Okay, so I'm writing this blog for the Willis family who still doesn't believe that last night, Kelli, Ashley and I (and many more friends) went out to celebrate Kelli's 22nd birthday by hitting up a couple of clubs in Hollywood on Sunset blvd. Well, they may believe that but they don't believe what's about to come. As we hit up two of L.A.'s most "premiere" clubs, we mangaged to see and dance by and groove with three celebrities of the incessant Hollywood subculture: Steve-O (most famously known from the MTV show "jackass"), Michael Vartan (from TV's "Alias," and the movie "Never Been Kissed") and of course, Mr. Justin Timberlake himself, decked out in a fabulously classy white beany hat, a plain white t-shirt (going for the philadelphia inner-city look I think), and white tennis shoes. And, just to prove he's no "boy" from any "boy band" still around today, he seemed to be growing a rather thinly shabby beard and mustache.
Okay, I know you're probably drooling at the picture-perfect mental image I've just painted, but you really shouldn't be. Grab a napkin or something and take my advice: he's way, so, totally---like---overrated (I resort to talking like a 11-year-old girl when I talk mushy about J.T.). Not only are his dance moves C- at best, but his "rap skills" appeared to be seriously struggling as well. As we watched him popping his head up and down as if he were a struggling street corner performer in Hollywood still trying his best to rap with two buddies, and watched him drink a swig of whiskey every ten minutes, and watched him recite every Snoop-Dogg song lyric playing loud and clear throughout the club's speakers, I couldn't help but think how normal he really was and how nobody would really give a crap about him had he never become famous (an act I'm personally blaming the entire American pop culture audience for making happen---and yes, I'm guilty too). As our group danced within just three arms reach of Justin Timberlake and his seriously hot and oh-so-trendy-but-simple white t-shirt glistening under the high strobe ceiling lights, I found myself getting angry. Angry that someone like him is such a huge, pop cultural icon for today. Angry that I'm not nor never will be as cool and as well known and as popular as he. Is this what pop culture enthusiasts and historians will remember about my generation? That Justin Timberlake ruled the wannabe-rap-hip-hop scene, while Jessica Simpson's sister was caught lip syncing on Saturday Night LIVE? Where is our generation's Marilyn Monroe? James Dean? John Lennon? Sammy Davis, Jr.?
I don't know, but I guess I'll always have my bragging rights to having danced nearby Mr. Timberlake, one of the most popular "artists" in music today. And if that sentence didn't make you cringe at who today we dub "artists" then that makes me even more sad.
Happy birthday Kelli. And to the Willis family, Justin sends you his love.