Blame It On the Douche

Today we're going to talk about Milli Vanili. My thoughts on this topic are twofold: first, a brief description of how Milli Vanili obliterated my childish faith in the Grammy Awards; second, how a recent amazing Milli Vanili-related idea of mine demonstrated that truth is both faster and less interesting than fiction.

When the original M.V. scandal broke, I was in 8th or 9th grade, and was dimly aware of the group's existence because of school dances and such, where I no doubt spent most of my time in corners vowing future revenge on those who undervalued my considerable romantic charms. Like many others, I was neither shocked nor interested when it was revealed that the two dreadlocked dudes from the videos (who I assumed were named Milli and Vanili) were not, in fact, the actual vocalists on the recordings. However, I was surprised and disillusioned when the Recording Academy decided to revoke the group's Grammy Awards, which I had foolishly believed to be awarded to the music, rather than commercial packaging and haircuts. Yes, I know, I was an idealistic teenaged loser, but c'mon--they sold millions of albums, and launched countless unwanted pregnancies, with those songs. Surely that had to count for something. But no.

Years passed, Milli or Vanili died tragically, possibly while assisting the INXS guy in autoerotic asphyxiation, and the whole sordid affair passed into the mists of time. That is, until a recent chance reference to M.V. inspired my most brilliant idea ever: somebody recorded those songs that were so successful--let's go find them, get them back into the studio, and unleash the talents of the genuine Milli Vanili on the world stage!

Except they already did that. In 1991. And it tanked.

Also it's possible I've already posted about this. There is nothing new under the blog.*

*Ha!