The Pussycat Dolls and their collective right to live

I spent an unhealthy amount of time yesterday pondering the collective fates of the Pussycat Dolls.

What constitutes an unhealthy amount of time is debatable, of course. I probably spent about five minutes honestly thinking about it while on a run last night, followed by another five minutes thinking if it would be something worth writing about. All told, that's 10 minutes of thinking about the demise of a presumed one-hit wonder pop group with no redeemable social values, which is probably about 11 minutes too many.

Who are the Pussycat Dolls you ask? First off, I will laugh at your limited pop culture range, while simultaneously brooding my irreversible status as a 25-year-old jettisoned from the desired demographic of MTV culture. After that, I will explain that the Pussycat Dolls are a singing group of six reasonably attractive young women who have a hit song called "Don't Cha" on heavy rotation at MTV, Z-100 and the like right now. I suppose they are supposed to be the younger, cuter, American cousins of the Spice Girls, even if "Don't Cha" couldn't hold a candle to "Wannabe," "2 Becomes 1" or even "Spice Up Your Life" for that matter. I shouldn't know that.

It should also be noted that their name contains a slang word for female genitalia, which I'm 90 percent sure a really fat record executive with a pony tail and a big cigar (a.k.a. the guy from Wayne's World) came up with. Not really relevant here, but I thought it warranted mentioning.

So the Pussycats, comprised of Alpha Dog lead singer Nicole Scherzinger, Carmit Bachar, Ashley Roberts, Jessica Sutta, Melody Thornton and Kimberly Wyatt, have this new song that more or less is the worst fucking thing I've ever heard.

Musically, I've heard sorrier summer Top 40 anthems. It's not going to be confused with Sugar Ray's "Fly" or any other summer classic but it ain't LFO's "Summer Girls" either. It kind of just cruises along for three minutes or so with a semi-catchy hook, aided greatly by a video that showcases the girls jumping around a lot and basically whoring it out. No problem there. Added bonus points for succeeding despite a superfluous and awkward Busta Rhymes cameo.

So musically and visually, you could do worse. But then there are the lyrics...

Now I understand examining the lyrical content of a singing group that names themselves after their own private parts is akin to studying the acting habits of Mario Lopez, but this is something that had to be addressed and I doubt Kurt Loder or Greg T. "The Frat Boy" were going to touch this one.

Let's start from the top:

Baby ooooh
I know you like me (I know you like me)
I know you do (I know you do)
Thats why whenever I come around
She's all over you (she's all over you)
I know you want it (I know you want it)
It's easy to see (it's easy to see)
And in the back of your mind
I know you should be fucking me (babe)

Catchy, I know. Let's break this down. So you're a Pussycat Doll and you see some dude on the dancefloor that you decide you want to take home, presumably to bone. The guy's girlfriend sees you are flirting with him on the dancefloor, so the girlfriend understandable attempts to "mark her territory" if you will, by dancing closer on her man. That defense won't deter a Pussycat, however, who whisper sweet nothings into the ear of their prey in an effort to make the subject realize he "should be fuckin'" them. Very nice.

The chorus?

Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha

Okay. So if you're a straight dude, or a lesbian, or even a gay dude who watches Jessica on Laguna Beach, you know that 94 percent of women are inherently crazy. And crazy girls like the Pussycats are one of the reasons that normal girls become crazy. I mean, you have to be a pretty mean-spirited bitch to pick off some other girl's man right in front of her eyes. But only the most slutty and vindictive of these homewreckers will actually brag about it and turn it into a three minute pop song. Amazing.

I know she loves you (I know she loves you)
So I understand (I understand)
I probably be just as crazy about you
If you were my own man
Maybe next lifetime (maybe next lifetime)
Possibly (possibly)
Until then no friend possibly
Is a drag for me

A lover's lament? Hardly. The closing verse insinuates that if the Pussycat and her target, ahem, man, can't bang on this night, it ain't happenin'. The Dolls even pull the existential card, declaring a future hookup must wait until "next lifetime." That's some deep stuff. The Cats close shop by saying friendship is not an option. Fair enough.

And now back to my original point. Last night, I wondered if the Pussycats had actually sealed their fates by releasing such a overtly negative and nasty song for public mass consumption. I even toyed with the idea of whether or not they deserved to die for a song that re-inforces such hurtful behavior to millions of impressionable young girls. In retrospect, I may have been a little out of line even within the confines of my inner-monologue, but it warrants mentioning.

Don't worry about me though. Maybe I'm missing the whole point -- the "Pussycat Experience" if you will.

"We're the newest thing, man. We're a song-and-dance group, and it's not just another cookie-cutter group. It's just like our song says, we're 'Hot, Raw, Freaky and Fun,' " said the Alpha Dog Scherzinger. "I just think we're on the forefront of groups to come out. The Spice Girls weren't bad, but we're the newer version. So I guess it's not 'Girl Power,' it's 'Doll Power.' "

On second thought, I don't think I'm missing a thing. Please excuse me while I curl up on the couch and pop in my Ginger Spice solo album.

There's a Spice Girls reunion on the horizon, you know.

Trouble in the Bronx

If last April someone from the future were to knock on my door (i.e. a man with a silver jumpsuit and cataract sunglasses) to tell me that the Yankees would be 60-52 after 112 games, I'd do two things. First, I'd ask him if Stephen ever got back with Kristen. After that, I'd tell him I was very displeased with the Yankees.

I mean, how could you not be? These are the $200 million dollar Yankees after all, the same team that Vegas put an unheard over/under on regular season wins at 101. The same Yankees that signed Randy Johnson to be the Ace, Carl Pavano to be the Ace Understudy and slotted in Mike Mussina into the super-cushy Backup-Ace Understudy slot. The offense featured a small army of All-Stars and future Hall of Famers. It was an embarassment of riches.

Well, the Yankees aren't going to win 101 games. I would seriously consider signing off on 91 at this point. Today, word came down from Dr. James Andrews -- a.k.a. the Grim Reaper of Shoulders -- that Carl Pavano had a case of right shoulder tendenitis and was most likely done for the season. Unfortunate, but not a big deal, we've still got the Big Unit right? Not right. It was also officially announced today that Johnson would miss his next scheduled start with a bad back that many in the organization fear may never get better. Well, it's a good thing we signed Jared Wright, right? Ummm, no. Wright -- a questionable signing from the beginning -- hasn't pitched since April 23, and only now appears close to making it back to a major league mound. How 'bout rookie sensation Chien-Ming Wang? Former superstar Kevin Brown? Ummmmm...you get the point.

I'm not the biggest of Brian Cashman fans, but the rash of injuries to the Yankees' rotation has been so unthinkable, so absurd, how could you put any blame on the general manager? If we really need a sacrificial lamb, can we please check the credentials of team trainer Steve Donahue? I know he's been in the Yankees' dugout for roughly 78 years now, but are we sure he wasn't somehow grandfathered into the position? Someone has to look into this.

The Yankees rotation now consists of Mike Mussina, Shawn Chacon, The Artist Formerly Known As Al Leiter, Aaron Small and a player to be named later. Not exactly the stuff that dreams -- or winning streaks -- are made of. And if you're starting to worry about the Yankees playoff prospects (now 5 games behind the Red Sox and 4 behind the A's for the final playoff spot) you are not being paranoid. This is a team in serious trouble.

Then how are the Yankees still eight games over .500 and within striking distance for a playoff spot? That one's simple. The 2005 Yankees may very well end up with the dubious distinction of being the first team to include the league's Most Valuable Player (A-Rod) and the Cy Young award winner (Mo Rivera) and not make the playoffs.

How good have these two guys been? A-Rod's had more game than Talan-Hawk-Thunder-Cloud (yep, two Laguna Beach references), earning every dollar of that monster contract -- relatively speaking, of course. And Mo? What else can be said? He's the greatest relief pitcher who's ever lived, bouncing back from last October's Red Sox miseries to have his best season ever at age 33.

The rest of the team has more or less delivered as expected. Cano has been a nice surprise at second, filling the offensive void of the bumbling old man in center who stole Bernie Williams' uniform. Sheffield, Jeter, Matsui, Mussina and Sturtze have performed more or less as expected. Posada has slipped a bit, but he is a 33-year-old catcher with a ton of postseason mileage on him. Giambi has been a great story, and an even bigger surprise. Joe Torre seems to lose a little more off his fastball every year, but he is still the right man to manage this group. The core is still there, and it will be there playoffs or not next season.

In the end, it all goes back to that shredded pitching staff. Whether it is bad luck, bad conditioning, bad front office decision-making or something else, it is becoming to be more and more a possibility that the franchise's postseason appearance streak won't live past 10. Is it time to deliver that eulogy speech on the 2005 season? I wouldn't go that far.

I would consider readying a draft of the speech on your laptop, however.