Feeling MUCH better . . .

And it’s a good thing, because being sick doesn’t agree with me.

Had a great time with Jen and Fletch last Saturday night. Apparently they had a chimney “mishap” the day before (which means that their chimney imploded, and their house was filled with noxious gas, unbeknownst to them), so they decided that we would go out to eat. They chose Flatwater, which is on the Chicago River. It was a very tasty meal, despite the fact that I had to be judicious about my selection, based on my recent stomach issues. I selected a pasta with prawns, which wasn’t within the BRAT diet, but definitely more bland than any of the entrees I could have selected. And I frowned while watching Jen savor her chocolate/peanut butter brownie, since my two favorite things are chocolate and peanut butter. Damned stomach illness!!!

I watched the Billboard Music awards the other night. They were nothing short of appalling. I’m showing my age here, but it used to be that musical acts were actually that, and their musicians were the most important elements of their performance (what a concept!). Now? As long as you have your posse or stunning array of hoochie mamas, you’re good to go. You don’t even have to pack your singing voice. Oops . . . do ya even HAVE a singing voice???

Speaking of which, let’s discuss the wonderment that is Fergie for a second, shall we? She’s in a sweet spot, don’tcha think? She’s apprehended the nickname of the Duchess of York, and even refers to herself as “The Duchess.” She makes references to Britain in her song, although nobody knows quite what it means: “How come every time you come around, my London, London Bridge wanna go down.” WTF?

Now, if I were the REAL Duchess — and I’m referring to Sarah Ferguson, in case you’re not up on your royals — I would be offended that a bony American skank was bastardizing my identity. But that’s just me. And, as usual, I digress . . .

Back to the Billboard awards. Fergie “sang” her newer song, which I believe is called “Fergalicious.” (Because, apparently, she’s tasty)

Aside. . . Has anyone noticed a theme in her “music?” From the two songs that have been played to death on the radio (and we can only hope that our agony will end with those two songs), we’ve heard messages along a few different themes:

1. I’m hot

2. The boys want me

3. I’m a lady

4. I’m hot

5. I like to drink and dance suggestively

6. But I’m not a ho

7. No, seriously, I’m not a ho

8. Look at me, wearing a napkin and shaking my ass!!

9. I’m a LADY!!! Would you PLEASE stop calling me a ho???

10. Have I mentioned that I’m hot?

Her performance consisted mainly of her standing in one spot, propped up precariously on CFM pumps, and carefully rapping with a few intermittent painful moments of singing. She didn’t really move, and I can’t decide if it was because she was concentrating on delivering such complex lyrics as:

“I just wanna say it now I ain’t tryin to round up drama little mama I don’t wanna take your man
And I know I’m comin off just a little bit conceited and I keep on repeating how the boys wanna eat it”

. . . or if her shoes were killing her.

Either way, she was killing ME! Give it a rest, for all of our sakes!

And then we had Gwen Stefani. Oh dear God!

Now, let me be clear. I used to love No Doubt, and even liked Gwen through her last album. But THIS album? That girl is clearly on dope and dog food. Since when has it been appropriate to sample “The Lonely Goatherd” from The Sound of Music, and use the formerly cute yodelling chorus to annoy the masses? Newsflash, Gwen. Yodelling is not now, nor will it ever be cool. And seriously? Never in your wildest dreams (or nightmares) will yodelling be acceptable to bump to in a club. Period.

More insights later. I’m all worked up!