Caveat: I am not sugarcoating this one.
Dear Grammy Chair Assignment Maker,
I keep doing the whole FACE>PALM thing over this Rihanna and Chris Brown snuggle fest on the Grammys last night. Mostly because I wonder why the hell I care? And then I got my answer.
Answer 1: I have a daughter.
Answer 2: She loves music.
Not quite but I wish.
The truth of the matter is that I really don’t care what a star does or doesn’t do with her ex who left her beaten and unrecognizable in a car just four years ago on the very same night. The truth of the matter is that I don’t really care what kind of black doily the stars do or don’t wear on their derriere on stage. I really don’t. That’s their right to artistic expression. Don’t like it? Don’t watch.
I get it. But the gyrating and suggestive moves are the least of my worries. I mean I would actually like a lesson from Beyonce after she steps off the bus from this next tour, people. A Mrs. Carter/ Mrs. Bevins tutorial. Maybe then will she be tired enough that I can keep up.
But when I tune in to watch music’s biggest night and have to see a convicted, violent felon sitting on the front row IN FRONT OF the rest of the law-abiding citizens (aside from the Red Bull they snort but whatever), this is a problem.
I comb Chris Brown’s body language every time I get an accidental chance for some smidge of remorse on his part. I can’t find it. I have looked! I really have. The guy is an insufferable douchebag. Period. Just a few months ago, he had to (I’m assuming at his publicist’s demands) shut down his Twitter account because he tweeted to comedian, Jenny Johnson, that he would like to (I paraphrase) defecate in her eye, “you ho”. Nice.
Never mind the other countless incidences like the punch fest in the studio parking lot last week. Is that why he didn’t have the common decency to stand when Frank Ocean took the stage to accept the award in his category? And who nominated him in the first place? I don’t care if Michael Jackson last will and testamented his blood to the guy. Or if Charlie Sheen loaned him some of the tiger kind. Whatever. Get. Him. Out. Of. Here.
My daughter loves music. She can read. She wants to know why someone would go back to a person that hurt them. I can’t answer that question to her liking or to mine. And frankly, it is none of my business. Until you put them in the front row.
Mom, Music Lover, Open Minded and Still Stymied