HUCK

Alternative / Rock / Powerpop

Cambridge MA

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About

I was checking my Myspace page earlier this afternoon, trying to keep up with all of the fabulous offers, media requests, messages from chix and general business nonsense that is funneled through it when I spotted an ad on my home page that asked "Are You Hotter Than Miley Cyrus?" and prompted me to push the flashing button to find out.

I was intrigued.

This isn't something I have ever considered before (I swear), but what if I am hotter than Miley Cyrus? I could push the button, but am I prepared to accept the responsibility that would go along with the title Hotter Than Miley? Would it be fair for me, a grown man, to supplant a 15 year old girl in her fantasy life of nonstop fame and fortune? Seems like I was being offered the opportunity regardless of fairness, and if the powers that be don't care, why should I?

I hesitated, my cursor hovering over the blinking button. I imagined Miley onstage, lip synching whatever tweener crap she's famous for, when from stage right her achy breaky dad strides toward her, covers the mic, and whispers in her ear. She bursts into tears and exits stage left, followed by dad, who shoots me the stink-eye over his shoulder.

Someone takes me by the elbow and leads me onstage to what used to be Miley's microphone, and there I am, the New Sensation, center stage, feeling the heat of the spotlight and the adoration (or is it rage?) of thousands of kids and their parents. The music starts again and I realize I have to do something, so I bust the only move I can think of, which looks like a combination of three things:

1. I forgot to take the hanger out of my shirt before I put it on.
2. One of my legs is three inches shorter than the other.
3. I'm killing a spider.

I'm hearing boos, so I try another move that I've worked on for years in front of my mirror that is a hybrid of The Mashed Potato and the Green Apple Quick Step. I hear gasps, but I ignore them and quickly do some calculations: Miley made $18 million last year...that's about two grand an hour...$34 a minute...if I can keep this up for, say, two minutes, I'd rake in...$68.

I'm already out of breath. Do I really want to be referred to as the guy who had a seizure onstage at the Miley Cyrus concert for the rest of my life for a lousy $68? I don't think so, but there's no way I can keep this up long enough to make any real money.

So a stagehand rushes onstage and stuffs his wallet in my mouth so I don't swallow my tongue, and suddenly I'm no longer in the spotlight, I'm back at my desk looking at my suddenly drab Myspace page, perturbed not by having a midday reverie about living the life of a 15 year old girl, because we all do that, but by something that will surely keep me awake tonight:

How is it that my fantasies end in failure?

I didn't push the button. Fuck it, she can keep it.

Photos(9)

Videos(18)

Text(10)

Jun 19, 2008

NEW Album coming soon.

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