Support Ugly Artists (PSA)

You guys? What the FUCK is wrong with everyone? I could say that video killed the radio star but MTV ruined that joke almost before it existed. Bastards!

Queen. Led Zeppelin. Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones. Beethoven. Chopin. At least 12 of the Bachs. None of these artists would have a fart's chance in the wind of getting signed today. And why? Because they're UGLY. Some of them just by modern TV-type standards, but some to the eye of most reasonable people. And I'm here to say that it doesn't matter.

I can't even believe anyone has to say this.

I hate to insult you guys but I am starting to believe that you'd rather have Katy Perry than Edith Piaf, and that's flat ALL KINDS of fucked up. Katy Perry is an exceptionally beautiful woman and she has a cute personality but COME ON. Is that all it takes? Because No. I do not accept that and neither should you. We should all be demanding more than a pretty face from our music. Music is already a medium with which to express, among other things, beauty. Need the interpreter be beautiful as well? Of course not. Picasso did not look like Guernica. Jane Austen was not a beautiful woman.

I for one am very tired of being told people are talented when they are merely attractive. The Jonas brothers? Justin Bieber? That girl who has currency in her name? Are you SERIOUS? All of these people make more money than you or I ever will and that's just BULLSHIT. And, to be frank, even their beauty is fleeting. The age of contractability gets lower all the time, and I blame YOU.

Case in point; Brittney Spears. Remember how you loved her? How you bought her records and had posters of her and thought naughty things about her before she was even legal? Yeah, and what has happened to her now? She is the punchline to a joke you yourselves wrote long ago. On whom can we pin the blame of her grotesque downfall? On her manager? Her parents? The record label? No, dear readers who are probably assholes, the fault lies squarely on YOU. You who bought her albums, you who taught her that being pretty would last forever and that it was all she need do, you who are laughing, now, at the monster you yourselves have created. Shame on you! She is a real person and this fucked up situation has made her into a caricature.

I admit I was waiting for Ms. Spears to fall in exactly this way. I longed, back when she was popular, for the day when it would come back to bite her in her untalented ass. But that just means I am an asshole of a different stripe because now that she's fallen I feel only anger and pity, no satisfaction. I pity her and her children and all those who will come after her and bear her stigma, and I am angry at YOU for making this happen. Because this is entirely your fault.

If you jerks would quit buying "music" just because the people in the associated videos are pretty, the US record industry would not be in this mess. The record labels can only afford to sign and promote the Hot because of how hard you people ignore the Not.

You know who should be more famous? Cake. Cake OWNS but they are not handsome. They are producing some of the most lyrically intelligent music available today, as far as I know. But there's probably some even uglier, smarter band out there that I've never even fucking heard of because they can't get that kind of exposure because you people can't stay interested in a dude who weighs more than about a buck and a half unless he's in it for the comedy. THANKS ASSHOLES

Seriously, everyone, please let's begin once again to listen with our ears instead of our eyes. Check this out. This dude was maybe one of the ugliest people in music ever but he was writing shit two hundred years ago that you still whistle today. He was so ugly, in fact, and so mean, that he straight up could not get laid and had to resort to prostitutes for his um physical needs. And that situation made him an excellent candidate for catching syphillis, which in due time he did, which lead to him being more-or-less deaf when he wrote arguably the best and most famous piece of music ever written. Please do us all a favor. Listen to that whole seven minutes and then ask yourself if you'd trade it for motherfucking Li'l Kim. If your answer is Yes, stop buying music. Thank you.

Outrageous Fortune

Ok so I had to change the name and address of the blog. Firstly, because most things that pop up when you Google "Milly" seem to be either fashion-related or pornographic, and those looks aren't really me, and secondly because my shizz is all sunny-side up lately. It could be that the warm weather has improved my outlook pretty dramatically, or it could be the therapist.

You guys, I can't even tell you. Wait, of course I can. That's why we're here! I have learned something about myself that has changed my whole perspective and made me feel a lot more confident and happy.

In the past I have been hesitant to call myself an artist because it sounds so pompous, and I always thought people who described themselves that way were probably asses. I have recently learned that the word doesn't actually refer to any opinion of one's body of work (and why did I think it did?)but in reality just describes a particular type of person.

An artist is someone who is very sensitive and feels things deeply, and has a creative impulse to express those feelings. They have an important role in society. They feel things on our behalf and make records of them to show to us later, any time we forget or go numb inside and just want to feel something. This is a painting of War. You've seen Toulouse-Lautrec's poster paintings of can-can girls? Of course you have. That's Paris in the 20's. Now you've been there, as he saw it.

So yeah, I'm overly sensitive and I forget things and I lose track of conversations because of errant scents wafting past and I'd rather be inside my own head than just about anywhere else. Well that's how I'm supposed to be. Because I am an artist and you need me. If you don't appreciate that it's OK. I probably think you're an asshole, too. But I'm still going to do my job.

March

I listened mainly to Vivaldi and Bach today on my 30 minute trip to buy _____. I took the medium-long way so that I could get there quickly but still scan the countryside for signs of Springtime. It was a gray, dense, chilly, Moonlight Sonata kind of morning. I drove my battered van through the sparse traffic without incident. As I often do in times of leisure I pondered my favorite subject, my failure of a life and what a complete loser I am. I decided, once again, that my lack of success was attributable to a deeply flawed character, and wondered for the umpteenth time which flaw, exactly, was the one causing all the trouble.

I saw other drivers, and some pedestrians, who all seemed more content than I was. As the pedestrians thinned out and I got in-between the population centers, I began to notice small details about them; a nametag on a shirt, a worn duffle bag. Some of them were clearly on their way to work, on a chilly drizzly morning like this, miles from anything, on foot. I wondered, as I have before, what their stories were. Were they secret geniuses, torn down by a society in which the only true law was conformity? Were they a loosely-allied sect of people who spurned all creature comforts, like updated versions of the professional hobo of yore? Or were they just idiots?

On the way back, having had the _____, I saw a bird flying across the road in front of me as I heard those superlight superhigh strings in Vivaldi's Spring. Although I was no longer thinking about my own failures, I began to be dissapointed in the failure of this day to meet even my lowest expectations. I had seen a few daffodils but they failed to cheer me. Their pale yellow was too insubstantial after all the grey grey black brown and grey. I needed color. It was then that I noticed how exceptionally green all the grass was looking. It was like a lush carpet under the steely grey dome of the sky and it spread all around me as far as I could see. Then on the road, about half a mile ahead of me, I saw a patch of sunlight. The cars in front of me were each brilliant for a few seconds as they drove through it. I waited for it to disappear but it didn't and then it was my turn. The sun lit the interior of the van in glorious golden light and warmed me through to my very heart. Here, for just a moment, was the day I'd been looking for.

As I approached my house, armed with a new resolve, I made plans for my garden. I've decided to do some vegetables this year; tomatos, squash, radishes and pumpkins. I'm sure it will lead to a series of entertaining misadventures (sorry Lemony Snickett). At an intersection, I saw a few more people out and on foot, without the benefit of my stolen moment of sunshine. I decided that no matter what their stories were, they were probably just fine. They were probably just out buying _____.

Where's My Other Shoe

Well my kid had his ear tubes put in today and nothing went wrong with the operation at all!

Identify Yourself

Today in the mail I received five letters from different agencies regretfully informing me that I had still not sent them enough identifying information to recieve a copy of my credit report, and requesting the exact same documents I mailed them last week. I also received a copy of my credit report.

Now I'm kind of confused and concerned - d'you think I should write to the ones who sent me the report and demand proof that they are a real credit service?

The World's Most Disgusting Diet

I have gastroenteritis. It's totally gross, you guys. Also, it was supposed to be over like 12 hours ago. I've lost seven pounds.

When Life Gives You Grapefruit

I was cutting up some grapefruit in my kitchen with a knife like this one the other day and had gotten the juice all over. I paused to clean some of it up and throw away some of the rind and naturally I bumped the knife off of the counter. It landed with its point directly in my foot near the inner ankle. It bled a lot but it didn't cut very deeply really. The worst part was the sting from all that grapefruit juice.

My husband ran to get me some first aid stuff and I picked up another grapefruit and squeezed it till it couldn't be squoze no more.

It was, in the balance, a pretty good day.