I have three nephews and one niece, and they all seem to like me well enough. With no real competition, I qualify as the “cool uncle,” even though they have no idea what I’m talking about most of the time.
Apparently it was news to my 14-year-old niece that the Pussycat Dolls are ignorant sluts whose fan base consists of materialistic idiots with shitty taste in music. I think she thought they were somehow empowering, or at the very least harmless.
The lyrics to their latest hit:
When I grow up
I wanna be famous
I wanna be a star
I wanna be in movies
When I grow up
I wanna see the world
Drive nice cars
I wanna have Groupies
But alas,
be careful what you wish for
‘Cause you just might get it
Then again,
I ain’t complaining
We all wanna be famous
So go ahead and say what you wanna say
You know what it’s like to be nameless
My niece told me she also liked some country music, such as Rascal Flatts and Carrie Underwood.
They aren’t country, I told her, they’re crappy pop stars with a twang. And while we’re on the subject … Good Charlotte has nothing to do with punk.
“They don’t?”
If I don’t tell her, apparently no one else will. The tutelage continues, and it’s not without sacrifice.
It requires watching an occasional episode of “The Hills” or other such nonsense. But I do it … for the children.