It's His Prerogative

// So why are we starting out with "My Prerogative"? Three reasons. Firstly, why not? I don't even care that he took the bloom off Whitney's rose; Bobby Brown made some real fly music. Dig this: I like watching/listening to specific items about once every month. I like watching the Coors Light NFL ads with the fake press conferences. I like watching Barry Sanders highlights, and not just because I was dubbed "The White Barry" of Grosse Ile Middle School circa 1997. I like watching the extended cut of Weezer's "Buddy Holly" music video. You know why I do these things? It's not because I use the internet to validate my sad, sad, lonely life (it's partly that). It's because watching these clips acts as a cure-all for the occasional generic mopes (sometimes referred to The Mondays)! In addition to the previously mentioned items, "My Prerogative" is a song that's always hovering around my rotation. It's like the song version of Robert Horry (Spurs version); they'll never blow up for 40 and 12, but you always have to be weary. When you least expect it... KABOOM! and next thing you know you're dancing by yourself in boxers and Ray-Bans. I propose we all take the time every month or so to listen to Bobby Brown's classic anthem to those of us who say (in an Eric Cartman voice), "I do what I want!" It gives the listener that nice edge; an unmistakable pep in one's step. Secondly, we're listening to Bobby Brown because I recently made a decree - apartment-wide, mind you - that starting this year and continuing ad infinitum, the last full week of January will be known as New Jack Swing Week. I'm starting to grow tiresome of the guitar-driven rock portion of the ubiquitous '80s nostalgic bombardment. "Take Me Home Tonight", "Your Love", "Don't Stop Believing"... it's enough already. Admittedly, I'm being a tad hypocritical here. I was once entranced on a weekly basis by these same songs. I would force out of my mouth in a ridiculous excuse for coherent speech, "Dude! They're playing Journey after Akon?!? So cool!". That being said, can't we - as whatever kind of group we constitute - decide on some different songs to obnoxiously scream along to? I literally cringe every single mother-effing time "Livin' on a Prayer" comes on in a bar. If I was from say, Sub-Saharan Africa, I would assume that "Livin' on a Prayer" was the de facto national anthem. I can't remember the last weekend out in East Lansing without hearing one overweight, not-in-a-sexy-way-sweaty girl say to another, "Oh Em Gee, Becky! I LOVE this song! We're sooooo drunk fo sho!... Let's get some pizza!!" As a result, I'm starting to ween off some of the '80s that served me so well in Power Hours past, and New Jack Swing is filling the void. Besides, I think I'm getting tennis elbow from 8 years of fist-pumping.

(Quick FYI before we move on. I will always hate - I can't stress that word enough - hate Britney Spears for her cover of this song. Did anyone really give two dooks when Britney was walking around gas station bathrooms barefoot? NO! In effect, she retarded the original message of the song. Britney was saying, "Let me do what I want, this is my life." The public basically screamed back, "OK. Do whatever you want, seriously. Go sick. Let us know when you're dead so we can reserve the cover of OK! Magazine." People were interested in Bobby Brown. He left New Edition, his singles were all hits, he was bumping uglies with Whitney. If Britney covered the song in 2001, it would've at least made a little sense. By the time she released it, she wasn't making blips on radars anymore. What's more is, she realized this and sheepishly decided that she didn't care about the media's criticism as long as middle school boys were pleasuring themselves to her poster. I'm convinced this is the sole reason she's pulling herself back from her life in comically white trash indignity. This intense hatred also applies to Fall Out Boy. Fall Out Boy's other prepubescent whine-fests (they call them "songs") are deplorable enough, but then they had the audacity to remake "Beat It". Who the hell do these people think they are? Imagine you made a hyper-delicious meat lover's pizza that everyone loved and you called it "Hearty Pizza". A decade later, I decide to come out with my own "Hearty Pizza". It's the exact same as yours except it only has pepperoni and I like to pay hobos to ejaculate on it. Even so, I still call it "Hearty Pizza." Then I have the nerve to say publicly that your good pizza inspired me to make a crappier version. Your delicious pizza inspired me to make this semen-and-pepperoni disaster. Would you murder me? You see the point. Britney Spears and Fall Out Boy covered - and released to make money - songs by Bobby Brown and Michael Jackson, respectively. Two of the greatest artists of my lifetime were covered by two musical acts that make music that can be accurately described as "ear abortion".)

// Segue time. The last reason for Bobby Brown getting billing today is the title of the song. Prerogative is an interesting word. Based on absolutely nothing at all, I'd estimate that about half the things I believe are my prerogative are in fact not. There are many checks in our society that most people either a) don't give an ess about and flout, or b) are unaware of. I have no beef with most of the rules in place. The day-to-day lives of Johnnies and Janes go off - for the most part - without a hitch. I do, however, have a problem with the leader of the free world being judged and, for lack of a better word, persecuted for doing something completely, 100% legal.


That interview is from early December. Allow me to first illustrate the fallacies of what you just watched. Quick question: why is the White House a non-smoking facility? Who decided this? My guess is the decision came from a group of stick-in-the-mud Congressmen who, once they realized they'd never merit any consideration for a Presidential nomination, felt the need to validate their salaries with some good PR for their district's community effing newspapers. (BTW, I'm trying to decrease my swearing. Please note that my feelings on this matter would regularly elicit a cosmic amount of no-no words.) Seriously, the fact that ANYONE but the currently serving President has the gall to ban smoking in the White House is mind-boggling to me. Mindsplosion! Moving on, WTF is Brokaw's problem? Is he serious with that holier-than-thou bullshit? Is he confusing "smoking a very occasional cigarette" with "rampant and destructive alcoholism"? Quitting smoking is not the easiest thing in the world. Tommy B should put himself in Baracks's shoes. To ask a longtime smoker to completely quit mere months after he began his effort in earnest is a tall order. Imagine if Obama had asked Brokaw if he would quit being a smug, judgmental douchebag son of a bitch? I don't know if Brokaw could do it. They don't make any gum or patches that can help you quit having a dick-ish personality.

One more thing: it is definitely NOT a myth that when a smoker is in the process of quitting, said smoker can be a bit of a handful. I've tried to quit smoking (and failed epically) thrice. Within 24 non-smoking hours, I was edgy, cantankerous, irritable, and basically unhappy; even more so than I am in a general sense. The change in personality is so definite, so palpable, it's almost a bit frightening. Think of it as a very junior varsity version of The Incredible Hulk. "You wouldn't like me when angry - I mean, without a Marlboro Light..." That was me. Three different times. For about 48 hours apiece. That's the effect you can generally expect from someone mid-quit. Here's my point: does our country really need our newly-elected leader to be white-knuckling it through four years of that post? I really cannot fathom the stresses and anxieties that come with being the President, let alone the President that the country is anointing as an infallible savior. Is it really fair to take away his pack of smokes? I really don't think so. Another real bummer about this whole situation is the fact that the Truman Balcony - the expansive second-floor balcony facing south - would probably be the #1 coolest place in the world to have a smoke.

Scenario: imagine making sweet, sweet love to the wife after the Inauguration ball. You just had sex in the White House. You now command thousands of nuclear warheads. Billions - billions - of lives are depending on your abilities as a leader, and you have the confidence of knowing that the most powerful nation on Earth trusts you with those responsibilities. You look up at the bedroom ceiling and you mumble cockily to yourself, "I'm the President, bitch." Big smile. Your dreams are realized. Who's the man? You, sir! You are the man! You come out of your auto-erotic coma to find yourself going outside. Let's take in that Truman Balcony. Maybe we'll see some protesters and given them the finger. You're wearing that awesome navy-and-white terry cloth robe with the Presidential Seal embroidered on the pocket. You take in the air and thank The Big Guy for your blessings. "Son of a bitch", you think to yourself. Your happiness can barely be contained as you think, "I'm the President. The Pre-zee-dent! Whattya know about that?" You flick your Bic and hammer down the most satisfying Carolina stick you've ever had. End scenario.

// I think Barack Obama deserves that moment.