Before I begin, allow me to apologize for the lack of blogging yesterday. If there’s anything I have learned in the year and a half since I started the Weinblog, it’s that when you come home late at night in a state of full intoxication, you probably should not start writing things that are freely viewable to the public. Or even access a computer at all.
But here I am, blogging and, for the most part, sober.
And yes, I am aware that 76 Norwegians were killed on Friday, and even worse — apparently, according to the media — , Amy Winehouse died. I will most certainly touch on that, but first, I want to discuss a premeditated topic that occurred to me at some point this weekend. I will say now, however, just to clear the air, that Amy Winehouse and I are not related. I know both our last names start the same way, albeit different spelling, but I just want to end the confusion once and for all. She is not my kin.
Okay, so one of my favorite things to complain about is how frustrating it is when I meet a girl, whose physical appearance can range from moderately to extremely attractive, only to discover that she has a boyfriend. It is a pretty awful occurrence. I’ve discussed this previously on this blog, which you can view here and here.
Well, I don’t really want to get into anything too specific, but I actually discovered something that is even worse.
What’s even worse is when you become acquainted with a nice young lass, whose your age, with a pretty face — who you may or may not like, maybe you don’t even know it yet, or maybe you do — only to immediately find out that she has a boyfriend. And THEN to discover that her boyfriend is actually a pleasant, cool, all-around great guy.
Get the fuck outta here dude. I want to hate you. I don’t want to actually see that you’re funny, that you have a great personality, that you make a lot more money than I do, and that you volunteer at soup kitchens on your spare time.
When you first hear a girl drop the ‘B’ word, you instantly, without even thinking about it, imagine that her boyfriend is a complete and total douchebag. You don’t know a single thing about him, but you already detest the very thought of his existence.
It’s like in a romantic comedy, when you meet the girl, realize that you have this connection, only to watch as her asshole boyfriend strolls up, says something offensive, has spiked hair, isn’t friendly, isn’t smart, and is clearly wrong for her. You almost expect to accidentally walk into a room and stumble into him while he’s cheating on her and hooking up with another girl. Then you face the moral dilemma as to whether to tell the truth, but before you decide, the asshole boyfriend says a lie about you to his naive girlfriend, attempting to discredit you just in case you decide to tell her what you saw, and in result she won’t believe you and call you a liar. Then in the end, she discovers the real truth the hard way, breaks up with the asshole, comes back to you and you live happily ever after.
See: any romantic comedy ever made.
In most cases you don’t even meet the boyfriend upon first learning of his existence. the girl will just drop his name into a sentence, and you’ll know he exists, and most of the time you may never end up meeting him, and you can just live blissfully in ignorance under the assumption that he is a horrible, horrible person, and that he throws empty beer cans at kittens in his spare time.
But, in rare circumstances, you will actually see the two of them together, only to come to the realization that he is not an asshole, that he is not stupid, mean or a kitten hater, but that he is actually a fantastic human being that any girl would be lucky to have.
Side note, I’d like to think that also could also be used to describe me, but, let’s face it, it doesn’t (I’m better.)
When this happens, there’s really nothing you can do. Sure, you can hate him internally just for existing, but what else? You can’t hate him for his soft, wavy hair, his charming smile, his perfectly symmetrical chin, nothing. Naturally, you’ll look for reasons to hate him, but they’ll probably be pretty weak. Maybe you’ll judge how foolishly he double-knots his sneakers, or something. I don’t exactly think that is grounds for a break-up.
Again, this is the very last thing that you ever want to discover. If the guy very clearly a toolbag, then you can at least live in peace knowing that the relationship will not last. You can’t actually know that for sure, but at least you can think it.
But when the guy is the male version of Mother Teresa, with the gallantry of Cary Grant, the personality of Bob Hope and the physique of John Cena, then you might as well just wave the white flag. You lost. Game over. It’s more infuriating that someone like this even exists, and that, of course, had to become acquainted with a girl that you actually had your eye on.
It is completely disappointing in every possible way.
So let’s move off this disappointing topic and move on to an even more disappointing one in the form of all those deaths that I mentioned earlier.
The Norwegian deaths, well, I don’t really know what else I can say that everyone else hasn’t thought already. Everything about it is sickening, and the fact that one single guy, this Anders Behring Breivik dude, was connected to both the Oslo bombing and the shooting spree at the summer camp, killing 76 people in total, is nothing short of evil. I’m almost glad they caught him alive, and that he didn’t kill himself or get gunned down by a police officer, just so he can live out the rest of his pathetic life in humiliation, shame and fear. Because you should know, Anders, that what goes around, comes around, bitch.
As for Amy Winehouse, well, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but upon hearing this, the news was as shocking to me as if somebody had told me that the sun had come up that morning.
Let me just preface by saying, I hate those people who come forward and say, without even being asked, “I have no sympathy for him/her” for anyone that has ever died an immoral death. And I don’t want to be one of those guys. However, I’ll just quickly give my two cents.
Did Winehouse have talent? Sure, she had a great voice and probably could have created more platinum-selling albums and won more Grammys, but so could a lot of people. At this point, she was known more for being a drug addict than a singer. She was an absolutely horrific role model, and she really had an exorbitant amount of time to turn her life around, and didn’t.
I mean, I’ve never been addicted to any type of drug before, so I can’t know what it’s like to be consumed in such a thing, but I know that it doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for sympathy. I would never ever condone somebody for listening to Amy Winehouse’s music, or even for being a fan of hers, because sometimes you need to differentiate the art from the artist. A lot of fucked up people have created some beautiful things. But, at the same time, it’s hard for me to get all teared up over this. Especially when you compare it to what happened in Norway.
And please, do not lump her together with Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin or Cobain. Yes, she was 27 when she died. The comparisons end there.
More than anything, I’m just glad that Amy Winehouse didn’t have a blog. The “Wineblog” really would have stolen a lot of my thunder!