An Open Letter to MTV Networks

For the longest time, I lived and breathed MTV.  The theme of my Bar-Mitzvah was MTV—instead of having a candle-lighting service we gave out Moon-Men—I was obsessed.  I had an MTV lunchbox in grade school, and when the day was done I’d run home to catch Total Request Live.  I’d watch the Top 20 countdown with a pad and pen so as not to miss anything on weekends.  Back then the fat and colorful MTV logo stood for cutting-edge music and alternative programming not meant for the faint of heart.  Even their non-musical programming was off the wall. Keyword being was.  Whatever happened to Beavis & Butthead?  They ditched MTV for the silver screen just in the knick of time.  Maybe they weren’t so stupid and mindless after all. You know, sometimes I turn on The Hills and think that those two fart-knocking cartoons had more going on in their fictional brains than Lauren Conrad or Spencer Pratt could ever dream of.  Even that maladroit Carson Daly seemed to have found a better gig.

MTV, you used to be the barometer of hip—but now—now, you are nothing but irrelevant.  Need I remind you how many minds you blew in the eighties with The Buggles “Video Killed The Radio Star” or “Money For Nothing” by Dire Straits? Millions.  Trillions, even.  I wasn’t even alive then and I know the impact it had on the youth of America.  You think anyone in your coveted marketing demographic is sitting by the television waiting for cues on what is hip and happening in today’s world?  Think again.  YouTube and MySpace Music have replaced you.  May I suggest renaming the network if you guys don’t plan to air programming having the slightest bit to do with music for the next twenty years?  The only thing remotely related to anything musical are The MTV Video Music Awards, which is nothing but an excuse for hip-hop acts to promote their latest album; the same goes for the MTV Movie awards and Hollywood actors.  You had your finger on the pulse, where did it go?

You’re brainwashing an entire country of little girls into thinking that Heidi Montag and her click of friends are role models for their generation.  Even they know that the characters on your show are such embarrassments in Los Angeles that it’s no wonder you got Brent Bolthouse and SBE to sponsor The Hills—so you had somewhere to shoot your shitty show when nobody else would have your lame “celebrities” hawking the real Los Angeles elite for acting gigs.

You want to know why every other country/race/ethnicity hates America—I urge you turn on your network when My Super Sweet 16 is scheduled—the answer will be right there in front of you.  You allowed shows like Twentyfour Seven and 8th and Ocean to be greenlit; you’ve allowed Andy Dick to host one too many a show; and now, your biggest fan is turning against you.  And I guarantee that I’m not the only one. 
I’m writing this because I lost my shit tonight when I turned on the television, plain and simple.  I flipped to MTV like I always do, as if classically conditioned, and saw your latest excuse for reality television: Life of Ryan.  You mean to tell me that the whole premise of this show is about how broken up millionaire skateboard prodigy Ryan Schekler is about his parents’ divorce?  Like he even gives a flying kickflip…he’s too busy in Japan and Spain making dollar, dollar bills, ya’all to even notice his parents are separated.  And your produced segments are borderline embarrassing.  Even my thirteen-year-old cousins from Long Island who don’t see the cast of The Hills out and about filming, who watch your shows religiously, call your bluff on the opening segment: Scheckler turns to the camera and says, “Dude, like, I’m so bummed my parents are getting a divorce, like at the same exact time, as like, your parents.”  Cue the violins for Ryan Scheckler and the cheeky five thousand dollar graphic intro.  But for Rob & Big, you’re completely blowing it.  You’re the same network that claimed to have discovered America when you threw Johnny Knoxville and his Big Brother magazine crew together with Bam Margera and his video-camera wielding CKY gang to create Jackass.  You didn’t bother to let the public know that you could find all the segments (including the one where Knoxville shoots himself in the chest with a gun) you recycled on the aforementioned skateboard videos.  Boy, did you have us fooled.  But not for long…

I challenge you, MTV.  Take a stand.  Put the Music back in Music Television.  Put the real back in reality.  Bring the videos back in rotation.  And for Christ’s sake, bring back MTV Unplugged.  If not for Christ, do it for the kids.  You’re their biggest influence.  I only knew to buy Nirvana’s Nevermind when I was in the second grade because I watched “Smells Like Teen Spirit” premiere one fateful evening on Headbangers Ball.  How many kids can say that now?  And if they did, they’d say that it was you who helped them decide to buy the latest Fall Out Boy release.  Job well done.
I’m off to watch VH1 (which is something I used to swear I’d never do, especially when Jenny McCarthy was hosting Singled Out). But VH1 doesn’t pretend to be something they’re not: they house their programming under the  “Celebreality” banner because that’s exactly what their cable channel is all about these days.  They don’t bill themselves as music-related in the least.  And I know Viacom owns you both.  So I guess I’m complaining to you, Sumner Redstone.  You have enough money to do anything.  Help!  The next generation of music fans needs you desperately. 

Read The Social Network aka The FaceBook Story Today

AARON SORKIN you’re a genius.  Thanks for resolidfying yourself as my personal hero.

Went to the batting cages last night…

Haven’t done that in oh, say, 14 years.  I forgot how much that shit hurts your hands! I didn’t have batting gloves for obvious reasons.  Then this group of black kids was like “you stick out yo tushy too much!” 

Little did they know, they were talking to the catcher of the 1995-96 Tarzana Little League Champions.

Fools.

Do people ACTUALLY read when people write…

Long articles on this thing?  I would, but I’m not so sure I would have the audacity to expect you to read it.  We, as a people, as a culture, have become gradually stupid due to the intelligent discoveries in technology. Nobody reads books anymore. Am I the only one who still likes a leathery Bukowski? Nobody gives a shit about Rolling Stone, Seventeen, or Cosmopolitan.  Elle, Vogue, and Variety could stick around so the rich can read the rags about the riches, but other than that, print is fucking DEAD. I mean, deader than punk, and that’s saying a lot.

Nobody gives a shit. We want instant gratification. iTunes downloads in 2 seconds, free porn on-Demand via Red Tube and Porn Hub. We can download digital versions of our books to our Kindles! Am I the only one who thinks this is bizarre?  Cool, yes.  But fucking bizarre.

The smell of a broken-in spine book is something you can’t digitally reproduce. You can’t order it straight to your door via Amazon.  I’d go on about this, but I fear your internet interest is waning at best. I’ll let you go shortly.  

As cool as the internet is, there’s something to be said for finding other means of enjoyment and intellectual stimulation such as reading a book. Yeah, you could ride a bike or row a boat. But you couldn’t play G-d in the world that is your imagination. It would be too easy; it’s all there in front of you.

Write or Die.

Read books and tell your friends about them.

Pass it on. 

NEW York City

As you may have noticed, I have not been blogging on the regs these past few days.  I was on a little family adventure to NYC for a wedding.  A very hip, young, downtown wedding at this fancy schmancy restaurant called PUBLIC.  It was divine.  Here are a few things I pondered during my stay in NYC:

1) Man, everyone dresses like they are going to a fucking VOGUE party (especially the women).  The men dress as if they are stand-ins for Russel Brandt (whom by the way, peed next to me at the Jane Hotel one night…double-true).

2) The cab drivers are still as fucking stupid as they seemed when I was 5 years old.

3) Cigarettes are way too expensive (duhr).  I’d rather eat glass than buy a pack for $10.00.  Cha right!  I’d rather buy an eighth of weed for $60 that isn’t even an eighth (cuz the NY dealers give you like 3 G’s of whatever BS they’re naming Bubble Gum tit-fuck that particular week).

4) The girls in NYC are way hotter than the girls in LA.  They just are.  They hold their heads up high, strut more easily in heels, and they don’t give a fuck what celebrity is inside the same establishment as them.  (For the record, twas that old/young bag-lady Mary Kate Tanner or whatever).

5) The dudes in NYC all think they are revolutionaries.  Some dress more like it than others, but most of them are just faking the funk with V neck shirts that go way past their Israeli chest-hair, and their combat boots that have never seen a battle-field. They also wear too many fedoras.  Everyone was either in the Kings of Leon or the Brian Setzer Orchestra. 

6) The food was killer.  Public…epic restaurant.  Get a clue.  PASTIS is over (unless you are a Maloof brother or Julianne Moore).  

7) The Jews are taking over Long-Island like the aliens took over the planet in ID4.  I fear for future generations of Jews because if this is what they have to look forward to (tables at Tenjune and trips to the MAC counter), we should all convert to buddhism.  

8) My ex girlfriends are still as lame and wacko as ever (especially the one I never officially dated…you were about 3 years too late, babe…but sure I’ll fuckst with you via text). 

9) Frangry thinks I’m a stalker because I e-mailed her and Pancake to hang out.  I know, I bet it’s super-weird getting emails like, hey I KNOW YOU FROM TUMBLR LETS HANG AND BANG. 

10) As insane as Jew York City is, I want to move there as soon as I’m rich.  I like that every night is a party, every 20 minutes is some decision to make regarding what you will be doing 20 minutes later, and I love that all the girls act/dress/talk/fuck like women.  

Yeah, I said it, LA, you have lost your swagger.  Now step off and get knocked up like your mother used to.

Am I Really That Controversial?

Post Count on Blackberryjewsqueeze: 435 Posts (about)

Number of Girls I’ve posted about - Damn near 400.

Number of Girls I’ve actually schtupped - mmm I’m gonna go with like 16/17. 92 if you count the number of times I’ve jerked off to Kristen Stewart.

Number of Girls I’ve ACTUALLY offended: 1.

A note to that girl: honey, lovey, take a look around. We live in an era of YouTubes, FlipCams, Status Updates, iMovies and Twitters. It’s a race to the finish fueled by wit. And you can be damn sure I’m not coming in second. Do you really not think that all of this comes from a place from love?  Do you not understand that the only reason I get out of bed is because I’m a nostalgic DORKUS with a penchant for my past, with a clear eye on the future? — all of it, the reason we, as men, more specifically I, do anything, is for women (unless you happen to be gay — than I’m shit out of luck in regards to an answer).  I do all of this shit to make them/you laugh.  Because as the smart men know, as Marilyn Monroe once said, “If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything.”  And if you’re not laughing, you don’t get it and I don’t want you anyway. 

In the every-day hunt for my wife, which is a serious endeavor, I have combined each and every special moment with all of the aforementioned women and created this sort of ideal woman that I know really does not exist. It’s like that Led Zeppelin song: I’m trying to find a woman that’s never ever been born. (Song is “Going To California”) 

But in the meantime, let’s have some fucking fun! 

I didn’t write this next here paragraph - -

But it’s brilliant:

 Do you remember when you were a kid playing Nintendo and it wouldn’t work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ’s. We just figured it out. Today’s kids are soft. - bangitout.com

Apparently, I’m HUGE in FRANCE

I added a sitemeter to the JewSqueeze last week — which is basically a narcissistic tool that tells me how many of you actually give a shit — shockingly, quite a few.

Here’s where I am crushing it:

1) In France, I’m as big as baguettes, cigarettes, and fucking model chicks without rubbers. Gangsta! I guess I made quite a splash in Cannes! Soy Americano, Americano [insert dorky Matt Damon face from TALENTED MR. RIPLEY here].

2) Virginia - CLIPSE is from there, where ain’t shit to do but cook, Pack it up, sell it triple-price, fuck the books. That makes sense. I love CLIPSE. My aunt lives there (I pray it’s not her). I want to be Pusha T for Halloween. 

3) Canada - Uhh, was there once on a Teen Tour. My friend had his ass cheeks spread apart by border patrol once, too. I’ve never schtupped a Canadian.

4) Chula Vista, CA - Apprently, the home of nothing happenin’ is where I’m makin’ something happenin’. 

5) I have a few readers in Tennessee.  I wonder if they’re colored…  {GET IT. CUZ WE ONCE HAD A CIVIL WAR IN THE SOUTH}. I’m about as racist as a Mulatto kid at a Cultural Awareness meeting before heading off to Junior State of America meeting whilst eating spanakopita and simultaneously reading Camus. Don’t even try. I only say the N-word when I’m singing along with my favorite RAPPER GUYS/GANGSTAS. And in the shower to hype myself up before work. 

6) Also, funny enough, I’ve gotten some comments like, “yo fatso! you ain’t fuckin’ chicks!” or like “you egomaniacal bitch.” Whatever, say what you want — no joke, I had sex outside by a pool on Sunday. With a girl.  It was so radical. Then I watched the Season Finale of TRUE BLOOD and an hour of MAD MEN. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO WITH YOUR SUNDAY, TRAIL MIX?

Yeah, I said it. I called you Trail Mix. Cuz you nutty and ain’t as sweet as you wished you were, ya raisin’ mixed cunts.