"From what I've been and what I've seen, From top to bottom, I am obscene. It stands in my place, It spits in my face. It's shame, shame! It's shame!" Rollins Band from "Shame"
When the nurse came in to give me my pharmaceutical cocktail for the morning I couldn't help but notice that she was sporting a New Kids On The Block push up bra under her uniform. Though the site of her silicone laden chest cannons bravely trying to escape the confines of the garment was eye attracting and appealing, it was said delicate that had me questioning her very sanity. Perhaps it was time I strapped the nurse to a gurney and tortured her as she has me for all these long months. Her rock-n-roll persona was straining for credibility when compared to her choice of boy band lingerie. But seeing the shocking display of fan adoration got me thinking.
While out shopping for the necessities of life in the Slow, bug spray, ultra powerful antiperspirant, and alcohol, I spied SuperMom thumbing through a magazine whose sole purpose seemed to be to dupe addle minded, love lorn teenage girl out of their usually undeserved allowance. No it wasn't O Magazine, the O standing for Oppressor, it was some silly glossy dedicated to boy band of the minute, The Jonas Brothers. The newest is Disney's continuing juggernaut on the good and wholesome market, after all their last big star is starting to turn the way of her Mouseketeer predecessor. Miley is the new Britney. Only a mater of time before some over tattooed angst ridden pseudo pop punk knucklehead lands a sperm to her billion dollar eggs. With that inevitability looming on the horizon the Mouse needs a new way to bilk millions from the coffers of the masses. Enter Jonas-mania.
No, SuperMom is not a fan of the Jonii, but my ultra spoiled niece is in the grips of mad infatuation. The fandom that comes with being a pre-teen in the Disney Age. Matter of fact if her mother would have put all the monies she has spend on Disney related garbage during my nieces 12 years and invested it in a savings account, I'm pretty sure my niece could attend Harvard, all four years. And now SuperNana, as she would be called by my niece, is adding to the dollar total. I understand that part of childhood, even the teen years, is to attach yourself to a band of questionable credibility. We all have a shirt hanging in our proverbial closets that makes us, as adults, wonder what we were thinking.
For all my rock pedigree there are skeletons that I am only showing the light of day so that you, my dear readers and fans, may have a laugh at me while shamefully realizing that you have just as many bone daddies in your own arsenal. Sure, I had the "Frankie Says Relax" T-shirt. I'm actually not too ashamed of that one. But for a girl named Tammy Francis I became a neon wearing Wham! fan. Yeah, okay, enough with the laughter. She was short and super hot, and there was nothing I wouldn't do to play with her boobies, including selling out my own musical taste. Amazing how I let the objects of my hearts affections effect my own tastes. Even now if I was in pursuit of a wily female that liked a musical genre that normally I would abhor, I would find something redeeming in it. I am no shepherd in this regard, just a mere sheep.
Some of these emotional interludes have actually left me with great tunes that I may not have listened to without said strumpets influence. My undying love for Dayna brought me the joy of the Old 97's, Cari is so closely tied with my love of the Gear Daddies that it's impossible to separate the two, Annie is linked to the soundtrack from "Grease" like a liner not, and without Judi there would be no Jenny Lewis in my life, no Rilo Kiley in my itunes. Not all the bands have been winners, mind you. With Michelle it was, sadly, Bryan Adams. Not good at all really, but still meaningful. I guess I just wish some, not all (Australians are exempt due to swinging great taste and living on the bottom of the world), but some of the women that I adore had better taste in music.
What skeletons are you hiding in your CD collection?
Dixie Cup of Love: Tammy Francis.
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