Mads, my Norwegian companion, and I were taking a slack day, lying on the couch and eating Chinese food right out of the containers. Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" was on TV.
Hey, hey, you, you... I don't like your girlfriend... no way, no way... I think you need a new one...
"You know," Mads said. "How does one become an Avril Lavigne?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like, she doesn't really do anything. Look at her here, she's not playing an instrument, she doesn't really sing... I don't get the appeal. Anyone could do this song and make a hit out of it."
I felt I needed to defend her, especially after she helped me out with the Barry Bonds thing, even though I did pay her a lot for it.
"She has a certain element of charisma. And I think she writes all her stuff. I think that's how she broke in. Besides, she's Canadian. How many people can say that?"
"She writes all her stuff? 'Hey, hey, you, you... I don't like your girlfriend'? And her other stuff: 'Why ya gotta go make shit so complicated'? What the fuck? A gorilla could write that."
"I think it's 'Why ya gotta go make things so complicated...', and I'll give you that it's not the best material.... Whatever, I can't be bothered to argue with you."
"Because I'm right."
"Pass me the beef and mushroom, fucker."
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