I Mimi Mine.

Dear Cintra Wilson,

Thank you for your LA Weekly review of Mariah Carey's The Emancipation of Mimi, it brightened my otherwise endless and thoroughly blah Friday. True, I'm looking forward to an evening spent with a bunch of miserable Angelenos listening to live mopecore/unpopular pop music and it is almost the weekend... But still, your snark is much-appreciated and much-needed, especially these pieces:

• Carey’s re-invention is particularly fascinating because of her whole new ethnicity — she is one-quarter black but has amplified this and declared her True Self to be African-American.
  Carey is also one-quarter Venezuelan, and half Irish, so the question is begged: If this is her "true self," why didn’t she go Gaelic? If Beyoncé had a panpipe, would Carey be picking up the shillelagh and releasing The Emancipation of Muirgheal?
  
  I'm adding G.C.M. to my lecixon. Like, now.
  
• "Mine Again," a song in the style I have always affectionately referred to as "Ghetto Cologne Music," evokes Alicia Keys evoking Whitney Houston.
  
  No snark needed. Just quote La Mimi:
  
• Mimi’s language is a fusion of ebonics and psychotherapy: "It’s like dat, ch’all . . . open off that Bacardi . . . them chickens is ash and I’m lotion . . . " flips over into, "My inferiority complex kicks in . . . and I’m paralyzed . . . "? "I’m feeling all out of my element/ throwing things, crying/tryin’ to figure out where the hell I went wrong."

See? Wouldn't that make your pathetic lunch-hour at Koo Koo Roo better? I thought so. Thanks.

Your friend,
Ben