Lapornia California, RIP H. Montana...

I woke up this morning and flicked through my Facebook feed. Kids going to school, some lingering Ben Affleck hostility, and a lot of stuff on Miley Cyrus and the VMAs.

I clicked for Miley.

Wow.

Let me say that again.

Wow.

I think we can now all agree that the rumors of Hannah Montana being alive and well have been grossly misreported. She is dead, her body decomposing under the floorboards of a backwoods shack somewhere in Appalachia, or on display in the basement of some Disney Seventh Church of Satan.

But nevermind that, say hello to Lapornia California! She works it, she twerks it, y'all watch out for her foam finger phallus!

Yee hah!

Whoo!

Miley Cyrus's VMA performance is so incredibly awesome, so incredibly fantastic. Yes, it's hard to watch, and sure, it has sort of a grand jet-set 'People of Walmart' vibe, but it is just so incredibly AMAZING.

Behold!

2013 VMA - Artists.MTV - Music - Miley Cyrus

Really, it's like a diamond. There are so many facets, so many sparkly things to look at. It is magnificent.

Truly, in a grotesque way, it really is magnificent. We are so used to polished precise performances. This was UGLY.

Or maybe it was more like the Zapruder film. You have to watch it over and over to see where and when the first bullet hits humanity in the throat; knowing the second bullet will obliterate everything.

Ultimately this is everything 'murica. It is a crock pot of milk chocolate and bacon fat with gummy worms, salted peanuts, and ground beef. It's a pair of Crocs with Jibbitz bling and diamonds on the soles. It is a pimped out truck with chrome teeth that stands twenty feet off the ground and crushes other trucks.

And what was with the big booty mama throwing out candy? It was like something out of dancing bear porn. It was so perfectly imperfect and perverse.

This VMA performance, this entertainment spectacle, this Internet buzz marketing moment - its brilliance is blinding.

However, if I were Miley's manager, no, I wouldn't have let last night's performance happen. It was an epic fail. Like teenage back seat fumblings; all elbows, leg cramps, and ow you're on my hair. It was a total train wreck with bodies everywhere.

But if I were a calculating mastermind manager - hmmm, maybe...

...Miley is going to be cruelly mediated over the next few days unless Ben Affleck decides to address all the Batman Afflack, or one of the cast of Glee goes on a killing spree. She will be defended by a few, and she will be a hero to some. But good or bad, she is going to move a lot of music. And people will continue to talk talk talk and bash bash bash. They will meme and rant.

But in a year (or 5) Miley will come out with an experimental acoustic alt folk album with strange and beautiful heartfelt songs she wrote herself (or were penned by Aimee Mann and/or Beck) that the college set will LOVE. And she'll be quietly doing charitable work with wayward teens that will get 'leaked' online - and she will find #redemption...

To everyone who says her music sucks, well, duh.

And as far as the VMAs are concerned, we need to remember the V comes first, the M stands for mediocrity, and if the the A ever mattered - it was a loooong time ago...

Clearly, there are a lot more things in the world to be appalled by - I'm looking at you, Syria. But as we close the chapter on Hannah Montana and open a new one for Lapornia California, let's not forget Robin Thicke's zebra/referee suit bears some blame, too.



All this said I want to close with South Park. When I watched this particular episode of South Park in 2008, it transcended tv. It was art. High art. I suspect even more so now... It is brilliant. And eerie.

Seriously, take 22 minutes and watch it.

{{ UPDATE 9.9.13 }}

I've since viewed the VMA video again. It's really much ado about not much. It's not that shocking. It's just bad dancing, terrible singing, awful costuming, and an ill-conceived performance.

However, in the end, I've actually come to appreciate Miley's fearlessness and commitment - like a bird leaving its nest too soon, but somehow keeping its wings and skull unbroken after the fall and taking clumsy flight.

You go, girl!

But after seeing her new music video:



I am not so sure about her fearlessness. I feel bad for her, and embarrassed. Because it's not so much about a bird, as much as it's a baby goat prancing about the killing floor.

Gardening At Night

I'm a 46 year old man and as I write that out I'm like whoa, how did that happen. But old man or not every night after everyone has gone to bed I go outside, turn on the hose, and water the plants. I water the ones up front by the window until I see the water cascade from the basket. When I can see all the leaves on the ground glisten and reflect light off the streetlights, I bring the hose round back and do those. Same thing. But I water the hanging plants at an angle so they spin; all the way until they have to spin back. 46? I'm barely 17.

(The Chenille plant is always withered at the end of the day, but by tomorrow morning it will have transformed.)

I trudge up to the deck on the garage and water those. I have to be careful not to drag the hose across the solar lights down below because then I have to find the tops in the dark. I water the plants on the ground from up above because I like to think they think it's rain and that I am a god. Also, it's easier. On the garage deck I have one of those upside down tomato planters. It's in its own stand. The yield has been terrible, but once or twice a week I pull off a red cherry and damn if in that moment I don't recognize it as a fruit. I deadhead the marigolds I think are dead, but it's hard to tell because it's dark. Once I'm done I pull up enough slack so I can put the sprayer on the ground before throwing down the rest of the hose. I've broken too many sprayers to know this is the only way. But before I go inside I listen to the whirring drone of air conditioners all around me and the jet that flies overhead. It is not a quiet time, but there is no one and that's nice. The song that goes through my head is just the chorus. 'Gardening at night, gardening at night, gardening at night'.