I have tried my very best to avoid this new wave of teeny-bopper pop. I flip the channel every time Hannah-Miley-Destiny-I-have-too-many-names-to-keep-track-of-Montana-Cyrus graces the screen. Her hyper Tennessee-tinged voice drives me bonkers; and all I see are these giant teeth. Oh yeah... and I am still holding a grudge against her father. My junior high's physical education program had a required block of instruction on dancing. Picture me at age 12 forced to do the Achy-Breaky Heart for 45 minutes straight. Picture me at age 30 still seething about it.
Screw you, Cyrus! I still have scars.
The only thing I knew about the Jonas Brothers was that one of them was linked to that demon spawn from the previous paragraph. Then came their Target commercial. I adore Target. There is a 40% chance when you call me that I will tell you, "yeah... I am Target right now... just stopped by to get a few things." Why did my beloved Target need these little shaggy-haired moppets? I will take my Isaac Mizrahi shift dress and Michael Graves toilet bowl scrubber without a side of reworked Beatles' songs sang by prepubescent boys.
Seriously... they make Hanson sound like Barry White!
I was bored at work so I decided to
educate myself on these little rat bastards. 5 minute lesson learned: the Cyrus chick and the Jonas brothers are all evangelical types who wear promise rings for God and pledge to save their virginity until marriage.
Uggghhh. No wonder they all annoy me. Cheeseball pop is one thing; sanctimonious preachings regurgitated from their parents is another. Virginity is such a private issue, especially for teenagers. I hate it when people pledge it publicly to a higher being or (the creepiest of all) to their
fathers. Couldn't you just keep that to yourself? Besides... didn't we already see how the pop star who publicly vows to stay a virgin ends up?
And this is only Exhibit A
What happened to pop music? My generation had the New Kids on the Block; and yes I was a certified Blockhead. The kind that plastered my room with ripped out magazine pictures from Bop and Tiger Beat. The kind who pinned those giant buttons of my fave New Kid (Jon, with Donnie as a close second) on my acid-washed denim purse. The New Kids were your classic cheesy pop fare... but there was at least a small acknowledgment to sex. Nothing overt because they were dealing with pre-teens. Just the occasional wink or pelvic thrust to sate a poor girl's raging hormones. But they didn't feel the need to broadcast the details of their sex (or lack of) lives. Neither did Debbie Gibson. Or (reaching back to my mom's generation) David Cassidy. So shut up about your precious virginity, pop stars. We all know that you are going to lose it to some groupie backstage after sucking down a fifth of Jack Daniels chased by an 8-ball anyways.
What do you think they really meant by "Hangin' Tough"?
