or because it was so funny? Most importantly, did she whisper “thank you Jesus” is the middle of her laughable performance? Yes, indeed, thank you Jesus because it was close to over. Amen.


I cry when I laugh, too.

Three is always a bad combination, a ménage a trois often ends awkwardly and I predict that the one-name pop star trio of Lorde, TayTay and Selena will end poorly. Lorde will have a tedious time conversing with Selena over topics like eyeliner, Beliebers and nose jobs. Run, Lorde,and take Sia with you!


No, Lorde,do not look to your left, Selena’s bosom is exposed.

Social Censorship


I’m a writer with a completion problem. I dream and envision witty, provocative words I want to write and then I am assaulted with a wave of anxiety over actually writing. My mother told me at a young age when I was fond of writing boys disturbing love letters to “never put anything in writing”. She has a point, but like most of her well-meant advice, I ignored it and went on to send dark and tortured love letters to each and every boy with whom I shared saliva. Boys, may I have those letters back to see if they were any good? Just drop the restraining order, really, I have changed.

That’s the beauty of writing: what you absolutely cannot say about your in-laws in person, you may get away with it in a blog. Or maybe not, we’ll see.

Is life a series of verbal social censorship? How dare I talk about how boring most people are when I am talking to those boring people. It’s such a social conundrum and this is my cure.