Don't Listen to This, Vol.1

There are several records within my collection that cause me great, great shame. Party All the Time. Anything by Sting. Ghostbusters. Gulp.

I try to hide "them." I store "them" on my shelves so the artist name is concealed and all one sees is a flap containing a record that could be by one of the greats like Stevie Wonder, Alberta Hunter, The Smiths or Duke Ellington.

But it's not, and that is why it is hidden. Every now and then, I like to torture myself by listening to an album that I inexplicably like despite the fact that I also realize that it is lacking in any sort of innovation, melody, lyrical genius or listenability. Call them guilty pleasures, relics from my youth or just embarrassing, but I fully admit, at the risk of ruining my "hipster" cred, that from time to time I listen to these records without any trace of irony whatsoever.

In fact, I usually listen to these records and sing along while cursing myself silently. For example, last night, I popped in Phil Collins' "Sussudio." I hadn't intently listened to this song since I was a teenager and Collins' No Jacket Required was stuck in the tape deck of my dad's pick-up truck. I heard each song on that entire album about thirty times each during that three day road trip, and can definitively say that I continue to bear scars from that incident fifteen years later.

What the fuck is Sussudio? Clearly Phil made up the word, and the average person would think that he was singing about a woman named Sussudio, but I ask what kind of name is that, and can you definitively state that Sussudio is a person rather than a small German town, a designer imposter fragrance ("If you like Cacharel Noa Fleur, you'll love Sussudio!"), or a new sexual position that involves every member of Kraftwerk and a rubber hose.

The lyrics are simple: "Oh give me a chance/give me a sign/I'll show her anytime/Su-Su-Sudio/whoa-oh" But it's the energetic sax, the mystery and the growling desire found in Phil's vocals that prompt me to bob my head repeatedly in enjoyment (followed by me beating my head against a wall over and over again when I realize I was rocking out to Phil Collins). And despite my inner knowledge that this song is really, really bad, as Phil sang, it does feel so good if I just say the word!

My advice: do not dance to this in public, unless you are wearing neon socks in Kokomo with the Beach Boys and the entire cast of Cocktail, and are absolutely sure that no one will ever recognize you in the real world. When listening to this record, treat it as if it were a fart and make sure no one's listening. Or create your own Phil Collins Dutch oven and listen to it when you're alone under the covers late at night.

Guilty Pleasure rating: 7

Warning has broken...

NEW YORK- Citing Homeland Security's decision today to refuse singer Yusef Islam entrance to the United States on the grounds that he could potentially be tied to terrorism organizations, Homeland Security spokesperson Brian Doyle announced that other musical artists would also be denied admission to the U.S. due to their "crappy, half-assed musical endeavors."

Islam, a legendary folk singer formerly known as Cat Stephens, was denied entry to the United States after security officials found that he was on a terrorism watch list for allegedly donating money to a terrorist organization.

Doyle said that the Islam case, and Islam's entire recording history, convinced Homeland Security that other musical artists such as Sting, Christina Aguilera and Norah Jones should also be considered risks to the safety of the American people, and therefore should also be banned from entering the United States.

"When you have artists completely lacking in musical talent and creativity," said Doyle "it becomes a risk to the well-being of the entire population. Train's big hit 'Drops of Jupiter' has entered my head uninvited and terrorized me on many occasions, and artists such as these pose a high-risk threat to radios and walkmans throughout the country."

Doyle replied that the 300 page document had not yet been published, but added that among those on the top of the list are saxophone player Kenny G and ballad murderer Michael Bolton.

When asked what Americans could do to fight this newly announced form of terror, Doyle cited Vice President Dick Cheney's suggestion that Americans buy duct tape and immediately "cover their ears."

Watch out, here I come

Yes. It's true. They have given me a blog. They have given me a blog on a day that had me contemplating the following things that should probably not be consumed by the general public:

1) What is the lifespan of a chicken?

2) Are there any battles named after me*?

3) Will Dan Rather become Howard Beale?

4) Have I ever walked in the same building (could be at different times) as the Pet Shop Boys?

Why was I driving myself crazy contemplating these things? Cubicles. Papers. Asinine questions from co-workers. Broken Google toolbar.

Work. In. General.

I am convinced that the post-911 political climate in the States not only has everyone either 1) terrified and patriotic or 2) cynical and outraged. Irregardless, this entire country seems to be in a depressed slump where people watch other people live ridiculous lives (aka sheltered 22 year-olds on the Real World looking to have meaningful "real life" experiences) and continue on absorbing useless information and characters from a distance on the premise that we are living. We stay in jobs we hate because they tell us the economy is crap. We all have ADD. We buy duct tape and take our shoes off at the airport. We use condoms and webcams. We are all scared.

So basically: 1) I hate my job and think everyone else does too 2) I have too much time on my hands and so does everyone else 3) since I've read so many crap blogs out there about boyfriend troubles, menstrual cycles and annoying offspring, it's only fair that you read about my handbags and fags.

TTFN.

*Yes, there is a battle named after my family name. But that's another posting...