Everyone is familiar with the plethora of reality television shows invading prime time programming each night.
Don’t get kicked off the island. Design an evening dress for a superstar model. Find a nanny to control insanely bratty children.
Now the newest scheme to thrown in with the bunch: write the best story, secure a position with Rolling Stone Magazine.
Recently RollingStone.com posted an ironic message that reads, “Respected music magazine seeks dynamic, culture-conscious writers to work at Rolling Stone and be on MTV.all at the same time!”
The last time I checked, a “respected” magazine would not fall suspect to mindless reality television, nonetheless on a network like MTV.
I can just visualize Rolling Stone’s reality show plopped between “True Life: I Want To Be A Famous One-Wheeled-Motorcycle-Star” and a marathon of the latest speed-dating series MTV created to follow suit with the trashy “Next” and “Date My Mom” which I would never let my own mother appear on, ever.
Like I said before, not a very “respectable” move on Rolling Stone’s part at all.
The sad part is that not so long ago I didn’t have such a hate-hate relationship with Rolling Stone Magazine. At one point in my life, I would have jumped at the chance to apply for such an opportunity. I can just picture my scribble handwriting trying my best to convince the judges to pick me complete with my audition tape, not even cold from rewinding in the camcorder.
Ever since I was a young girl I wanted to be a writer, and when I hit high school I decided I wanted to do so for Rolling Stone Magazine. I loved its shiny pages and the celebrity rock stars on the cover. I would spend my free time imagining my byline above an intense expose story on whomever the next rags-to-riches rapper would be to rise to the top of the music charts.
I pictured myself in 20 years sitting in the back of a smoky bar, watching the next up-and-coming hyped band with disdain only to write a glowing review, unless I decided to be decidedly creative that day and criticize something that everyone else was loving at that moment.
Then, at some point, that dream died most likely right after I came to Cabrini College. I became analytical of the magazine because I wanted to read something that wasn’t just telling me about hackneyed trends, I yearned for something fresh and underground. I turned my back on Rolling Stone and turned to my new circle of friends to be my musical informants.
My new friends highlighted politics only in the ways that could harm or help my generation. They taught me to how it was still acceptable to appreciate musical artists that made appearances on MTV, but only if I labeled them as a guilty pleasure.
I realized I was buying into all the glamour and false impressions of a rock star life that could be awaiting me with every turn of the page of the magazine. Shortly after my epiphany of how I outgrew Rolling Stone, I shunned it for life and swore to never drop another four dollars on it again. Now, I’ll just have to add never watching the television show onto my personal boycott of the magazine.
Posted to the web by Tim Hague
