The first time I heard Fergie's Glamorous I was wearing a tuxedo with the bowtie in my pocket and ordering a Red Bull and vodka at the gentleman's club across from The Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway that goes by the clever name of Flashdancers.
At the time, I didn't know it was Fergie. I wouldn't have expected it to be her. When I was last in L.A., the valley girls were using the term "Fergie Bad" to describe gross faux paus in vernacular and/or attire. And then my friend Ralph saw her on Lexington and 53rd and said she was short and had bad acne.
The short thing doesn't bother me and the acne usually befalls pretty girls after a night of clubbing, dancing ... which brings me back to the strip club and the stunning silhouette of a girl shaking her hips to the Glamorous, the flossy, flossy and my friend buying me a lap dance so I am ensconced in wickedly divisive perfume.
It was during American Idol, the one where Fergie appeared on the undercard with Prince. She was great, whatever she sang, but before she took the stage the girls in the room where I was watching the show were speculating that she might sing Glamorous and I asked them to sing the chorus and one of them did and I recognized the song and my nose filled with perfume.
I heard it on a narrow road in the misty Ring of Kerry and I heard it on Chambers Street when cutting crosstown from the Brooklyn Bridge to West Street. The same stretch where I heard My Humps the first time. Fergie made that track, but I still think of it as a Black Eyed Peas thing and there ain't nothing better than sipping a fantastic Bloody Mary on a golf course in Santa Barbara while the guy about to tee-off starts humming that song to relax and pepper ends up in your nose from a spontaneous guffaw.
I watch the video via the Web 2.0 and listen to it on my gaming speakers and not only enjoy it, I get it. "If you ain't got no money take your broke ass home" ain't a mantra for a gold digger, it's her dad's message that she'll always have a roof over her head, so she can go for it.
I wonder if the stripper on the pole at Flashdancers got that message or if after the four millionth time she released the hook on her bra while that song was on it has become white noise. Perhaps she too knows the evil nature of money is you can always add ... That's why I hate math, books have a conclusion. Blessedly, so does subtraction.
Thank you, Fergie! Thank you for making me look up the word flossy. Oh yeah, nice lady lumps, too.
At the time, I didn't know it was Fergie. I wouldn't have expected it to be her. When I was last in L.A., the valley girls were using the term "Fergie Bad" to describe gross faux paus in vernacular and/or attire. And then my friend Ralph saw her on Lexington and 53rd and said she was short and had bad acne.
The short thing doesn't bother me and the acne usually befalls pretty girls after a night of clubbing, dancing ... which brings me back to the strip club and the stunning silhouette of a girl shaking her hips to the Glamorous, the flossy, flossy and my friend buying me a lap dance so I am ensconced in wickedly divisive perfume.
It was during American Idol, the one where Fergie appeared on the undercard with Prince. She was great, whatever she sang, but before she took the stage the girls in the room where I was watching the show were speculating that she might sing Glamorous and I asked them to sing the chorus and one of them did and I recognized the song and my nose filled with perfume.
I heard it on a narrow road in the misty Ring of Kerry and I heard it on Chambers Street when cutting crosstown from the Brooklyn Bridge to West Street. The same stretch where I heard My Humps the first time. Fergie made that track, but I still think of it as a Black Eyed Peas thing and there ain't nothing better than sipping a fantastic Bloody Mary on a golf course in Santa Barbara while the guy about to tee-off starts humming that song to relax and pepper ends up in your nose from a spontaneous guffaw.
I watch the video via the Web 2.0 and listen to it on my gaming speakers and not only enjoy it, I get it. "If you ain't got no money take your broke ass home" ain't a mantra for a gold digger, it's her dad's message that she'll always have a roof over her head, so she can go for it.
I wonder if the stripper on the pole at Flashdancers got that message or if after the four millionth time she released the hook on her bra while that song was on it has become white noise. Perhaps she too knows the evil nature of money is you can always add ... That's why I hate math, books have a conclusion. Blessedly, so does subtraction.
Thank you, Fergie! Thank you for making me look up the word flossy. Oh yeah, nice lady lumps, too.