2005 Video Music Awards
Grade: P. For poop.
I’ve sworn off TV years ago because my teeth hurt at the mere mention of it.
Occasionally I’ll wander over if there is something really special on, but let’s face it: that
has not happened in a long time. So it is with a bit of confusion that I write this, because
I don’t remember why I wanted to watch this sad excuse for an awards show. I think it
was because it was the first time in years that there were bands I WANTED to see.
Despite the incredible deluge of R & B, rap, and hip-hop on TV lately, apparently, or so
they claim, TV still plays rock. And to do their best effort to prove that (because Lord
knows M2 f’d that up) rock has not been banished from the airwaves, they had “Green
Day” and “The Killers” perform. Even little Kelly Clarkson tore it up with her brand of
“rock.” So join me in this painful excursion to TV country. Where the flavor is ass as
well as being hosted by one.
So Diddy hosted. And no, I am not going to recap the naming thing. Cause it is
stupid, childish, and not to mention indecisive. Unless one of your new names is funny
like “Big Baby Jesus,” just shut up (RIP, DOB!) Anyway, I can’t stand the Diddy. I
think he is highly overrated, not to mention speaks in tones reserved for robots and
morticians. Somebody wake that fashionista up! I also grew weary of his whole
entrepreneurial shtick. And what is up with white everything? White suits. White hats.
Rolling out a white carpet? Well I guess all the guests are wearing brand new shoes
anyway, so it wouldn’t matter, but I haven’t seen a white carpet since I moved away from
Boca Raton.
Nearby are undead VJ’s Kurt Loder and John Norris. I swear to God they must
feed on the blood of young gay men from Iowa. I say that because it is the only way to
explain their slow aging and ridiculous outfits. For instance, Norris wore a bedazzled,
backless, sleeveless, purple cotton shirt with the imprint of an anchor on the front. With
the anchor pointed directly at his crotch. Ahoy boys! That seriously may be the gayest
outfit ever worn anywhere at any time. And that includes anything ever in Elton John’s
wardrobe. But moving on to the pre-show interviews, we find Ricky Martin deboarding a
yacht to chat up Norris. (“Arturro!”) Honey, you only stir up more rumours of your
sexuality when you call out from the water to a dockside Norris dressed like that.
(“Katerina!”)
Before we get to the white carpet, we have the showplace arrival station where
celebrities can drive up in “their” cars. Man, when Diddy said he was going to class up
the awards, I had no idea he meant in an abandoned gas station parking lot on a Saturday
night kind of way. Hot damn! I liked a few of the cars, most notably the Green Day
clunker mobile from their videos, but I would have liked to have set Ludacris’ Luis
Vinton car on fire. In what universe is that cool? If you were not the spokesperson, can
you honestly imagine ASKING someone to do that to your car? “Um, yeah, I want this
to look just like my girl’s purse. Or any corner in Manhattan.” No I take that back. I
like it. And frankly, I am now inspired to deck my car out based on Snuggle fabric
softener. I want Snuggle Bearskin wheel, dash, seat covers, floor mats, and spinners with
plastic compartments filled with suds. My horn will giggle when I toot it and when I
walk the white carpet; I’ll inappropriately sniff every celebrity and attribute my behavior
to my vehicle. Hey, they are fame whores; they know it is tough to please your
spokesmasters.
The celebrities continued to parade in and with the exception of the cute as a
button Kelly Clarkson, I imagine creating a new show entitled “Celebrities I Want to
Punch.” For some reason, everyone just annoyed me more than usual. I popped a blood
vessel when Ashlee Simpson sauntered on set and began to laugh. It sounded like Fran
Drescher’s constipated love baby with Lois Griffin. If they could bottle that and send it
to Iraq, it would decimate the insurgency.
As for the music, Green Day opened up strong. It was a slower song and they
held back, but they still have more talent than half the room. The crowd looked bored so
I secretly wished I liked to drink heavily. The credits began to roll and I noticed that the
appearances were alphabetized by first name and “the” counts as a T. I then announced
to Matt, “I need to start drinking heavily.” Matters are not helped when Diddy strolls out,
chomping down on a toothpick. Nothing says you’re cool like picking your teeth in front
of the world. It just screams, “I’m secure in my manhood and my hygienic habits.” Even
more amusing, “Relax” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood is blaring on the speakers. This is
promptly followed by an onstage orgy, and a mess of water water everywhere and not a
drop sink him into. Then the requisite pyro, ladies butt jiggling from the ceiling, and
uncomfortable moves by Diddy himself. Entrepreneur and entertainer that he is, this
must be the summer Olympics opener he wanted to pitch to the IOC. Crap. I think he
made Cirque du Soleil palatable to me for a millisecond just by sheer comparison.
What followed was a mix of unhappy people, a sincere Kelly Clarkson, Missy
Elliot with jacked hair, and an endless parade of stupid costume changes for Diddy. At
one point I noticed his Diddy logo mimics that of “Skinny Puppy.” I know Diddy is fond
of “sampling” but I think even he would draw the line there. Still, the shirt does manage
to help me block out most of the inane chatter of the show as I play “Too Dark Park” in
my head. Aaaaah. Other outfits on display? Diddy wore a shirt that said, “New Negro”
with a picture of a king crown car air freshener on it. I don’t get it. He also wore a shirt
to remind us that “God is the Greatest.” In case we forgot. But clearly, God forgot us
when he allowed this shit box show to go on. And then let it replay ad nauseum.
Other “great” moments? Dance off! Ass shake off! Homer off! Drunken
Simpson sister off! Jessica conveniently came dressed as a bar wench. Sort of a French
maid meets St. Paulie girl. With STDs. What was she thinking when she put that on?
Also Hillary Duff and her new plasticine face. The performance by Coldplay was good,
but a bit of a snoozer. Finally, what was up with Diddy saying “let’s give it up again for”
whomever, as long as they weren’t rock people. Apparently the killers and green day
don’t deserve an encore of forced applause. Oh that’s right, because they were both
awesome and didn’t need manufactured pity. Plus I don’t think Diddy likes rock either.
The good? Oh my word! We were treated to a one man enactment of “Trapped
in the Closet” by R. “Is it alright if I pee on you?” Kelly. And as a bonus, the latest
chapter. I laughed so I hard I actually pulled a muscle in my belly. I’m still prone to
breaking out into the name pong of “chuck, Kathy, Kathy, chuck!” at any given moment.
If he wasn’t doing this seriously it would not be half as funny. Fortunately for us, he has
no idea how ridiculous he is and promises he has many more violent, homophobic, and
demeaning chapters to go. If laughter is the best medicine, R. Kelly may just have found
the cure for cancer.
I also loved that Johnny Knoxville brought his daughter Madison as his date.
That man is all at once a self inflicted wound and a gentleman. And I meant that without
any sarcasm. He is just awesome all the way around.
The music performances by Green Day and the Killers kicked ass, but the surprise
performance of the night went to Kelly Clarkson who tore up the stage and her vocal
chords. The song kicked ass, she put her heart into it, and apparently I was the only one
who appreciated it. Everyone else looked bored and in the two interviews after the show,
there was no mention of how awesome she was. Now, I don’t like most of Clarkson’s
music, but I dig that voice of hers. If she continues to make songs like this and perform
like that, then she deserves better than what she got. She was magnificent. That said, I
still say the highlight of the night had to be the Beavis and Butthead spots for viewer’s
choice. I never realized how much I missed those boys until Butthead said, “Come to big
daddy, Butthead.” That ruled.
As a final testament to how ridiculous this show was, I will leave you with this
message from the closing credits. The credits state: “The VMAs have been remixed,
reimagined, reengineered by your host Diddy.” Who is the bigger loser here? Grammar
or the viewing audience?