Miley’s performance at the Video Music Awards did cross the line; it crossed the line into absolute boredom.
I saw nothing sexually interesting nor shocking with her performance. It warranted no censure, no viewership. Miley Cyrus and the media are pushing this silly performance as something of importance when it is bland. Sexy dancing is nothing new; I don’t think Miley makes the cut.
I like Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines song and video. The video is sexy and a little facetious which makes it interesting. The video does not take itself too seriously and seems to draw the viewers in on the joke. It’s a pop song just meant to entertain us this summer.
Miley looked like a 12-year-old girl in that ill-fitting, beige bikini. Her tongue reminded me of a lizard searching out a tasty bug. The foam finger suggested she take herself off the stage. Her dance moves looked foolish and poorly done.
I guess some men prefer 12-year-old girls. Yet I wonder how many men actually found her titillating on the VMA?
She wants to shake her innocent, Disney image and become a grown-up artist. Yet the only talent she tries for is to shock. Even in that, she didn’t succeed. Yawn . . .
Weekly Writing Challenge: Mind the Gap
My friend wants me to add a vitamin powder to my water and drink it in the morning instead of coffee. She said it’s healthy and makes you feel better than coffee. I’m not too sure about this idea. Morning would be even less palatable without the smell, taste, and ritual of that lovely brown liquid.
You see, I’ve been a coffee drinker from way back. Practically from breast to coffee cup. I think my grandparents brought this coffee-is-good-for-kids idea from Europe and my mother kept it going.
My mother and grandparents firmly believed that a hot or warm beverage was always healthier than any cold one. They avoided cold drinks. My grandfather’s favorite drink was hot water with a bit of milk mixed in. He lived to the age of 93 so maybe they were on to something.
My mother was shocked to learn that kindergarten classes offered a cold carton of milk halfway through the day. She insisted that the teacher remove my milk from the refrigerator about an hour before snack time so that it could turn lukewarm. Soon other mothers thought that was a good idea and three or four other milk cartons were warming up with mine. How many kids began to hate me at this point, I’m not sure.
In first grade, I had a Disney lunch box with a matching thermos. One day my mother filled the Disney thermos with coffee. During lunch, the thermos started to leak. I knew that everyone would discover my dirty little coffee-drinking secret. The teacher set my leaky thermos in the sink while the other kids watched and speculated. Maybe it’s hot cocoa some of them said. But the coffee smell couldn’t be disguised. This coffee incident made the whole class think I was one strange kid. But it wasn’t me doing the brewing and pouring, I was just the recipient of drinking what “was good for me.”
My memories and addiction make letting go of my morning coffee nearly impossible. Yet I do rebel a little. Sometimes I order iced coffee at the coffee shop. My grandmother would never have understood cold coffee. It would have been her turn to be shocked and confused.
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