Rochelle Wiseman and Marvin Humes are Expecting: Why Do I Care?

I don’t subscribe to The Saturday’s gospel. I have never heard a JLS song in my life. Neither Rochelle Wiseman nor Marvin Humes is on my day to day (Canadian) radar.

Why then, am I so freakin’ thirsty when it comes to information about their recent nuptials and upcoming baby? Why do I find myself YouTubing videos of the two of them together and following Rochelle on Twitter, eagerly awaiting more TwitPics of her and her new domesticated life? Why does the photo below make me twitch with jealousy? Why is this the post I’ve decided to make after a year of absence from this blog? Why, in short, do I care?

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Rochelle is only a year older than me. Maybe it’s because my current life more-so resembles Hannah’s from the HBO series Girls that that of a rich, beautiful U.K. popstar who’s just married another rich, beautiful U.K. popstar.  Maybe it’s because pictures like these serve as yet another reminder that although I’m in university, I’m still single, unemployed, and living at home with my parents.

Alas, when all’s said and done (i.e. when I’ve managed to quit moaning long enough to finish this post), I wish “Marvelle” (not my name for them, I promise) a lifetime of happiness together. Even though they’re not, like, on my radar, like, at all…

When Sampling Goes Right

Theophilus London knows what’s up.

This is how you sample a song, make it your own, and still pay homage to the original artist.

While I’m still getting acquainted with his music, the best way I can describe what I’ve heard of this guy’s flow is this: Listening to a Theophilus London tracks is like seeing colours.  Lots of them.  Hey Wonderful samples Stevie Wonder’s 1984 hit Love Light in Flight. Isn’t he the cutest dancer?  Video below.

The Chosen One

Okay. Here I go.

So I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard the news about Victoria Beckham being pregnant with Baby #4 (a.k.a. “Heir to Posh Spice’s Wardrobe” or “The Chosen One” given — of course  — that Baby #4’s a bambina and not another bambino).  So excited was I that I immediately ran down the hall to my cousin’s room and proudly informed her — to her disdain — that  I was going to be an aunt (in much the same way that I’m Willow Smith’s older sister and no, you can’t tell me I’m not). 

You see, assuming Baby #4 comes correct (i.e. with two X chromosomes), she will essentially be my Shiloh Jolie Pitt: the baby of all babies with the birth of all births.  I’ve secretly been anticipating this announcement since ’04 when Posh and Becks first landed on my Canadian radar (three years before they landed on the rest of North America’s, mind you).  It’s no secret the Beckhams have been coveting a baby girl for Victoria to pass her Birkins down to, and at 36, this might be her last chance. Questions about whether they invested in gender selection methods to ensure they get a girl this time are already being asked but let’s be honest…if you were them –already blessed with three healthy boys and had the financial means and resources necessary– wouldn’t you?  Well, you might not admit it but I would.

Again, assuming this kid knows what’s good for it and is, indeed, a girl, she’ll likely be SPOILED in ways even Suri Cruise and her Burberry nappies couldn’t imagine.  I can already picture David bent over The Chosen One’s custom designed Marc Jacobs bassinet, coochicoo-ing away while placing a diamond encrusted rattle in her tiny hand — not unlike Rhett Butler in that scene from Gone With the Wind when Bonnie Blue is born and Rhett won’t shut up about how he’s going to buy her a pony or something.  Yeah, like that.  But even more lavish.

And then there’s the thing about the name.  When you’re part of the Beckham clan, an ordinary name is simply out of the question.  Years ago when Victoria was pregnant with Romeo but reported (by the British tabloids) to be having a baby girl, it began to circulate that the Beckhams highly favoured the name “Paris” for their unborn daughter (apparently they loved the city and felt the name would complement the one they’d already given their first child, Brooklyn).  True or untrue, a lot of time has passed since then and as we all know, the name “Paris” has been tainted to the point where it likely won’t be reusable for another fifteen years.  So what’s left?  I say go North and name the kid London – it’s patriotic, fierce and (dare I say it?) “posh” enough.

Five bucks says her first word’s “Gucci”.