Saturday, June 25, 2011

Rhea's Defective Internal Jukebox: Skid Row (in general)

Ever find yourself defending the indefensible simply because it seemed like a good idea in a silly moment?  Most likely you have – it’s part and parcel of being in a relationship that’s still got some fun left in the tank.  Yesterday, while playing Mario Kart Wii, I referred to Waluigi as a “dicknose.”  Not exactly a moment for the resume, I grant you, but that gawky bastard threw about five different types of koopa shells at me just as I was about to win the race.  The following then transpired:

Rhea: Dicknose?!  Really?

Me: Yeah.  Dicknose.  You know, like Sebastian Bach has.

I then found myself spending the next few hours maintaining that the former Skid Row front man had a rather phallic snout.  In reality, he does not.  What he has is an album that sits on my hard drive, ready to be burned once every few months when Rhea loses yet another one.  I have never listened to this album; sorry, but the MTV videos that were on every thirty seconds back when I was fifteen or so were enough, thanks.  Besides which, I was a dude: while I’m sure the Iron Maiden I enjoyed contemporaneously (and still do) was no less cheesy, it was…well, it was less pretty-boy, damn it.  When you’re fifteen, that counts for something.  When you’re thirty-seven, well, it’s still kind of fun to call the pretty boy a dicknose every now and then.  Stay true to your roots, folks.  Death to false metal.  Something like that.

So, right, not really a dicknose.  The alcoholic face bloat wasn't discussed.

Initially, I briefly entertained the thought of finally listening to the album of Bach’s former band that festers away on my hard drive and reviewing it in this space, but then I thought of “18 and Life” and immediately smacked myself upside the head.  So here goes, darling: I promise to stop calling Sebastian Bach a dicknose if you’ll swear I never have to hear “18 and Life” or watch its video again in my life.  “Youth Gone Wild” we can bargain over, especially if adult beverages are involved.

Good.  Now that we’ve reached an understanding about this cheesy nonsense, I can get back to listening to Foreigner 4 in peace.

(Good night, darling.  Hope you feel better tomorrow!)

1 comment:

  1. In my defense, I was a fourteen year old girl when the album in question was released, and I was certainly no prize at the time. But when I listened to it, I could pretend to be cool, at least for a little while, and that made all the difference. When I enjoy (and believe me, enjoy it I do) this cheese-tastic, cringe-worthy album in its entirety as an adult listener, I'm sure I'm channeling that cool again. Spike and I will continue to sing it from the top of our lungs, unapologetically. (But thank you for keeping an extra copy on-hand, at all times, for those emergency situations.) I love you, you-know-who!