I Suppose That's Just The Way The Cookie Crumbles

I don't know how these things work, I'm not a wizard. The cape, well its more like a safety blanket really, but that's not the point. Fame is hard to figure out, while some of the most talented artists in the world toil in obscurity for their entire lives, hackier people shoot straight into the public eye, where they either stay or disappear so quickly it was like they were never there at all. I am looking squarely at you Lou Bega. Four straight months of everyone in my life singing your song or some version of it where they just put in the names they wanted to hear, and for what? An Applebees commercial? Was that your end plan? Did you ruin my summer of 1999 just for a plate of the baby, baby back ribs? You son of a bitch.

Anyway, Lily Allen is having a Lou Bega moment. It's kind of an old story by now, she posted tracks on her myspace page, we fell in love, she released her album (in the UK at least), and we fell harder. Apparently against the idea of making money, her record company decided to hold off on releasing her album in the States until January. A record company representative was quoted as saying "We're just swamped with all the money we've been taking in lately, we're a little behind on the counting. Johnson forgot how many zeros were in a billion, and well, its all just been a mess." But Lily has once again proved that you don't need a record company (or really, even a record) to be famous. I meant that in a good way, not the Paris Hilton way, just to be clear.


In the last three weeks, Lily has had her 'Grey's Anatomy' Moment, her MTV moment, started touring the states, has become the darling of the tabloids as the first famous person to agree that Paris Hilton and Madonna are worthless, and today released the third video from 'Alright, Still', for 'Littlest Things' -



She looks fantastic in noir. Anyway. What's to become of our Lily? Only time will tell. But I well tell you this my friend, I want some baby back baby back baby back baby back baby back I want my baby back baby back baby back... (Dear God, when do they say ribs? Never. They never say ribs.)