There comes a time in everyone’s life when a turning point is reached. A defining moment is captured in perpetuity. An accomplishment is achieved from arduous labor. A milestone is surpassed, and then suspended in a wistful memory.
My daughter is fast-approaching this epic moment in her life. How do I know this?
Two words: Tiger Beat.
Yes, you heard me correctly…Tiger Beat…that frivolous publication of prepubescent angst and yearning.
I found one in the house yesterday. Apparently, it was purchased upon the behest of the most vertically-challenged biped in our household. And, no, for some of you out there snickering while you read this, I’m not referring to myself.
So, there it was…a gaudy mish-mash of bright colors, screaming fonts and mesmeric pictures of the youthful idols of our modern time…sitting on a counter, mocking every fiber of my being.
The Jonas Brothers, Zac Efron, Miley Cyrus, and God only knows who else graced the cover of this particular issue. I feel so old. And slightly perturbed at the notion that the words contained within the pages of this magazine will soon shape and influence my daughter’s opinion of the world.
Yeah, this can’t be good, can it? I mean, I remember being her age and fawning over the latest issue of Cracked Magazine, which was a subversive imitation of the more popular and edgy Mad Magazine. And comic books. Lots of comic books. So, that would make me old and geeky, I guess.
Well, I should be supportive, though. She’s entitled to enjoying this magazine, and surely is intelligent enough to recognize its sole objective as entertainment for the younger masses.
Tiger Beat. I think I’m having issues with this.
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