Lost With U

I was recently perusing a music video channel, which will remain nameless to protect my credibility, when I came into contact with two videos that had me mortified. My apologies to Rob in advance. The first was “Girlfriend” by Hillary Duff. Yet, it wasn’t Hillary Duff, rather it was someone who liked like Hillary Duff, or at least was trying to look like Hillary Duff. Who the heck is that?? Avril Lavigne?!

Wait, I thought she was all “sk8ter bOi, let’s skate together later, bOi”? Now she’s trying to douse herself with makeup, do weird things with her hair, and be my girlfriend? What happened to hating pop music divas and being an anti-establishment, pseudo renegade? Oh, this must be her maturing as an artis…..errr……selling-out. Yet, how can someone who had no credibility to begin with, sell-out? That’s like a homeless person filing for bankruptcy.

Don’t get me wrong, I liked Avril just as much as every other non-skating, straight male over 14, who doesn’t like chics who take fake dumps on camping equipment in a mall store, but at what point does someone have enough respect for themselves that they refuse to be used as a record label’s tool. I grew to accept that she wanted to be a diet punk rocker, okay fine, I’m going to ignore you, but I won’t hate you. But don’t pull a 180, get in my face and dance (at least try to dance) around and act like nothing has changed and you’re that same little girl who wrote songs about turning away Fred Durst when he tried to bang you.

Do you know how many little girls looked up to you and emulated you? I’m sure there were some, and now, now look what you’ve become. Next you’ll be making songs with Pharell, Wind It Up! Is there no constant but change anymore?

I was so emotional distraught after this ordeal, my only solace was to recall the good ole days. Days with wholesome television, like oh say, Growing Pains. “Man, I wonder what Alan Thicke is up to these days,” I thought to myself. Trust me, this happens a lot in the course of my everyday life.

Then it happened, like the ultimate blast of irony, Alan Thicke was on the TV, and he wasn’t trying to force me to come to Tahiti Village and give me free tickets to a hot show on the Strip. Better yet, he was in a music video, singing, like a pre-pubescent Justin Timberlake. Oh. Boy.

Okay, I get it now, that’s his son, Robin. I think. But why is Robin older than his dad? And why is he trying to croon annoying songs to hot chics and act like he’s all sexy? Wait, that’s his wife in the video?! Uh, did someone slip some LSD in my Cheerios? The whole thing was making me really uncomfortable because the fact remained, dude looked like ALAN THICKE! Does Maggie know about this, and shouldn’t you be taking care of your family? I don’t want to see Carol on another E! True Hollywood Story.

Believe me, I like Alan Thicke, as a father figure, not a pop star. Perhaps it’s something about having a Mr. Magoo-esque face with a non-committal box cut, but the guy shouldn’t be making R&B music, much less Adult Contemporary. It’s just a dangerous predicament that has the potential of causing instantaneous anarchy. Like Kobe Bryant rapping or something. Needless to say, I’ve now given up on music, videos, television, and any combination of the three. Excuse me while I to proceed to my bomb shelter.