Things That Are Awesome

This has been the awesome-est week EVER, hasn’t it?

First, we had:

DMFRH 2013: Rise of the Swoaps

I have a thing for villains—that’s like the whole point of this blog. Picking them up, turning them in the light, shaking them until something falls out. That’s my thing. I thought I was focusing on pop culture references, fictional villains from comics and movies and books.

Then my villains became real.

I won’t rehash the thrilling details (one, because I said I wouldn’t; and two, because you can read all about it here) but our story began with shit-talking after my wife resigned and ended with the arrest of my arch-nemeses, Big John and Melanie “Bye Bitch!” Swoap, for theft and fraud and a bunch of other shit.

It was a fitting end to a funky little dispute and it made me smile. Just. Like This.


Crooked Letterz is TWO!

That’s right, this here blog had its second birthday. Yay! We had a bouncy house and two clowns and I gave it some mugshots as an awesome present. Then things got even better! That EPIC Conclusion post is the 200th post on Crooked Letterz. That little post that could, filled to the brim with Law & Order intros and Puss in Boots Oooh Cats and Fox17 stories, was the highest viewed post in the history of this blog. It pushed me well over the 60,000 view mark (closer to 65,000 as of this writing), which is amazing for someone with a novel and dream. It was like sweeps week and I gave you the end of M*A*S*H. What’s M*A*S*H? Jesus—how about Cheers? No? Lost? Shit, fine—I gave you the end of Wizards of Waverly Place. How bout that? Young asses.

Miley Cyrus and the VMAs

Speaking of young asses, I saw the VMAs this Sunday. I saw Miley Cyrus twerking her long back on Robin Thicke just like you did. We watched as a family and I had one of those “Oh, THIS is what my parents must have felt like” moments. The Honey Badger was grossed out and confused. The Boy was both aroused and disgusted. My wife and I watched it like this:

That’s for my Breaking Bad fans.

Now you may recall that I wrote a lovely Leave Miley Alone post a bit ago. In it, I said she was just doing the stupid shit all 20-year-olds do, just her stage and opportunity was greatly increased due to her fame and finances. That was before I saw the VMAs.

Since that display of teddy bear-fueled ridicularity, I’ve gotten emails and texts, Facebook messages and inboxes about would I want my daughter to do that. Would I want her to emulate Miley? I’ve read open letters and twitter feeds, blog posts and news articles. And that all come the same conclusion: Miley Cyrus is a drug-addicted, sex-crazed heathen on the slippery slope to an overdose or death who is going to take our daughters with her.

But my opinion hasn’t changed.

I’m a product of the 80s. I grew up watching MTV. I remember when they actually played music on Music Television—kinda weird watching the Video Music Awards on a channel that doesn’t play music videos. But I digress. I remember the same articles and when Madonna performed Like A Virgin in a wedding dress. When Madonna and Britney and Christina Aguilera kissed on stage. When Elton John wore…well, ALL that crazy shit. When Lady Gaga wore a meat dress.

Christina got butt naked on her Stripped album cover. Britney shaved her head. Lindsay became a lesbian for 14 minutes, stole some jewelry and went to rehab. Demi Lovato went to a different kind of rehab. Kimberly from Diff’rent Strokes posed in Playboy and ended up dead. Todd Bridges and Danny Bonaduce became a drug addicts and recovered. Gary Coleman became a sued his parents and became a security guard. Elton John sang for Princess Diana’s funeral. Madonna got a British accent.

This shit with child stars is old. They go through this rebellious period where they lose their fucking minds publicly. Most of the time they survive it, sometimes they don’t. At this point, I can see the act a mile away. Miley is being stupid—some of it is for real, some of it is for show. You’re so caught up in her tongue sticking out, seeing her grind on Robin Thicke in his Foot Locker uniform that you forget the Hannah Montana bullshit. That is the point. Forget the Hannah Montana shit. She’ll do this nonsense for another year or so, release an “Oh, I found myself and my sanity” album, become a judge of the 18th season of American Idol, and get a semi-serious movie role.

And the world will be right until Good Luck Charlie gets a belly piercing.

Oh, and I Got a Posting Schedule

That’s the last thing—and I’ll do it real quick because it’s getting longer. After 2 years and 200 posts, it’s a new day here at Crooked Letterz. What’s new, you ask? Regularity. Knowing what to expect. So here’s the deal: I’m gonna post here 2 times a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Tuesdays are kind of a free-for-all day: you’ll find DMFRHs, Suburdity, Things That Are Awesome (like this)—whatever comes to mind. Fridays will bring the villains back with the Friday Night Fiend. We’ll get back to all the things you know and love.

That’s my word.

Oh yeah, there’s one more thing that’s awesome: Me.

Catch ya Friday!

Judge Not…Cause the Stones in the Glass Houses…Just Leave Miley Alone

19 was an interesting year for me: for starters, I got kicked out of college. Well, that’s probably harsher than it sounded: I was politely asked not to return. There, that’s better.

But it got worse.

I spent my 19th birthday sleeping on someone’s desk, not because I was drunk but because I dicked around too long and missed the bus back to my aunt’s house. I had my first younger man-older woman relationship at 19 and it was awesome! Got fired for the first time. Not so awesome. I got caught messing around with a girl in her father’s house BY HER FATHER. Really not awesome. I would go out and get drunk with my friends, drinking 40s of Old English at the top of the Mall of America parking lot and dropping the empty bottles over the side. I got drunk enough that I lost the ability to recite the alphabet. In front of my little sister.

As you can imagine, that Brother of the Year trophy looks amazing on my mantle.

Between 19 and 21, I was a high-ranking official in the global DMFRH operation. I bought a car and summarily got it repossessed. Seems they really like those payments on time. I moved into a townhouse with my best friend, only to find out that our other roommate (a girl) was having sex with her first cousin. I left. I got into my second older woman-younger man relationship and almost got kicked out of college for the second time (apparently those institutions of higher learning don’t appreciate you getting all extra-curricular with their administrators).  I got kicked out an Embers, which is one step lower than a Perkins, for lipstick on my glass (note: I DO NOT wear lipstick). I got kicked out of a movie theater at the Mall of America for having an aggressive Malcolm X conversation too close to a white couple—then intimidating them in said theater.

My scared straight moment didn’t come until I was standing next to a girl that got shot. Before that I was an idiot. I was such an idiot that, at 22, I looked back and said, “Damn, I did some dumb shit.”

You probably did too.

Which brings me to Miley Cyrus. I’ll pause for that “Wait, what?” moment. OK, so follow my train of thought. I have a job. That means I can only watch ONE show on MTV and my choice is Ridiculousness (unless Catfish is on—that’s my shit). If you know me, and by now you do, you know I cannot resist any show that is going to give me videos of people getting fucked up AND have commentary. So I’m watching Ridiculousness and giggling and then there is this commercial for the VMAs and it starts with the Beastie Boys’ “No Sleep Til Brooklyn” and shows a bunch of people in the sewer. And here’s my stream of consciousness train of thought:

“No Sleep Til Brooklyn? Are they honoring the Beastie Boys at the VMAs? Didn’t they do that at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame already? And didn’t one of them die? That’s gonna be awkward. Why are they in the sewer like a bunch of Michael Jackson back up dancers? Who the hell? Miley Cyrus? Is she that big of deal? Well, that song “We Can’t Stop “ gets stuck in my head every time I hear—godammit, it’s stuck now.”

And that’s how we get to Miley Cyrus.

When Hannah Montana was popular and the Honey Badger wanted a Rock Star birthday party, I distinctly remember saying, “Who the hell is Hannah Montana?” Turns out she had a show and an album and a movie and bedsheets and all kinds of other Disney shit. Next thing I know, she has a song that I can’t get out of my head, is twerking what she doesn’t have and grown women are calling her a “skank” and a “ho.”

Okay, wait.

I’ve admittedly done stupid shit. So have you. But there was a limit on my stupidity mainly because I was a) anonymous and b) poor. Think about it. Most 20 year olds doing dumb shit are college students and college students are notoriously poor. Poverty keeps your stupidity in check in the same way your body secretes a hormone to lock your muscles so you don’t act out your dreams. It’s a natural limiting factor.

Imagine being 20 and stupid and famous and having $120 Million Dollars. Why that’s enough money to do…whatever the fuck you want. What limits do you have? And what do you have to look forward to? Most college students inherently have some limit because of their financial situation and because they eventually have to buckle down and figure out how to pay off those student loans. But what happens when you come into your 20s with a career and millions of dollars? Well, you lose your fucking mind!

Now I’m not a Miley Cyrus fan. I’d feel too much like a pedophile if I were. But I think the harsh judgment against a 20 year old being 20 in the public eye is both unfounded and a little two-faced. We’ve all done stupid shit—it’s a rite of passage—and whether that is limited to Pabst Blue Ribbon-laced hook ups and manufactured slip-n-slides in dormitory hallways or it’s music videos shaking your no ass and smoking marijuana (which is legal in my state), it’s all the same stupid shit.

And we’ve all done it.