Friday Confessions

Well, here we go. You should probably run away while you can. Leave your retinas in tact. Leave me my dignity, people. Why I have these compulsions, to unload my innermost soul and frighten away share crazy details with the people I'm lucky enough to be able to call internet friends, I'll never know. Maybe you can help me, and shed some light on that issue. Who knows.

I've mentioned my love of music before. It's all my mother's fault influence, really. Here's a story I like. Just before John moved to Austin, he and I drove up from Houston to look at apartments. (Little did he know that I would come visit and then never go home. That was 8 years ago. He had no idea what he was getting into, really.) I didn't know it at the time, but he had the ultimate test, in his mind, for the stay-ability of girlfriends. When on a road trip with them, he would put in some of his music, like Yes. Well, Yes was no stranger to moi. At the tender age of ... well, I don't exactly remember. I was young, anyway. Anyway, I had been introduced to Yes as a youngster by my mom, so I started singing along with the song that John turned on (it happened to be one of my favs, Roundabout), and John nearly swerved off the road. He was blown away that, not only had I heard of Yes, but I knew them well enough to know words. To more than one song. Because next came my absolute favorite Yes song, All Good People, and I sang that one, too.

John later told me that's when he knew I was a keeper, because apparently, Yes had scared off many other girls, with their long songs, key and meter changes, strange lyrics, and flat-out weirdness. Then he found out that I adore The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Zeppelin. He had no choice but to marry me, and let me have lots of his little music-loving babies.

Well, that might not be exactly how it happened, but it's close. And the whole part about Yes is totally true.

But that's not what we're here to talk about today. I just wanted to show you that I have a love for all kinds of music.

But.

It's not all good music. I'm not talking morally, either, although the morals of many bands I love can raaawther easily be questioned. No, I'm talking bad, embarrassing, listen to alone in the car and sing off key music.

Kelly Clarkson. Mandy Moore. Jessica Simpson. Jennifer Lopez, for crying out loud!

And let's not forget this crazy train-wreck of a person.


I adore her music. Please never tell anyone about this.

I love old bad music, too. The 80's, man! The 80's!! What could go wrong?


Well, a lot of things, I guess. Here's the thing, though. I LOVE BON JOVI. For real. And Guns N' Roses. And Metallica. Oh, do I ever love Metallica. And I don't think they sold out when they cut their hair. They were growing, and changing, and maturing not only as a band, but as musicians and individuals.

I'm really sorry I said all that. I'm even more sorry that I know it, believe me.

Anyway. Hair bands. Love 'em!!

But.

Then there were the 70's. Nothing can top the 70's, really, because even though they didn't have AquaNet yet, they did have something better: POLYESTER!! Oh, did they ever have polyester!



The jumpsuits!! The bellbottoms! The tight pants!!! The gold!

The eyeshadow!!!


Yeah, baby!!

And let's not forget this lovely gem:


There are no words that could justify that piece of fabric, so I'm not even going to attempt it.

Ahem. Sorry. This soul-baring experience post is about music, so let's not get distracted by the fashion (or lack thereof), ok?

Now, some truly great stuff did come out of the 70's, as far as music is concerned. The Clash. (I love The Clash ever so much. Brilliant!) Stairway to Heaven. Free Bird. Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones. The Beatles. KISS. Queen. Black Sabbath. Love it all.

But.

Then there were other groups. You know what I'm talking about.


Disco. Oh, dear. (Hello, Bee Gees. Long time, no see. Maybe y'all should stop tanning for a while, mmkay? You might think it's working for you, but you all look a tad like orange aliens. I'm just saying. The sun isn't always your friend. I'll introduce you to something wonderful later called Chest-Hair Wax. Lovely little invention. But we won't get into that now.)

And, well, here's my confession. I know it took me a while to get to it, but I had to work up to it, you see? It's so bad I couldn't just come out and say it.

I like bad 70's music.

(Please stop throwing rocks at me. It's not polite.)

I understand if we can't be friends anymore. At least with the other confessions, you could think to yourself, 'Yeah, that guy really is hot!,' or, 'Mmm, those do look good.' Not so with this one. I know, I know. Like I said, I understand if you don't send me a birthday card this year.

I've always known this Thing was lurking in my soul, a deep and dark secret. I guess it all came to the surface a few weeks ago, when I was in the car and a song came on. And I knew most of the words. And I loved it, and sang loudly. Then I wept, for I beheld it, and was plunged into much sorrow.


Yes, kids, it's them. Captain and Tennille. Oh, how can I even live with myself?


I mean, just look at them!


Well, she does look happy, and she's got great teeth. I'll give her that. But was this really necessary?


I mean, really? I could have lived for a long, long, long time without ever seeing that, I don't think my life would have been any less for it. I'm just saying.

So now you know. And if we see each other at Starbucks, I understand if you won't let your children talk to me. Know that I love them anyway.

And for the love of all things good and sacred in this world, please don't tell John. He already thinks I'm weird enough as it is ... Seriously.

I'm just saying.