First off, here is my problem with Miley.
1. I am super creeped out by tongues.
I remember back in the day (2004-2008) when sticking your tongue out in photos was something that girls did. I was never a fan. Put that shit back in your mouth before you slobber all over everyone because I know you have no control over it. Ew.
Seriously, the Blurred Lines performance is a regular nightmare for me.
I would have brunch with the Girl from the Ring before I went anywhere near that Miley.
2. I love Draco Malfoy
When I was growing up, I had the BIGGEST crush on Draco Malfoy.
…I can’t.
3. If you’re going to say “that girl that’s rockin’ kicks, she’s gotta be from out of town,” wear fucking kicks. Cowboy boots are not kicks. They’re cowboy boots.
4. The way she says “Lil’ Wayne”
5. She has jowls and I have a strange recurring fear that I do too.
Okay, so now you have a good understanding of my dislike for this girl and yet…and yet…Boy, do I love her music. Seriously, there is no better Party than a party in the USA. When I listen to the climb, not only am I ready to conquer every challenge that is facing me, but I am ready to actually climb a mountain.
Then, there is Wrecking Ball. What can I say except that I could live for days, alone on my floor, staring at my ceiling and belting I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALLLLLL and even though no breakup has happened I’m HEARTBROKEN when I am singing that song. Like I may not be in any relationship but MY GOD I am ready to rip some guy to shreds because I’m goddamn HEARTBROKEN.
So, of course, the other night we forced our Lyft driver to play wrecking ball when we went out, and I found myself really looking deep into my soul. Yes, I was full of self-reflecting insight on my way to Divisadero. And I’m not just talking about checking myself out in the rear-view mirror. I’m talking real reflection.
How could I love something so much and be so appalled by the person performing it?
I always say that it’s because I’m a fan of her producers and song writers, but that justification only goes so far. In the moments when Wrecking Ball hits my 23-year-old ears, I. love. Miley.
And that’s when I realized it. This plays into the entirety of my life.
Every thought, action, and movement I have is riddled with inner conflict. I never love anything without hating a part of it.
Running: love endorphins; hate running
Food: love food; hate fat
Books: love stories; hate the first three chapters
Lord of the Rings: love the world; hate Wormtongue
Cats: Okay, well I just love cats
Anyway, all this insight and self-meditation was brought on by soon to implode, twerk lurkin, alien faced, Miley Cyrus.
So thanks Miley. I get it now.
A Twentysomething in San Francisco 