In the day
In the night
Say it right
Say it all
You either got it
Or you don’t
You either stand or you fall
When your will is broken
When it slips from your hand
When there’s no time for joking
There’s a hole in the plan

Oh, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
No, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
But you’ve got what it takes to set me free
Oh, you could mean everything to me

I can’t say that I’m not lost and at fault
I can’t say that I don’t love the light and the dark
I can’t say that I don’t know that I am alive
And all of what I feel I could show
You tonight, you tonight

Oh, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
No, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
But you’ve got what it takes to set me free
Oh, you could mean everything to me

From my hands I could give you
Something that I made
From my mouth I could sing you another brick that I
laid
From my body I could show you a place God knows
You should know the space is holy
Do you really want to go?

Tradução aqui!

So, not feeling the ‘Lachata’ song? Well, f(x) to those 150 lucky fans performed more than just ‘Lachata’! Those lucky fans picked out from the internet got to hear a new single called, ‘Mr. Boogie.’ Now, despite the name (because come on. Boogie?!?) the song is actually very catchy!

There’s been mixed feedback from netizens:

Netizen #1, ‘ Same here, Mr. Boogie is catchy, but it’s too much like all the songs other songs in Korea, Lachata is unique and refreshing, an excellent debut song.’

Netizen #2, ‘Why oh why didn’t they release this song as their debut song?’

Netizen #3, ‘kinda sounds like Nelly Furtado’s “Say it Right”‘

Note: God, do I smell more FALSE plageriazing accusations?

Netizen #4, ‘another ugly song poor sme’

Some think that ‘Mr. Boogie’ should’ve been their debut song instead of Lachata while others think they shouldn’t have performed it in the first place.

What do you think? Is it worthy of being a debut song? Or just plain trash from f(x)?

While you’re thinking about it, go check out and join fxinternational.ipbfree.com

By: Nelly Furtado

In the day, in the night
Say it right, say it all
You either got it or you don’t
You either stand or you fall

When your will is broken
When it slips from your hands
When there’s no time for joking
There’s a hole in the plan

Oh, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
No, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
Oh, you’ve got what it takes to set me free
Oh, you could mean everything to me

I can’t say that I’m not lost and found
I can’t say that I don’t love the light and the dark
I can’t that I don’t know that I am alive
And all of what I feel I could show you tonight

Oh, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
No, you don’t mean nothing at all to me
Oh, you’ve got what it takes to set me free
Oh, you could mean everything to me

From my hands I can give you, something that I made
From my mouth I can sing you another brick that I laid
From my body I can show you a place, God knows
If you know this place is holy, do you really want to go?

Bilgiler 20 Ağustos 2009 itibarıyla
Sanatci; Nelly FURTADO
Parca  ;  Say it Right
Eklenme; 9 Ağustos  2009
izlenme; 91 Kişi
EK Bilgi; Eski Ama Muzigi Hos Parca

Klibi izlemek icin BURAYA TIKLAMANIZ YETERLi.
(Video yeni Pencerede Acilacaktir.Bilginize.)

“If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly.”  — G.K. Chesterton

Ever turn a proverb upside down?  It helps sometimes, to see what happens.    Many of us are brought up to believe that we have to perform, excel, finish first, get on the team, do a good job, see it through, get it done on time, say it right, get ahead, and on and on, better and better as we go.  Why?  Maybe that’s the way Dad did it; and Grandma did it and that’s just the way it’s supposed to be.

And then, inevitably, we’d fail or fall. So we’d turn back on ourselves in shame, beat ourselves up, maybe turn to alcohol or drugs or some other addiction.  If we were failures in public, then many of us would make up our own private world where failure doesn’t exist.  In this little world fantasy ruled, and in fantasy there are only successes; everybody scores

But I have come to know that it doesn’t have to be so.  We can break the spell and stop beating ourselves, and get away from Father’s angry voice or that dissapointed look on Mother’s face.  We can do things at our own speed, in our own unique way, on our own timeline, just for the joy of doing them.

Recently, I’ve been running into a lot of strangers. You know, around town and stuff. And since these strangers have been giving me lots of good life advice, I figured it would be shame for me to keep their wisdom to myself. So without further delay, I now introduce a new feature of my blog- I’m thinking it will be sort of a Tuesdays with Morrie type of thing. It’s called, “Touched By An Angel,” and what follows is my encounter with Angel number one…

I was waiting for the train to go see Emma.

(First of all, I just want to clarify that I wasn’t actually waiting for “a train.” I was waiting for a trolley. You see, “going to see Emma” involves waiting for a tranny vintage trolley to come screeching up to the stop near my house (and by “house” I mean the old people’s apartment building I live in with my mom), followed by a journey involving two more train transfers before I get to le apartment. I know, right? It takes me more than an hour total each way. Would Emma be pathetic enough to do the same for me? I mean, who really wants to answer these questions….back to the story)

So I’m sitting there on the bench in my cowboy boots and red lipstick, in an attempt to look as tranny as possible, when this black lady comes over and sits down next to me. Nothing too exciting at this point, I know. But then, she starts sighing. A lot. I’m chillin’, reading my copy of American Pastoral (veddy slowly; despite my attempts to become smarter, I’m finding this book sort of rough), and I’m not quite sure if I’m supposed to acknowledge the sighs or not. As I’m thinking about this, I hear the lady mutter, “Damn, Charlie, where you at, huh? Hurry up already!”

Now, if you aren’t from Boston, you probably don’t find this that amusing. But let me inform you of something: Charlie is an imaginary transportation mascot man that appears on all the T passes in Boston. The man is fiction. A cartoon character. He ain’t real. And this woman was speaking to him as if, I don’t know, as if he was actually alive and the conductor of every piece of MTA equipment in Boston. This made me happy, because I love crazies, so I smile at her, and she smiles back, and then she looks down at her legs and hoots, “Girl, I have GOT to shave my legs, my Lord! I mean, damn! Look at these things!” 
My reaction is to do the polite thing, aka not actually look at her legs but examine my own.  “God, me too,” I say. (Seriously. God me too.) 

“The things we do for men,” she replies. 

Huh?, I think, but I feel the words “Tell me about it” come out of my lips instead. 
Suddenly, she thrusts her hand in my face. “And I gotta get my nails done. Look at them girl.” 
I do, and then lift up my feet from the pavement and show her my chipped toenails. We both nod and sigh. 
“You know what though?” she says. “You gotta love yourself. That’s the only way. You gotta LOVE yourself. That’s the most important thing.” 
As I try to think of how to respond to that sentiment (“You are amazing?”) Charlie finally sounds the trolley bell in the distance. We both stand up.

 “Can I ask you a question,” the lady says. “Woman to woman?”  

“Um… sure,” I stammer. “But I don’t-” (What I’m really thinking is, holy fuck I look like a woman?)

“So, can a man say he is in love with a woman, and then one day can he just tell her he isn’t in looooove with her anymore? Can a man just wake up and do that?” 

I don’t even bother trying to respond to that. 

On the trolley to the red line, I learn a few more deets from the lady. I learn that the mean man in question is a twenty-seven-year-old paralegal, and according to my new friend’s Godmother, he is just scared of how much he loves her, that’s all. I ask her how long she’s been with the dude. 
“Since April,” she says.

“Okay. Well, then that’s strange,” I tell her. “He just changed his mind like that?” 

“Yep, he’s all, “I got to focus on work.” He’s young, you know? He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 
I shake my head in agreement. “Men.”  
Then I add, “If twenty-seven is young, you are….?” I had been thinking she was twenty-five when I first eyed her, thirty tops.
 
“Thirty-eight,” she tells me.

“No way!” I say. “You look so young!” 
She pats her weave and smiles.
But the smile quickly disintegrates.

After so much chatting, her sadness is unnerving. I think of a question. “Where does the guy live?”  

“New York,” she replies.
 
“New York? 
So, how do you…” 
“We met online.” 

O-kay. I know I’m only twenty-one here, so I feel like making condescending remarks about the idiodicy of online dating is a bit naïve and mean-spirited on my part, and considering that I’m fairly certain I’m going to end up thirty-eight years old with, like, fifteen online dating accounts (including one on Jdate, and I’m not even Jewish), I should probably shut that hole in my face.  But right now, I’m going to have to put it out there that I think those sites are kind of uber-lame. I mean, fly your freak flag in public please. And if you have enough time to maintain a profile and email people, then shut your comp off and go to a park or something, right?

But back to our convo. My only response to that morsel of information is to ask the un-askable:  “So, have you ever actually met him in person?” 
 
      She gives me an amused laugh, as if that was a silly, silly thing to think of. “No girl. But he’s a Libra and I’m a Sagittarius and we were straight-up viben’ on the phone when we talked! Straight up VIBEN! Like, I’ve never had anything like that! I know that this is real!”

(I have to give her a few points for that one. There is nothing like straight-up vibing with someone on the phone, is there?) 
 
But her enthusiasm is short-lived because before I can congratulate her on the viben-find, her whining kicks in. “I’m in love,” she groans. “I think about that man when I wake up. When I go to sleep. When I eat. I can’t focus at work. I can’t FOCUS girl. I had a boyfriend before him, you know, I thought I loved him, but it ain’t nothing like this. Because that man was sel-fish. He was so selfish all the time! He took and took and gave nothing back. I just lost it for him. With this guy though, I have butterflies. You know, if you don’t have butterflies, it ain’t real.” 

I go to open my mouth, to say, um, I don’t really know what-me love butterflies too?-but to my relief, she just continues talking. 
“And you know, he said he thought I was only interested in sex because all I talk about is sex on the phone, but that is not true girl! I’m not all about sex! I’m not! And then his phone suddenly wasn’t working, so I sent him on a cell phone in the mail, and a hundred dollars, and my God mother was like, don’t DO that, but I did, and like, I’m never getting that cell-phone back, am I? But how can he think I’m only interested in sex if I sent him a phone?” 
        
I look into her eyes. What I want to say is-his cell phone suddenly wasn’t working?-girl COME ON-but I just shake my head in disbelief, as if to say, keeping your money and your cell-phone? Who is this guy? Then I attempt some of my best you-go-girl Samantha Jones pep talk shit. “It sounds like this guy is selfish too. Maybe he’s not worth it if he just cut you off like this. I think if you just give it some time then you’ll start to see-”
         
“No. Uh-uh. Nope. I’m never going to get over him. This ain’t going away!” She throws up her hand in the air. “I’m telling you this feeling will never go away. Why won’t he call me!” 

For some reason, I really want this woman to feel better. We’ve been talking for thirty minutes now, and she’s told me that I have to love myself and stuff, so now I just want to help her in some way. And, based on the evidence, I’m pretty sure this dude is no longer interested, so I just want her to at least start to think about moving on from believing so strongly in this cyber-space relationship.  So I tell her again that all she really needs is some time; I tell her that to get over someone, it’s just about time, time and nothing else except for maybe even some more time. And to back up my point, I tell my new best friend about a guy who I had been quite, ahem, enamored with in college. I tell her about how we’d been together, and that I was all butterfly-ey like her too, until he told me that he wasn’t so interested after all. I tell her that just like her I was upset about it beyond belief, and for months. Okay, so I leave out the fact that for a good while I was listening to “Irreplaceable” and “Say it Right” on my ipod while making violent hand gestures in the gym, and that once I cried when I was drunk at a party and saw the dude in question grinding and making out with a skanky freshman girl. In my defense, watching those two goons smack their asses together would have brought most mentally sane people to tears and, because I cried while walking home from the party and not next to a keg or anything, I figure this is all okay. Beer tears in public give me the heebie jeebies. (And don’t let this all make you feel too bad for me or anything, because later that very same night my roommate came home and comforted me by hooking up with her own skanky freshman in our room, thus leaving me to listen to Coldplay in my bed, drown out their petting, and boohoo myself to sleep. Oh, college.)

But yeah, I tell the lady that for months I had gone back and forth between being wicked sad one day and wicked pissed off the next, and then, after awhile, I got over him. But she just looked at me solemnly.
             “My Godmother says I should leave it alone, you know, just not contact him for awhile, because he’ll come back. He’ll come back, she says. And girl, your man is gonna come back too, you know. They always do. Men always come running back when they did wrong.” 
At this point, I start laughing, not only because the poor dude she is referring to probably doesn’t even realize what he did in the first place, but also, because um, I really, really don’t want him to come back. 
“Yeah, I don’t think so…” I start to say.
 
“No.” She looks me dead in the eye.  ”GIRL THEY ALWAYS COME BACK.” 

“Um, okay?” 

“Look, you can’t do psychotic fucked up shit to people and think it won’t come back to haunt you. You just can’t. It’s called karma girl.”
As I was processing that sentence, the train arrived at the next stop. She stood up, slung her fake Coach bag over her shoulder, shook her head at me, and waved good-bye. I never even got my angel’s name.

-SONIDOS PARA TU MÓVIL-

Algunas canciones poperas de ahora:

· Camila TODO CAMBIÓ

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· Nelly Furtado SAY IT RIGHT

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¿Qué os parece la idea?

Juntei aqui algumas das melhores perfomance dessa portuguesinha “coimailindomundo!”

Ela não canta!…  Ela canta pra “caralhow”

Veja ae…

Bubbly

Say it Right

Iris

Everything i do

E muito mais no “channel” dela no you tube!

yep, say it right,, STOP TO OVERPRODUCE BULLLSHIT!

dumb music 4 dumb ppl,, nothing changed since rome & his colosseum