Twerk It . . .

Well . . . apparently the VMAs were Sunday night. The VMAs - for those who are good hearted and mature enough to not know - are MTV's annual celebration of these quaint mini-movies that used to air on their channel and now live almost exclusively online. When the VMAs first started decades ago - they were a good time. Artists would come and celebrate themselves for one night and there would always be random presenters, performers, and back stories.

It seems like every year has that "VMA moment" that sort of becomes iconic until, you know, 15 minutes later when we don't think or talk about it anymore. Sunday's "moment" was a 20 year old woman getting all but naked and doing some very, very suggestive stuff with an older married (?) man to the shock and horror of the masses. And yet . . . being the culture we have become . . . we ALL talked about it.

Some to cheer and celebrate youth and music and fun. Some to chide failed parenting, an overly sexualized young woman. Some to point to potential mental issues and eating disorders. Some to make jokes that were "pro" and "con" the whole episode. Some to ask what the heck twerking even is . . .

Some to talk about how desperate the world is for moments like this that we can all focus on. Some (like me) just wanted it to stop. Some wished for the moment, four years ago, when Kanye West took the mic from Taylor Swift (who has never quite recovered from the incident - despite being an adult then and now (we pretend a 19 year old millionaire is just a "teenager/child" despite her peers giving their lives for us around the world as we type/read). Some talked about what all this means for our continued crumbling of society. Some just wanted to make Beetlejuice jokes (I'll admit it - I honestly thought (having not seen the performance) that Robin Thicke may have been in character for the performance)). Some just wanted to spend more time on the *NSYNC reunion or Taylor Swift, off another failed relationship, mouthed something naughty about her latest ex. Some wanted more attention paid to Richard Simmons on the red carpet.

Here's the only point of this entire post . . . moments like Miley Cyrus losing her addled mind on a stage in Brooklyn HAVE (much to my aging, curmudgeonly horror) become truly important to us. We have so many distractions and priorities that the rare thing that breaks through has to pull us all together again.

Think about it in context. On the same day as the performance there was a 50-years-later rally on the National Mall to celebrate the civil rights movement, the pundits talked about the Syrians using chemical weapons on their own people, the federal government started a stale-mate (again) over debt ceilings, the economy continued to languish, millions sat in houses of worship to hear the good word, lawns were mowed, family dinners were held, TV shows were aired, music was played, and clothes were bought, laundered, ruined, and re-purposed. Yet here we sit . . . nearly 48 hours later . . . talking about "Blurred Lines" and debauchery in whatever context we choose to see and share it.

Sorry, Syrians.