Thursday, June 30, 2011

It's Whoreticulture Friday!
Issue 67

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or neighbors who are raising feral cats.

Today’s topic: No Sale, J. Lo
Hello Wifers, and Happy Independence Day weekend!  I'm in the urban mecca of Nebraska for the next week, in an area next to a flooding river that has iffy cell phone reception, so forget about laptops.  But I do know something I want Independence from this weekend, and it's J Lo's song "On The Floor".  I know J Lo has a smokin' bod and piles of money and talent.  I conceed this.  And her music pre-Marc Anthony was great. 

Additionally?  Her love don't cost a thing.
Really.  It don't.

Here's my issue - I thought Jenny from the Block was adorable, particulary with all of the gratuitious shots of her badonkadonk in bikinis and briefs, with Ben Affleck tricked out all street with his tats showing and kissing her ass, literally and figuratively.  But I bought it, Jenny (from the BRONX!).  I was buying what you were selling.  Sold.

I mean, she's gorgeous, really, and as an American Idol judge she is America's Sweetheart. But DAMN. With two teen-types, our car radio is locked on Top 40 Pop, and I have to hear that stupid song three times an hour, and I've heard it so many times now that I've gone all philosophical on it. I'm starting to miss Barney.  As I hear on the radio over and over and over and's a new generation...of party people.  Presumably J Lo is not part of that new generation.  Here is J Lo as the new and improved Mother of Twins Clubber:

What I take from this video is that if, as a mother of babies under the age of two, you aren't carrying a transparent mesh spiderweb bodysuit in your diaper bag, then get off the floor.  Oh, you mean you aren't clubbing with Pit Bull?  Getting your drinks up, and if you are criminal, particularly, killing it on the floor?  Dancing with string bikini-clad models painted in gold glitter?

No Sale, J Lo.

Am I saying mothers of babies shouldn't sing or dance or continue their career?  No.  But as an entertainer, J Lo has to be believable, and anyone starting their song with "it's a new generation of party people" is essentially saying, "Well, my generation has moved on and I'm too old for this shit."  Aren't most of the target audience of this product-featuring video (Swarovski! BMW! Crown Royal! If you look closely, the crotch of her spiderweb suit says "Dr. Stan Liebermann, OB-GYN") young enough to be Jenny from the Block's kids?  Because if in real life a 41-year-old woman walks in the club in a mesh bodysuit and yells, "Don't stop keep it movin' get your drinks up!"  The people in the club are going to yell, "MOM! Go home, you're embarrassing me!"  (Or at least that's what happened the last time I did it.)

We've gone from this adorable photo op:

To this slightly awkward video shoot:

And while I would love to be as gorgeous (and rich!) as J Lo, I think it might be time to hang up the clubbing boots, glitter, and Snoop Dogg chalice.  I don't want to judge you Jenny, I'm not fooled by the rocks that you got.  I know you're still Jenny from the Block.  But you need to be keepin' it real.

And?  I seriously can't listen to that song one more time.


GrandeMocha said...

Who wrote the lyrics for this God-awful song? They should be embarassed. Jenny from the Block would die if she could see 10 years in the future to 2011.

My clubbing days are over. I was in my jammies at 9:15.

Rhonda said...

I had a hard time staying awake through the midnight premiere of Transformers and that was sitting down. I can't imagine clubbing.

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