So, yeah...

I can't think of anyone who reads this blog who doesn't know this already, but to all the people who came here looking for pictures of Adam Ant, explanations of Boy George Lyrics, rants about Ghostbusters and/or The Golden Girls, or just some good old fashioned amputee horse porn:

I got engaged last night.

That is all.

The Gayest Song I Love

Short entry today, I'm going to expend my creative energy on another Pomp Culture article (if you missed my last one regarding Iron Maiden's supremacy to the United Nations, by all means check it out here). And I need to once again make the disclaimer that I am not disparaging the gay community at all in this entry, as regular readers will know that It'd look like I was throwing stones from a glass (bath)house.

Anyway, like most people who commute on public transportation, I listen to music on headphones. An iPod nano to be exact, partly because I am attempting to transform, butterfly-like from post-punk hipster to yuppie sleazebag, but mainly because none of the Zunes I keep in a bucket by my front door seem to be working at present.

Like many who make the Geek "lifestyle choice," I often succumb to an axiom that my friend Susan and I uncovered more than a decade ago (note I am using Courier, the Official Font of Logical Verities):

"To the untrained eye, the line between a
well-groomed geek and a gay man is indistinguishable."

(Cf. Sweatervests, designer nerd glasses, unseemly public excitability, the inability to throw a 10-6 curve)

Yeah, I come off pretty darn queer at times. Over 15 years in theatre-with-an-"re" has not helped this, either. Or the fact that I spent Sunday night in a gay bar (my girlfriend was singing in a band, Your Honor!). Or that, in between songs, I actually overheard someone in that bar say "An honest to God GLORY HOLE. I shit you not!" with a lisp that rivalled Buddy Cole.

Anyway, as I rode in today, after I wrapped up listening to Kraftwerk's Trans-Europe Express (Note: believe it or not, that's NOT the source of the gayest song. And a day where Kraftwerk is the most macho music I have listened to so far is already red-letter), I decided to listen to the Associates collection I recently acquired.

Not to be excused with The Association (of "Along Comes Mary," "Cherish," and "Windy" fame), the Associates was a two-man Scottish band that had minor success in the early 1980s (mostly in the UK) in the height of the New Romantic movement (sorry Djakarta: no pics of Adam Ant this time). It consisted of a multi-instrumentalist (Alan Rankine) and a vocalist (the late Billy Mackenzie).

The song in question is, first and foremost, a cover of an exceptionally gay song: Diana Ross's "Love Hangover" (which happened to be the #1 song the day I was born). One might think that would be hard to top. One would be right. But that one has not heard the Associates.

Musically, the Associates, at least during the early period I'm moderately familiar with, had a sound that ranged from minimalist post-punk to Duran Duran-esque New Wave pop. And the music of this particular song is actually a pretty cool post-punk-white-funk that reminds me of Remain in Light-era Talking Heads with a more jangly lead guitar.

And the resemblence doesn't end there. At first Mackenzie's voice sounds very much like David Byrne. Very much so. Until he belts a series of ridiculously sweeping falsetto yells, laden with vibrato. Add in some ridiculously cheesy female backing vocals, and the picture is complete. This song is, well, gay...

This is a song that ran away from home at 17 to go to New York to become a dancer, stays in touch with it's mother, but hasn't spoken to its father in 10 years. This is a song that wears men's capris and clogs when it shops at Treasure Island. This is a song that owns the Director's Cut of Moulin Rouge. This is a song that the average Pet Shop Boys fan would eschew as "a little too queer for me."

And this is a song I think is awesome. This is a song that I have already played 3 times today, at the expense of listening to the rest of the album, which I haven't heard.

I'm pretty sure I couldn't find a gayer song if I looked through my girlfriends collection of showtunes and asked Clay Aiken to cover the gayest one I found. I dare anyone to find a gayer song, in fact--

Oh, wait...I'm finally listening to the rest of the album, and a cover of "Heart of Glass" just came on. Wow.

You win again, Associates.

Red, Gold, and Green

So, Ali and I were sitting at a gay bar in Boys Town a few Tuesdays back, drinking some fruity¹ blender drinks, while watching videos for some of the gayest² music ever made. That probably requires some backstory, but you're not going to get it, because The Slog always hits the ground running.

Most of the music was of the generic thumpa-thumpa-thumpa repetitivo crap, but mixed in were a few 80s songs that had, oh, I don't know...a rudimentary song structure. The best of the night was "She Blinded Me With Science," if that helps you get a notion of the range of quality I had to work with. I'm not quite the nostalgic 30-something that some are about the 80s. I know they have a dark underbelly, best left unexamined.³ But, man-oh-man, each blessed slice of pre-1986 music played was like an oasis between large stretches of single-word-named women with pitch-shifted voices warbling over a drum machine.⁴

One such song was the ever popular "Karma Chameleon," by Beauregard Quentin "Boy" George, Esq. When its familiar strains of relatively inoffensive pablum hit my ears, I was overjoyed that for at least 3 minutes I wouldn't have to see The Undead Corpse of Madonna kickboxing Justin Timberlake on a car. Or whatever the hell I had just witnessed. By this point I was in some sort of stupor that was only marginally caused by the booze slurpee I was nursing.

At this point Ali, who wasn't nearly as tanked as she would later get,⁵ asked me: "So, what the hell is this actually about?"

Me: "The song?"
Ali: "The song. The video. Everything. It's kind of like Showboat, but..."

I fumbled about for an answer. I spouted some junk about it being about Boy George singing about nothing because he was Boy George (or something like that - I forgot to bring my stenographer with me. Again.)

But you deserve more than that, Alexandra. Not much more, but a little more. So here goes. My half-assed analysis of "Karma Chameleon."

To begin with, I will unfortunately have to gloss over the video aspect. Yes, the video is basically Showboat mixed with Roots mixed with "The Safety Dance" mixed with what appears to be Adam Ant's⁶ Wedding Party. But that actually makes it one of the more cohesive videos of its time. So, I can't help you there, Alibear.

I also can't help you with any musical questions, as you well know I am tone deaf and essentially unable to learn the simplest information about composing. But this is Boy George we're talking about here, so I'm going to assume that no one reading this gives a wet fart about his song structure.

So we move to the lyrics. Now you're talking my language. English. More or less. So with only a little further ado, I give you:

The Annotated "Karma Chameleon"

The words of B. George are blockquoted in "Arial," the Official Blog Font of the New Romantic Movement.

Desert loving in your eyes all the way

Clearly, Mssr. le Georges' is having an encounter with a lover that withholds affection, analagous to the way a desert withholds adorable kit foxes from the rest of the world. Either that or the lyrics site I visited has a typo and the proper line is "Dessert loving in your eyes all the way," which could mean that the song is an ode to what's left of Val Kilmer's career:

I suppose I should not throw stones, as that could well be me in a few years, if the McRib is ever put into full seasonal rotation.⁷

Moving on, let's look at the rest of the stanza, which really needs to be parsed out. Here it is in its entirity:

If I listen to your lies would you say
I'm a man without conviction
I'm a man who doesn't know
How to sell a contradiction
You come and go, you come and go

Ok. Now lets look at this line-by-line.

If I listen to your lies

We've hit our first genuine snag. One interpretation (the one I personally subscribe to) is that this desert-eyed rogue is an inveterate liar, and therefore never to be trusted. Under this implication, it is clear that Boy has never really listened to his lover's words. Which makes the relationship a hollow lie, and reveals a truly dark and hideous worldview that would be better reflected if it came out of the mouth of William Atherton, or some other bearded functionary. The other interpretation is that said lover is occasionally dishonest, as we all are.⁸ However, to read this into the song is to say that somehow Chico Jorge⁹ is subconciously aware of the lies, and filters it out. This is evident, because the second half of the line,

would you say

proves Steve¹⁰ has no idea what this person says when lying. So I must ignore this interpretation as needlessly convoluted.

I'm a man without conviction

Steve's lover is saying that Steve is a man without conviction. However, as established in the the first line, Steve's lover is lying (either situationally or constantly, this holds true for both interpretations above). This is a clear case of Material Implication, which is as close to a logical truth as anything, as shown in the following syllogism (wherein A=Steve's desert-eyed lover [hereafter DEL] is making a statement, and B= The statement is a lie):

If A, then B
A
Therefore B

So Steve is making a claim that DEL is actually claiming Steve is a man of convictions. Clearly, Steve is an arrogant ass. Note I put the syllogism in Courier, the Official Blog Font of Logical Verities.

I'm a man who doesn't know
How to sell a contradiction

Again, DEL is a liar, so Steve is, in truth, a masterful salesman, who knows exactly how to sell a contradiction. However, in a very strange way of recursion, that means that Steve himself sells conflicting truths in the same manner as DEL. Which means nothing Steve says can be trusted. And it also means that you can trust Steve implicitly. Which means this song is either profoundly stupid or the pinnicle of Sincere Irony^TM.¹¹

You come and go, you come and go

The first of Steve's contradictions for sale. Who knows who's coming and going at this point? Well, Steve does. But that aint for sale.

Now we hit the very crux of the dilemma:

Karma karma karma karma, karma chameleon

This is indeed fascinating, as it clearly combines High Medieval Christian numerology with Hindu mysticism and herpetology.

Note that Karma is repeated five times. As anyone who read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in High School knows, it's got a lot of alliteration and is really hard to read, so you might as well skip it and copy off the D&D nerd who actually read it. And as anyone who read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in college, where they actually had to write a paper on it knows, five is a highly significant number, which represents (in the form of the Pentagle on Gawain's shield):

Fyrst he watz funden fautlez in his fyue wyttez,
And efte fayled neuer þe freke in his fyue fyngres,
And alle his afyaunce vpon folde watz in þe fyue woundez
Þat Cryst ka3t on þe croys, as þe crede tellez;
And quere-so-euer þys mon in melly watz stad,
His þro þo3t watz in þat, þur3 alle oþer þyngez,
Þat alle his forsnes he feng at þe fyue joyez
Þat þe hende heuen-quene had of hir chylde;¹²

Okay...um...that really didn't help my point. Let me provide a translation for those of us who don't speak the Midlands dialect of the 14th century (italics mine):

For first he was faultless in his five senses; and his five fingers never failed him; and all his trust upon earth was in the five wounds that Christ bare on the cross, as the Creed tells. And wherever this knight
found himself in stress of battle he deemed well that he drew his strength from the five joys which the Queen of Heaven had of her Child.¹³

Much better, right? Right? Note that there are four "fives" in the quote, much like the four "Karmas" before the comma separating them from the fifth in the lyric above, this is a nod to the notion that perfection of fives is only allowed for Christ.

Add this numerology to the concept of Karma, which I believe any of my readers should be familiar with, and you see that Steve is playing a deep game about the nature of inner gifts versus outer pride. And all of this will soon come back to haunt both Steve and DEL as Dame Fortune Spins her Wheel.

And really, who doesn't think chameleons are neat-o?

For the record, both of the preceding quotes were in Verdana, he Official Blog Font of Arthurian Source Material.

You come and go, you come and go

Oddly, this line is now redolent with the meaning missing from its first occurence. Fortuna lashes against Steve.

Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dream

Per Wikipedia, the Official Source of All Truth and Knowledge In Our Current Dystopian Climate, red-green colorblindness is prevalent in roughly 7% of the male population. It's a somewhat safe bet to assume both Steve and DEL are male (This is Boy George we're talking about here), so it is not a large leap to assume that one or both of them suffer from some inability to percieve color¹⁴ in the same fashion. It is also safe to assume that Steve and DEL both dream in color,¹⁵ despite Old Wives Tales To the Contrary.

Red, gold and green; red, gold and green

Note two of the three colors are red and green, the most commonly confused hues in colorblind subjects. They are also the traditional colors of Christmas, a holiday originally founded on the notion of generousity and giving, but since given over to the Gods of Commodity Consumerism. The third color, gold, which is clearly equally discernable to both parties is so obviously symbolic that it is almost an insult to the reader's intelligence to note that this verse is clearly a counterpoint on the failure of modern consumer culture to meet the spiritual needs of the participant. Everything is indeed for sale, and Steve (like his spiritual predecessor, Willy Loman) is being crushed by Fortune's Wheel, as evidenced by the events that spiral out of his control.

Of course, the repetition of the phrase within the line is simply to make the song catchy.

There are alternate interpretations that suggest that the colors relate to the mercurial nature of the chameleon's own outer coloration or that "red, gold, and green" is a veiled reference to the Rastafarian religion. On the first point, after being so lyrically astute, would Boy George be so damn obvious in the chorus? I think not. And as for the second, no amount of pot smoking would make someone want to dress like this:

Oh Jesus (no pun intended)...there's more to this song? Another frickin' verse? And a bridge? Ok...

Moving on:

Didn't hear your wicked words every day

As mentioned before, Steve refuses to hear what DEL says, deciding long ago that all is lies.

And you used to be so sweet

DEL once worked for a renowned Belgian chocolateer. You can look this up.¹⁶

I heard you say

Ah, selling us contradictions again, eh Steve. I'm beginning to doubt that you're even named "Steve."

That my love was an addiction

This line is troubling. How can love itself, as a concept, be an addiction? Love can be addictive, in theory. And an addiction can be mistaken for love. But Love qua Love <> an Addiction. Even Homer nods, so we must assume this is an error on the songwriter's part.

When we cling our love is strong

Clearly Steve (or Boy George himself) is being either naïve or disingenuous. Love clings when it is at its weakest. A strong lover can relax, confident that the object of his or her affection returns this affection. Another strong signifier that Steve's reality is a dangerous and shifting thing.

When you go you're gone forever

The mix of a Christian afterlife and the notion of of Karmic retribution from the chorus are suddenly and violently belied by this sudden rejection of the spiritual. I suspect this isn't meant to be a simple statement of an Atheistic or Agnostic worldview, achieved through soul-searching and application of science and/or logic to empirical data, but rather an expression of the nihilism inherent in what Steve likes to pretend is his soul.

You string along, you string along

Petty bitching from the now very unlikable Steve.

At this point the chorus is reprised. The juxtoposition of new knowledge on Steve's character and personal ethos adds a harrowing note to the original message.

Then we are taken to the bridge.

Every day is like survival
You're my lover, not my rival
Every day is like survival
You're my lover, not my rival

This is the point in the song where I differ from nearly all interpreters. As I have stated previously, Steve is a truly unreliable narrator when relating his relationship to DEL. The reason for this is clear to me, and can be truly grasped by following the simile:

Every day is like survival

to its logical conclusion and then juxtaposing it against the plaintive cry:

You're my lover, not my rival

Is every day like survival? If you define "survival" as the arc of a human life, then yes. The ancient Greeks were aware of the concept, in which the Ages of Man were converted to times of the day in the Sphinx's great riddle.

In the beginning of the day, the Sun (Son?) rises, and begins its arc to full Physical Maturity at Noon. From this point, though the height of Emotional Maturity (the Afternoon, the brightest part of the day), in to Decline (dusk) and Death (Night). And all of this is repeated, ad infinitum, as Vanna spins the Wheel.

Steve cries desperately to get this diurnal cycle to end with words, but the words:

You're my lover, not my rival

Are not really addressed to DEL at all.

For there is, in point of fact, no DEL to cry out to. Or rather DEL is a construct, a conflation in Steve's mind of his own vivid livng soul (as he percieves it) and the mortality of his body. He is, ultimately, trying desperately to learn to love the decay inherent in his own body and life, and not compete. The lines are repeated as The Wheel turns, in the vain hope that Fortuna will hear those words and stop long enough for those twin facets of Steve's shattered psyche to join in a "Lover's Embrace."

But Dame Fortune is as deaf as she is blind, and the cycle continues. Verse follows chorus again, like the waves crashing endlessly against the rocky cliffs of endless Time.¹⁷

So, I...hope that helped, Ali.

---

1. Fruity as in flavored like fruit, not in the sense of a slur.
2. This is also not meant as a slur, but the night's playlist was, objectively speaking, super-duper gay. Although the dance music cover of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" bordered on Sincere Irony^TM in its brash awfulness.
3. And that's my excuse for leaving the Goonies entry so-half-assedly incomplete after so long.
4. Which, when put that way, sounds oddly awesome to me. It isn't, however, when put into in practice.
5. As evidenced by her baseless accusations of Slogger Self-Urination on my previous post.
6. The most beloved person in the history of Laos, and the face of my Destroyer..
7. I also aopolgize for the not-so-funny alt text. I'm just pleased as punch that I actually figured out how to do alt text.
8. I really did break that mirror, Mom.
9. Okay, I'm officially out of ways to say his name. From now on I will refer to the narrator of the song simply as "Steve."
10. Hope you've been checking the footnotes as you go. The saps who haven't have no idea who Steve is. Losers.
11. You may ask yourself, "Can't it be both?" Well: yes and no.
12. Taken from the e-text of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as edited by J.R.R. Tolkien and E.V. Gordon, and Revised by Norman Davis, which can be found here. The Slog provides credit where credit is due.
13. Taken from a modern translation of the same by W. A. Neilson, which can be found here.
14. Or "colour" as many of Our Friends In Foreign Lands Dealing With a Surplus of Vowels insist on spelling it.
15. Ibid.
16. This blatant untruth should be the canny reader's first clue that the nature of his-or-her own reality is suspect in this narrative. Perhaps The Slog itself is not the Dispenser of Ultimate Truth that it has to-date advertised itself.
17. Well, that ended a little differently than I had originally planned it when I started this blog entry two weeks ago...

A Slog Miscellany

Time to fire up the old "Back From Indefinite Hiatus" tag, as I'm ready and raring to go with another exciting installment of The Slog (now with 50% less Adam Ant references¹).

Today, I thought I'd give a miscellany of random Slogger thoughts, as I am kind of burnt out from Attempting to Make More Money Than I Do Now. Basically, I am in my 30s. Actually, literally, I am in my 30s. And I am tired of living paycheck to paycheck. If that means growing up and selling out, then so be it, but my Spring Resolution² is to improve my financial situation to the point that I can actually afford to purchase the occasional David Bowie CD³ or Jack Kirby Omnibus⁴ without worrying about Not Having Groceries For Five Days.

So, I'm throwing myself into a job hunt. And I'm looking for one that will actually last. It would be a plus if I actually could find one doing something I belived in.⁵ So I'm going to shed my 20-something slacker veneer for the glossy undercoating of a Determined and Successful Member of Society Who Happens To Be Over Thirty. I'll still be the same lovable bum that I've always been. Just not on the clock.⁶

Anyway, on to The Random:

....................

The Chicago Cubs are doing their damnedest to keep me from getting excited about what has the potential, at least on paper, to be The Best Chicago National League Team in my Lifetime.⁷ As detailed elsewhere by people better at writing about the Cubs than I'll ever be, their bench has the potential to break my heart on any given day. Other than, of course, Daryle Ward, who is made entirely of pure concentrated good (like Dick Miller). He's like the McRib in human form⁸

....................

I spent my entire lunch break sitting alone at a conference table with a co-worker's Giant Birthday Cookie⁹ and a plastic knife sitting in front of me. Long story short: I will need to buy new work pants this week.

Impulse control is overrated.

....................

I am officially tired of the cliched storytelling trope (especially in comic books) of "the vampire that hunts other vampires." It's been done. What I'd like to see is a Frankenstein that hunts other Frankensteins.¹⁰

On the moon.

....................

I've heard a few clean limericks in my day, but I've never read a dirty haiku.

....................

I was really looking forward to seeing Carbon/Silicon on Monday, but the show was cancelled. I didn't cry over it, but I was really annoyed for some time. Still waiting for the theiving swine at ticketmaster to refund my money for that. It takes them SEVEN TO TEN days to do this, and they have the nerve to make their processing fee non-refundable? If I can transfer funds from savings to checking in less than 30 seconds at my bank, you'd think they could pay me back for providing me with ABSOLUTELY NOTHING without my having to wait practically a fortnight.

....................

I received a letter for Oprah Winfrey (or, more specifically "Ms. Oprah") today at work. The false rumor that she lives in the building where I work at has apparently made it all the way to Mississippi. I returned it to sender.¹¹ It was labelled "Open, Very Important" and "Open as soon as possible." I sure hope it wasn't Ms. Oprah's prescription or anything. Because that would be unfortunate.

....................

Thank you for stopping by The Slog.

---

1. Not counting this one.
2. Not just for New Years anymore.
3. Heathen would be nice to have.
4. I don't have ANY Fourth World stuff now, for those people planning for my 32^nd birthday (June 5^th). I'm just saying.
5. Although, for the right salary, I'll learn to believe in anything. Except cilantro. Never cilantro.
6. Unless someone wants to pay me in the high five figures to do this for a living (on the off chance an eccentric billionaire reads this).
7. Not saying much. Sort of like being the Funniest Wayans Brother or the Most Sober Pogue.
8. In more ways than one (ZING! Daryle Ward, you've been Slogged!^TM).
9. Save your money and get me Kirby, folks. Just saying...
10. I know, Frankenstein's the Doctor, not the Monster. Pointing it out doesn't make you any smarter, pal.
11. I thought about opening it and reading it, but that's not how I roll.

MySpace Archive: The End of an Era

For the first time in the history of The MySpace Archive, I am not going to begin with the boilerplate intro. This is not just because this is the last one of these I'll ever do, but also because I just don't feel like looking up an entry to copy-paste it.

Besides, now that I have pictures of New Romantics, I've got sevens of readers from Developing Nations,¹ so I need not explain myself anymore.

So this was my response to learning that roughly 50% of my DNA found my MySpace blog while apparently engaging in self-research. There were footnotes in the original,² so I have italicized all of my Special Edition Commentary...and hey, for a lark, I will put them in Arial, that most delicate of fonts.

[Originally posted on Tuesday, January 22, 2008]

So, I have a new reader...

Sorry. No 80s update. Not yet.³

I just had to welcome my blog's newest reader:

Hi, Dad!

Apparently, someone was searching for himself on Google, and my MySpace page was the number three best match. No worries, Dad. We all do that. Some redheaded geek at Purdue⁴ is all over my name's searches, so I feel your pain.

You should have done an image search for your name, man. They're a lot more fun. This guy pops up loud and clear:

Figure 1: David Wolter

I had that hairstyle in 1994, so I can only assume this is a picture of a German guy from 2007. Eep.

Anywhoo, Dad, I suspect you're worried since my last blog mentioned I might write about "my shitty childhood."⁵ Or at the very least Al Davis's ragtag team of roided up cheat-monkeys. Maybe there's some apprehension that I might air out some long-buried grievances or blurt out something unseemly.

Nothing could be further from my goal. Which is, of course, to spew out some random gibberish about some 80s movie in a pseudointellectual manner, toss in some photos and footnotes,⁶ leave in a few typoes so my "friends"⁷ can "gently" correct⁹ me, and then make some tenuous claim about how it influenced my psyche. Which is what 90% of the blogosphere¹⁰ is about.

Anyway, I save all of my genuine trauma and pain for where it belongs: the bar.

So rest assured, this is just simple, good natured idiocy. The kind you've come to accept from Number 1 Son. No malice will you encounter here.

Up next: the thrilling conclusion to The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - The Goonies, or How My Dad Totally Ruined My Life.

There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Admittedly it wasn't so good either.

At any rate, I have heard nothing else from my Dad about either the blog or The Slog. If you're reading this, Dad: I love you. I swear those Christmas gifts are coming soon. At least, as soon as I can finish that damn Goonies post.

---

1. Canada counts as a "Developing Nation," right?
2. Big surpise, huh?
3. Possibly not ever. We'll see, Data fans. We'll see...
4. If you are that geek, and stumbled on this site while googling yourself, well...sorry. There can be only one.
5. Well, my last "MySpace Archive." Obviously my last blog was more concerned with making a lame "Ruptured Chiklis" joke.
6. Like this.
7. By friends, I mean whatever random porn spammers have stumbled upon this page.⁸
8. That really only applies to MySpace. Here, I get people from the Hinterlands searching for "slog in rabbit urine," "Armenian Genocide," and the ever popular "midge ure breathe blogspot."
9. Blog pedantism is one of the few growth industries under the Bush adminstration
10. Don't worry, Dad, it's a made up word. Just roll with it. I did.¹¹
11. Says the guy who used the term "slogosphere" yesterday. God, I'm an ass.

The Whole World Loves Adam Ant, Damn It!

Man, this site's getting image search hits from all over the world just because I put a photo of Gozer the Destructor (in the form of Adam Ant, circa 1981) in one of my posts. Who knew the demand was so high? Apparently, Southeast Asia and large swaths of Africa long for photos of the leaders of the New Romantic movement.

So, in a shameless attempt to boost my hit count (and become The Next Big Thing in Malaysia), here you go, Third World. A trip down Synthpop Memory Lane:

First up is the ever stylish Midge Ure and his fabulous moustache. Ultravox is the probably the first band to have a hit on the pop charts with a lead singer that looks like a maître d' in a Peter Sellers comedy.

"Would sir care to see the wine list?"

Who doesn't love Spandau Ballet? Apparently their hairdresser. Who was probably the guy from Flock of Seagulls. This actually looks disturbingly like a yearbook photo.

"TRUE!!!!"

Remember Japan? I'm sure anyone searching from Manchuria does!¹ Trivia: judging by this photo, a cane-brandishing Melanie Griffith joined the band in 1980.

A Candid Moment on the set of Working Girl

What the hell happened to Boy George? Seriously. What. The. Hell? I'm hoping someone in Senegal wants to know.

I DEFY you to name everything wrong with this picture.

Okay, Duran Duran. I'm not going to make fun of Duran Duran. Their name comes from a softcore sci-fi skin flick starring Jane Fonda. Which, conceptionally speaking, rules. Also, two words: Seven. Andtheraggedtiger.² The only real downside is, thanks to A View To A Kill, they occasionally make the image of Roger Moore schtupping Grace Jones pop into my head...³

"Sorry about that, Wolter"

Also, I have recently become aware of a little known requirement by blogger.com: if you have a blog, and you mention baseball, you must post a picture of Alyssa Milano in her cutesy little Dodger gear at least once a year. So this is as good a place as any:

There. Are you satisfied, Blogger?

Which reminds me, I have a lot of issues with the show "Charmed," which I may⁴ address here at a later date. Or in therapy.

---

1. Everybody loves a good relatively obscure War Atrocity joke! Right, guys? Next entry, I'll be referencing the Armenian Genocide under Ottoman Rule!
2. Sorry. I know. I cheated. It's technically one word and a number.
3. Yeah. I know. It probably wasn't fair for me to mention that. I apologize for putting that image in your mind.
4. I hate to make any promises, as I already feel like I've let down every single fan of The Goonies.

About Me, Addendum #2

So, a coworker and I were discussing Ghostbusters earlier today (big surprise, huh?), and he asked me what form I would want my Destroyer to take.

I thought about this for less than three seconds, and promptly replied:

"Adam Ant."

Adam. Ant.

Less. Than. Three. Seconds.

I guess it beats a large and moving Torg or giant Slor. But not by enough.