Hot Plates and Gender Roles

The blue ceramic plates go in the oven.

I can’t stress this enough. They go in the oven, they’re designed for that purpose, and as such they hold heat incredibly well, so that by the time the food gets to your table it is literally still steaming.

Your food is still hot, because the blue ceramic plate in which it’s cooked is still hot. Like, very hot. Hot enough to take the skin off if you touch it with your bare hand.

So don’t touch it with your bare hand.

Alternately: Touch it with your bare hand, I’m not boss of you, I’m a waiter, and this restaurant and I are both covered legally, now, because I have warned you in front of witnesses.

The blue ceramic plates are hot. Do with this information what you will.

For example, the other day I delivered stuffed mushrooms to a table of four, not to profile or resort to sexist stereotypes but it won’t surprise you to know they were all dudes, and upon the mushrooms’ arrival all four men immediately grabbed the blue ceramic plate with their bare hands.

First one to pull his hand away in pain had to pick up the tab for the meal.

Because he was “a pussy.”

And as I watched it happen, my first thought was; “And that, in a nutshell, is what people mean when they talk about “Toxic Masculinity.” Thanks for the example!”

And my second thought was; “That’s kind of hilarious, and I should totally do this with my friends next time we eat out!”

Because understanding something doesn’t make me above that thing, and self-awareness is overrated as far as actually preventing self-destructive behavior goes…

Bitcoin

Good news! I’ve started accepting Bitcoin!

Which, I think you’ll all agree, was only ever a matter of time.

Normal currencies are, after all, only ever backed by governments, and really, what are governments other than instruments through which people deal collectively with the problems they collectively face? Nothing, that’s exactly right! So why on earth would we allow these entities be in charge of ensuring the safety and stability of a currency, when the much simpler “Nobody in charge of anything and try not to worry about it!” option exists!

There is no reason! I know!

Now, don’t get me wrong, Bitcoin isn’t based on nothing at all, that would obviously be insane. A currency needs a stable platform upon which to rest, otherwise how would it function in the global economy as a real reflection of value, rather than a speculative bubble that could pop at any moment? No, a foundation is needed upon which to build your currency, clearly, that it might stand the test of time and win the trust of the wider world, it just needs to be something deeper and more meaningful than the useful collective fiction that is a national government.

In this specific case, Bitcoin is built upon two main economic pillars, “Libertarianism” and “Wishing.”

Now, as a white cis-male who mostly sleeps with women, the idea of Libertarianism has always appealed to me, I like that it tells me I’ve earned everything I have and need never examine my life any more deeply than that. It comforts me enormously, being told what I want to hear and then encouraged not to think about it. And as far as Wishing goes, who among us has never held a wish near to our breast and hoped for the best?

This, essentially, is Bitcoin. And I think you’ll agree that it’s the sort of basis for an actual currency that real people actually use that absolutely won’t result in the complete collapse of the system like the over-elaborate house of cards that it definitely isn’t.

So it’s with a song in my heart that I jump aboard the Bitcoin train now, after it’s left the station but before it goes completely off the rails, in order to be a part of history. Not a part of history insomuch as it’s the first time an economic scheme of this sort has been attempted, but insomuch as it’s the first time the scheme’s been tried online.

And as we all know, adding the Internet to a business venture is a sure fire winner, the late ‘90s and early 2000s notwithstanding. Bitcoin will no doubt be every bit as great a success as we’ve come to expect from these sorts of ventures!

So: Give me all your Bitcoins. And please, do it quickly, I suspect that they won’t be useful to me much longer, and I’m certainly not willing to pay real money for them while they are…

Weekly Prompt Story: Mirror

http://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=27929

Mirrors

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve replaced the ceiling of my bedroom with mirrors.

The walls too.

My quilt and sheet set are now made of reflective material, and I’ve covered what furniature I have with mirrors as well. This way, wherever I look, I can’t escape the vision of myself, reflected back at myself, all the way to infinity.

It’s been suggested that this will drive me mad, and it might. There are days where I feel like it’s driven me mad already…

Nonetheless, it is necessary.

Something, after all, had to be done, to compensate for my own lack of capacity for self-reflection…

...on Humanity

I’ll loan you my pen, if you need to borrow a pen, but you do have to give it back.

I’m not kidding around about that, if you try to steal my pen I will humanely end your life.

It’ll be completely painless, I’m not a monster. Lethal injection or some such, it’ll feel just like you’re going to sleep, you’ll barely know you’re dying. A warmth will come over you and you’ll settle back into it, comfortable as the end swallows your consciousness whole, allowing yourself to drift off into that eternal sleep that is the end point of every one of our journeys.

I don’t want you to suffer, after all, there’s no reason that I would want you to suffer. I consider us, if not friends, at least friendly acquaintances, as evidenced by my willingness to loan you the pen in the first place, and I’ll be genuinely saddened to see your life end, saddened further to know that I was the one to end it. But there will be nothing I can do about this, because much though I might regret your death, I will know that it is necessary.

I won’t cause you pain, because I don’t want for you to suffer, but I will end your life because, if you try to steal my pen, your life will need to end. It’ll end that I might send a message of warning to others and, more importantly, it’ll end in punishment for a minor crime that, repeated time and time again, ceaselessly, over the course of a lifetime, has worn down my patience to the point that its commission now drives me to murderous rage, fury that I can not manage but give into, and that I am no longer willing to even try to suppress.

So yes, painlessly; But death will come should you try to steal my pen.

And I suspect that, on some level, you understand why.

Because really, we’ve all had pens stolen and, really, we all know how fucking irritating it is…

Let's Make a Movie: Michael Jackson

So: Michael Jackson was a member of the Jackson 5, yes?

And then he released Off the Wall, which spawned a number of sizable, pleasantly funky late-70s hits.

However, as a thought experiment, let’s imaging that before he could complete the album Thriller, he was in a car accident, or contracted pneumonia or some such, and as such the album never came out. Michael Jackson was a famous pop singer, to be sure, but he was never Thriller famous.

Were this the case, he would definitely still be alive, I suspect everyone who thinks seriously about it would agree. Alive, dramatically less crazy than he was toward the end of his life (fame is, after all, a toxic state in which to be and one that will absolutely drive you mad if you let it), in his fifties and reaching the point in his life where he was considering whether or not he still had it in him to mount a proper comeback to a career that likely petered out at some point decades previous.

So: Here’s my movie.

Hollywood is constantly making biopics of famous performers, actors win awards for playing their heroes, we get to watch a cleaned-up, warts and some version of our idol’s life, it’s all quite interesting if somewhat sanitized, but what’s never been made is an ALTERNATE HISTORY biopic of a famous performer.

Our POV character will be a music documentarian following Michael Jackson around and interviewing his family, friends and staff as he prepares himself for his comeback. Not the huge, bombastic Michael we know, but rather the logical progression of Off the Wall-era Michael, the laid back, chilled out, funky everyman, forty years later, relaxed and at peace, having never been swept up in the whirlwind that was his life as the king of pop and in the private time this allowed him having at some point come to terms with his past.

We see him, older, wiser but still vital, working on music that genuinely doesn’t care about sounding contemporary, more interested in doing work he enjoys than being rewarded by the pop world at large, and as we do we see him revitalized by the very throwback-ish nature of the music that he’s making, settling into a groove and getting genuinely excited about making music once more, and we then follow him up to the album’s release and the first night of his tour of mid-sized concert halls, seeing him see the smaller crowds than he’s used to, and seeing too that he doesn’t really mind. After all, he will say in a monologue that will make up the centerpiece of the film, he’s a musician, and a performer, but he’s not a politician. He doesn’t need to please everyone all the time…

Handled correctly, with the right actor playing Michael, I think this could be a powerful story to tell, a much more interesting way to handle the life of such a complex figure than the traditional biographical film. And I think that, marketed correctly, it could be a hit as well.

Everyone, after all, loves Michael Jackson.

The soundtrack, I should think, will be produced by Pharell, and will be light and fresh and bouncy, reminiscent of Off the Wall but also poignant, as it like the film will remind us of what could have been and in doing so make what was all the more heartbreaking.

I think this film would be a success.

Off the Wall, after all, was a better album than Thriller anyway.

And yes, I know that’s going to get me some hate.

I stand by the opinion…

...on headwear.

I’ve recently started a monthly, curated subscription box service, because literally everyone else on earth seems to be doing that right now, and I figured “Me too!”

Projects have begun for worse reasons, don’t judge.

My service, FedoraBox, will send a monthly selection of three to four artisanal, handmade Fedora and Trilby hats, tailored to fit the recipient, such that the subscriber’s head might never go unadorned. Every month, a new box of hats will arrive, in various patterns, colors, some in plaids or paisleys, some with patterns of flames along their brim, what have you, for as long as the subscription is maintained.

And, naturally, the recipient of these hats will have no say as to how long the subscription is maintained.

FedoraBox, you see, is not a service that you can purchase for yourself. It is only available as a gift, for you to buy for the worst douchebag you know.

Is someone in your social circle a devoted men’s right’s advocate, with all the devotion to “Ethics in video game journalism” that that entails? Or a little too quick to point out in a discussion about police brutality that, actually, ALL lives matter? Why not subscribe them to FedoraBox, so that everyone who sees them might, at a glance, know exactly what they’re all about?

Rightly or wrongly, fedora and trilby hats have taken on a very specific meaning in 2015, and while this may or may not be fair, FedoraBox is more than happy to use this prevalent attitude about the wearers of said hats to help you irritate the sort of person you believe deserves to watch in increasing frustration as every square inch of his home gradually fills up with unrequested douche-caps…

And, and this is the FedoraBox promise: We will never stop sending the person you subscribe hats. No amount of threats, begging, pleading or weeping with our customer service department will stop the seemingly unending flow of hats to the doorstep of the person you’ve chosen this gift for, until such time as you and you alone decide to stop paying for the service.

Ending this process is, ultimately, entirely up to you.

FedoraBox will cost you $40/month, accepts all major credit cards, and guarantees a minimum $70 value, if you only count the value of the hats themselves. The value of psychologically torturing someone over the course of several months, naturally, is a deeply personal matter, and we’ll leave calculating it to you.

So sign up today! Find a douchebag in your life, sign him up, and watch in mean-spirited glee as the fedoras start flowing! Because life is very short, and even the best people deserve a little mean-spirited glee now and again!

FedoraBox. Because some people just deserve it…

The Eulogy

We all though he was kidding, when he suggested that his funeral would feature a eulogy by the king of crunk himself, Li’l Jon…

After all, if he’d even KNOWN the boisterous performer in question, surely we’d have known about it previous to his death. It would, presumably, be the source of some amazing stories.

Yet, when the day came, and we gathered around, the friends, the family, to view what once had been a person who once had meant so much to us, there he was, his traditional garb replaced with a muted, appropriately funereal suit and tie, his dreadlocks tied back tastefully, his grillz glinting as he spoke in hushed tones to those who shared his obviously genuine sadness at our shared friend’s passage.

Clearly he’d had layers we hadn’t known about, details about his life none of us could ever possibly have guessed. But then, don’t we all?

And, when the time came for Mr. Jon to deliver the eulogy, he did his departed friend proud, a performer better known for his production tics and catch-phrases finally slowing down, waxing lyrical on the nature of friendship and of loss, expressing in ways we could not what we all wished we could have said to the man so nearby, laying at his ease, but also that it was now too late to say, as it would fall upon deaf ears.

And, as we reflected, we realized that Li’l Jon didn’t just speak for the dead, he spoke for us all, he spoke to the fragility of the human experience, and how quickly and suddenly life can end, how important it is to express our appreciation, our love, not to the man in the box on the dais, but rather to one another every day, because there is no telling which opportunity to tell somebody we love them might be our last…

And we knew that it was true, although it was a truth that we spent most of our time doing what we could to avoid, and we knew that here, now, finally we could not avoid it, and as Li’l Jon’s words sunk in we were moved by them, but moreover, we were changed by them. We couldn’t not be, it was unavoidable and not one of us would ever be the same.

We wept, at his words, wept openly.

Every one of us.

From his widow, to the wall. ‘Til the sweat dropped down our balls, those of us who bore his pall.

There was always grief, grief, motherfucker. There was always grief, grief, God damn…

My Weekend Plans

The weekend has come and, for the life of me, I find myself torn.

I’ve not yet seen the Entourage movie, you see, but so too have I to date missed Human Centipede III. Given that I work evenings, I only have a realistic chance of catching one or the other, and tough decisions must therefore be made.

In one film, lips are firmly, permanently attached to the ass of a person only a little ways ahead, seemingly never to be removed, as all are imprisoned at the whim of a screaming madman, trapped in a system beyond either their understanding or control. This movie sucks, it goes without saying, a whole lot of ass.

In the other, a centipede is made out of the still living bodies of humans.

Would I like to see both? No, no clearly I would not. Given my druthers I would watch neither, but there are times when my druthers are not to be had, and as such I must watch at least one, and to that end tough choices await me as I decide which one it shall be…

Huh?

What do you mean I DON’T have to watch at least one?

Both films are purely optional? Really?

You don’t say…

Well, that solves that problem for me, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll go to karaoke this weekend…

Babies

Hello.

I know that it’s been more than a year since we’ve spoken, and given the circumstances surrounding the end of our relationship I imagine that I’m the last person you’d want to hear from. Trust me, I don’t relish this any more than you do, if I could avoid speaking to you the rest of my life I would do so gladly, but unfortunately that option isn’t open to me.

I’m forced by circumstance, you see, to get back in touch with you, because I’ve received some news that you, whether you like it or not, both need to know and deserve to hear from me, so as not to have it come to you through the grapevine. So, while this communication is no doubt unpleasant for the both of us, I hope that you will grit your teeth and suffer through this letter, as I have gritted mine and written it.

One of my exes, you see, has recently given birth to a baby.

I was with her before you and I ever met, I’m not sure you and she even know each other frankly, but the fact remains, I was with her, then I was with you, and now she has a baby.

And, as you know, babies are sexually transmitted.

She’s not sure when she contracted baby, exactly, but as she is a generally responsible person she’s made it known to everyone she’s ever been intimate with that the baby had been born, so that we might know and respond accordingly. While she and I were together we always did our best to be safe, but no form of protection is 100% effective and there’s a small chance that she may have passed her baby along to me.

I have a test scheduled to find out for certain, one way or the other, and I’m contacting you, as well as everyone else in my sexual history, to inform you that you ought to schedule one yourself. This might be nothing, obviously, it’s probably nothing. I haven’t been sexually intimate with her in years and if I had passed a baby on to you chances are that by this late date you’d be showing some symptoms, but still you deserve at least a heads up so as to take appropriate steps.

Get tested at your earliest convenience, and alert whatever men or women you may’ve slept with since me that there is a small chance that you’ve given them baby. As I mentioned, it’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry, and the sooner you get tested the sooner you can have peace of mind about the issue, assuming you aren’t with child.

And, if you are, I’m deeply, deeply sorry. Our breakup was enormously painful, the blood between us is bad, I acknowledge that freely, but nonetheless it was never my intention to afflict you thusly. I do not, frankly, like you. I do not think you are a good person. But in spite of all that transpired between us, I would never wish a baby on you in even my darkest, angriest moments. But even if the worst-case scenario proves to be true, take heart. Medical science and societal attitudes toward people with babies have come along way in recent years and, while the prospect might seem horrific, this is not the end for you even if I DID somehow manage give you a baby.

Many people with children nowadays, approaching things with the right attitude and appropriate support, go on to lead rich, fulfilling lives….

...on economics.

The time has come, I think, for me to fix the Canadian economy.

Yes, me specifically. Who else is going to? And, before you answer, remember that whomever you were going to say has yet to step up and affect meaningful change in this particular realm. I am offering to. Put me in charge of Canada’s economy and I guarantee you, within two years we shall see growth and prosperity beyond our wildest dreams.

Not a guarantee.

You have, I presume, heard tell of the theory of “trickle down” economics, in which money is provided to those at the top of our current economic hierarchy, who then proceed to hire people, to invest it, allowing our economy to grow, that that money might trickle down onto the rest of us, allowing everyone a better life. A rising tide, and all that. We have tried this in many places, through lower taxes for invested income and subsidies to corporate interests and, in general, it has not worked. The average person in the industrial west, adjusted for inflation, is no richer than they were in 1980. In fact, many are poorer. Therefore, clearly, a new approach is required, the sort of bold, visionary action plan so simple that you’d wonder why no one had thought of it before. Fear not, fellow citizens, for I have one such plan, a plan I’ve dubbed “trickle OUT economics”, in which all the money trickles out from me. This economic theory will ensure that everything that matters is properly funded, and the process by which it’s funded couldn’t be any more simple...

Give me all the money.

All of it.

I guarantee you, I will spend it.

This IS a guarantee.

Give me all the money, in one lump sum, ideally in small bills, and I absolutely will have spent every penny of it within my lifetime. I will spend it on things that I like, on things that I believe in, and as I do, the things I like, and the industries that create those things, will grow, hiring people, providing jobs for those who need them in fields that I personally take an interest in. Companies I don’t care about, conversely, will wither and die, and I will barely notice, because I don’t care about what those companies had been doing. And if I don’t notice or care, does something really matter?

Clearly it does not.

Thus, everything important (to me, specifically) will be fully funded at all times, and as such the economy will grow, and thrive, receiving all the stimulation it needs to do so.

The economy, you see, is like my cock. Sometimes it needs to be stimulated in order to grow. And I am not afraid to stimulate either one, when the need arises. Because while I would not call myself a hero, or a genius, I will pay you to call me those things once I have been given all the money.

Some of you might ask, “But wouldn’t this create a system whereby you essentially rule the world, and the rest of us serve as your vassals?” and to this I say, “Perhaps. But fear not, vassals, for I am not afraid.”

The burden of this responsibility is one that I am strong enough to bear, and bear gladly, that our economy might prosper under my leadership. The things that I care about WILL prosper, and I WILL rule you in accordance with my beliefs, my principals and, when I’m drinking, my whims, never once complaining that what has been asked of me is too much.

Because somebody has to, after all, and I’d rather it be me than anyone else I can think of. Give me all the money and I will never once complain about the hardship spending it is causing me, I will never shirk my responsibility, never say no to my naked id. I will fix the economy, Canada, I will make it hum again.

Just give me all the money, and let this bright new age begin!

Weekly Prompt Story: Coast

http://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=25128

Die Hard

By Christopher Munroe

I get that the premise eventually wore thin.

Guy trapped in place deals with whatever, with no outside aid. It was never the sort of premise that, however much Hollywood tried, was going to remain fresh. And yes, by the end of the ‘90s we were tired of the formula.

Nonetheless, man, Die Hard. It’s basically the perfect movie. Sharp, tight and witty, with just the right number of explosions.

If you’ve seen the film recently, you already understand what I mean.

If not, watch it with me!

Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…

My Career as a Travel Agent Was Not a Long One

The Robocop Movies weren’t actually filmed in Detroit, which makes Robocop tourism there difficult.

“Difficult,” however, isn’t “impossible.”

After all, not one moment of Brokeback Mountain was filmed in Wyoming, but they used it for tourism. Tourism’s a good way to help a flagging economy. And, from what I gather, Detroit’s economy could use some help.

So I organized the tour, film props, appropriately dystopic set-pieces, I even managed to get Peter Weller and Kurtwood Smith to record video greetings. It seemed I’d thought of everything.

Well, almost everything.

People who live in Detroit, it turns out, fucking hate Robocop…

My Apprentice

I’ve taken an apprentice.

He’ll be helping out around the place. Tidying, picking up dry cleaning, cooking meals, washing dishes, and so forth.

If I need to go out, he’ll chauffeur me and wait while I run whatever errand I need or, more likely, he’ll run the errand for me.

I’ll be getting him some kind of day job, and cashing his paychecks.

I haven’t decided yet if I want one of his kidneys or not.

This is valuable experience for him.

And, in addition, I’ll be teaching him everything I know about abusing the apprenticeship system for personal gain…

Excerpt: A Speech I Once Gave for the United Nations General Assembly

Now is not the time to play the blame game.

Yes, we could point the finger at one another, cast about for some scapegoat or other and descend into pointless name-calling and acrimony, but I, thank you very much, would rather look to the future.

I would rather look at what happened with a serious eye and make plans, knowing what we know now, that the tragedies of yesterday might never be allowed to occur again.

In this light, I would like to say: It does not matter who let the dogs out.

Yes, clearly, somebody is to blame, but who does this fact help? How does this change the fundamental, underlying fact that the dogs are out.

The dogs are, indeed, out.

In that light, I would like to suggest that the question is not “Who let the dogs out?” but rather “What are we going to do about the fact that the dogs are out?”

Because unless we act immediately, to find the dogs, secure them, bring them back in and secure the gate such that they might never be let out again, what is now merely a misfortune might well become a tragedy, indeed an insurmountable one.

It is for this reason that I am assembling a task-force, starting immediately, to go out in search of the dogs. Because I believe we can still prevail, difficult though the challenge we face may be. We can find the dogs and, working together, eyes toward the future, we can bring them home.

This will not be an easy task, this task I propose we undertake, but in the words of John F. Kennedy, we do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. And, though this truly shall be counted among the greatest of the challenges we face, I believe in my heart that it is a challenge that we are equal to. I believe, truly I believe, that it is a challenge we can face, and a challenge against which we can and will prevail.

I believe this because, fundamentally, I believe in us.

I believe that we are the brightest, most ambitious, clear-headed people the world has ever known, and I believe that, working together, there is nothing that we cannot accomplish.

I believe in us, and I believe that we can do anything, and so I believe we can do this. And it is for this reason that I, not only willingly but gladly, will set out this very day, in search of the dogs.

So I put it to you, the people: Who will help me in this most important of tasks?

Who? Who, who who who?

Weekly Prompt Story: Backstage

http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2012/08/26/weekly-challenge-331-pick-two/

Backstage

By Christopher Munroe

I lost the award.

Sorry, that was unclear. I realized upon saying it that I could have phrased it better. I’ll try again.

I didn’t win the award.

This should be no surprise, as I wasn’t nominated for the award, or indeed any award. I’m only present at this award show to present the award to whoever happened to win the award at this award show.

That was awkward. Sorry, I’m nervous.

Anyway, a bunch of the award presenters went drinking last night, and we brought the awards. Jagermeister was involved, and…

Erm…

Help me break it to Johnny Depp?

Teenaged Nightmare

Taken from the reviews section of Music Maven Magazine, October 2015 issue.

Katy Perry

….another thing.

3 stars out of 5.

When Katy Perry became the mortal host for the spirit of Gaia, absorbing the power of the breathing soul of the world and using it to return the dark lord Ne’charthro’hu to its slumber beneath the sea, saving humanity from ten thousand years of torment, the first question on the average music journalist’s mind was likely not “how will this affect the sound of Ms. Perry’s next album?"

In fact, if I can be taken as an example of an average music journalist (I flatter myself that I can) we were more interested in fighting our way through still burning cities to find our families and tell them how much they mean to us in the aftermath of what came precariously close to global superapocalypse.

Nonetheless, previous to becoming the living embodiment of the human spirit, she-who-is-all-of-us was a pop singer of some renown. Her last album, 2010’s Teenaged Dream, sold 5.5 million copies worldwide, spinning off an impressive 8 international top 10 hits and gaining its young mastermind enough media exposure that, even before Ne’charthro’hu awoke and threatened to devour mankind, she was already a ubiquitous figure in the pop landscape. With this in mind, it should be no surprise that, after taking two years of “Katy Time” to adjust to her new status as a demigod (and have a baby), Ms. Perry would return to her day job and release a new album, and it should be equally unsurprising that said album would be difficult to judge on its own merits, being tied as it is to a metabeing such as Ms. Perry.

So, how does “…another thing” stand, divorced from its back-story as best it can be? It’s… fine, I suppose. The album’s built around three main pillars, the energetic leadoff single Heartbeaten, already a fixture of pop radio, the slinky, Roxy Music inspired dance number Underwater, sure to join Heartbeaten at the top of the charts when it’s finally released as a single, and the soaring orchestral ballad My Own Self. From the titles, one would assume that some portion of “…another thing” is an exercise in introspection, as Ms. Perry attempts to put the recent massive changes in her life into some kind of context digestible to the mainstream pop audience, but nothing could be further from the truth. Lyrically the album eschews any overt reference to how close humanity came to extinction, choosing instead to play it safe, taking refuge in party-pop clichés of bars, boys and pg-rated double entendres.

Which isn’t to say this is a bad thing, necessarily. Ms. Perry has never been an artist who thrives outside her comfort zone, and her formulae has in the past made for some immensely satisfying pop. However, what “…another thing” suffers from that her previous albums lacked is filler. A lot of filler. Understandable, perhaps, that between visits to gracious world leaders and explaining and re-explaining that no, she does not require worship from the people of Earth for what she’s done for us, she’d have too much on her plate to devote a full measure of attention to this project even if she’d wanted to, but nonetheless, once you venture outside the three massive tracks this album’s built around it starts to sound extraordinarily slight.

The songs bounce along at a brisk clip, and they’ll keep your toes tapping, but there’s very little behind them to remember, even seconds after you stop listening. Teenaged Dream may not have been deep, but it was at least fun from beginning to end, by the time you get to the end of this album you’re left with the impression that it’s only half finished, that the songs are too little, the production too rushed and that Ms. Perry was called away before its completion to attend to some more urgent business. The singles are there, and all three will do a fine job of defining commercial radio circa 2015 for future generations, but in between stretches what at times feels like a wasteland of missed opportunity.

And let’s not be coy about this, I’m as happy as the next pop reviewer not to be devoured body and soul by an ancient, eldritch being beyond all human comprehension, but the duet with Pitbull here does NOT work, and no amount of saving humanity will ever cause me to say otherwise.

None of which, by the way, is in any way relevant in terms of how this album will do commercially. From the success of Heartbeaten (18 weeks and counting at #1 on the pop charts, and 14 million copies sold worldwide to date) it’s clear that “…another thing” is a serious contender to take its spot as the most successful commercial pop album in the history of the form, regardless of its objective quality. The world watched Katy Perry save them from the endless night of screaming, and the world now seems more than willing to show its savior just how grateful they are. I, for one, received a review copy of this album, and intend to buy several copies at full price anyway. It seems like making pop music is something of personal import to Katy Perry, and I’m only too happy to do my part to indulge her in this pursuit.

I only wish I could’ve gotten a more substantial album out of the process…