I don't know about you, but I'm simply a flutter about the new show, "Hit Me Baby One More Time". I'm all about seeing what ever happened to the people that sang the songs that have been the soundtrack of my life.
Sometimes they still look and sound great and it's like stepping back in time to the front seat of that Chevette where my boyfriend Dale taught me what love ain't on junior prom night. But unfortunately, sometimes it's nothing nice, Baby.
I don't know what happened to these people! I mean seriously. They have totally gotten old. (Unlike this author, who thanks to the magic of bad lighting and refusing to look at myself in the mirror while wearing glasses, still looks twenty-three.) They have wrinkles, pot bellies and in several instances, very little hair. I won't even talk about what has happened to their voices.
OK. I will talk about it.
I don't know whether it's the years of doing superstar drugs that we all know they do but for which they are never punished, or perhaps it's just the effect time can have on the old vocal chords. Whatever the problem, some of these people just cannot sing!
Which begs the question...could they ever sing? Were we a bunch of deaf people back in the 80's? Did we damage our eardrums listening to AC/DC way too loud and therefore couldn't distinguish between a talented singer and the sound a cat makes when you give it an enema. (Not that I've given a cat an enema lately, but I'm going to make an educated guess that the sound it would emit might be somewhat unpleasant.)
And the songs we listened to! I'm near embarrassed to tell you that one of my favorites was, "Word Up". In fact, I loved Cameo so much it's a mystery to me I didn't have my first husband wear a cod piece at our wedding. Who am I kidding? I still love the stupid song and I'll probably be listening to it when I'm 104 and shaking my jello-jiggler type behind all around the nursing home my ungrateful children will undoubtedly throw me in. (Note to self: do not get in the car with kids when you are 104.)
Another artist I was way crazy about is Vanilla Ice. He was mad gorgeous and dripping with the bad boy vibes that made good girls like me want to stop, collaborate and listen. I'll admit I was a little nervous about seeing my Vanilla boy on the show, though. I so did not want to watch him waddle out in polyester pants with a beer gut and a traveling preacher comb over.
Let's just say the man has been sleeping in a rapper sized Ziploc baggie or something 'cause he still looks exactly the way he did back in the day... and thankfully sounds the same as well. Hopefully he'll fill out the very short application that is required to get on my "Husband's of the Future" waiting list, because I would love to wake up every day and hear him whisper, "word to your mother".
Hit Me Baby One More Time is the cat's meow and I encourage you to check it out, if for no other reason than you'll feel like a kid again. It's been more than just a form of entertainment for me actually as I've learned a couple valuable lessons after watching it.
Lesson number one: God really did me a favor when he decided I couldn't be Mrs. Loverboy in 1983. Apparently LoverBoys do not keep well over time. I'm thinking they should possibly get in touch with Vanilla Ice and find out where he gets his Ziploc nocturnal sleeping chamber.
Lesson number two: I need to visit my physician immediately to find out if they offer a cure for what happens as a result of prolonged and excess use of Final Net Extra Super Dooper Hold hair spray. All I know is Flock of Seagulls had hair twenty years ago... boy did they. And now look at them. They are the Flock of Bald on Top Seagulls, which I believe were recently added to our nation's endangered species list.
I'm going right now to throw out my hair spray and stare at my scalp in the mirror.
Copyright 2004-2005, Sherri Bailey
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