Daily Loaf

(Each Fall an army of eighteen-year-old “adults” floods USF, expecting to finally set foot in the long prophesied “real world.” They soon discover that college, and the real world, are whatever these freshmen make of them. In constructing their identities, most are required to take a basic writing course. Creative Loafing has chosen four of those students to blog for the Daily Loaf.)

About once every month, there is a funk in the air that leads to me making some piss-poor decisions. Last month, my moment of weakness involved (oh my God, I’m actually about to admit this) Miley Cyrus.

I was driving home, listening to the radio, which is unusual because I’m usually jamming out to Sunday in the Park with George on XM Satellite Radio. But, by chance, my car had just gotten a tune up and I removed the XM so it wouldn’t get snatched. Years ago, after I had a Donkey Kong Happy Meal toy stolen by a valet driver, I learned to remove every valuable from my car before handing it over to a stranger. So, I was listening to the radio and one of Cyrus’ songs, whose name I will not mention, came on. I reached for the volume knob to turn the song off, but instead I made a horrible, inexplicable mistake: I turned the volume up and listened to that whole damn song. And yes, I sang my heart out… I felt so dirty, like how Miley’s twenty-year old boyfriend must feel when he makes her do a striptease. I vowed to never again to give in to the ways of another oversexed, attention whore, but then an episode of Paris Hilton’s My New BFF came on.

I was so horribly disturbed and embarrassed that I couldn’t even change the channel. I’ve never seen such nonsense on television before. The Simple Life is a five-star show compared to this steamy pile of garbage. Paris has really topped herself this time. It is like she thought, “Let’s combine the obnoxiousness of Flavor of Love and the pathetic, vomit-inducing “drama” of The Hills.” MTV, have you no shame? The Hills, Laguna Beach, and that clusterfuck, known as A Shot at Love, weren’t enough for you? MTV is the Jerry Springer of television channels. All they have to do now is throw in some obese women in bikinis fighting over a white guy in a silk pimp outfit, screaming, “Oh no honey, that’s my baby’s daddy.” MTV must be shut down for the sake of human existence. Everyone thinks it’s global warming killing the polar bears in the arctic. You are wrong. It’s MTV.

And can we talk about the group of slimeballs called the contestants? These are the kinds of people you’d find in Dante’s ninth circle of hell. They deserve to have their heads eternally chewed by Lucifer (Thanks Freshman Lit!). Their giant sunglasses and four tons of makeup only accentuate their stupidity and desperation. You can’t get lower than vying for Paris Hilton’s approval. That is almost worse than vying to be O.J. Simpson’s wife. This show is a phenomenon, a freak of nature. And it is, by a good distance, my most disturbing moment of weakness. Although the people are awful, I will continue watching to feel better about myself. This will be my fix until American Idol comes back and I can boost my dignity by watching delirious, tone deaf people crash and burn.

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