There comes a time in every young life when innocence crumbles under the weighty tales of birds and bees. For some lucky individuals, it's over swiftly by bumbling but well meaning parents. For others, tedious health classes and furtive glances down there cracks the code and opens the door to this fascinating adulthood. And then there are those, dare I say many of those, who only have to turn on their favorite radio station to be clued into the fine and crafted art of dicking.
Just last night, I flipped on Kiss FM hoping to hear newly appointed favorite dittiepop (Grillz, anyone?) only to fall ass backwards into the DJ's Sternesque attempt at being . . . what exactly? Is it still obscene to talk about shaving "stuff" (as he put it) on public radio? See, the shaving of ones junk wasn't the cringe-worthy part; it was the lighthearted request for listeners' to call in, and the subsequent preteens voicing their opinions on being the proud owner of a bare . . . well, you know.
I wasn't repulsed, not by a long shot. On the contrary, I listened to the short segment with a bemused sense of wonder (apparently, landing strips aren't only at the airport, anymore). What I was, however, was fucking ashamed. I naively assumed the same unwritten truce to ‘protect the children' (which protected me) was still in effect! This was in gross violation, but who's to notify? Who's to care?
Maybe I'm just an old fogey, or even more a sheltered one. My childhood was ideal, my time divided between catching lightening bugs and hiding from bullies. Now as I look at my former life I'm saddened to see what it has been reduced to. Little boys are acting like men and little girls are pretending to be women. And what's more, they're believing they ARE grown men and women and therefor authorized to talk a certain way, dress a certain way and perform a certain thing. It's unimaginable to me that they would want to enter our world prematurely, anyway. I realize it isn't always a conscious choice and that nothing (no one) was stopping them from slipping in, under our noses and without our permission.
Kids are inquisitive little creatures, sucking information about the unmentionables from any source they can. Movies, television and even video games (whose target audience is the youth) come equipped with ratings meant to save some kid from an early trauma. Radio may be the last great (relatively) uncensored territory left in entertainment. There is no v-chip, no cost to listen, no ID checks and no parental discretion advised.
The village has washed its hands of children, when what it needs to be doing is washing its mouth.
On an (unrelated) afterthought: Let me put it out there that I enjoy Kanye West immensely, but um . . . Kanye told us the other night to get ready for a 5 min delay - warning us all to prepare ourselves for the earth shaking greatness to follow. Call me a fool because I fell for it. I sat up straight and bobbed my head in anticipation before the beat even started. For all my support my reward was one predictable performance by one tragically ill-dressed star.
A marching band, Kanye? Outta breath, Kanye?? Jamie Foxx again, Kanye!? Bitch, please.
Anyway, he got one thing right that night: Michael and Madonna used to do their thang. People responded to their sets not because they were scandalous (which they were), but because it was something they'd never seen before. It's what all the young clones are trying to accomplish, but failing because they have to try at all.
Don't think I didn't appreciate the effort though, Kanye. You can still call me.
