21st century says bye, bye, bye to boy bands, hi to hi tech

Once upon a time, Jesus Christ became a superstar. His holiness, never the kind to keep human civilization quiet for long, went from being traditional water cooler talk in cathedrals to a specimen more fascinating than Joan River’s wax-figure face. 2003 and 2004 were the years, Dan Brown and Mel Gibson the masterminds.

I’m referring to a period when the son of God became more than a session of Sunday school or an especially thrilling mass. The DaVinci Code resurrected the ambiguity of Jesus on such a large scale, and so effortlessly, even high schools buzzed about him. To this day, I can recall two girls a few lockers over from mine all atwitter over whether or not Mr. Christ and Mary Magdalene “did it.” My Richter scale for all things culturally colossal always went nuts when an event affected the sex kittens of the Bridgewater-Raynham Regional freshman class.

Had no one considered those two esteemed biblical figures getting naughty between the sheets before? Brown’s novel had the audacity to challenge the bedroom activity of the most beloved person in history, calling for archeologists to carry black lights instead of brushes in their never-ending search for ancient clues. Our general population’s complete lack of knowing how and when to take a chill pill has been the undoing of the commonwealth before, but only three years into the new century, blood pressures were boiling over plain fiction. People, we are long past the middle ages. Book burning clubs belong with corsets and swine bristle toothbrushes in the outdated league. I don’t congratulate The DaVinci Code for pissing off the Vatican (which is already a piece of Angel Food Cake to do). Thank Jesus Christ for impregnating the world with the will to read again. Without Harry Potter and Cosmo, my generation would be illiterate.

It’s true “The Passion of the Christ” further stirred the pot of controversy only ten months after a novel equally daring sold 80 million copies worldwide. Gibson’s movie may not have been a fad per se, but it solidified the Messiah as a celebrity on par with Justin Timberlake or Janet Jackson’s left nipple, which Justin infamously assaulted. Combining “The Passion” and The DaVinci Code perfectly encapsulates the early 2000s, ten years of scandal, accidental hilarity and so much self-righteousness it should have been illegal. We may have just exited the last decade a month ago with full speed ahead into what I call the “tweens,” but the score those young years settled concerning 21st century crazes shaped, in the eloquent words of Billie Joe Armstrong, “one nation controlled by the media, [an] information age of hysteria.”

The Book of Genesis proclaims in the Bible God created the Heavens, the Earth and early civilization decked out in loincloths. Let’s be real, pre-historic life was a manly enterprise. But if the Fab Five from “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” had their way, metrosexuals would wear the pants in the universe-creating operation. It took a few thousand years, but straight men finally embraced their feminine sides and designer capris would never be the same again. The real-men-wear-pink mentality was cute while it lasted. There must not be many “real men” still living because even flaming homosexuals don’t wear pink anymore. It’s as if “I Am Legend” were remade with the quarterback of the college football team playing Robert Neville and the creatures embodied by rejected “bros” wearing cherry blossom pink button-ups.

Amy Poehler said it best on SNL: “A company has created a new system that allows car passengers to access the Internet while driving. This is good news for anyone who wanted to use Google Earth to watch themselves hit a tree.” For as long as I can remember, we are obsessed to Code Red levels with watching ourselves. Gone are the days when trends encouraged group participation like the glory days of the Nineties, when the life goal of most eleven-year-olds was forming a collection of sparkly Pokémon cards that wowed the amateurs at school during recess. Doing the Macarena and getting jiggy with it to such pop masterpieces as Hanson’s “MMMBop” and Chumbawumba’s “Tubthumping” were communal activities. Nintendo’s ingenious Wii console is the one sensation sweeping the nation in 2010 not tailor-made for you, you, you.

It took a little while to get there, though. As with a few cultural misfires that were around when I was growing up, I rejected many things in-style that almost would have been appeared during the Nineties. Chuck Norris jokes were a joke to me; I remain unconvinced there was any point to them. I refused to adopt the speech patterns of Snoop Dogg for obvious reasons. If I wore Crocs, I may as well be a goon. The North Face logo was a turnoff and if the teens with deep pockets buying those jackets honestly believe there’s more to them than the logo, they clearly haven’t experienced the intense fleece blowout sales at Kohls.

These exceptions aside, almost every fad of the 2000s relied on media or high-tech influence. Apple should be grateful for the original Napster, the program responsible for getting the ball rolling on mp3 addiction. In retrospect it wasn’t even fair how much a user could get away with while on almighty Napster. To the millions who infringed upon every music copyright there is, downloading never felt so right. iPods would still be years away without the fall of the Napster empire.

Cookie dough is to the Cookie Monster as American Idol is to Americans. Seeing contestants croak and cry while dressed in outfits from outer space on public television is such a sickly entertaining premise it’s incredible nobody thought of it before 2002. We can’t get enough of failure. Reality shows, Idol being the crème de la crème, make us feel better about how criminally insecure we are. In a way, every person sucks at something once in their life. American Idol edits down a random nobody’s attempt at success to ensure they look like they suck all the time, extra hard.

Simon Cowell’s offspring is one of the most popular fads to come out of the new century for exactly the same reason hundreds of millions post pointless videos of themselves on YouTube daily; everyone wants the spotlight to shine on them and the microphone to make their voices heard. Through social networking sites, blogs and the majority of the trash MTV airs, the theme of this generation’s pop culture obsessions is individuality.

Technology allows us to compartmentalize our lives and ignore the nuances getting in the way. So far, it’s clear the new millennium has begun an age where old rules don’t apply and the next “it” thing renders previous prodigies obsolete. Nevertheless, I seem to remember a sweet trading card book nestled deep in my underwear drawer at home filled with every rare Pokémon there is. Ready when you are.

Greg O’Neil can be contacted at goneil@keeneequinox.com.