"Eat this plate, you'll feel better."
I’ve been ill again. Ever since I moved to LA, I get sick all the time. Oh, well. That’s the price I pay for getting to nosh with Posh and Becks every Tuesday.
…Okay, technically, only Becks and I do any actual “noshing” – you get the idea.
Victoria Beckham: "No thanks, I couldn't possibly eat after that huge dinner I had. In 1982."
Yesterday was my boyfriend’s birthday. I got him a rad gift. (I know what you’re thinking – “Job, what better gift could you give him beyond your hacking, disease-ridden body?”) An AMOEBA GIFT CERTIFICATE, that’s what I gave him. Who doesn’t want one? Even I want one for my birthday, and I don’t even need one! Because, as many of you know, all Amoeba employees are allowed as many free albums and DVD’s as they want. In fact, we’re PAID to take them home! We drive them home in the cars our bosses buy us, which we park in our gold-plated garages with matching tiara encrusted, truffle-flavored diamond mines.
I’m delirious. I have no idea what I’m writing. We’ve been through this before, dear reader. This is how my sick day blogs read. If you feel inspired to pray for me by the end of it, please do. It’ll give you something to do while you’re waiting for Limewire to finish downloading a crappy copy of that Rockwell single.
See? I know what you hipsters are doing with your free time. For instance, I know that you have recently started reading the nutrition facts labels on groceries; you read them almost obsessively, even though you don’t really understand what they mean.
I’m not judging you; I’m the same. I, too, once suddenly felt compelled to hear “I Always Feel Like Someone’s Watching Me”, not because I had a hankering for Rockwell, per se, just that one hit.
I’m always looking for (sometimes improbable) works of genius by otherwise forgettable artists. Oftentimes it’s because I remember the song from childhood, and for we Americans born after the 1960’s, pop culture is pretty much what passes for roots. Why else would we scramble to buy complete box sets of Voltron?
Because face it, Generation X, Y and Z, that cartoon is not good. It’s not. It hurts to hear it and believe me, hurts more to say it, but it’s true. Even Posh agreed with me, and God knows that woman could deny fire on the face of the Sun. (And yes, I’m including the Lion version.)
Sometimes a personal, one-hit wonder is from a legitimate artist or group that you usually don’t like. Joe Jackson’s “Steppin’ Out” qualifies in all of the above categories I’ve mentioned. For my ex-roommate Mat, he admitted to really liking this one song by Erasure, a band he would otherwise equate with the fatty slime that sticks to the lid of cat food tins. (The song, FYI, was “Breath of Life”.)
(Mat and I usually got on well, musically speaking, when we lived together. He introduced me to This Mortal Coil and I turned him into a fan of ABBA [I was only 16 at the time and he, a glamorous and mature 23, had a decided edge on me.] Our only irreconcilable difference was his love of Neil Diamond and my admiration of The Chipmunks. Either were off-limits when we were both at home.)
But... Who will take New Hampshire?
Some songs are just guilty pleasures. I have nothing in my history to justify liking Mel C’s “I Turn To You”. Perhaps it was because I first heard/saw it on Dutch TV, high out of my mind on hashish, but could that explain why I own a copy of it? Again – I don’t own anything else by Sporty Spice, just needed that one song.
There’s been mention of two Spice Girls in this blog entry so far, which really bothers me, considering I didn’t sit down to write about any of them. I didn’t even enjoy them when they were A-list. I was busy having a nervous breakdown in New Mexico, listening to Native American flute music, mastering East Indian cooking and sobbing uncontrollably.
Is this still my blog?
I don’t remember my name.
Uh… All this was headed to a listing of songs I love that are guilty pleasures. It was going to tie in with the fine art of making mix-tapes, which I recently did for my friend Rosa… who, upon reflection, probably wouldn’t want me to use her real name (I’m pretty sure she’s an undercover agent) so, for the sake of anonymity, I’ll just refer to her as Valerie Plame.
Ech… I’m still sick, though, and I’m exhausted. I’ll have to finish this later. Sorry folks. I know I have a few fans left out there (though I might be related to them) and I don’t mean to leave you hanging, but I’m starting to see flying toasters on my computer screen, and I don’t use a screen saver.
I’ll try again later…