Literary Analysis: Bottoms Up

I would like to introduce you to what I hope will be a recurring trend of literature analysis posts. The popular "pop" music of a culture is known as the barometer of the times. It speaks from the undercurrent of the communal psyche, and echoes the slippery ephemeral zeitgeist. Those who have their finger on the pulse of the zeitgeist represent the diamond in the rough. Let me introduce you to one of our culture's literary genius's. Trey Songz (feat. Niki Minaj). I'll add my critique and analysis after the most poignant verses. Enjoy.

[Intro]

Yeah

Oh oh it's Mr. Steal Yo Girl

Oh oh it's Mr. Steal Yo Girl oh oh

Let's go

-Mr. Songz starts off this piece with a recantation emphasizing the importance of his good looks. He subtly underscores this by letting you know that your girlfriend would also agree.

[Chorus: Trey Songz]

Bottoms up, bottoms up, ey, what's in ya cup

Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough

Bottoms up, bottoms up, throw your hands up

Tell security we bout to tear this club up

Bottoms up, bottoms up, pocket full of green

Girl, you know I love the way you shake it in them jeans

Bottoms up, bottoms up, throw ya hands up

Bottoms up, bottoms up, bottoms up (up, up)

-Like the viking cultures before us, Mr. Songz echoes the chant of imbibing. He wants to know what is in your cup. He also advises that two bottles aren't sufficient, highlighting the importance of planning ahead in hard times like this. It also pleases him the way that the listener shakes her butt.

[Verse 1: Trey Songz]

You know what it is girl, we back up in this thang

Money stay in my pocket, girl, I'm like a walkin' bank

Tell me whatcha drank, tell me whatcha thank

If I go get these bottles, we go alcohol insane

Callin' all the girls, do you hear me?

All around the world, city to city

Cheers to the girls, throw a deuce to the guys

Now I got a chicken and a goose in the ride

Gettin' loose in the ride

Hatin' ass nigga you can move to the move to the move to the side

-Mirroring the financial crisis where banks have been reluctant to give out loans, so too is Mr. Songz. Be responsible, he says. Be prudent. He is still asking what you are drinking, and also wondering if you can hear him. Something about farm animals. The music is played at high decibels in dancing clubs, so he repeats many verses. Many times over. Just in case you didn't hear them the first time.

[Chorus: Trey Songz]

Bottoms up, bottoms up, ey, what's in ya cup

Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough

Bottoms up, bottoms up, throw your hands up

Tell security we bout to tear this club up

Bottoms up, bottoms up, pocket full of green

Girl, you know I love the way you shake it in them jeans

Bottoms up, bottoms up, throw ya hands up

Bottoms up, bottoms up, bottoms up (up, up)

-Again, pockets are still full of green.

[Verse 2: Trey Songz]

My vision's blurred, my words slurred

Its jam packed, a million girls

And I ain't tryin to lead em

We drunk so let me be your alcohol hero

Callin' all the girls, do you hear me?

All around the world, city to city

Cheers to the girls, throw a deuce to the guys

Now I got a chicken and a goose in the ride

Gettin' loose in the ride

Hatin ass nigga you can move to the move to the move to the side

-His voice is slurred, which lets the patient listener know why he needs to repeat himself so much. By only changing the first part of verse 1, Mr. Songz illuminates the deep parody of "efficiency" in this copy-and-paste world. 

[Chorus: Trey Songz]

Bottoms up, bottoms up, ey, what's in ya cup...

-Freakin' again with the bottoms up.

[Nicki Minaj]

Yo, could I get that 'Tron*? 

*80's entertaining movie about the cyber-reality

Could I get that Remmy*?

*80's entertaining crime series "Remington Steel" starring Pierce Brosnan

Could I get that Coke*?

*80's form of nasal entertainment

Could I get that Henny?

Could I get that margarita on the rock rock rocks?

Could I get that salt all around that rim rim rim rim?

Trey, I was like "Yo Trey"

Do you think you could buy me a bottle of Rose'?

-This ironic comment shows the importance of paying attention. The more attentive listeners will remember that the money "Stay in [his] pocket, girl". Nicki, like the rest of us, will have a hard time getting a bottle of Rose'.

Okay, lets get it now

I'm with a bad bitch he's with his friends

I don't say "Hi", I say "Keys to the Benz"

Keys to the Benz? Keys to the Benz!

Muhfuckin right yeah, weed to the 10

If a bitch try to get cute Imma sock her

Throw a lotta money at her then yell fucka, fucka, fucka,

Then yell fucka.

Then Imma go get my Louisville Slugger

Excuse me, I'm sorry, I'm really such a lady

I rep Young Money

You know Slim, Baby?

And we be doin' donuts while we wavin' the .380

We give a lotta money to the babies out in Haiti

Yellin all around the world,

Do you hear me? Do you like my body?

Anna Nicki

Rest in peace to Anna Nicole Smith

Yes, my dear, you're so explosive

Say hi to Mary, Mary and Joseph

Now bottoms up and double my dosage

-The name Nicki "Minaj" indicates the French correlation to "minaj-a-trois", AKA the holy triumvirate, which is hinted at in her line about Mary and Joseph of biblical fame. Her deep religious convictions are also shown by her philanthropy to those in Haiti, as well as throwing a lot of money at a cute girl and yelling "fucka, fucka, fucka." Then yelling "fucka" one last time.

[Chorus: Trey Songz]

Bottoms up, bottoms up, ey, what's in ya cup

Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain't enough

Bottoms up, bottoms up, throw your hands up

Tell security we bout to tear this club up

Bottoms up, bottoms up, pocket full of green

Girl, you know I love the way you shake it in them jeans

Bottoms up, bottoms up, throw ya hands up

Bottoms up, bottoms up, bottoms up (up, up)

Bottoms up, Bottoms up, Bottoms up, Bottoms up, Bottoms up

-The music must be really loud. Bottoms up people. Bottoms up. How can you not after listening to this song?

I just finished "Where Men Win Glory" by John Krakauer. It's a non-fiction journalistic novel about Pat Tillman; the man who left the Arizona Cardinals to enlist in the Army post 9/11. In truth, I wasn't crazy about the idea of reading this book. I had just finished "Into the Wild" and a friend recommended Glory in passing. I'm not much of a war horse, and I certainly don't like reading about self-important football players with a gun fetish. There wasn't much in this guys history that piqued my interest. But I respected Krakauer's judgment in choosing a character to write about. There is an element to Krakauer's work that echoes my own sentiment of curiosity and wonder. Mostly, I identify with his dogged pursuit of truth and understanding.

So I picked up the novel, which chronicled the the intertwining story-lines of Afghanistan's recent history and the life story of Patrick Tillman.

As each chapter unfolded, it became evident as to why Krakauer chose Tillman as his subject. He was a jock, but he wasn't a meat head. He was confident, but he wasn't cocky. He was well-read, but he wasn't pretentious. And he was absolutely fearless. The more I read, the more I started to realize that not only was I sympathizing with Tillman, but I was actually wanting to become him. Through the lens of the novel, Tillman was unafraid to speak his mind, whenever, wherever he may be. Lined up with other new troops in front of the drill sergeant just prior to signing his commitment papers to the Army, he barked back for being given contradicting orders "Hey, you're confusing everybody. Besides, you're treating us like assholes, and we haven't even signup up to be treated like assholes yet." After a shouting match ensued, Tillman and the sergeant almost came to blows before being separated. In no lesser terms, he was the dude.

Tillman was incredibly stubborn, but never maliciously. His set of values were always changing, and always up for discussion, but if there was one thing he wouldn't put up for it was bullshit. If you were around Tillman, you could say what you meant, defend your opinions, and enjoy a deep conversation.

It's clear which side of the isle Krakauer sits, as he lambastes the Army along with the Bush administration with convincing facts and rhetoric alike. The language dips into acerbic at points, but it's hard not to share Krakauer's emotional pointedness. The story of Tillman is one of the most moving and emotionally taxing I have ever read. The fact that he was killed by friendly fire was terrible, but the insult that the army administered to his family afterward was tenfold worse. The tragic loss of his character, honesty, and strength was heightened by the ineptitude of lesser men that sat above him. Far lesser men. And the perseverance and strength that his remaining family displayed after his death is no less than heroic.

It's a good book, go read it. You'll understand more about what the war in Afghanistan means, more about America's involvement in the war on terror, and more importantly you'll understand more about what it means to live a good life, a life of purpose.

Of course, Hollywood already has the rights to his story:

Self-Destructive Saturday

The title really says it all. Actually, hold on. Let me grab a beer.

Thats better.

If it's going to be a self-destructive Saturday, there damn well better be a beer involved.

Ok, so the title is a little dramatic. I'm not really self destructive today. I just wasn't very productive. And in this fast paced, broadband-speed, micro-managing, iPod shuffle, instant get-ification, credit card fueled, frenetic world we live in, it feels like if you aren't making leaps and bounds towards the end goal of your dreams then you are falling behind. Today felt like one of those days. I actually really like my iPod shuffle. I didn't mean to lump you in with micro-managing. Sorry shuffle.

I blame my non-productive day on a couple of things:

1) A stupid migraine. About once, maybe twice a year I get a very minor (stupid) migraine. For those who get blinding vomit-inducing migraines that force them into a curtain-drawn room for the better part of a week, I apologize. That sounds terrible. If you have the Hulk Hogan of migraines, I have the Peewee Herman of cranial discomfort. It doesn't have the strength to bend a steel pipe into the shape of a rabbit, but it does have the shrill unsettling tenor of a man who speaks one octave too high and exposes himself to children.

Are you ready for photophobia?

I was taking an MCAT practice test this morning when I noticed the faint aura appear in my left field of vision.  Like an old neighbor you didn't want to see again, wrapping on your window while you are in the middle of your favorite movie. Crap. Of all the times to get a migraine, taking a practice test is one of the more inconvenient. Taking the real test, of course would be far worse, and I would rather not think about that situation for the sake of my blood pressure. I'm pretty sure my headache this morning was due to chronic over-caffeination, and I have the refrigerator pack of Red Bull to prove it.

Per usual, the aura (imagine the after effect of staring at the sun for a moment) was a small linear segment off to my left, but I knew it was on the move. If history could be learned from, the spot would grow in size and migrate across my field of vision. This means that I am now racing the aura. I needed to finish 20 minutes of reading comprehension before that sneaky little bastard is dead center in front of me and I can't see anything that I'm looking at.

The problem is, I'm already rushing myself on what I consider the hardest section of the MCAT. It doesn't help that I have a clock in the corner of the screen reminding me that I'm a slow-ass reader, but now I have a biological detonating wick crawling its way across whatever I look at. Great. I didn't end up doing well on that section. And the pot at the end of the rainbow, the reward for watching the phantasm inch its way rightward for the better part of an hour, is a hangover-like headache that lasts a few hours.

2) I said that there were multiple things to blame for my non-productive day of so-called self destruction, but I can't think of another legitimate excuse. I gave myself plenty of time to think of one while describing my headache with unnecessary detail. Oh wait! I've got one.

3) Random re-arranging day! That's right. Every blue moon (which happens about twice a year) something magical happens. I will be innocently cleaning around the house when I notice an object out of place. So I move it. But it doesn't look good there. So I put it somewhere else. And then I think, well damn, it would look really good sitting over there. But of course, there is something in its way. That means I need to move that other thing. And then find a better place for it. This means moving something ELSE out of it's precious little niche. After about an hour, I have all of the furniture on the front lawn, and I'm staring at an empty living room trying to visualize the best place for a crooked IKEA lamp. Hi. My name is Oliver and I have a re-arranging sickness.

So the house is spotless. Completely re-arranged, but spotless. My poor MCAT knowledge has not progressed with the light-speed evolution that I had planned for. I promise that tomorrow will be a new day. Self-CONSTRUCTIVE Sunday I'll call it! Oh what a day this will be.

Another hour before midnight means that I have time for one more beer though...