MTV
Where once we watched normal-looking VJ's, music videos, technicolor promos, and out-of-control Spring Break Parties we have been overrun with the wet dreams of the beautiful people.
The gritty flavor of New York used to dominate popular culture from Headbanger's Ball to Yo! MTV Raps. Now, orange-skinned fake 'n' bake soccer moms and their spoiled broods determine what's fashionable through fakeass reality television while boys with pointy hair and skinny jeans play "rock music".
I was never a fan of long hair, makeup, and spandex. But there was no denying the supercharged masculinity of hair metal or the bare-chested, throaty magic of the blues-y, soul-powered rock that preceded it. And it was into this era that a young boy watched music be formed and reformed and translated through a channel dedicated to the celebration of the Treble and Bass clefs.
Watching MTV hurts now. Not just because it's no longer for me. More because what happened to MTV is what happens to all things: Bad people move in and steal the soul of the thing. The cancer of the Steroid Era hurt baseball. David Stern sold the soul of basketball to the highest bidder. And football is more concerned with having the latest American Idol participant sing the National Anthem than taking care of the men who bashed their heads to pieces in their service.
The death of MTV is the path all good things take to die. Thankfully their souls live on is us. But as I live and grow and think...I'm not so sure that's a good thing anymore.
Oh well. There's always SCinemax on Friday nights. And I hear Beach Blanket Bimbos 23 is gonna set the record for most nipples-per-minute!! BOOM!
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