The 54th Grammys
If memory serves, I stopped watching the Grammys about a decade ago. At that point I had discovered Nirvana, the Ramones, the Sex Pistols, Crass, the Meat Puppets, The Clash, The Vaselines, Sonic Youth, and other musical groups similar in style and philosophy. I realized, after discovering this music, that perhaps the Grammys were not really a showcase of greatest music being released each year. Perhaps there was better music being made and the Grammys somehow ignored all of it.
I swiftly devoted all of my time to listening to music. As such, I had absolutely no time for the Grammy’s, or as I now referred to it, “trash” (I probably considered referring to it as “total trash,” but knowing myself, I would have perished the thought, as I wouldn’t have wanted to tarnish Sonic Youth’s good name). As far as I was concerned, my relationship with the Grammys was over, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
I fully, one hundred percent believe, that after the following year’s broadcast, the Grammys coordinators noticed the sudden disappearance of one of their viewers. After a little bit of research, I believe the coordinators (henceforth referred to as Jim and Hans) discovered it was I that had indeed stopped watching the Grammys. Outraged, Jim and Hans swore they would get their revenge, if it was the last thing they ever did. They probably got Billie Joe Armstrong in on it too.
From that moment on, the two men had me under heavy surveillance: they read my journals (of both the “personal” and “dream” variety), they went through my garbage, they saw what I watched on television, heard what music I listened to, followed me to concerts. They called up my friends and family, asking personal questions about me. The saw what I ate, what I wore, what I wrote. And finally, after ten years of study, they finally knew how they could get back at me for leaving their precious award show behind so long ago.
Fast forward to this morning.
I am sitting at my computer, going through my Facebook news feed before school. I’m seeing what my friends are up to: what they had for breakfast, what their weekend plans are, who is now dating whom. I reach a post by the Beach Boys Official Facebook page. The headline reads, “Exciting news! Tune in Sunday!” Attached to the headline is a link that proclaims the Beach Boys will be performing at this year’s Grammy Awards Ceremony.
Wow! I think. The Grammys are finally airing something worthwhile. The Beach Boys, along with a few other groups, are, without a doubt, my favorite band of all time. I just might have to watch the Grammys this year. As the day goes on, my excitement builds. I sit in class, wondering, Who will be the backing band? What will they play? Surfer Girl? California Girls? Good Vibrations?! I continue to ponder these questions as I drive to work. I think about them as I run. The drive home. The walk to my front door.
I sit down at my computer again. I open Facebook and see a notification. A friend has posted a link to my wall: “Beach Boys to Reunite at Grammys.” Ah, yes. My wonderful Beach Boys. What a splendid time it will be for all. I cannot wait to watch the Grammys for the first time in a decade. Hmm. What’s this? I pause. There’s more to the title of the article. I squint. “…With Foster the People & Maroon 5.”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I think.
I fully, one hundred percent believe that Jim and Hans, that dastardly duo, after watching me for ten years, discovered The Beach Boys were my favorite band. They then set about booking the long-separated band for this year’s Grammys ceremony. Then, in a cruel, twisted, inhuman act of revenge, they got Foster the People to play with them. It’s as if they suckerpunched me, knocked to the ground, and kicked me until my insides bled. Then, just as they’re leaving me for dead, Hans turns to my limp, lifeless body, and spits at me, saying, “Oh yeah—Maroon 5, too.”
