1. If given the chance to choose your accoutrements, what items would you gravitate toward?
2. Are you team Jennifer & Casper or team Jennifer Casper?
Listen to me carefully. Not a day goes by that I do not place my support behind a girl who’s not afraid to tell the world, “Hey, world?! This is my boo!” However, that doesn’t change the fact that the parents of the girl currently wearing me have finally broken free from the glutinous grip of foreclosure hell and are 97% sure they’re going to lay down roots in Jersey. With that said, I’m going with Ms. Casper. Plus, look at that smile.
3. It is a pretty wonderful smile. Those intoxicating baby-blues… I get the feeling she’s the type, after putting in a hard day at the office, selling homes to any takers, she’s the type to come home and bake your favorite cookies — snickerdoodles. The school bus drops you off and you’ll race inside the house and scoop up a pile of cookies fresh out of the oven. Ms. Casper will also have waiting a big kiss to plant on your forehead which you’ll happily receive. The scent of freesia wafts from Ms. Casper as she moves off to pour you up a tall glass of ice-cold milk. She will then follow you into the bonus room where she’ll already have “Arthur” queued up and ready to go. Arthur and the gang, minus that rascal D.W., will impart a few important life nuggets about sharing or not laughing at people the world has deemed weird. By the time the show ends, mom will– I mean, Ms. Casper will pull the Enchilada Surprise from the oven and deliver a healthy serving to you who will be happily reclined in a bean bag. As she walks away, you’ll glance back at her and think, “Man, am I lucky. This woman was born to procreate, nurture and raise. Thank you, God, for pairing us up when you combed through all the souls during predestination.” Don’t you agree?
A, I’m inanimate, therefore, we haven’t created deities out of thin air yet and b, I take it someone had a less than stellar childhood.
4. No need to get nasty. Moving right along… Who is someone we should all emulate every single day?
Quite possibly the easiest question ever. Mr. Sempo Sugihara, a god amongst men.
Miley Cyrus, this generation’s answer to Billie Jean.
6. Because of the hair?
That and the overall raging against Astroturf machines. Take as a, for instance, the exchange between my girl and her mother:
“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that, young lady?”
“To the mall.”
“You are not going to the mall but you are going up to your room because you’re grounded!”
“For dressing like that and thinking you were actually stepping a foot outside of this house.
My girl will stick her tongue out and to the side.
“Don’t you stick your tongue out at me!”
“It’s not at you! It’s to the side! There’s a difference!”
“I’ll show you ‘to the side!'”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means just wait ’til your father gets home.”
“No, it doesn’t!”
“Go to your room!”
“You can’t do this! It’s not fair!”
“Oh, but I can, I will and I am! This is my house! To your room!”
As the mother moves to walk away, she’s stopped by a loud thump, followed by another loud thump. She whips around to see the horrible. Preceded by a glass shattering squeal:
“What’re you doing?!”
“I’m twerking! For justice along with every young person’s right to be who they wanna be! We can’t stooooop and we won’t stooooooop…”
“Get your dirty feet off that wall, young lady!”
The mother races over to the window and whips the curtains closed. Because no matter the shenanigans going on inside, neighbors must always think you are the perfect family. It’s also at this time my militant twerker’s little sister walks up, chewing on a Slim Jim. Upon witnessing the spectacle, she smirks.
“You’re such a douche. Your daughter’s a douche, ma.”
“Hey! Watch that language in this house! Go to your room!”
“Why?! She’s the idiot with her feet on the wall and her ass in the air!”
“To your room now!”
“I hate this house!”
“I hate this house too! Just wait until your father gets home! Both of you!”
All the while, my militant twerker continues the Cyrus 2.0 battle cry, “Can’t you see it’s we who own the night! Can’t you see it’s we who ’bout that life…“
Utterly defeated, the mother takes a hard seat on the piano bench. Watching as one daughter goes nuts on a wall for reasons she has no idea and hearing the other stomp upstairs and slam the door, she mumbles to herself, “God help me… Why I ever thought any of this was a good idea is beyond me.”
7. So, you’re telling me that’s the summation of Miley Cyrus’ effect on the youth of today?
Don’t tell all the kids dressing like a loose Blossom, but yeah, pretty much. Delayed trips to Forever 21. That’s it. Listen, in their defense, every generation needs a contemporary who has managed to make a career out of being angsty while giving off the stench of feeling wronged and misunderstood. The chosen one, this contemporary, in turn — while totally free to express themselves because they’re making a career out it — will cause other kids to become angsty while giving off the stench of feeling wronged and misunderstood. Unfortunately, the other kids don’t have careers and still live under the watchful eye of old people (quick to forget their own past) who provide them with food and shelter while refusing to take any guff. Case in point, the mother, this woman who has miraculously forgotten about that hot, summer day many moons ago when, whilst atop her best friend’s brother’s shoulders, her bra ended up at the feet of Eddie Van Halen and her hands ended up gripping the bottom of her OP t-shirt in an effort to expose pertness in all of its 18-year-old glory to Edward, David, Alexander and Michael. This woman who strategically killed the memories of all the things she did that would make the whole of her daughter’s adolescence seem like a day at California Adventure. Ah well… Anyway, it’s a vicious cycle that people of a certain age try to forget but deep down know all too well for they too were young once. They just happened to wake up one day and find the trials of adolescence firmly behind them and the angst congealed into Weltschmerz.
8. Good-ness. You’re so… well, bright and cheery and torso-baring. How can you be such a downer?
Not a downer, my dear, just a realist with an old soul. And let’s not discount my camouflage print. There’s militancy amongst the whimsy.
9. Do you have any final words to calm all the mothers who think their daughters are on the road to becoming the muy mal version of Vivian?
Yes. Take a breath. To hold the reins too tight is a big mistake. Big. Huge. Instead, take comfort in the fact that you now know what twerking is, which is basically the death knell for any youth-based fad. Rest assured this particular booty-pop is all but out the door and in the end your daughter will end up donning the conservative blazer just like you did. Just like Vivian did.