Musical Musings… This Song Really Perturbs Me

Perturbs isn’t a word I use often, so thanks Atlas Genius.  This song up for examination is called Trojans, and it’s built around this hook:

Your trojan’s in my head.

What the fuck does that mean exactly?  This video offers little help other than the lyrics:

Are these self-proclaimed world-holding exceptional intellects (or are they really good at reading maps?) trying to say that someone has put a Trojan Horse in his head?  Or is it something else?

"Your Trojan Horse is in my head..."

“Your Trojan Horse is in my head…”

"Your Trojan warrior is in my head..."

“Your Trojan Warrior is in my head…”

"Your Trojan condom is in my head..."

“Your Trojan Condom is in my head…”

JusWondering… Who Knew That Flight Of The Conchords Could Be Improved Upon?

If you’re unfamiliar with the almost award-winning fourth-most-popular folk duo in New Zealand, Flight of the Conchords, then shame on you.  Or should I say lucky you because then here’s your first taste:

Here are the lyrics if you want to print them and sing (?) along:

So, you’re leaving, aren’t you?
I knew it when you said just then when you told me you were leaving
That’s when I definitely knew
But if you’re trying to break my heart
Your plan is flawed from the start
You can’t break my heart, it’s liquid
It melted when I met you
And as you turn around to leave
Don’t’ turn back to me
Don’t turn around and see if I’m crying
I’m not crying
I’m not crying
It’s just been raining on my face
And if you think you see some tear tracks down my face
Please don’t tell my mates
I’m not crying
No, I’m not crying
And if I am crying
It’s not because of you
It’s because I’m thinking of a friend of mine who you don’t know who is dying
That’s right, dying
These aren’t tears of sadness because you’re leaving me
I’ve just been cutting onions
I’m making a lasagna
For one
Oh, I’m not crying
There’s just a little bit of dust in my eye
That’s from the path that you made when you said your goodbye
I’m not weeping because you won’t be here to hold my hand
For your information there’s an inflammation in my tear gland
I’m not upset because you left me this way
My eyes are just a little sweaty today
They’ve been searching around
They’re like searching for you
They’ve been looking around
Even though I told them not to
These aren’t tears of sadness
They’re tears of joy
I’m just laughing
Ha ha ha-ha ha
Sitting at this table called love
Staring down at the irony of life
How come we’ve reached this fork in the road
And yet it cuts like a knife?
I’m not crying
I’m not crying
I’m not cry-y-y-y-

And here’s the original for comparison, I guess.  Even though there’s no comparing…

Drunken Recollection… Tron And Lil’ Wayne = Cheese And Whine

I’m no fashionista.  (I even felt uncomfortable writing that word.)  I don’t dress in the latest fashions (if Target or Kohl’s ever become haute couture, I’ll be set).  I don’t even wear a suit to formal affairs (I have my standard white dress shirt, random tie, black pants, and until someone called me out on wearing a certain vest to their wedding – a certain vest).

So please do not judge me as I judge another.  My sisters always said it’s 10% what you wear and 90% your attitude (I think they borrowed liberally from another saying), but there was this guy at the bar that made some choices, and then some additional choices on top of those, and… well, let me explain.

First off, he was in mid- to late-twenties, and he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt bearing what I call “a Tron pattern.”

(Not So) Artistic Representation

(Not So) Artistic Representation

Which on its own, I guess, would be fine and dandy (I shall never write that phrase again).  But he could have worn something akin to this, instead:

Boba Swett...shirt

Boba Swett...shirt

And he would have pulled off the look a bit better.  But he also could have actually gone to this extreme like this guy:

Does he Master Controller to Tron?

Does he Master Controller to Tron?

Yet I’m not done.  The sweatshirt was a few sizes too small, as it tapered and adhered to his arms.  A bad choice on its own, but forgivable if he opted NOT TO WEAR THE HOOD.  It was snug on his noggin, and seemed to pull up the shirt underneath as well.

So what? you might be thinking.  He can just put down the hood.  My response: then why doesn’t he pull up the back of his pants!  He had them purposely draped below his gray boxer briefed bum, as his leather belt held them firmly there.  My friend, Jess, thought he might not know, but I knew he knew.  It was another in a long line of bad choices.

The coup de grace for me was when my friend Devin was doing karaoke of Lil’ Wayne’s “A Milli” (which is a dumb song, btw, with some of the worst lyrics… check them out after the jump).  This too-small-Tron-hoodie-wearing, non-boxer-pants-sagging doofus jumped up to sing with him, and he couldn’t keep up!  He ruined it for Devin.  Oh well.  Like I said, who am I to judge… in my 90’s X-Men tee and skaterboi jeans with the cuffs rolled up.

(SIDE RANT: What’s the appeal of Lil’ Wayneanyway?  Is he big merely for the fact he may have been the first to integrate electronica with rap?  Why couldn’t he be a nice, clean cut guy like Chris Brown, and get cozy with a sweetheart like Rihanna?)

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