Reblogged from The Lollygabber:

I didn’t mean to be mean When I screamed, when I wept I didn’t want to be wanted I just needed to be kept I’m so used to being used Your pure intentions Are abuse If you’d struck me, if you’d fuck me You’re like the others – Cold but lucky It was simple being easy So I blame you When you please me For saving me from deadly habits That die hard For making me smile For taking me far Far from here Far from blue Further from home Furthest from you So, to that end, I must implore: If you hated me Would I love …

See also Lolly’s Top 5 Hip Hop Hits of 2008 and 2009. Coming very soon: Lolly’s Top 5 Hip Hop Hits of 2011!

I have no life. Law school is my controlling, jealous, guilt-tripping mistress/mister. I have been meaning to finish this post since December of 2010! The one thing I always have time for is listening to the radio on my commute to and from school. While top 40 stations leave a lot to be desired, they always have a steady supply of upbeat hip hot hits.

2010 was an incredible year for hip hop!! Eminem solidified his professional and personal comeback with his June 21 release of Recovery. “Not Afraid” and “Love the Way You Lie” (featuring Rihanna) topped the charts, and his other singles and collaborations also enjoyed much success. Rihanna and Beyoncé continued to excel popularly and critically. Kanye West graduated with a PhD from Hip Hop University, and Runaway was his dissertation (Runaway transcends categorization and ranking, so it is not included in the Top 5). Hip hop dominated top 40 charts, and many of the hits were memorable. Below are my five favorite hits from 2010:

Runner-ups: “Nothin’ on You” by B.o.B. featuring Bruno Mars, “Bottoms Up” by Trey Songz featuring Nicki Minaj, “My Chick Bad” by Ludacris featuring Nicki Minaj, “Fuck You” by Cee Lo Green, “Hey Baby (Drop It to the Floor)” by Pitbull featuring T-Pain

#5 Young Money featuring Lloyd − “Bedrock”

#4 Far*East Movement featuring Cataracs and Dev − “Like a G6″

#3 Kid Cudi featuring MGMT − “Pursuit of Happiness”

#2 Nicki Minaj − “Your Love”

#1 Chris Brown featuring Tyga and Kevin McCall — “Deuces”

Even if you think you have nothing to hide, it always makes sense to cover your e-tracks. When it used to matter, I had three browsers I’d use for different purposes. Google Chrome was for email, LinkedIn, casual browsing, and other activities I generally didn’t need to purge from my record. Firefox . . . I forget. And then there was Internet Explorer.

At one point, I had two YouTube accounts—one I’d open with Google Chrome, and the other I’d open with Internet Explorer. But then they made you link your YouTube account to your Google account. So I linked my “legit” account to my Google account and dropped the other one, the Internet Explorer one. So there were some videos I just didn’t get to see after that. Which was a shame. It wasn’t like they were illegal or immoral or wrong or anything. I just felt paranoid about looking at anything restricted through my Google account.

I liked at least to pretend I was anonymous. That’s what I’d use Internet Explorer for—all of my anonymous activities. I had some silly username like gemini84 (I’m a Sagittarius and wasn’t born in ’84), and I’d change my password regularly (It would always be something nonsensical like &%$#fraDujlKja9899i9W23). None of that ultimately mattered, but at least I felt I had a sense of autonomy and privacy in a world of virtual spotlights and actual predators.

Turns out I was wise to drop that YouTube account, never to enjoy those restricted videos. Somewhere out there, they really do have more records than the KGB.

It just so happened that I was a freshman at Princeton when Mark Zuckerberg was a freshman at Harvard. (No, I don’t know him personally. I know a handful of people who went to Exeter with him, but whatever. It doesn’t matter.) When I joined Facebook my sophomore (or was it junior?) year in college, back when it was called “The Facebook,” I had no idea what a key role it would play in my undoing.

I used to resent that Professor Heart Attack, more than 30 years my senior and (last time I heard) without a cell phone or personal email account, was so ahead of my time. He was seemingly compassionate, extremely intelligent, not at all attractive, cosmopolitan, wealthy, and—it turns out—deeply insecure and duplicitous. It seemed cruelly ironic that he—of all people—appeared to escape the disaster when most of us had our worlds ripped out from under us.

Of course, he hadn’t anticipated the ultimate irony. Neither had I.

I just wanted to dance the night away without thinking about hooking up or playing games or trying so damn hard. We were going to meet a few friends from college at a gay club a few blocks from my apartment. It had practically become a monthly tradition at that point. This was before I knew Edgar was straight and, incidentally, madly in love with me.

“What about that guy who was inexperienced but good in bed?”

“He turned out to be an uptight pothead if you can believe that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met one of those. I’ll take your word for it. What about that guy who was pretty stable and treated you with respect and always paid when you went out?”

“He’s still in love with his ex. I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone. Hell, if I’m gonna be with someone, there better not be any other fiddle he’s listening to! I know it’s one of those ‘it’s not me, it’s him’ sort of situations, but it still sucks and I can’t not take it personally.”

“I hear ya. What about . . . I think his name is Paul? What’s the problem with him?”

“Paul.” I couldn’t keep from smiling a little at the sound of his name. “Well . . . nothing.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

“He’s honest with himself. And he’s honest with me. He’s not at a point in his life where he can completely give me what I need.”

“He can’t? Or he won’t?”

“Does it matter?  He doesn’t.” And, with that, I broke into song: All my hangups are gone / How I wish you felt the same.

“I love it when you sing Prince or The Artist or a symbol or whatever his name is these days. Are you ready yet? You look great.”

I put my arm around his shoulder and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Let’s go, baby!”

Boys just want to have fun!! In one of many great scenes from The Rules of Attraction, Paul (Ian Somerhalder) and Dick (Russell Sams) enjoy a little friskiness on a hotel bed before heading down to dinner with their pill-popping moms. George Michael provides the soundtrack. Enjoy!

“It’s so immature and inconsiderate, but I hate to say it’s not surprising.” Gina Q. put her arm around my shoulder as we sat on her bed (the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in to date). “Wasn’t there a similar episode a few months ago? And by similar, I mean similar in level of offensiveness—not with respect to the underlying details or the offender.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Same old fucking song even if the lyrics and performer change. But I’m just so damn sick and so damn tired of the games and the gaffes and the lies and the bullshit! And don’t tell me it’s a life experience and that everything is a lesson and all that The Secret stuff. It doesn’t make be feel better.”

The tears came with almost no warning. I rocked back and forth in Gina’s arms and sobbed like I did when I was 7 and the babysitter’s son beat me up in his tree fort. It had been months since I had cried that completely and unabashedly. I needed to do it. It felt cathartic. (And I even felt a little thinner to boot!)

The emotional force evaporated as quickly as it had emerged. My body and body language reflected this, and Gina noticed. She waited until the last thread of tension faded from me before saying anything. “Well…if nothing else, it sure does make for a good story! Change names and immaterial details, and people would wanna read that, especially the way I’d imagine you’d write about it and just about anything else that inspires you. Hold on a sec…I want us to talk about this more, but let me get you something to drink first.” Gina skipped over to her kitchen to get a locally brewed beer for her and a Diet Pepsi (“not because you should be on a diet or anything like that, but because it’s your favorite so I try to keep some for you,” she’d always say) for me.

I felt like I had vertigo or whiplash or something. Having traveled  the spectrum of emotions over the course of the night, I felt intoxicated, dizzy, disheveled, hot (bothered?). A serene, empowered smile overtook my puffy face as I realized Gina quite possibly had said the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. And many really nice things had been said to me before.

In that moment I felt that—notwithstanding the bullshit and pain and suffering and frustration and unfairness of it all—most of the time life (stranger than fiction, isn’t it?) was usually mostly all good.

“So do I,” replied Gina Q.

“But one of those things you and I can’t have.”

“Says who?”

“Says biology.”

“We could adopt or try other options.”

“But it’s not the same.”

“Social Darwinist.”

“Highbrow snob.”

“Closed-minded philistine.”

“Feminazi bitch!”

Apparently, I had gone too far (as if calling me a philistine wasn’t crossing the line). Gina grabbed her keys and slammed the door in my face.

I’m back in Texas to visit my family and friends, and today would have been Alex’s 25th birthday. They say losing someone gets easier with time, but I am not convinced. Sure, the pain is no longer acute (most of the time), but it seems to have seeped into every fiber of my being. I can feel it within my marrow, in the roots of my teeth, and on the soles of my feet.

When I first learned about death, I remember staying up at night and crying. The thing I struggled to process was the fact that I would probably live to bury my parents. I wanted to die before they did so that I wouldn’t have to endure that kind of loss. I never really thought about losing my brother. 

Almost two years ago, I moved for the first time since Alex passed away. On one hand, it was nice to get out of Portland because it was there that I received the horrible news. On the other hand, he was still alive when I moved there in October 2008. What I am painfully realizing is that every literal and figurative move I make from this point forward will occur without his earthly presence. That’s unsettling to really think about.

My last few visits to Texas didn’t feel as depressing as I had anticipated. It almost seemed like Alex was in summer school or on some fun trip. It felt like he simply never came back from college. Sometimes I caught myself eagerly awaiting his return, but I would inevitably remember that he’s not coming back.

Since the last time I came home, my mom moved from the house we grew up in. Now it’s clear he’s not coming back. I don’t even get my hopes up anymore.

I often feel sorry for myself. Then I feel bad about feeling sorry for myself, and then I feel justified. But sometimes I embrace my sadness. It is here to stay, and it’s an important part of me. At a certain point, the grief becomes so profound that it seems to transform into an empowering, enthusiastic force that propels me upward and forward. Maybe that’s what happens when we die: the agony and injustice and bullshit of this life launch us into a euphoric, boundless ascent.

Is it the tangerine hue of his skin? Or the antagonistic look in his green eyes? Our beloved Speaker of the House sure does resemble Scar, the villain from The Lion King.