One day after the State Of The Union, or #SOTU on Twitter®, I have come to the conclusion that our current president, Donald Trump, has matured. He can now drink a glass of water with one hand, and he can read off a teleprompter at a third grade level. Kudos.
This is not me. It is Robert Young from 1957. Our resemblance to each other is eerie.
My name is Carl Young, not to be confused by the realtor extraordinaire from the southwest suburbs with the same name. No worries, it happens all the time. In college, one weirdo asked if I was related to some famous psychiatrist. I walked on. If anything, a lot of people seem to think I look like a young Robert Young. It leads me to wonder, will I look like the old Robert Young as I get older?
A friend of mine hates mash ups. The whole idea and shebang of taking two shitty tunes and making another shitty tune out of it, or ruining two good songs and transforming it into a shitty tune, pisses him off to no end. So much so, he is incapable of stifling his grief out loud.
In 1986, Wham! officially broke up. Truth is, it was a somber day for Andrew Ridgeley. George Michael had to have some kind of inkling of an idea that he was going to go the solo artist route. The band thing was only holding him back from greater success and sexual acts in public toilets. It makes sense that Andrew Ridgeley, more commonly known as the other guy with no talent of Wham!, you know, the guy who danced, but didn’t sing (he may have sung “jitterbug”, yet, I have doubts that he could sing that low.), was not heard from again, until the death of George Michael.
Marvin Gaye was fatally shot by his dad on April 1, 1984. At the risk of sounding racist, he was a much better performer than Wham!
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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