Monthly Archives: June 2017

Ain’t Nobody Do it Like Aaron Can (Begrudgingly)

Since getting passed over for media credentials, I decided I wasn’t going to bother with Aaron Carter’s show at the Intersection on June 7th. I don’t have extra money and I’d seen him before. My brain doesn’t need to hear “That’s How I Beat Shaq” for the thousandth time. I’ve heard it so much that I’m pretty sure I know how to play basketball, now. But when a friend offered me two free tickets, and I didn’t really have anything else going on, I couldn’t say no. I grabbed one of my favorite Stella’s servers, who happened to be a big fan when she was a kid, and we headed to Tin Can to wait out the line and get sufficiently lubricated for the evening to come. Because that was the only way I was going to get through it.

I know what you’re thinking. How can someone who throws herself into all things NKOTB be annoyed by the Aaron Carters of this world? I didn’t start out that way. Truly. I was excited to see him three years ago. I love nostalgia when it works. Then I had to reevaluate my life. A lot. Because his show is basically a sorority tour with a lackluster drummer, a begrudging keyboard and a laptop. And good for him for sustaining that and making a living doing what he seems to barely tolerate. I should be so lucky. Disclaimer over.

This was before the hair incident.

This was before the hair incident.

Since I was two giant vodka/waters and two shots deep, I decided to take notes during the show. I’m sure that looked strange, since furiously typing with your head down isn’t hidden very well in a crowd of less than 100. But I was confident I could multi-task. I’m a millennial, after all. But not nearly as millennial as the literal sorority girls who made up the rest of the audience. I’m not using “sorority” in a pejorative way (as far as you know). It’s just the nicest way I know how to describe them. And trust me, it’s an ongoing feminist struggle to give many of them the benefit of the doubt.

Speaking of women I couldn’t relate to, the opening act was so embarrassing I actually had a dream about it and woke up empathetically blushing. Word on the street (the back of the crowd) was that she was a last minute addition to fill a drop-out spot. I’m sure it was her big break so I don’t want to stomp on it or whatever, but damn. The whole thing smacked of Brittany Murphy in 8 Mile in all the most cringe-worthy ways. She pranced, she sort of sang, and the poor girl tried to hype up the few people near the stage who were doing their best to not look visibly bored. It was a whole thing. I can’t remember her name, but it doesn’t even matter because when I tried to Google it before the show, literally nothing came up. Stuff comes up when you Google MY name. So. I guess I should try to get paid or something.

My notes barely make sense (what with the vodka) so hang in there with me. I do know that Aaron did a “remix” of “I Want Candy” and then for some reason talked about Justin a lot. He never said Timberlake, but I have to assume that’s who he meant. Or Bieber? Certainly not Jeffre (the one nobody remembers is in 98 Degrees), because why? It was the most confusing round of name-dropping I’ve ever heard. He was throwing out knowing looks and nodding and I have no idea what was happening. Thankfully, someone cut the awkward by yelling “Ain’t nobody do it like Aaron can!” from the back of the crowd. That’s a line from “Aaron’s Party”, if you’re unfamiliar. This same person would go on to yell that same phrase about 13 more times throughout the show, and Aaron looked more and more like he wanted to just say “fuck it” and get a job at Best Buy every time. He hates us. All of us. He hates that we only care about Shaq and 12-year-old Aaron and that nobody takes his “Caribbean House” beats seriously. It’s painfully clear.

Jeffre's got my vote.

Jeffre’s got my vote.

Before playing one of those fun “Caribbean House” mixes (a term he swears he invented) he asked the audience if we’ve ever heard of the Florida Keys. It was at this point I stopped trying to control my facial expressions and just let the eyebrows loose. Not long after, Aaron started making equally upsetting faces back at me. At least I think it was to me. I wasn’t wearing my glasses. It would have just been mean if it they were directed at anyone else. I was flabbergasted. But then mildly entertained for the five minutes he spent trying to get his sunglasses unstuck from his hair. He had some girl with M-stamped hands help him, but she just made it worse. I’m sure she’s thought about that every hour since then. Then he had a weird knot in his hair for the rest of the show and when he asked if it looked ok, I’m the only one who said no. It didn’t. He deserved to know.

“Ain’t nobody do it like Aaron can” girl was the star of my show. She had a manic desperation that I related to way too seriously. She was me in a past life. Thicker than all her friends and working hard to bridge the thigh gap. And obviously she was drunk. Not regular drunk, but newly 21 and confusing adjectives like “obnoxious” and “sexy”. It happens. This same girl pantomimed over the top sympathy as Aaron spoke about his dad’s recent death (genuinely sad) and played a recording of the last voicemail his father left him, as the intro to a confusingly upbeat song. She looked like she was about to start sobbing but when the beat dropped, she snapped, spun around and took an extremely chipper selfie with AC in the background while I stared, whiplash creeping.

Emily and I went outside several times for her smoke breaks and I don’t think I could have made it through the (maybe 35-minute) set without those breaks. I’ve never been so grateful for someone else’s habit. It was…confusing. At one point, without anyone asking him about it, Aaron started explaining why he couldn’t do a backflip on that stage. Again, nobody asked him to do a backflip. But, now that we’ve brought it up, he couldn’t because the ceiling was too low (no it wasn’t) but if we keep coming back to his shows, we will definitely see him do a “25-foot flip”. He guarantees it. I don’t know about you, but this is something I didn’t know I needed in my life, and I’ll be damned if I die without seeing Aaron Carter do a vertical, 25-foot jump. I guess that’s how he beat Shaq.






Aaron Carter (Still) Hates My Guts

I’ve been joking a lot about how Aaron Carter and I are always in a fight, and while it is hyperbolic, it’s also kind of true. If you’re new here (here meaning the internet or my Facebook or my life), you’ll need a little background information before we move on. Don’t get self conscious, it’s totally fine. We’ll all just wait for you to catch up. Take your time.

Do you even know who I am?

Do you even know who I am?

A couple of years ago, I saw AC play at The Intersection, and even splurged for a Meet ‘N Greet pass so I could add to my “awkward meet ‘n greet photo” collection. My genius idea was to ask him if I could hold him on my hip like a baby. Which I certainly did ask him. And he did not care for it. You can read about it here if you’re curious. (I know you are.) That was when the feud began for him. It began for me when he played my girl Lizzie McGuire, the outfit repeater. There were a couple of Twitter-tiffs here and there over the years when I got way too much pure enjoyment out of watching him have public meltdowns over hotel incidentals, or people being “mean” to him. But we really took our hostile relationship to the next level over the past couple of weeks.

He said no to the whole baby thing, and then stuck a Sharpie in my ear. So.

He said no to the whole baby thing, and then stuck a Sharpie in my ear. So.

If you have no idea who I am and somehow slept-walked your way to this blog, you may have missed the closest I’ll ever come to a viral video. I know I said it was ok to play catch-up before, but I lied. It’s not. Get on board. My bizzy-partner and I have a weekly web-series called Inaccurate & Inappropriate. Now you know. A few weeks ago, we got too lazy to pre-record and edit a video for the week so we decided to do a live-feed of us wandering around the local arena on the day New Kids on the Block were slated to play there. And we caught magic. Magic is what I call Donnie Wahlberg so my boyfriend doesn’t get mad when I accidentally say it out loud. We managed to get Donnie to give a five-minute interview on our show, live to our followers. And when Donnie himself shared it on Facebook, it took off. To a whopping 162k views. That’s a lot of people who have now seen my bottom chin wiggle.

Kevin Smith, ladies and gentlemen.

Kevin Smith, ladies and gentlemen.

Since we were obviously so famous after that video’s success, we decided we’d try to make lightning strike a third time (Donnie was #2. We also managed a super quick question sesh with Kevin Smith before that) and request media credentials for Aaron Carter’s show here in Grand Rapids. We had high hopes of completing the nostalgia-trifecta but were unfortunately turned down by Aaron’s publicist, some white guy named Chad. Because of course that’s his name. To express our disappointment, and because I giggled a teensy bit that Aaron Carter was “passing” on the opportunity to have two unknown non-fans interview him for no reason, I screenshotted the email and posted it to our Facebook page. And then Chad threw a fit. He saw it. He did not like it. He screenshotted my screenshot and emailed me immediately, threatening legal action and expressing his disappointment in “the way we do business”. Ok, Chad. Get a fidget spinner and calm down. So I took the post down. Not because I was scared of legal repercussions, but because I’m not trying to get in a fight with a record label full of khaki-wearing Chads. I don’t have the energy.

Aaron doesn't understand sarcasm.

Aaron doesn’t understand sarcasm.

I hadn’t bought tickets to see AC this time around, because…I didn’t want to. But a friend of mine won two, and also didn’t want to go. So she gave them to me and as she pressed them into my hand, she made me promise to write a blog. This isn’t it. This is the preface. The concert recap is next. I apologize ahead of time.