He's minding the bollocks

It has been about 30 years since Johnny Rotten did anything meaningful. No, PIL doesn't count, with the possible exception of "Rise." My days as an adoring fan dictate that I must click on every article I see about him. When Johnny's at his cantankerous best, it's truly something to behold. But age changes people, makes us think of silly things like the future and reputations. Johnny has to eat so he has to consider things like the Sex Pistols brand. He can't let just anyone drop the c-bomb on Duffy.

Anyway, it seems he has a beef with the London Olympics. He thinks the games will bring on a ton of debt to a country that's already in the hole and the money could be put to better use. Reasoned points, one and all. To be fair, the organizing committee is hopelessly out to lunch. In addition to wanting the Sex Pistols to take part in the closing ceremonies, they also wanted The Who to perform - including Keith Moon. I'm sure he'll get right on that.

I know this because I read an article about it in Forbes today. OK not the Keith Moon bit, I already knew he was dead. Yup, the girl with the punk rock roots read an article about the Sex Pistols brand in Forbes. No need to rub it in, I'm already hanging my head in shame.

Parents just don't understand

Today I thought about starting sentence with "OK, here's the situation..." And before I knew it, I was furiously scouring iTunes to make sure that I had "Parents Just Don't Understand" in the library (I do) because obviously no music collection would be complete without a 24 year old song from one of the decade's biggest movie stars. That's right, people under 30, before Will Smith was the Fresh Prince of Bel Air or a $20 million a movie guy who moonlights as a brainwasher, he was half of a goofy rap duo along with DJ Jazzy Jeff.

And now you have made me feel very old, so please go away.

Anyway, as I was singing along with that silly song in kitchen (because of course I played it as soon as I found it), I was confronted by a not-quite-three year old who wanted a ponytail. But once the ponytail was done, she wanted "ones on the sides" and the fit caused by one lowly ponytail instead of two was one of epic proportions. A fit that had breakfast remnants flying across the room and the insufficient, hated single ponytail disassembled in a rage. I think a good chunk of hair came out with it, but that may also be just an example of my lacklustre housekeeping skills.

Soon the storm was over, the ponytails were done as specified, the breakfast detritus was cleaned up and the not-quite-three year old was bopping along to the music. As I stood there, wondering what the fuck just happened, the chorus really brought it home.

Parents just don't understand.