Lines blur whenever life imitates MTV
Christmas was a little rougher than usual for my family this
year.
My brother, Tommy, used to work on the dock. Union’s been on
strike; he’s down on his luck.
It’s tough, so tough.
His wife, Gina, works the diner all day.
Wait, that’s Bon Jovi  I hate when that happens.
And it does happen often  you would not believe the number
of times I have woken up in the morning crying my eyes out, only
later realizing that we are the world, we are the children, we are
the ones who can feed a small child for 12 cents a day, so let’s
start givin’!
As I grew up, the fine line between MTV and reality was often
blurred. But as religious cults and cigarette advertisers can
attest, children are the most easily brainwashed consumers. So,
while my parents may have been brought up and influenced by radio,
and their parents by books, growing older with MTV has had an
unprecedented effect on my life, my goals, my hopes and dreams.
Thoreau may have beckoned your great-grandparents to sit in the
middle of some stinkin’ pond and practice something called civil
disobedience  but really, how many people actually did
that?
During the ’80s, the transcendentalists had their second coming
through MTV, yet to a much more successful degree.
"Fight for your right, fight for your right" was drilled into my
head by the learned sagacity of the Beastie Boys  and forever
my life has been changed.
But in reality, to worry about MTV’s influence on the youth of
today is a waste of time. The money spent studying the sociological
and behavioral effects could easily be spent elsewhere, like
feeding starving children and saving whales.
America’s demise began when MTV took over the father-figure role
of Sesame Street and of violent cartoons, and is now itself being
replaced by Nintendo and Sega.
As an educated member of the global community, I already know my
life is over.
While MTV may have initially been created with the intent to rot
America’s brains of tomorrow, its corrosive effects have already
been seen in the minds of yesterday  our parents.
I don’t know about you, but in my home, as long as I got my
homework done, MTV was a fairly welcome visitor  kind of like
the Prophet Elijah of the small screen.
And when Bon Jovi was crying out in pre-teen, pre-Generation X,
pre-alternative angst, it was not only my voice, but that of my
parents boldly stating, "You, my friend, give love a bad name."
In fact, for a period of time I think my mom liked MTV more than
I did. For most of my youth MTV was the warm hearth that kept my
family strong.
I wanted my MTV. My family wanted its MTV. And unfortunately,
not much has changed since then.
Because I’m poor white trash, I can’t afford cable while I’m
attending this esteemed university.
So I do the next best thing  turn up KROQ, grab a Rolling
Stone magazine and dance around the room quickly flipping through
the mag’s pages attempting to emulate the effect of a fast-paced
video for my short-attention span persona.
It actually works pretty darn well.
So one of the biggest luxuries of going home  besides the
free food, laundry service and a working bathroom  is the
chance to spend my precious time not enjoying the final, golden
moments of waning high school friendships, but sitting in my
Spiderman underoos in the downstairs living room blasting MTV.
Winter break was no exception.
On the drive home from the airport, after exchanging
pleasantries, my mother started humming a familiar tune. "Oh God,"
I thought to myself, "not Neil Diamond again!"
But I realized that she was not far from out of it, she was down
in it.
"Do you have the time," my mother mouthed, "to listen to me
whine?"
"No, mom, please. No!" I secretly mouthed back.
"I went to a … went to a … " she started to whisper, "Bobby,
what did that nice Billy Joe go to?"
"A whore, mom, a whore."
"Oh yeah, I remember  I just love that Green Day, they’re
just like the Beatles."
But things really started getting out of hand when I heard my
dad singing Nine Inch Nail’s "Closer" while in the shower.
What’s next, my Grandma singing like the Snoop Dogg? Do we
really need the geriatric re-mix of "Regulate?"
And the worst part is, my parents think they can relate to me
now. Do my parents understand my role as part of the "Alternative
nation?"
No, but MTV does, and they cater to this fact. How else can you
explain all the ads for Depends and Preparation H sandwiched
between clips of Ice Cube and Pearl Jam?
In fact, it all starts to look amazingly obvious. Two
Woodstocks? Tony Bennett videos?
Welcome to paradise.
Robert Stevens is a second-year political science student. "And
now," he cries, "let the wild rumpus start!" His column runs every
other Tuesday.