By Jeff Girod
Beyoncé reportedly used a “backing track” during her performance of the national anthem at Barack Obama’s recent presidential inauguration . . . I’m starting to suspect Beyoncé might not even be her real name.
I’m no expert on constitutional law, but I think lip-syncing our nation’s theme song while Obama swears on a Bible technically invalidates every single vote for president. All hail President Cookie Monster!
That big ol‘ faker Beyoncé is scheduled to “perform” again this Sunday during the Super Bowl halftime show. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Are they even going to play real football at the Super Bowl, or that other “football” the rest of the world likes with sweaty Kenny G-looking dudes who jog around in short shorts and roll on the ground like they’ve been shot?
Who knows? Beyoncé may be a great singer with God-given talent . . . probably . . . OK, I’m about 17 percent sure.
Short of examining Beyoncé ’s throat with a magnifying glass while she sings “Doe, a Deer,” who’s to say who and what’s real? With recent revelations about Lance Armstrong and Manti Te’o, I don’t put much faith in anything I see or hear.
In fact, before I will even sign for a package at the front door, I require dental records, gum swabs and a thorough cavity search. (It’s probably why I don’t get many deliveries—though my postman does send me a card every Valentine’s Day.)
Will Beyoncé sing for real, or lip sync at the Super Bowl? An even bigger question is: Do I give a damn?
Beyoncé could mime her entire act in Hungarian while doing the Watusi. I’ve watched more than 30 Super Bowls and I have never seen the halftime show. Even the year Janet Jackson flashed a boob, I had to go back and rewind my DVR. Usually by halftime I’m either drunk, in the bathroom or outside denting every neighbors’ car trying to prove how far I can throw a spiral.
Real talent is rare. Aretha Franklin sang at President Obama’s inauguration four years ago in high winds and frigid temperatures, and she didn’t lip sync. That’s because Aretha Franklin is one of the greatest singers in history. Aretha also looks like Jabba the Hut in a prom dress. And I’d rather stare at a smokin‘-hot Beyoncé and let her fake whatever, whoever and wherever she wants.
That’s entertainment! Don’t ruin everything by trying to figure out what’s authentic. This isn’t the Antique Road Show. You want to know what’s authentic? Some guy playing “Mister Jones” for nickels outside of a 7-Eleven. And I can assure you, my friend, his stench of mildew and cess weed? It’s 100-percent real.
Don’t tell me people don’t like to be fooled. People love magicians. Criss Angel is practically royalty in Vegas. David Copperfield married a supermodel. They’re also both fake. Oh my god, they’re so fake it’s painful—like your creepy uncle pulling a nickel out of your ear.
Newsflash: White bunnies do not actually live inside top hats. If you cut a woman in half, you will probably go to prison. And I have never tried on a dress shirt at Nordstrom’s and had turtledoves fly out of the cuffs.
Don’t kid yourself. Or actually, kid yourself. You don’t have to be right all of the time. Sometimes it’s more fun to be wrong.
Stop trying to rip everything down. Stop trying to figure everything out. Meryl Streep has died on camera of every disease known to science. (She’s not really dead.) Tom Cruise has starred in about 10,000 action movies. In reality, he’s 3 feet tall and could be taken apart by the weakest Dachshund. Oh and Helen Mirren is not queen of England.
There will always be those around us to point out the stunt wires and body doubles, the too-skinny mall Santas and botched plastic surgeries. Ignore them. Even when you know you’re being taken for a ride . . . take the ride.
Hold on to every morsel of imagination, optimism and trust you have. The world is full of cynics and conspiracy theorists. The ability to be entertained is fleeting. Embrace it every chance you get.
I lip-synced this entire column.
Contact Jeff Girod at firstname.lastname@example.org.