White Sox, Bleak VMAs, Pink Face

Blogging from the Brown Line, where it’s already full approaching Western. It’s going to be a long trip downtown.

I spent yesterday at the Sox/Angels game after spending Saturday night watching the final 6 of 15 innings of the previous game.

Yesterday was supposed to be cold. Rainy,even. Turns out, it was a near-perfect, sunny day. I baked in my seat and walked out of the park with half my face bright pink and burned. I look like one of the two villains from “The Dark Knight,” so at least I’ve got that going for me.

After the game, I took a desperately-needed shower and decided to watch the VMAs. I couldn’t have found them more repugnant or beyond my scope of interest.

Back in radio, I HAD to pay attention to the goings-on of pop culture’s most self-satisfied awards event. These days, I don’t need to know who’s hosting it or which artists are nominated. And I didn’t on either count.

The anonymous teabag hosting it wasn’t funny or anywhere near as shocking as he clearly tried to be. But he was loud. And he talked fast. Maybe that verbal sleight-of-hand distracted viewers from the lack of entertaining content.

Maybe I’m just so far out of the MTV demo that I don’t get it. Maybe MTV is so far beyond redemption I shouldn’t care. Maybe it’s both.

Just passed Fullerton. It’s packed tight in my car. Feeling every bit of my claustrophobia right now…

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