The first time I saw Hannah Montana, I was at a friend’s house channel surfing late at night. I don’t even know why I stopped on that show, but something about it must have caught my eye. Since that time, I have bought every episode of the show on iTunes and kept up with it pretty religiously. I even went and bought the second CD the day it came out.
My thoughts on the show:
1. The acting is terrible, and BIlly Ray Cyrus doesn’t hold up his end- his acting is by far the worst of the bunch. You’d think the one cast member with 25 more years experience than everyone else would be able to do a kids’ TV show by now but maybe not. The rest of the cast is mediocre- but then High School Musical doesn’t have noteworthy acting either. Not that the tween viewers care.
2. The writing isn’t much better than the acting, but it has its moments.
3. Everything on the show is super colorful- which makes it look fake. If they’d just tone down the saturation a bit it might look more real. But again, how many tweens really care?
My thoughts on the CD:
1. The songs are catchy though the lyrics are not very original.
2. Most of the songs have very positive words and are easy to like.
3. Miley Cyrus is a terrible singer. She’s on Ashlee Simpson’s level.
All of that brings me to my thoughts on the recent scandal of sorts started by her posing in nothing but a bed sheet. First of all, in this day and age, who can blame her for thinking it’s okay for a 15 year old girl to do that? Shame on her parents, not her. Not that she’s entirely innocent, anyone who has ever seen Annie Leibovitz’s photography knows they have strong sexual overtones. She should have known going into the photo shoot that it was probably going to make her come out looking like Jamie Lynn Spears about 20 minutes after being knocked up. And really, it’s not the lack of clothing or the bed sheet that stuck out the most to me. It’s the blatantly obvious sex hair and red lipstick. I distinctly remember my mom forbidding me from wearing any kind of nail polish or lip color that was red (or any closely related variation thereof). It just makes her look like a trashy whore, and is that what someone who is making $1 million a week from her wholesome image wants to do?
I doubt it.
3 Comments
I have to stop reading this blog. No, really. Seems every time I sit down for a pleasant read I get all charged up with enough spit and vigor, I’m ready to kick the house pets. I’m beginning to think I’m going to need another, even larger lithium prescription just to keep reading.
So the topic today is Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus? Wait a minute, right there. Since when did we, the adult voting public give any authority to a pre-teen to have a ’stage name’? If it weren’t for the fact her dad’s entertainment career is about as notable as, say, bologna, if I were Billy Ray, I’d sit her little hiney down and chide her for slinking away from the proud ‘Cyrus’ family name. By the way, Miley’s real REAL name is Destiny Hope Cyrus, probably because Refrigerator Zucchini Cyrus would’ve been too tough to spell.
Anyway. Let’s face it folks – we should NOT be allowing ourselves to being sucked into the low-birth-weight vortex that enables any shred or concern or awareness of one Mileyanna Cyrustana. For Pete’s sake, this is a FIFTEEN year old, demi-talented pseudo entertainer who lipsyncs her concerts in front of screamy hoards of young girls with similarly discerning tastes in entertainment. I swear to all that is holy, she’s so young she’s probably still on her first box of tampons. Why do we manufacture any concern for her? Are we that vacuous? Are we that deprived of meaningful things about which to care that we have to manufacture to emote for a fifteen year old girl with a screechy voice and pedestrian talent? Have we forgotten how to read? This is not entertainment, people… it’s like watching NASCAR; lots of shiny colors and loud noises, but eventually you have to acknowledge their just going in circles all day.
I don’t know what is more embarrassing… that we let our prepubescent young girls pose provocatively for magazine shoots, or that we as adults can muster the energy to be concerned about this anyway. I’ll be honest… I’ve seen the photos in question and there really isn’t anything terrible about the picture… if she were 26. You see, a 26 year old girl with the pouty red lips, the tousled hair and the over-the-bare shoulders look at the camera is advertising a certain allure, a certain demure attraction, a certain (dare we say) promiscuity suggesting you, the viewer, entice her to naughtiness. There is the implied message that this photohottie wants you, you seething volcano of virile manhood, if only she weren’t held captive as this photograph…(darnit!) But a 15 year old? I’m having a tough time determining which is worse here: Mileyannah Cyrustana’s desire to convey that type of message to the viewers, Mileyannah’s handlers/parents for allowing her to portray herself (or be portrayed) in such provocative manner, or the seedy guy who bought the mag to, uh, enjoy the artwork. No matter how innocent the intent, the result does not bear it out, and hate to say this to ya, Miss Cyrustana, but somewhere in the world tonight, some guy is masturbating to your picture. How does THAT make you feel?
Okay. That was a little over the top, I’m thinking. Maybe. A little. Candidly, I’m the father of a daughter, and I’m more than a little aware of how short the skirts are and how tight the blouses are. I shop for her clothes and I see the choices on the racks. What worries me is not today but three years from now. Makeup by age nine, revealing attire by age thirteen, birth control by age fifteen. Unless you’re a Spears daughter, that is, then the pace has accelerated. By age 15, you’ve already given up the groceries, as it were, and are proudly beaming at the idea of being a mother at AGE SIXTEEN. How trailer-trash is that? Can you even breastfeed if you don’t yet wear a bra?
It is only a matter of time before the angry hand of Malevolent God sweeps us away in disgust. Until that time, however, there’s still time to ogle at the nubile flesh of a bare-backed Cyrustana if you get that mag. Interestingly enough, after the ‘uproar’ of concern and public outcry, her people were quick to release a statement indicating her sadness at having posed that way. She’ll chalk it up to being 15 in an adult world, but tucked in the details of the store is the nugget that her dad was there during the entire shoot!!
So this one’s for you Billy Ray… thanks to your spineless parenting and numb-nutted perceptions, the internet is flood with slutty pictures of YOUR daughter. Does that make your heart achy? Or breaky.
Sedgewick hath opined.
There is no hope for me. I could not possibly go up against yet another EPIC comment from Sedgewick, whom I am beginning to admire deeply for his fluidity and, uh, eloquence. So I will highlight the bits that I enjoyed the best and that probably woke up my sleeping roommate from all the spewing forth of beverages and snorts of derisive laughter.
1. “Refrigerator Zucchini Cyrus.” Can I just say that Refrigerator Zucchini is a GREAT name. Just like Lemongello.
2. “…it’s like watching NASCAR; lots of shiny colors and loud noises, but eventually you have to acknowledge their just going in circles all day.” FOR CEREAL, FOLKS! IT’S NOT ENTERTAINMENT!
3. “Mileyannah Cyrustana” She shall hence forth be referred to as only Mileyannah Cyrustana. It sounds crusty.
Sedgewick, please tell me you write for a living. I might weep if you don’t.
I arise this morning with my ego stroked and energy restored. No, Sedgewick did not just return from Mexicali with a cheap latina wife after a three-day tequila bender (although the thought does please him in a carnal, irresponsible-enough-to-get-syphilis-from-a-total-stranger type of way…), but rather from a five day workathon that got him home too late at night to muster from the creative fount. In my stead, I am greeted with the words of one Brenface who not only demonstrates a rapierlike turn of phrase, but also apparently has contributed to the Sedgewick von Groperfeeler Honorarium for the Terminally Observant. How quaint! For your benefit, I will peel back the curtain slightly.
No, I don’t write for a living, although I have in the past. Generally, however, that writing could have been loosely grouped under the banner “Pablum” that was fed to an undiscerning public unwilling or unable to focus on anything more than the ‘pretty colors.’ After a few years of that, well, let’s just say I staged a little reality revolt and left the employ of the Milquetoast Brigade. I no longer write for a living (although my work remains published and available out there), but write for pleasure – a BIG difference. Here, I am not bound by paradigm or asked to curb my enthusiastic observations. Note: I don’t write to titillate or incite, but those may very well be by products. I write what I see and what you see and what we all see. I’m just courageous enough to put pen to paper (in a typing-on-a-laptop kind of way).
I am a regular guy, not particularly unique by most observations. I blend. I also remain studiously anonymous, having written mostly under pen names. “Why,” you ask? Objectivity remains elusive when the spotlights are bright. Then the effort loses purity for the sake of performance. I want my rants to be untainted by such, so I walk in the Light while writing from shadows. I like it this way.
Thank you, Brenface, for kind words and for spreading Mileyannah Cyrustanna to the sheep around us who consume that for entertainment. I choose to step over that pile of waste matter and move forward to that which enriches. I write for myself (mostly), but now that I have an acknowledged critical eye reviewing my work… my iron has been sharpened.
Duty calls, but my laptop is with me where e’er I go…
Sedgewick has opined.