Every Sunday, my weight-lifting teacher plays “A diva is a version of a female hustler” by Beyonce. The song is damn catchy (if laughable) and stays in your head for hours. I sing it at work, but the idea of Beyonce being the female version of a hustler reminds me of like Michael Jackson impersonating a gang member in the video for “Beat It.” Like isn’t she from New Jersey or something? She’s very wholesome despite her sex kitten moves.
And not to Beyonce bash too much, but I have a little bit more to talk about. When she got overclempt singing “At Last” kind of blandly at the Obama inauguration this year, I was like really? Have you been waiting a long time? For what? Because hasn’t she been an extraordinary success, selling a kabillion records since the first day out of the womb? Please, someone get Etta James stat! I suppose it just gets on my nerves, the same way that Kate Winslet and Leo DeCaprio portrayed suburbanites who have abandoned their dreams for mediocrity in “Revolutionary Road.” Really? Didn’t both of them like get Oscars at age two? Is that mediocre in some universe?
But whatevs, no point in bashing Beyonce! I like when she’s fun! When I compare her to Lindsay Lohan, of course, I feel a great deal of respect. She’s a celeb, but she works extremely hard and she shows up for her job. She has not had a meltdown in maelstrom of drugs, adolescent angst, and inappropriate-stage-mom victimization. It’s just that…when she says she’s a female version of a hustler, I get a little giggly.