Pretty Boys Ain't So Pretty

I've been on a VH1 Classic binge for the past week, recording Morning Music Block and We Are The 80s every day. There's been some great stuff (The Human League's song "Human"* is pretty good) and some awful videos too (Skid Row was popular, for real? And can someone explain to me what the hell Gloria Estefan's "Bad Boy" video is about? I don't understand why she dances with effeminate overdressed hobo man-cats in a dark alley). I feel pretty good about myself and a teensy bit smug with not being able to say that this stuff "takes me back", because I would find it incredibly depressing if the 80s were my peak years. But now to my larger concern that I've recently developed the past week: I can't be the only one who's noticed how terrible male musicians from the 80s have aged. Sure, the booze, drugs, and countless STD's (some of those newer-found strains of STDs I guarantee were first discovered in a musician) took a pretty frightening toll on the lot of them. But I'm still amazed and/or horrified when watching these live videos from 2000 and on and seeing what has become of the likes of Duran Duran or The Cure. What's really sad is how hard these guys try to keep their younger looks by maintaining some sort of semblance of their glory day coifs, not to mention the strong fight most of this group put up against aging women in the category of who gets more plastic surgery and botox shots done. But what can demonstrate what I speak of better than visual proof (i.e. pictures I googled).

Exhibit A: Paul Stanley of Kiss
I don't know what's happening here, so moving on to the next.

Exhibit B: Rick Springfield
He was such a good looking guy, I don't understand how he could have turned into this gaunt, feminine geezer.

Exhibit C: George Michael

What a disappointment George Michael became. Good looks and talent then change to forever pissed at the world, cracked out, arrested every other week, and new beady eyes.

Exhibit D: Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran

Ugh.


Exhibit E: Axle Rose of Guns N Roses
Frightening and bizarre, all wrapped up in one dreadlock. Didn't Tommy Hilfiger woop his ass in a fight pretty recently? Wow.

Exhibit F: John Oates of Hall and Oates

Poor Oates, time has bitch-slapped you around, hasn't she.

Exhibit G: Michael Jackson
I couldn't resist as he is the most obvious freak transformation from the 80s. Was so cute starting out but currently looks like some primordial monster that lurked out of the ooze and is now enjoying visually assaulting us. This site is great for going through the time line of the past 20 years.

There are so many more, I'm sure. But my attention span (and stomach) isn't strong enough to keep looking. But hey, that's what the comments section is for, right?

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* - I'm going to admit this only because I am confident in my current musical taste and collection, but once upon a time in high school I bought a certain LFO cd (not the British techno group, but the 3 crackers trying to be a boy band/light gangsta group), and one track off of that groundbreaking and visionary album has turned out to be a complete ripoff of The Human League's "Human" song. Oh LFO... Didn't expect much better from you, actually.

Singleville - Population: 1

When single, it seems like couples and their nauseating presence are magnified by 100 and shoved right up in your face to make sure you're aware that they're in a relationship and your pathetic ass isn't. I truly believe that women are the main culprits in making sure all of this "awareness" is carried out. (and it's just another reason of many of why I despise the female species. Stories for another time...).
It's the squeals, shrieks, and ring flashing of the just-engaged woman that from then on demands all of the attention and all of the bright lights be thrown on her until we slam that limo door shut and off into her future of nagging and general bitchiness she and her hubby go.
Another irritation is in church where the woman sidles up to the man and either does that trying-so-hard-to-be-cute sigh while putting her head on his shoulder or she will rub his shoulders and back for what seems like a hellacious eternity. Fun story: My friend actually got so fed up with it one Sunday that she tapped the girl's shoulder and asked that they stop because it was very distracting. Yeah, that friend was my hero. Sad Story: She's currently married and is now guilty of the rubbing. No longer a hero.
My favorite has to be the glares that will sometimes be thrown my way or at other single girls for what I assume is meant to keep us from going after "their man". As if we would want their tired, trampled-down, doormat men in the first place. No thanks, I prefer a man with a pair, plus I just really don't feel like cleaning up the wreckage they caused.

It probably sounds like I'm bitter and I'll admit that I fall into that mood occasionally. But I think it's for good reason as singles are a vastly underappreciated and overlooked group of people in terms of how couples perceive us. Like an adult who will forget how it is to be a kid or teen, I think it's very similar to a single person going to couple status. From my own experience, it seems like all the parties and events I attend that are hosted by a couple are saturated with 95% more couples than singles and the only single guys there are either that 35 year old who pathetically and uncomfortably flirts with the 20 year old girl or the 13 year old brother of the host who quickly vanishes to his room to play his Wii (I so very much want that system, by the way). I get that couples are more likely to be friends with other couples but all I ask is that the ratio of singles to couples invited is semi-even.

Don't get me wrong, I do love being single, with the reasons being freedom, freedom, and... oh yeah, freedom. But once in awhile the low times will creep in where I have my own Bridget Jones moment. Instead of singing "All By Myself", I choose Phil Collin's "In The Air Tonight" and/or "We Fly So Close" (They're both so good in the melodramatically sad department how could I pick just one?). Thankfully, those moments pass quickly.

I think my main point, other than to vent, is this - be kind to singles, those of you in relationships. The mocking and jokes will correlate according to your actions towards us. Just a fair warning.

Ray LaMontagne - "One Lonesome Saddle"

Just A Love Machine

My parents are currently on Operation: Get-Andrea-A-Nice-Romanian-Boy and the train has just started rolling from the station. A few weeks ago I made an innocent comment to my dad on how he is so negative about guys I like and I asked him where are all the men that he has in mind for me that he would be so disapproving of my own choices. Bad, bad move. My parents have now whole-heartedly embraced this unintended challenge and apparently have been plotting ways to get me a love connection with a Romanian. Today I discovered their first planned assault, where they've organized a little shindig for this coming Sunday. At first, I wasn't certain what to make of the whole party so I tested the waters by throwing out that I had already made plans on Sunday and that I couldn't make it. The panicked look on my mom's face and her asking if I could postpone my plans until later set off all the alarms. After some intense staring on my part (Larry David would be very proud) and saying, "Mom", she broke down and admitted that she and my dad had invited 4 families over to our house as a diversion to the real point of my interacting with this one specific guy. The worst part of it all is that I know him. I spent a lot of my childhood as a tomboy following my brothers and this guy and his brother around. What I learned from the years spent with them is that I had a huge forehead that needed frequent waxing to maintain it's large shine, I was annoying as hell and they made sure to tell me that with every chance they got, and that it was just good clean fun to knock over the toys and stuffed animals in my room all the while filming the scene and my reaction. I know, all of that was a long time ago and he's most likely matured and could be a stud now, maybe even the greatest thing since Michael W. Smith. Maybe. Stay tuned... (Wow, did I just slightly acquiesce to the possibility that this guy might have a fighting chance? Man, I am such a waffling wimp.)

Smokey Robinson & The Miracles - Love Machine

Under The Saskatchewan Crust

*Ahem*. Testing, testing, is this thing on? *tap tap*. Hello, I'm Andrea and I am at this moment dictating this ethos over the loudspeakers from my swank bunker complex deep beneath the Saskatchewan crust. I want to welcome you to this blog that I (gleefully and just a little bit foolishly) started, thanks to some prodding from burgeoning blogger and best friend Nicole. It's purpose is to, well, entertain myself to start off with. Topics ranging from music to books to movies, along with guaranteed embarrassing personal stories or random rants and ramblings. Maybe I'll even just scan some of my completely kick-ass and beautifully nonsensical Korean stationery and call it a day, the sky's the limit (or at least simulated sky as this is a bunker complex). And once I get the hang of posting what I enjoy, hopefully it will be or become interesting and entertaining to the future readers as well. I can't promise that it will always be insightful or life-changing (I'll be damned if any blog can do that), but hopefully it will be enjoyable to read, and at the very least you'll be getting free music from visiting this blog. I would call that a good deal.

Peter Gabriel - Big Time