Hannah Montana is the New Elvis

Twenty five years ago, I swore I wouldn't grow up to be who I am now.  You know.  One of those adults.  One of those adults like your parents, like my mom, like your grandparents, like mine.

I swore I wouldn't say such trite phrases like we are going to hell in a hand basket.  I promised I would never label anything satanic.  I even told myself I would be one of those cool adults.

Nobody warned me about last night.  Oh sure, I once was told about Elvis shaking his hips on live TV.  And certainly, I've seen clips of Jim Morrison being rebellious enough to sing Light my Fire live on the Ed Sullivan show.  But nobody told me that our decline would eventually hit bottom.

Nothing is accidental.
Nothing is a gimmick.

Rewind a few years back to the Super Bowl with the wardrobe malfunction between Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake.  After parents complained loudly, this obviously planned gimmick was then deemed an accident. 

It wasn't an accident.

How do I know this?

Look at what Ms. Jackson was wearing:

Women don't normally wear Egyptian Occultic symbols over their nipples underneath their clothes. 

At the time, we all brushed it off.  Made some jokes.  Admired her firm breasts.  And so on.

But since then, we've seen nothing from the music industry but latent Occultic forms of symbolism; from Beyonce and Rhiana wearing Baphomet ornaments to Madonna performing at the Super Bowl two years ago in full Occultic costumes.

It's not accidental nor is it a gimmick.  I won't even use the word satanic because I promised myself 25 years ago, I would never be that person.  However, if it's not from God, then its from....

But I digress.

When Beyonce performed at the Super Bowl, she stated, "I have someone else that takes over when it’s time for me to work and when I’m on stage, this alter ego that I’ve created that kind of protects me and who I really am." 

We've all seen the pictures that her publicist tried in vain to remove from the internet:

Whatever spirit she claims takes control of her when she performs certainly isn't angelic.  Some may argue, its some type of demonic possession.  I'm not one of those people.  I swore 25 years ago, I would never make that claim.

I don't even want to talk about the obvious dark side of the music industry.  It's always existed.  It's just more in our face now.  What was once isolated to heavy metal is now in pop music.



Twenty five years ago, Madonna hit the scene.  She appeared on stage at the MTV music awards crawling on all fours in a white wedding dress singing, "Like a Virgin".

Parents were upset. 

Not me.  She was hot.  It was just a gimmick.  Sex sells.  She's just trying to sell records.  It's harmless.  It means nothing.  Adults are over reacting.

Those are the words I said.



Well, here we are, 2013 and last night happened.  Miley Cyrus comes out on stage with her hair tied in devil's horns and gyrates to men in pedobear costumes.  Then, a man, Robin Thicke, twice her age simulates sex with her on stage briefly.  Even at one point, Miley uses a large foam finger to insinuate masturbation.

I never wanted to be this adult that I have become. 

But I've learned something over the years:  Nothing is accidental.  Nothing is a gimmick.  Everything is calculated.  Every action has a purpose. 

Am I disgusted with what I saw last night?  No.  In fact, I enjoyed her performance. 

She is just symptomatic of the culture we live in.  Her little dance routine on stage last night isn't going to cause 13 year old girls to go out and fuck someone today.  They're fucking already.

Pop culture doesn't change the world we live in.  It mirrors it.

What I did find ironic last night was; as I was trying to find what time and channel the VMAs were on, I found myself looking at the program guide.  And it dawned on me:  there's a reason television shows are called programs. 

The shows themselves aren't programs.  We are being programmed.  Everything on television and in movies is intended to condition us and desensitize us.

Like I said, nothing is accidental.  Nothing is a gimmick.



I won't dare say we are headed to hell in a hand basket.  I promised myself I would never be that person nor am I the type of person that resorts to worn out cliches.

What I do know and what I can say clearly is that in the last week, people throughout this country have spent more time debating Miley Cyrus' performance at the VMAs and whether or not, Ben Affleck is a good choice for Batman.

That speaks volumes to how drunk our society has become.

Eventually.  Sooner or later.  Our priorities will be forced to change.  Unfortunately, we won't be able to handle the withdrawals.

Garbage in.  Garbage out.  We consume enough poison, eventually, we don't recover.

We laugh at the days when our grandparents were aghast at Elvis shaking his hips on TV.  And now look at us.

They were right.

I proudly admit that I have become the adult I swore I never would become. 

Old Friends die hard

It happens sometimes. Friends come in and out of our lives, like busboys in a restaurant.- Stand By Me.

I was asked by an old friend if we were still friends.  After years of no communication, years of life coming in between us, years of him going one way and me just standing still, he asked if we were still friends.

I went to Vegas with some co-workers.  I came home with some friends.  The day I was fired, those friends became ex co-workers.  Nothing more.  I suppose it taught me the value of friendship; its true meaning.  I suppose I have a tendency to use that word "friend" a little too liberally.

I told my old friend, we will always be friends.  I left it at that temporarily.  I figured no explanation was needed nor did I really believe his question was sincere.  I've seen him cry.  I was there when his mother died.  We lost a best friend together.  We've known each other for nearly three decades.

Are we still friends?  What kind of question is that?  I asked an hour later.  He knew I was annoyed.

We started talking about those better days before life got in the way.  We discussed that best friend who left us too soon.  And I thought about him and them and us and me.  And I started to notice how everyone called him their best friend.  I suppose I am cynical because I don't believe best friends die like he did. 

Favorite friends do. 

Best friends don't leave the rest of us blaming ourselves.

I don't want to be anyone's favorite friend.  I want to be their best friend.  That's the lesson I learned on a dreary Sunday in September.


I've got this routine where every night before I fall to sleep I watch old reruns of Friends on Nick at Nite.  That show is so flawed and ripe with deception.  For ten years, we wondered, "will Ross and Rachel end up together?"  Of course, they will.  We all knew it. 

That's television.  Happy endings tied together with a bow.  To make us feel good.  To put us in the right frame of mind when products are flashed before our eyes during commercials.  Who is gonna go buy a happy meal at McDonalds after finding out Ross and Rachel hate each other?

Friends don't hang out with each other every second of the day; always laughing, never fighting.  No one dying.  No one leaving those friends behind because life gets in the way.

For me, the only show that really prepared me for life and told me everything I need to know about friends was that one season show in the early 90's called My So-Called Life.  It was the closest thing to reality TV I've ever seen.  Those kids didn't grow up to be Ross and Rachel or Chandler and Monica.  They grew up to be you and me. 


The best friends I've ever had, know and accept the worst parts of me.  They've seen me at my lowest and never considered me unworthy.


I gravitate towards people who remind me of myself.  I think we all do.  Like attracts like, they say.  Take away all the labels.  Strip away the ego.  Dig below the surface.  You will find every person you have ever genuinely considered a friend of value is just like you. 

That's why we feel a sense of betrayal when they leave us too soon.  That's why we refer to some as having a piece of our heart.


As a senior in high school, I took a trip to Colorado on a bus with my classmates.  I came home on a bus with my friends.  The day we graduated, most of us went in our own direction.  That large circle of friends became various tiny circles of friends with unfamiliar faces added in later.  And new circles were formed.

It's been four years since I last talked to that old friend; the one who asked me that question.  His new circle of friends doesn't include me.

But only because life got in the way.







 

Panic (A Love Story)‏

There’s panic on the streets of my town

when my insecurities become impurities

If I could swim with the ease of your liberties

I would most certainly never drown

There’s worry inside my head

As my brain rises out of its bed

I could analyze this until I despise what I miss

But I’d rather hyper-criticize every last inch of this

It’s as if I am swimming in an ocean of doubt

But the rain clouds above

Help me think my way out

As the water is receding

The deeper I’m bleeding

Those sharks are circling

As if I am what they’re needing

To devour my heart

As it dangles on my sleeve

I pray for the rain

And any reason I should leave

There’s panic in the water

At the mere rumors of danger

I could love you forever

Or just be a stranger

I’m an angel away

From meeting my maker

I’m sure the devil herself

Wants me to call her my creator

That’s how it goes when there’s panic in hell

All the good people

Put their souls out for sale

It’s as if instant gratification is the new blue

Like a drug in my vein

The yellow becomes you

They say colors are the reason

We all want a different view

I say colors are the reason

I only want you

There’s panic on the streets of my town

When my insecurities invade your liberties

And I wear my impurities like a crown

I am the king of my fate

But I’m once again late

There’s panic everywhere

When we are told just to wait

I could analyze this until my kingdom should come

Or I could turn back around and return

To where I came from

But I’d rather scream and panic for no simple reason

For every familiar color, we have a new season

That’s how it goes when nobody knows

that panic clings to hope and it doesn’t know better

I could worry myself to an early death

Or I could just love you forever.

An Anniversary of Sorts‏

I don't know about you
Well, I suppose I do

If I actually listened

I was dreaming of a cake
where I stood proudly upon

I don't know about you
I don't believe that cake is gone

I saw another man
with a fork in his hand

I don't know about you
but I'm not making anymore plans

Well, I suppose I could

If I actually tried

I was noticing the date
while I was busy trying to decide

I don't know about you
But today marks the day
when the old me, died

It's an anniversary of sorts
One of many to come
I don't know about you
but I'm not replacing you with just anyone

Well, I suppose I could

But that would defy
all that is good

I was dreaming of walking on water
and you were holding our daughter

I don't know about you
Well, I suppose I do

If I actually listened.

Idyllic Misfortune

Honestly speaking, she said. 

I've always thought it was strange to announce you're about to tell the truth.

To be honest, my father found someone better.  A better wife, a better daughter, a better home.  To be honest, she said, you can have my heart, I'll give you my soul and my body is yours for the taking.

There are certain things I am not interested in; like, your astrological sign or being your surrogate father or being a consolation prize.  I won't let you settle for me, I said.  Honestly speaking, I am not what you need.  I am not what you want.  I am disappointment cloaked in manipulative armor.

And we agreed to part ways.

I heard she died in the arms of a dealer.  Years after the fact. 

I was angry at God.  The omnipotent scapegoat. 

Honestly speaking, it's easy to do.  Kick the dog.  Punch a hole in the wall.  Scream at the Creator.

I had this friend who couldn't walk in a straight line.  His hands trembled.  His voice was shaking.  Smartest man I ever knew died in the arms of his pride.  I was angry at God.  Sometimes, to be honest, I still am. 

It's easy to do.

We speak of do-overs and hypothetical possibilities.  I must think I am so wise that I would do things differently.  I must have come to the conclusion that I'm stronger than this.  Who am I kidding?  Who are we kidding?  Do-overs would always result in worst case scenarios.

We always get it right the first time.  Right for our lives, right for that moment, right how it was meant to be.

To be honest, I could never ask for another chance or a new start because I know, I would only make my life worse.  We all would.

Honestly speaking, she said. 

I stopped her mid-sentence.  You're about to tell me a lie, I said.  An honest person never announces the truth. 

And she smiled at me with a guilty look on her face.  I think, at that moment, I loved her more than I cared to admit.  And she never finished her sentence.  We never finished our story.  We just parted ways.

And sometimes, I dream of a do-over and my hypothetical wife with our invisible 2.5 kids, chasing each other confined in the yard of a white picket fence while our hypothetical dog plays in the sprinklers.

Maybe, it's better that this is who I am and this is how it is...  And maybe, that angry God doesn't laugh as hard as I imagine... And maybe, someone in a better place is looking down at me and shedding a silent tear that I dare question any of this... And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll see them again.

Honestly speaking, I said.

She stopped me mid-sentence and told me she loved me.

And then I woke up.