Welcome back to our new feature that I invented yesterday to help us get through the next couple weeks, that time of year after the Super Bowl that is recognized throughout the world as the absolute worst time of year.  The time of year when the days just keep getting shorter, and everyone stresses about their March Madness picks, but can’t do anything about it because the bracket isn’t even determined yet.  The time of year when the stock of the companies that sell anti-depressants skyrockets at least 35%, and everyone stockpiles gold, bullets and gasoline in preparation for the coming apocalypse.  You could hold me underwater until I thought of something good to say about this time of year, but I would just thrash around like a fish out of water, except the opposite, because fish breathe water and I breathe air.

Anyway, here is a tune from 1993 by a group called 4 Non Blondes.  We haven’t heard anything by or about the 4 Non Blondes since this tune hit the charts, probably because they made some coin and didn’t have to be Non Blonde anymore.  As Trish always said about the early 90’s, “We were so poor that I was a brunette.”  Apparently the same was true for the 4 Non Blondes, who got rich off this song, got blonde and then couldn’t tour or make any new songs because they would look like beautiful blonde hypocrites.  They probably should have thought that through before they named the band, if you ask me.  

So hey, “What’s Up?” the former Non Blondes want to know?  Not much, apparently, because they just lay in bed and cry.  If I had to guess, I bet these girls wrote this song in mid-February after their favorite team got crushed in the Super Bowl.  But then they wake up in the morning and they step outside, they take a deep breath and they get real high and they scream from the top of their lungs WHAT’S GOING ON?  That’s a useful approach to life, kind of like this guy:

These depressing emo’s moved on after this hit, and that’s where the story ends.  I like to think they got blonde, were finally able to get dates, and after a short time on the dating scene, they got snapped up by rich husbands and moved out the suburbs where they now shuttle teenage kids around in the Range Rover, go to yoga and play Bunko the third Thursday of every month.  All’s well that ends well, I guess.