The Tyranny of the Beautiful Woman, Volume 2
The tyranny of the beautiful woman is often felt most by the woman herself.
All of which beings us inexorably to the death of poor Whitney Houston, age 48. Her rendition of the SSB at the '91 Super Bowl remains second on my list of all-time SSBs. Worth particular note is the effortless way she hits the now-obligatory high note during the "land of the free..." part--but the whole thing, and the woman herself, were spectacular from start to finish.
Loved the headband. And really, what a set of pipes. Dog. You get the feeling she could have sung the thing without any help from the PA system and it would have been fine.
Now it goes without saying that the Grammys, at least as a television experience, are a complete crock of shit. But every once in a while something special happens on them. I'm of course thinking about Jennifer Hudson's moving rendition of "I will always love you."
I like how, about a third of the way through, she puts up her hands and shushes the collection of ho's and crackheads they call an audience at the Grammys. How keenly someone like Jennifer Hudson must feel the passing of someone like Whitney Houston. It's all very sad.
All of which brings us, inexorably, to "The Tyranny of the Beautiful Woman." Or at least the painting of the same name. This is where we currently stand.
It keeps getting darker and darker. And it looks better than this in real person. But I think it's gonna get darker still. Much like the night before the dawn. Although truth be told, I don't think any given night, when measured at, say, 11:45pm is going to be any darker come 3:00 am. So disregard the previous statement.
What the hell does that mean?But enough about me. Cats, dear reader, are freakish creatures. Their ability to just stick their leg straight into the air while they're licking, say, their stomach, without so much as a howd'youdo, is certainly something extraordinary. Likewise ballerinas. It's not so much that they can move their legs from one impossible place to another, but rather, that they do so without even a glimmer of effort. That, dear friends, is the miracle of ballet.
It means that beauty--physical, artistic, whatever--is often a heavy burden on those who possess it.
Oh.
You think, for example, that it's easy being me?
No. But I'd like to know which category of beauty we're talking about.
I'm pan-categorical.
Really?
All of which beings us inexorably to the death of poor Whitney Houston, age 48. Her rendition of the SSB at the '91 Super Bowl remains second on my list of all-time SSBs. Worth particular note is the effortless way she hits the now-obligatory high note during the "land of the free..." part--but the whole thing, and the woman herself, were spectacular from start to finish.
Loved the headband. And really, what a set of pipes. Dog. You get the feeling she could have sung the thing without any help from the PA system and it would have been fine.
Now it goes without saying that the Grammys, at least as a television experience, are a complete crock of shit. But every once in a while something special happens on them. I'm of course thinking about Jennifer Hudson's moving rendition of "I will always love you."
I like how, about a third of the way through, she puts up her hands and shushes the collection of ho's and crackheads they call an audience at the Grammys. How keenly someone like Jennifer Hudson must feel the passing of someone like Whitney Houston. It's all very sad.
All of which brings us, inexorably, to "The Tyranny of the Beautiful Woman." Or at least the painting of the same name. This is where we currently stand.
It keeps getting darker and darker. And it looks better than this in real person. But I think it's gonna get darker still. Much like the night before the dawn. Although truth be told, I don't think any given night, when measured at, say, 11:45pm is going to be any darker come 3:00 am. So disregard the previous statement.
posted by Geoffrey at 10:58 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home