The funny thing about the internet is that despite my best efforts and despite how long it’s been around its still something I struggle to keep up with. I don’t just mean the constant and mostly unnecessary updates for everything that seem to be surfacing every 20 minutes that serve no purpose other than to turn us into a bunch of moronic air-heads who can hold a conversation without picking our phones up for about the same amount of time as the average person can hold a live fish but also the constant stream of information, again most of it pretty useless.
Unlike most people my age I don’t have a phone that can tell me which direction the winds blowing in, how to open a can of tuna or which professional football player this week is apparently sleeping with his teammates insanely attractive girlfriend but guess what, I don’t want one either. Call me old fashioned but the idea of possessing such a device doesn’t appeal to me much. I like my clunky old LG device, when its fully charged it can live for about as long as the average goldfish plus you don’t have to feed it, it calls and sends texts in a very intuitive manner and unlike those shiny new IPhone’s you can’t break it with harsh language or a cold stare.
Again, call me old fashioned, no seriously call me it it’s one of the only things that gives me a sense of identity but I suppose I come from the last remnants of a generation that wasn’t completely alien to the concept of ‘Playing Outside’. When I was a child high-speed Broadband was an urban myth and computers were only owned by the kids in school who were either considerably more nerdy than I was, not an easy thing to be, or considerably richer than I was, an extremely easy thing to be. I was committed to the concept of ‘Playing Outside’ and I do mean committed. Have you ever tried playing Baseball by yourself? Or even worse playing Baseball with your older brother who is 10 years your senior, has his own bat and holds you responsible for the fact that his Christmas presents are getting smaller and has quite frankly held a grudge against you ever since you were small enough to be referred to as ‘The New Baby’?
Due to this and the fact that I’m fairly sure my Mum is still unsure of how to open her e-mails and my Dad is still sitting in the dark waiting for Gas to make a comeback I was introduced to computers and therefore the internet relatively late. As a result, I’m quite late on the subject that I’m about to discuss but if you’ve read this far you may as well stick with me because things can only get better as D-Ream once told us. Then again the last time I heard anything about those guys was when they were playing to a crowd of about 20 people in a bar somewhere in Wrexham, so they could very well be full of the brown stuff.
Never the less the subject I am about to discuss is Justin Bieber and his apparent dislike for my homeland. You probably think I’m about to stick the boot in and give him the usual tirade of abuse that he’s no doubt used to getting from people who aren’t as rich as he is but you would be wrong. Granted, he looks like what would happen if one of those putty people from those God-awful Morph cartoons bred with Dolph Lundgren and his music is about as formulaic and spice-free as a tin of Baked Beans but I’m actually fairly indifferent to the kid. He did catch my attention though when he released a statement saying that after his recent tour of the UK he will never be coming back. Most people responded with phrases along the lines of ‘great’ or ‘I hope you never tour again, period’ and other equally smart and eloquent responses. The first thing about this that caught my attention was how this pesky kid has managed to sell so many damn records when apparently everybody fortunate enough to own a keyboard and an opinion hates his guts? I think somebody’s fibbing…
The statement made by Morph Lundgren may not be pleasant to read but being a resident of the largest city in the country that I live in, yes Wales is a country for any non-Brits unfortunate enough to be reading!, I can almost understand where he’s coming from. What with performing shows slap-bang in the middle of places such as London, Birmingham, Manchester and indeed Cardiff it is likely that as soon as the putty-faced git stepped out of his hotel he was greeted by traffic jams that began at 4 in the morning, real-estate prices that would make Sir Alan Sugar break out in hot flushes, the rudest and most pig-ignorant people imaginable and the sort of environment where English is a fourth language and it rains 10 months out of every calendar year. If that’s all I’d ever seen of Britain I would probably hate it as well. I am of course generalizing but the chances are that our pint-sized crooner had little time to see any other side of my great homeland, well its only half mine I’m actually 50% Sicilian but you get the point.
However, there are always two sides to every story/argument and I’m not entirely convinced from what I’ve read that the kid isn’t at least partly to blame for the less-than-warm welcome and treatment that he received. It’s not exactly responsible touring practice to hit the stage more than 2 hours late for practically every performance you are booked for. It’s especially irresponsible when 50% of your audience has a 10 o’clock curfew, 30% of it has a 9 o’clock curfew, 10% of it still wets the bed and the other 10% are the unfortunate parents who have to stand their waiting and shelled out £200 for the pleasure. When I was 14 years of age I attended a Snoop Dogg concert and he was around 90 minutes late hitting the stage. He had a genuine reason in that his opening act had been in a car accident and as a result the slot was empty and Snoop’s transport couldn’t get him to the venue until it was his time to go on. Despite the authenticity of his excuse the first thing the Dogg did after his first number was apologize profusely for the late showing and this is a guy who keeps a blue flag hanging out his backside but only on the left side because, you know, that’s the Crip side and what not. Apparently JB issued no apologies for his late showings.
Something you should know about the British if you’ve never been here before, we do not like waiting, cuing or anything that involves standing still and doesn’t involve making money or getting laid. I’ve seen full scale brawls break out over cues at the post office let alone over 2 hour waiting times for American Ken-dolls that people have shelled out their hard earned money to see. Needless to say, Bieb’s conduct likely upset quite a few punters.
Reports also state that Bieber’s performances were for the most part poorer than usual and he often appeared distracted, uninterested and even drunk. Granted, I’m sure an overly pampered 19 year old from Canada would probably become inebriated on British fumes but this news still doesn’t look good on the boy.
The fact is Bieber likely has his own reasons for wanting to leave Britain in his wake and eating dust sandwiches but when he turns up 2 hours late for his shows and after 20 minutes of his set he’s sucking wind so badly that the first 4 rows are passing out from oxygen deprivation it’s likely that most of his British fans would like nothing more than a custard cream and a nice pot of English tea to go with said sandwiches. I don’t hate the 19 year old; frankly I feel that my energy is far better spent hating people that I know in-person but the headline caught my eye and what you have just read was my 2 cents so to speak. If he’s not planning on coming back, maybe I could take his slot? Given my current financial state I’d perform with no microphone, in my draws, in front of a pack of frustrated Baboons during the mating season and I wouldn’t even ask for half the money!
Agree? Disagree? Love Bieber? Hate Bieber? Think I need a new phone? Feel free to leave your thoughts and thanks for reading!