Twenty years come and gone

I remember being about 11, getting gussied up in the finest Madonna impersonation my fifth grade wardrobe would allow, anticipating the television premiere of the VMA's with as much enthusiasm as if I were attending them live, in person. I was, of course, going to watch them alone in my parents' living room. But for some reason, dressing up in my denim mini skirt, belted t-shirt, and pointed flats made watching the show so much more enjoyable. I never could grow up fast enough.

Ironically, I've never even been into music. MTV was, at first, symbolic of being a teenager, being cool. I spent afternoons glued to Remote Control and the Top 20 Video Countdown. In college, when I was cool, MTV was synonymous with The Real World; and now, I pretty much just watch it for The Hills. I would never even see a music video these days if I didn't seek it out on YouTube, having my curiosity piqued after weeks hearing the song on the radio. (It never occurred to me until tonight to check mtv.com. Duh? Or bad marketing, MTV?) And yet, this year, I found myself eagerly awaiting the VMA's with the same anticipation I felt back in grade school, if only to see if Britney actually showed up.

She did. And, while I could have phoned in a better performance, I found myself enjoying the rest of the show more than I have since that night back in the 80's. I'm not sure that's a good thing.

"Nobody likes to be reminded of how they are getting older," said Justin Timberlake at one point, referencing Chris Brown, but it was a statement channeled straight from my mind. It was a Justin-centric weekend, in a sense, as I watched the movie Alpha Dog last night, and his CD has been on repeat in my car since last Saturday, when a friend and I watched his SNL appearance saved on her TiVo. I finally got why Cameron would date nine years her junior. I may have been quick to grow up, but I'm often late to the party.

I felt even older, and, well, weirder, when Robin Thicke came on stage and I immediately started salivating. Um, hello. Who are you, O Delicious One? Of course I know that he is Alan Thicke's son, and that he had a record drop at some point this year (do they still call them records?) but I had no idea just how insanely gorgeous he is. As I started notice my body temperature rising, I also started thinking how much he looked like his dad - a younger version, maybe, than I knew, but give it ten years...

And that's when I realized that I'm more attracted to Jason Seaver than Mike Seaver, which makes me officially too old to be watching this.