UltimaGabe
First Post
You know what I'm doing right now?
I'm listening to all sorts of old pop music- you know, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, *Nsync, Backstreet Boys, all that. You know, from, like, 1999-2000. Oh, and some old Eminem thrown in there just to round it all out. You see, apparently I had a bunch of these files saved on my computer from a long time ago, and I thought it would provide an interesting amount of nostalgia. And, believe me, it has.
Just imagine yourself as one of those guys in *Nsync. Five years ago, you had everything- everything you could possibly want. Tons of money, millions of girls screaming at all of your concert, and even if you were the least of the group, you still had admirers all over the world. People you've never even imagined know what kind of toothbrush you used when you were a kid, and pictures that you signed without even thinking about it were being sold on E-bay for almost as much money as you spent on your car. But over the years, over the thousands of concerts, dozens of songs, from CD to CD, your group of friends- all of whom probably got along very well, creating great music and being the idols of the entire world, slowly grew apart. One of them decided to go solo, and now, five years later, nobody's heard of you in years. The only time anyone even cares about you is when your wife (a once-famous supermodel whom you met when both of you were in your primes) leaves you, you're caught stealing, or something otherwise catastrophic happens. But, for the most part, all you have is your giant car with platinum rims, your massive house with three pools, twelve bedrooms, seven fireplaces, and two inhabitants, and your billions of dollars in several bank accounts overseas. Oh, and a dozen copies of every one of your albums. Albums of five men, singing about women that don't exist, situations you've never really had to worry about, and bringing hope, joy, and idolatry to girls all over the world. Now, the sound of them hurt your ears as all you hear is the sound of old pop icons straining their vocal cords for a theoretical audience. That's who you are now. And that's all you'll ever be.
Doesn't that make you wanna be a superstar?
I'm listening to all sorts of old pop music- you know, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, *Nsync, Backstreet Boys, all that. You know, from, like, 1999-2000. Oh, and some old Eminem thrown in there just to round it all out. You see, apparently I had a bunch of these files saved on my computer from a long time ago, and I thought it would provide an interesting amount of nostalgia. And, believe me, it has.
Just imagine yourself as one of those guys in *Nsync. Five years ago, you had everything- everything you could possibly want. Tons of money, millions of girls screaming at all of your concert, and even if you were the least of the group, you still had admirers all over the world. People you've never even imagined know what kind of toothbrush you used when you were a kid, and pictures that you signed without even thinking about it were being sold on E-bay for almost as much money as you spent on your car. But over the years, over the thousands of concerts, dozens of songs, from CD to CD, your group of friends- all of whom probably got along very well, creating great music and being the idols of the entire world, slowly grew apart. One of them decided to go solo, and now, five years later, nobody's heard of you in years. The only time anyone even cares about you is when your wife (a once-famous supermodel whom you met when both of you were in your primes) leaves you, you're caught stealing, or something otherwise catastrophic happens. But, for the most part, all you have is your giant car with platinum rims, your massive house with three pools, twelve bedrooms, seven fireplaces, and two inhabitants, and your billions of dollars in several bank accounts overseas. Oh, and a dozen copies of every one of your albums. Albums of five men, singing about women that don't exist, situations you've never really had to worry about, and bringing hope, joy, and idolatry to girls all over the world. Now, the sound of them hurt your ears as all you hear is the sound of old pop icons straining their vocal cords for a theoretical audience. That's who you are now. And that's all you'll ever be.
Doesn't that make you wanna be a superstar?
