The formula band flurry/boy-band barfalon began with New Kids on the Block. Now they wanna re-pollute the airwaves like it’s 1991.

No longer can we deny this sad, shameful chapter in U.S. history:

Even Halle “I have Hit & Run Anmesia” Berry can’t deny this atrocity!

I’m sorry to have to remind everyone of such a dark time in U.S.– indeed the world’s– cultural history, but in the name of teaching a meaningful lesson I will.

Does anyone remember what the billboard hot 100 looked like 10-15 years ago? For those of you who blocked it out–along with other traumatic childhood memories– I’ll sum it up in two words. Here, take your pick: boy “band”. Formula “band”. Pupetter-led “band”.

Except in this case, the term “band” equals a group of pre-selected, pre-pubescent boys, all of whom share three characteristics:

(1) passable dancing ability (can be trained with a choreographer);
(2) passable singing ability (with aid of vocal coach and heavy computer remixing);

…and most importantly,
(3) Non-threatening type of sex appeal (see Sanjaya from American Idol) that entices 12 year-old girls to cry, swoon and drool… then spend their allowances on cheap Chinese imports bearing the likeness of said “band”-mate.

This dark time in musical history over a decade.

And then people woke and/or grew up. Tired of saccarine junk-pop. The boybanders left the airwaves without having any lasting impact on the evolution of music.

Phew.

Ahh, but that’s not to sat they left no destruction behind.

One can hardly fathom the sheer volume of landfill space devoted to New Kids On The Block trapper-keepers, Backstreet Boys lunchboxes, ‘N Sync posters, and so on. The way I see it, at minimum, each boybander should have to plant 50 trees per year in order to help negate his carbon footprint!

But hey, at least our fellow humans have quit embarrassing themselves by supporting faux-musicians! Finally, we’ve come to a time where the only way a boy-bander can get airtime is to do trainwreck reality tv.

And this is where they really shine, IMHO. Did anyone catch House of Carters on E! ? C’est magnifique! Très insipide! Genius!

In fact, boy-banders make such excellent reality-show subjects that I, for one, am willing to grant them amnesty for their past sins against music/culture, as if they’d never even polluted the audio airwaves with a single song!

I say: let them do their stints in Mtv and Vh1… as long as said stints are limited to shows like Celebrity Rehab, The Hills, The Real World, The Surreal Life, and Flavor of Love. I don’t begrudge them the ability to earn a semi-sleazy living. I just want to protect music’s cultural heritage!

But like African dictators, some people just won’t hear it when the world begs them to disappear…

Just when it looked like these musicians “entertainers” had found their place on basic cable, on 30 Jan 2008 Elizabeth Hassle-bin-laden put forth a most terrifying plight .

Side note: I knew she was a little nutty, but president of a cultural smut-pushing fanclub?!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but it looks as if they weren’t just posturing.

Please. Make. It. Stop. People are already pointing to this decade as the redux of the 70’s, with gas prices, stagflation, and a presidntial candidate who just may turn out to be the second coming of Jimmy Carter. Who’ll get elected because he’s the anti-Nixon/Johnson Bush.

Some things are better left forgotten.

Seriously, Old New Kids on the Block, Backstreet Boys Men, et. al., I think the rest of the country would support me in offering you this deal:

Stay out of the recording studios. File your past transgressions against contributions to pop-culture under “quaint time in history”; they’ll do well next to other atrocities like acid-washed jeans, disco and MC Hammer pants.)

In return, we– along with the state of New Jersey/landfill capital USA — will forgive your sins against mother earth.

That’s right: act now, and despite your Bigfoot-sized carbon footprints, we won’t make you plant any trees or pick up trash.

In short: Produce no new waste, and we’ll absolve you of responsibility for the old.

Act now, and as a bonus, you’ll save yourself from (further) public humiliation! We understand that your definition thereof is, shall we say, elastic, but trust us, the following clip is nothing to be proud of circa 2008.

I especially like it when you try to get the audience to sing along…

Just imagine how that will look 10 years from now.

Viva Tivo Nuevo?

Fellow Connoisseurs Vapid Culture:

I realize it’s been quite some time since my last post. Allow me to explain.

There has been a fracture in the fabric of my world; a crack in the cornerstone of my cosmos.

‘Twas once filled with the sunny days and fake tans seen on The Real Housewives of Orange County.

But today, my universe is gray.

No, I wasn’t forced to move from Huntington Beach, California to Flyover Statesville, USA.

Of course that would suck and everything, but one can always recover from a move by moving back, no?

Sadly, the predicament in which I find myself comes with no such easy answers.

It is, in a word, dire.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my tivo has fallen ill.

[Cue Ave Maria]

And his chances for recovery don’t look so good.

If memory lapses are any indicator, his hard drive’s days are surely numbered.

In fact– and forgive me if I sound contrite– I’ve taken to calling him Teddy Tivo.

He’s not warm and fuzzy, just named for another key societal figurehead who also recently learned he has a dire illness of the hard drive.

Still not sure who I’m referring to?

OK, so Teddy Tivo is named for an Edward. Or Ted.

Last initial K.

Sometimes followed by the letters “D-Mass.”

And despite the problems with his memory, let me assure you that this illness was not in any way caused by alcohol!

How dare you even think such a thing!!

And I know he’s only going to get worse, but I’m having a hard time pulling the plug on him, no pun intended.

Seriously. I loathe puns. Tasteless analogies regarding beloved senators with terminal illnesses are one thing, but puns? Well I never…!

If nothing else, you’d think that wanting to keep an old relic alive would give me some of that righteous indignation that the fundamentalist Kool-aid drinkers walk around with, right? Wrong. It feels bad.

On many levels.

For one thing, I feel like a greedy bitch who wants to keep her not-at-all-warm-and-fuzzy-Teddy alive for selfish reasons.

Think of all of those younger tivos out there that need vital organ transplants- as a donor, Teddy could give them new life! Picture the young tivos that surely would be spared the indignity of a premature burial in a landfill grave!

Ack-now I feel like a bad eco-citizen to boot!

And speaking of dignity, it does seem wrong of me to keep Teddy alive for my own selfish reasons when he can’t function at a decent level.

I suppose I was hoping for a kind of spontaneous recovery-miracle, but then the tivo doctor rained on that parade… all the way from India, mind you. I grilled him like a lamb kabob, and the upshot is this: Teddy’s problem is intractible and severe. And and no, he has never seen this type of problem spontaneously resolve itself.

Maybe that’s because there’s no Hindi tivo god? Food for thought.

You must be wondering why I’m so attached to the un-cuddly old bloated lug with the bad memory from the non-drinking problem then, huh?

Well, let me tell you, I’ve got reasons ’o’ plenty. And not just the usual crap about the good times we’ve shared, the stuff he introduced me to and the dreams we built together. Nosiree.

See, like most men who are post-prime, Tivo Ted is ill-equipped to function in today’s world, but full of amazing, one-of-a-kind stories from back in the day.

Indeed, he has lived to see some of the best stuff imaginable, much of which he has yet to share with the world. He can tell stories nobody else can! Like the entire marathon of Make Me A Supermodel (UK Edition)!

Have you ever tried to find that show on youtube? The only stuff that shows up are vanity clips from the one [uncloseted] gay contestant!

And these old shows, having been recorded at a time when Ted was young and spritely, playback perfectly. And it seems wrong to take him from this world before he has had a chance to tell those stories, as it were, you know?

The problem, however, is with Ted’s ability to remember new stuff.

Things will seem fine– we’ll get through minute 48 of 60 in the finale of America’s Next Top Model– and then Teddy will freeze. And start skipping.

Forcing me to reboot. And delete the poisoned recording.

**On the plus side: I have discovered a whole host of television offerings available online!

Besides the usual suspects (youtube.com, dailymotion.com) there is hulu.com, which has two distinct advantages over the others: (1) full-length shows/no more clip-hunting! (2) in decent quality.

And of course, good ol’ itunes is a lifesaver: my iphone has rescued me from boredom with an HBO offering more times than I care to recall.

Another thing I hate to recall? How many times I’ve missed out on hearing the high-and-mighty, I’m-so-smart Tyra Banks utter the grammatically incorrect phrase “Congratulations, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.”

As if there is this monster named “Becoming America’s Next Top Model”, and [you] are running towards it?

But seriously, fellow vapid culturists, putting Tyra Banks aside, ’tis one thing I know.

At the end of the day, as attached as I may be to Tivo Ted, nothing can make up for the loss I felt upon missing another ending of Viva Hollywood: Vh1’s search for America’s Numero Uno Telenovela Star.

Especially because it meant missing another installment of the show-in-show cheesefest El Masacre de la Mascara.

Behold:

I missed the finale because of you, Ted!!

I dunno, kids. Methinks Ted’s days are numero’ed.

¡Viva Tivo Nuevo!