Oy There Matey....We Gonna Party Like It Was 1980

Know what I love and miss? The synthesizer-driven music of the 80's that always seemed so carefree and peppy.

Pop music and fashion are such cyclical affairs--usually averaging a recycled trend every 2 decades. Well, it's been over 20 years and the 80's sound is re-emerging in a big way.

Sadly, so are stirrup pants, leg warmers, checkered Vans, bubble skirts, and shirts with faux vests sewn onto the front. I witnessed all of those fashion atrocities at the mall last week along with Kangaroo shoes (Remember those? They have a useful zippered pocket on the sides.) and roving herds of wannabe punks wearing Sex Pistol T-shirts and fluorescent-tipped mohawks.

I have a love affair with all things Australian that I can barely comprehend let alone articulate. I love their culture, history, landscape, and most of all, their music. Not coincidentally, I've discovered two fantastic 80's-inspired groups via XM Satellite Radio, and both of whom hail from Australia.

Empire Of The Sun channels a distinct OMD/Psychedelic Furs vibe while Cut Copy could pass themselves off as New Order's kid brothers.

If you need me, I'll be here dutifully pegging my turquoise acid wash jeans and layering up multi-colored socks.

EMPIRE OF THE SUN- WALKING ON A DREAM (3:20)

CUT COPY- HEARTS ON FIRE (3:42)

HERE'S THE OFFICIAL VIDEO FOR THE CUT COPY SONG. YOUTUBE DISABLED THE EMBEDDING FEATURE.

You Should Never Sing Wildfire At The Top Of Your Lungs In A Crowded Movie Theater...........

I think that qualifies as a federal offense or something.

I didn't intend to make this an all-classic rock-all-the-time theme week. Maybe I was unknowingly possessed by the ghost of a 1970's radio DJ during the night and he's controlling my every move. That would go a long way towards explaining why I wanted to dress up in a crochet vest today and why I keep asking everyone-even the dog- "Hey baby, what's your sign?"

When I was a little whippersnapper my mom had the sheet music to Wildfire. We spent many hours of my youth wailing for Wildfire along with the earnest Michael Martin Murphey. My mom and I also sang the Bumblebee Tuna jingle over and over. Bum-Bum-Bumblebee, Bumblebeeeee Tuuunnnaaa.......... I think she was grooming me to land some commercial work and bring home either a check or a lifetime supply of canned Bumblebee Tuna.

Anyway, I ran calling Wiiiilllldfiiiiire so often that I'm surprised I wasn't branded by the neighborhood residents as The Girl Who Cried Wildfire. No, we didn't live on Yellow Mountain. I think those people got accustomed to a lady screaming "Wildfire!" a long time ago.

There's a particularly memorable line from that song that goes:
There's been a hoot-owl howling by my window now
For six nights in a row
She's coming for me, I know
And on Wildfire we're both gonna go

When the oldest of my mini-Infidels were younger we had a scintillating discussion about owls because an owl family decided to nest in the tree right outside their bedroom window.
The conversation turned towards that line in Wildfire. I explained that Michael Martin Murphey (Seriously, that name is so freakin long. Why can't we just call him MMM?) wrote that because according to Indian legend, an owl perched outside your window means that somebody is going to croak off and croak off soon.

That was a big mistake. One that should be chronicled into the humongous tome filled with my sometime appalling parenting skills.

The three of them were terrified of sleeping in their rooms because with every piercing Hoo-Hoo of the owl they grew more and more certain that signified death swooping in to take them away.

So traumatic. When I was a child I was terrified of owls, too. But that's only because I knew they couldn't be trusted to be honest with you if you gave them your Tootsie Roll pop and asked them to tell you how many licks it takes to get to the center.

The owl family eventually took their Hoot-a-Palooza across the street to our neighbors. They have a magnificent oak tree with branches that extend towards the heavens and a trunk big enough to shield me when I duck behind it to avoid the Boy Scouts peddling popcorn on our street. It's far superior to our lowly pine. Snobby owls.

So there you have it. Need a guest room? Import some owls to live in your trees and then tell the Indian Legend of Certain Death to your smallish children. They'll refuse to ever step foot back in that room again and you'll have gained valuable bedroom space.

Michael Martin Murphey On Letterman Performing Wildfire

*Holy freak, MMM aged really well. He retired his 70's blond bob look that he stole from Toni Tennille along with his puka shell necklace and he now looks like a respectable older cowboy. A cowboy that wears impractical non-weatherproofed fringe suede, but you know. He should have passed his ten-gallon cowboy hat around the audience to take up a collection. Maybe MMM made a lot of money selling Wildfire to the glue factory at the same time he was selling copies of the Wildfire song and doesn't need the cash that bad. Who knows? He ran calling, whooooo will buy Wildfire..........He ran calling, whooooo will buy Wildfire.......*

Hey, It's A Flashback Wednesday Without The Actual Flashing Part!

Uh yeah, this is a Flashback Flash-Free Zone. No clothing will be removed because we don't have to take our clothes off, to have a good time, oh no.

So then, right there in front of all our congregated bloggy sisters, I blurted out to my friend Millie, "Hey Millie, everytime I hear that song, I Wanna Kiss You All Over, I think about YOU!"

She giggled nervously.

See, awhile back Millie had the funniest blog post where she pointed out that growing up, us 30-40 somethings didn't have any clue what animal/mineral/or vegetable was cranking out the hot top 40 tunes we heard on our radio. In the days before MTV, music was strictly an auditory experience unless you went to concerts or watched variety shows on TV. Anyway, after catching a glimpse of some of the original artists singing the original songs we all know and love, Millie discovered that perhaps radio was the safest place for them and for us, too. She once famously wrote, "Oh my heavens.........after I saw those guys from Exile, it made I Wanna Kiss You All Over seem like a horrible threat."

EXILE- I WANNA KISS YOU ALL OVER

If you can get beyond the unfortunate set designed by Lippy Lippinschitz you'll notice the bangs-wearing lead singer who appears to be a cross between a walking stick bug with an Uncle Rico face and a human metronome. Witness how he tick-tocks back and forth in his smoooooth Sansabelt polyester pants while keeping perfect time with the funky rhythm. But really, the giant lip minefield littering the stage? Are they the remnants of some Mick Jagger lip perfection experiments gone horribly awry? Maybe they borrowed them from the props department at Steven Tyler's Sharty Like A Rockstar Academy.

On the left of Uncle Rico circa 1978 is the bearded guy who didn't look quite "brotherly" enough to fit into The Doobie Brothers.....or The Bellamy Brothers.....or The Righteous Brothers, so he had to join up with Exile. I bet those nice Jonas Brothers would have given him some band member asylum.

To the right of our lead singer is obviously the mustachioed stunt double for John Oates who was hired to shield John from the ladies flinging their panties onstage at Daryl Hall. Nobody wants to lose an eye whether they be Private Eyes or otherwise.

You HAVE to watch the entire video to appreciate the very non-charismatic backup musicians in Exile. Their zombie faces are more glazed over than an entire bakery stuffed full of glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Remember the robotic animal band at Chuck E. Cheese that sang Happy Birthday to you that year you turned 9? Well, guess what? The guys from Exile were actually the ones performing underneath those furry costumes. Surprise!

WALTER EGAN- MAGNET & STEEL

Oh how many countless times I've breathlessly told my Papi, "You are a magnet and I am steel." I've seriously always loved this song. I never bothered to look up Walter Egan on youtube until last week. It's quite apparent that Walter Egan's stylist based his onstage persona to resemble that of a sinister-looking Shirley Temple ventriloquist doll. Yeah, it was the 70's. Yes, I know that a lot of men during that era wore make-up combined with navel-grazing satin shirts and white bell bottom ensembles. Sadly, only toothy Andy Gibb or David Cassidy could pull off those dapper disco looks.

If Walter Egan had told me that I was a magnet and he was steel, I'd of had to have myself promptly demagnetized.

Next up we'll explore the secret life of Dave Loggins. Was he simply an innocent, starry-eyed troubadour pining away for his love to "Please Come To Boston" or was he really a secret agent working for the Travel And Tourism Commission?

I Spent 3 Bucks On Some Old Bread Yesterday........And It Was Absolutely Delicious!

Behold the power of a few slices of mighty, mighty white Bread! I used to think that Bread was stale and on a one-way course to the depths of the crusty crouton drawer. Lately, though, I've rediscovered just how healthy a nice serving of cheese dished out by Bread can be.

Sure Bread may not be the appetizer of choice on every iPod listener's menu, but they fill up my ears as well as my soul..........this is the only kind of Bread recommended for those on The Atkins Diet.

I've been fighting an unseen elevator music force for two years now. Wherever I roam, Bread's song, "Everything I Own" follows me. It's gotten to a point that my mini-Infidels know all the words. After the initial shock of being stalked by a seemingly innocuous Bread song, they now giggle as I enter a store and inevitably "Everything I Own" ALWAYS begins emitting down from the overhead speakers. I've even heard it blaring from my phone as I've sat on hold. What can I do? I just decided to surrender myself to that song and download it for myself. There must be some kind of hidden message in it that the Universe is trying to get through to me.

Three Dollars Bought Me Three Tasty Bread Loaves:

Everything I Own

Goodbye Girl

It Don't Matter To Me

(I tried to waggle my eyebrows suggestively at Papi while softly whispering, "I Want To Make It With You." He didn't get it. I wonder if Bread ever recorded in Spanish back in the 70's like ABBA did?)

I'm Still Dressing The Same Way I Did In The 80's.......My "Look" Was Inspired By Revenge Of The Nerds

Okay, every Sunday I thumb through the glossy newspaper ad supplements from the various stores. Lately I've noticed a disturbing trend emerging that confirms my hypothesis that the American fashion merchants are launching a conspiratorial plot to unload all the 70's crap they didn't sell the first time around.
You, as a consumer, have the power to stand against such tyrranical clothing evil. Just say NO! to gauzy peasant blouses, ultra cameltoe-inducing gaucho pants, halter-styled jumpsuits, tab collars, cork-wedge platform sandals, and polyester tops with gaudy patterns on it.
Listen, us Infidels have been listening to a lot of Euro music lately and the accompanying videos show a starkly different trend spreading across Europe. From the skinny ties, colored belts, suspenders, and striped T-shirts with colored blazers it's obvious that they're embracing all things circa 1983.
They're bringing 80's back......yeah! So if you suddenly get a hankering for something retro, make sure you set your closet time machine to bypass the 70's era completely.

The oldest mini-Infidel daughters find themselves completely enamored by this group from Denmark called Alphabeat. Think of a Scandinavian version of a Disney High School Musical production with upbeat song material and backed by an unstoppably perky band: That's Alphabeat. The paired boy/girl lead singers ooze super adorability and charm. They're also both too young to have lived the 80's experience. Yet all their videos show that unmistakeable 80's vibe going on.
ALPHABEAT- FASCINATION 3:02

We're also really loving an English band called Black Kids. They're sporting the patented Mr. Rogers pullover cardigan style and belted jumper dresses along with a distinct New Wave-ish sound. One word of caution: casually telling people that you're listening to "The Black Kids" might lead them to some interesting assumptions about you and your racial viewpoints.
BLACK KIDS- I'M NOT GONNA TEACH YOUR BOYFRIEND HOW TO DANCE WITH YOU 3:39

Our favorite Black Kids song!
BLACK KIDS- LOOK AT ME WHEN I ROCK WHICHOO 4:12

As if I needed more evidence to add to my case that the 80's will rise again-check out the Swatch watch knockoffs I scored at Walgreens Drug Store for $2.99. The picture on the left shows my broken, crumbling Swatch watches that cost a hefty $35-50 bucks back in the Swatch heyday. Now look at the Walgreens watches. Do you see much of a difference aside from the huge pricing gap? Nope, neither do I.

You know what time it is? It's 80's time, fool! The store ads may be full of models wearing clothing that appears as though it's straight from the Sonny & Cher collection, but I believe that most consumers are going to shun that and adopt the mantra, "It's 2008 and we think the 80's are great!"
So, Izod Lacoste is back. Checkered Vans are back. Leggings under mini-skirts are back. It's only a matter of time before we're wearing the doofy vest look again with our layered socks while showing off our Steve Perry-inspired mullet hair.

(We're also grooving Infidel-style to this group called Morandi. Apparently, they're the preeminent Romanian pop/techno sound of the moment. Anyway, I swear to you when I saw THIS VIDEO all I could think of was the possible but remote theory that George and Andrew dropped a few love children when touring Romania back in the 80's because these two guys from Morandi are freakin WHAM! incarnate.)

The Smiling Infidel Drags Private Dancing Onto A Public Blog

I'd like to say that we are a strange but wonderful family whose minds work in strange but wonderful ways.......but the truth is that we're a whole lot more strange than anything else.

Does anybody remember that over-the-top dramatic Tina Turner song from the mid-80's called 'Private Dancer'? I've harbored a very unhealthy Private Dancer fixation since first watching the cheese-a-rific video during my formative years. The shamelessly shimmying Tina shaking it for a dollar really left an indelible stain on my psyche. Of course, these are the kinds of memories that beg to be passed on and shared with the next generation lest they forget the magical oddities of 80's music.......

I've had entire conversations with my kids centered around Private Dancer. Yes, it's true. We've created a Private Dancer back story, a Private Dancer future, and we've tried to answer all manner of Private Dancer questions and implausibilities. Here's a transcript sampling of our scintillating Private Dancer conversation from yesterday:
Sunbum (oldest Infidel daughter): "How come it just costs a dollar? How can she possibly pay her bills when she only earns a buck a dance?"
Me: "More importantly, who puts a dollar on their American Express card? Wouldn't the guy's wife wonder what all the dollar charges marked P.D. are on their monthly statements?"
Sunbum: "Well, maybe the Private Dancer studio is next door to the Dollar Store so the guy can lie and say he blew all the money there."
Me: "I'd like to print up some business cards that say 'Elasticwaistbandlady.....Your Private Dancer'."
Sunbum: "Uhhh Mom, I've seen you dance. You can only be a Private Dancer because nobody wants to see those moves out in public."

Private Dancer obsession has spilled over into other parts of our daily life, too. Every Tuesday I make the long sojourn out to the rural outskirts of Houston for one of my jobs. I often take one of my older daughters with me. Each week we drive past this hand-made posterboard sign taped onto a light pole advertising a place that will provide ponies for your party. In big, bold letters the sign states "We Rent Ponies By The Hour." The sign always makes us feel sad for the ponies being pimped out at an hourly rate like they're some kind of equine prostitute. Whenever we pass by the pony advertisement my girls and I start singing,"I'm your private pony....a pony for money, I'll do what you want me to do.....just a private pony, a pony for money and any old horse feed will doooo."

You know how it's perfectly acceptable within the realm of your own family or encircled by your friends to feel totally comfortable to say/do whatever weird thing pops into your mind without restraint? Yeah, well, sometimes the things you say/do in the comfort zone spills over into the not-so-comfortable zone.

Case in point, there's a lot of deer herds milling around while I'm out working on Scenic Country Roads Tuesday. We never fail to stop and oooh and ahhh over the deer because they're just so stinkin cute though admittedly they're not very bright; but what they lack in brain power they make up for in beauty. As we came across a bunch of deer standing around next to the road, guess what song started playing on my XM Satellite Radio? YES! It was Private Dancer time!! Naturally I stopped my truck so Sunbum and I could gaze at the beauteous deer and then I began serenading them, singing Private Dancer with fervent gusto! I alternated between singing and preaching to the deer as I told them not to be suckered into becoming anyone's Private ANTLER because they are worth so much more than that. Sunbum was in the backseat struggling with manic fits of laughter because while I counseled the deer into avoiding the seedy Private Antler lifestyle I neglected to notice the burly but smiling homeowner standing in his driveway just a few feet away listening to my every word and every song note. Ooops.

Hopefully, that homeowner takes my words to heart as he ponders upon my sage advice. If I can save just one flannel-shirted redneck man from engaging in the thankless Private Dancer trade then my public embarrassment will have all been worth it!

I'm Old As Dirt And Dirt Poor, Too

Do you know what happens when you start getting old? You give up the pretentious music snob act and just admit that you groove to Herb Alpert and the lusty sounds of his Tijuana Brass Band. You finally admit that you own Tony Orlando's Greatest Hits CD and can croon every single line of 'Knock 3 Times.' And for some cruel and unknown reason you admit that you can't stop thinking about Chuck Mangione 25 years past his music prime.

Chuck Mangione-Give It All You Got

This song is dedicated to fellow moldy oldie, Millie, who surprisingly enough has never heard of it despite having renditions performed by Leon Russell, Charlie Rich, Dwight Yoakam, and Elvis Presley. I kept singing one of the main lines from the song all last week.....last week when I was still a sprightly 33! It goes "My heart keeps telling me, you're not a kid at 33." Ain't that the truth, Danny.

Danny O'Keefe- Good Time Charlie's Got The Blues

If you need me I'll be over at the Regal Beagle with my Macrame Mamas Club where I'll be showing off pictures of my newly decorated home that features a mushroom motif and all new harvest gold appliances. Shazam!

What A Bunch Of Freakin Posers!

My mom had this annoyingly competitive friend she left behind in our podunk Indiana town as we joined the Yankee mass exodus to Texas in 1984. My mom used to receive frequent letters from her detailing the very model of perfection and hallowed goodness her two children embodied. My mom's friend delighted in filling page after page with announcements like how the fruit of her loins had just won the Lifetime Golly Gee You're Neat-O Achievement Award and would we please consider sending a monetary donation to ensure that her kids can make their annual summer pilgrimage with the church down to Mexico to show the poor, impoverished little brown children how to change their pathetic lives by becoming super Neat-O mini-replicas of her own fantastical offspring? Yeah.

My poor mom didn't have much ammunition to combat her with, either. I mean, having a slacker daughter who's on the high school bowling team doesn't exactly lend itself to bragging rights. I was also a proud member of Amnesty International- Well, only because I thought brooding guys in black T-shirts that listened to The Smiths and Charlatans UK were teh awesome. They really should have been credited with the title, 'Godfathers Of EMO' and established Robert Smith as their patron saint.

So, one day while driving through the next neighborhood over from us, we both had an epiphany. There, standing before us, like a giant, looming beacon screaming out "Hey, It Smells Like Team Spirit!", we saw it-- a yard filled with signs, and all of them with my name emblazoned upon them. My mom had me pose smack in the middle of the glory field. A few staged pictures later and she could now tell her friend that I was not only a cheerleader, but also the captain of the track team, a member of National Honor Society, and on the Country Club's elite swim team........and then silently pray that her friend would never get a sudden yearning to come visit us. In keeping with my family's shameless traditions, I made my children pose for Easter pictures at our neighbor's house last week because their grass is greener and their azaleas are in bloom. Meanwhile my yard is in some sort of crunchy brown haze and everything but my trusty, no-fail dianthus are on a blooming strike. Yeah, I'm going to pass my neighbor's yard off as my own this year to long-distance friends and family who don't know any better. I gave up lying for the Lent season, but by the time these cards go out, Lent will be over. Keep on moving, there's no sin to see here. Nope, none at all........

(Okay, the Lent thing is a lie. We're not even Catholic.)

*Clicking on humor-blogs.com for me will release all the guilt and stress you've been feeling lately*

Another Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week!

Sometimes we get a little restless here at La Casa De Infidel and we look for ways to improve our quality of life. Recently, we devised an amusing remedy to cure perpetual radio boredom by translating the lyrics of popular music into a customized "lolinfidel" speak accompanied by an occasional dramatic interpretation of said lyrics.

This week we've focused in on mocking discussing the possible hidden meaning behind everyone's favorite lite rock classic, 'Broken Wings' as performed by the original lite rock maestros, Mr. Mister. Frankly, there's precious few things in this life more tragic than Broken Wings. Although, some periods of time makes broken wings a lot more tragic than others.
Baby, I think tonight we can TAPE what was wrong and make it right.....
So TAPE these broken wings.....
And learn to fly again, learn to live so freeeeee.....
Oh, TAAAPPPPE these broken wings.........
(Notice I left out the stomach-churning line about the "flesh and blood that makes us whole" because I do have some sort of decency standards)

Disclaimer:
*This was an Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week dramatization done by professional winged maxi-pad handlers. Do not attempt this at home. Usage of actual broken/taped winged products may result in pain and discomfort much like listening to Winger's Greatest Hits. Wearing of the product shown above also causes unexpected pulling and tugging symptoms linked to involuntary bikini line baldness.*

The napkins are always sanitary at humor-blogs.com

Break-Dancin Around The Christmas Tree Have A Happy Holiday....

While everyone around us appears quite content to listen to round-the-clock Christmas music on our local radio stations, us Infidels decided that we had to make a wish, take a chance, make a change, and break away.

If you've been infected with the cornball schlock syndrome that can only come from repeated exposure to 'Christmas Shoes' I've got the anti-dote for you.

This video takes us way back to the early 90's via an old skool boombox and cassette tape where hula-hoop sized gold bamboo earrings was king and you weren't nothin without a weave or hair fade.

Armand Van Helden-I Want Your Soul [3:21]

Enjoy!

*Not responsible for any overwhelming urges you may experience to go and graffiti your hood while wearing some sort of shimmery hot pant/satin jacket combo*

I Wonder If The Apache Tribe Made A Special Sugarhill Gang Totem Pole To Honor Them?

I didn't mean to pry. I really didn't. But it was recently revealed unto me that one of my dearest friends has led a deprived life stripped of the soaring joy one can only experience through the magic of The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air breaking it down Apache-style with his cousin Carlton. How can I possibly stand idly by while a friend is in need of an emergency pop culture injection? Millie Chicken, Elastic sends this long-distance dedication to you in the hopes that it will act as a little ray of sunshine piercing through the gray Washington skies. Jump on it, Kemosabe!

[1:17]

Joey Ramone Once Said "Sheena Is A Punk Rocker!"

Know what today is? Well do you? It's the World's First Ever Sheena Easton Tribute Day! Yay! We're going to celebrate all that is the magical wonderment of this Scottish 80's superstar turned present day Scooby Doo voice-over actress. Remember, this is 'For Your Eyes Only,' you lucky, lucky Smiling Infidel readers.

Come, 'Strut' right over here and let's talk about 'The Lover In Me,' because 'We've Got Tonight....... Who Needs Tomorrow?' I ate a deli sandwich for breakfast- So, if you want, we could talk about 'The Liver In Me,' instead. Has anyone ever told you that, 'U Got The Look, You Must Have Took A Whole Hour Just To Make Up Your Face?' Oooh la la, that extra layer of Chapstick and the smell of your hemorrhoid cream is HAWT! Perhaps, we should just chat on the 'Telefone,' since 'My Baby Takes The Morning Train,' and he could come strolling in at any minute. No, you perv- My baby does jump on the morning train, but Thomas The Tank Engine ain't got nothing to do with it. Would you care for a snack? How about a taste of my 'Sugar Walls?' Yeah, in my spare time I build model doughnut shop replicas out of nothing but sugar cubes. It's a gift. My other hobbies include competitive eating and champion leapfrogging. Sadly, the two sports vastly contradict each other. When I play leapfrog with my baby, he always loses and decries, "I was 'Almost Over You!'" Almost, but not quite. Poor thing.

Wait.....where are you going? To the Anne Murray Tribute down at the next blog? Traitor. 'You Could Have Been With Me' and Sheena Easton. At least I can count on Prince and Kenny Rogers sticking around for my Sheena Easton Tribute. Their royalty checks depend on it.......

Better Never Sing 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' To Heather, Because She Will!

Every since my oldest mini-Infidel and I heard news reports about the former Mrs. McCartney, Heather Mills, savagely beating Sir Paul over the head with her prosthetic leg in a fit of rage, we've worked it into an endless amount of jokes. (I bet 64 year old Paul never anticipated this turn of events when he wrote his song 'When I'm 64)

Our favorite? Well, whenever the radio plays 'Legs' by the legendary bearded H-Town band, ZZ TOP, we start giggling about Heather Mills. I always thought that song trite and stupid. I mean, I've got legs, and I'd venture to say that the overwhelming majority of women do. Do I know how to use them? Certainly I do. To stroll to the counter at the Donut Shop. To chase my laughing mini-Infidels in an effort to recapture my bra that they're wearing as a hat. To conduct human hair growth experiments to see how long the leg hair gets in between shavings. For serious things too, like putting both legs in so I can do the Hokey-Pokey and turn myself around. There's just no limit to the uses for my lower limbs.

So, um, Heather Mills also has legs, prosthetic or otherwise, and boy, does she know how to use them! We silently dedicate 'Legs' to Heather each time we hear it, and we even have our own made-up choreography where we flail our arms up and down in a chopping motion. Maybe she was really influenced by John Mellencamp's song 'Get A Leg Up,' well, before she brought it crashing down on a Wing-less man.

(In case anyone thinks I'm grossly insensitive, I thought Heather did an amazingly fantastic job on Dancing With The Stars)

This Georgie Porgie Pudding Pie Will Never Be Accused Of Kissing The Girls And Making Them Cry!

As usual, I'm just getting a little behind on premiering this very special edition of Gay Tuesday Wednesday. That's okay, though, because there's nothing in this world that Mr. George Michael loves more than getting a little behind!

George Michael is a tragic reminder that I lack the possession of a supernatural 'Sixth Sense' gift. No, I'm not talking about seeing dead people, I'm referring to my non-existent Sixth Sense Gaydar system. I can't see dead people. I can't see gay people. I can't even see dead gay people. Liberace could be haunting my house at this very moment and I wouldn't even know it. :( Before I settled down and became the right-wing zealot I am today, I used to live with two gay guys who teased me endlessly whenever we'd play a rousing guessing game of 'Gay Or Nay?' When George Michael sashayed into our conversation, I vociferously defended his heterosexual honor only to have my roommates giggle at me and declare, "Oh Lissa, you're so innocent." How did they know? How could they see beyond the macho exterior squeezed into delicious butt-hugging jeans? Of course, they were spot on about George and kept their perfect 'Gay Or Nay?' game point average.

So, fellow Gay Warriors, as you head out on this glorious Gay Tuesday Wednesday Hump Day on your mission to reclaim all that is gay and rainbow bright back for the common masses of happy humanity, just remember these sage words from our featured musician of the day and his song, 'Monkey,' "Why do I have to share love with a monkey, a monkey....aye, aye, aye aye?" Simply prophetic.

Happy Gay Hump Day!

Songs In The Key Of Golly Gee!

Today's edition of Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week has special audio visual accoutrement provided in the sidebar located to your right and linkies down below. I've implemented its use for the benefit of all you young whippersnapper readers who won't have a freakin clue what song I'm referencing since it likely dates back to a time before time when the advent of MTV had not yet come to fruition. Read about a song you don't recognize? Clickety on the titles for your musical enlightenment.
First off, I'm snickering at the mere title of "Mungo Jerry's Greatest Hits!" Did they really have another chart topping success outside of their groovy 'saltshaker' song, 'In The Summertime?' The eldest of the mini-Infidel daughters vehemently dislike this song because of the sexist attitude displayed within. Most people treat it as a mindless summer anthem, but the lyric "If her Daddy's rich,take her out for a meal. If her Daddy's poor, just do what you feel," really raises the hackles on feminists and caste system abolitionists alike. The girls asked me about their own Daddy and what kind of treatment they could expect on a date. Well, we're not rich or poor. We're just your average stuck-in-the-middle, run-of-the-mill, middle class folk. Mungo Jerry didn't even bother to share his sage words of advise for us middle class people. Whatever shall we do without his prophetic guidance and counsel? I told my girls that we could play a rousing game of fill in the blank. So now, whenever we hear the song played on the radio, we sing it various ways. Including:
"If her Daddy's middle class, she'll have a moustache!" (we can't afford electrolysis:(
"If her Daddy's middle class, you can pass some gas!"
"If her Daddy's middle class, take her out to Dumass!"(<------a local taco place)

Want to know my innermost secret that's filled me with guilt and shame since childhood? It all stems from the country crossover song, "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." When that cocky young Johnny accepts the fiddle throwdown challenge from the Devil, I silently cheer for the Devil. Yes, it's true, I'm one of Satan's Cheerleaders. I can't help it, the Devil's sassy contribution to the fiddle faceoff is smoking hot and dare I say, downright sexy? Whereas, to my ears, Johnny really doesn't demonstrate a fiddle hoedown mastery on a level much above that of a paunchy Oak Ridge Boys cover band playing at a high school square dance. I prefer Devil Food cake over Angel Food cake too. My soul is doomed.

I'm a little musical conundrum. Yes, I am! Resting next to my dark and broody NIN and Korn CD's, Dan Fogelberg's smiling face provides a stark contrast. I adore him. Anyway, my mom harbored a strange fixation for Butter Rum candies; constantly lining our candy dish with them. For years, I sang along with Dan's "Leader Of The Band," wrongly crooning, "And the BUTTER RUMS in my instrument, and a song is in my soul." I always contemplated how messy it must be to play an instrument stuffed full of butter rum candies, but never did I think that I understood the lyrics wrong. Turns out, they read, "And the BLOOD runs through my instrument." Well, that's just downright icky. What? Does Dan know of some kind of Texas Chainsaw Massacre Marching Band? No, I'll always prefer to think of sweet little butter rum yummies nestled up inside their instrument of choice.

It took 20 years and the enlisted aid of an Internet lyrics page to decipher what the heck Chrissy Hynde is belting out in her strangely pitched voice. You know that song, "Back On The Chain Gang?" There's a verse that goes, "Brings me to my knees when I see what they've done to you." I've sung it as "Bring me some MAYONNAISE when I see what they've done to you," for two whole freakin decades! I mean, I like mayonnaise as much as the next gal, but I thought professing a love for the creamy condiment in the middle of a serious song seemed misguided.

And finally, an original lite rock favorite from the original lite rock artist . Not even "I'd Really Love To See You Tonight," could escape my befuddled lyric interpretation skills. When England Dan tells his lady love, "I'm not talkin bout movin in, and I don't want to change your life," I instead heard it as "I'm not talkin bout the LINENS." I just naturally assumed that maybe they had a big blowout fight over the messy linen closet like the one I witnessed my mom and stepdad having. As I got older, I then wondered if possibly an angry spat erupted from one of them messing up freshly laundered sheets with menses or clumpy chest hair. Maybe 'Linen' was code for coming home snockered and three sheets to the wind? Clearly, all the musicians above could benefit from a stint at The Eliza Doolittle School Of Enunciation.

Now your big chance has arrived to gain sympathy amongst those of us suffering from immense music dorkiness too. Share your own favorite misheard song lyric or stroy right here, right now!

Welcome To The Infidel Time Machine:Destination 1980's! Don't Forget Your Leg Warmers And Jelly Shoes

I constantly snap pictures that catch my interest in one way or another. I used to participate in the blogging community's collaborative Wordless Wednesday effort, but I just don't have time for it these days. I hate to see a fun picture go to waste, so today I bring you a retro 80's feel as I inexplicably undergo the task of matching all the photos seen here with an 80's theme counterpart. Oh great Goddess of Nachos, how I worship thee and your lovely processed cheese goodness. The Valero gas station attendant knows me and the full extent of my nacho addiction. She's allowing herself to slip into the role of co-dependency as she gifts me with fresh jalapenos whenever I stop by.

As I fall helpless under the nachos enchanting spell, I always think of this song: Starpoint-Object Of My DesireThe sight of this gargantuan, Pepto-Bismol pink gorilla amused my daughter, Monkey, and I this week. I couldn't help but feel sorry for this inflatable beast, though. I mean, how demeaning and demoralizing to have to wear such an itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie, yellow polka dot bikini. What, are they trying to pimp her out to become the next Bride Of King Kong? Or maybe to win the Miss Gorilla Fingers International beauty pageant?

I hereby dedicate this little simian ditty to her: Peter Gabriel-Shock The MonkeyThis obviously inflammatory banner really caught my ire. Who do these people think they are discriminating like that with their storage business? There's laws against this sort of prejudice, you know. I mean, it's all fine and good for the elite letters of R & E, to revel in their own exclusive little club, but what about the rest of the alphabet? Will they always be on the outside looking in? Is there no room at the inn for 24 more letters? Such heartless and cruel alphabet abuse makes this Infidel profoundly sad.

It also makes these guys sad because they'll never receive an invitation to play at the R&E gigs since their kind obviously isn't welcome: ABC-Look Of Love
I'm sort of a pizza connoisseur, and I'm not afraid to top my pizza with strangely new and exciting things. Sadly, I can think of nothing more disgusting than a pizza laden with taco corners. What's next, discarded sandwich crust pizza? No, it's just plain wrong to recycle your crispy little taco corners in this way.

I think that I should recruit this man to come and speak about the perils of ingesting Taco Corner Pizza. He's all about 'Puttin On The Ritz,' but I'm thinking that I'm okay with crumbled Ritz crackers on my pizza as opposed to someone else's germy taco leftovers:Taco-Puttin On The RitzAnd finally, we find ourselves stuck at the Adhesives Inc. company. I guess it's a sticky job, but someones gotta do it. I wonder if any former employees have told the boss to take his job and 'stick it' where the sun don't shine?

I'm sure I already know what they play at the company picnic every year, their theme song, of course: Huey Lewis-Stuck With You

Back When I Wanted To Heavily Pet One Of The Pet Shop Boys

It's Tuesday in the big, bad world.........do you know what that means? That's right, dawg, another edition of GAY TUESDAY is here! Holla!
Twas the summer of my formidable year between middle school and high school when I first delighted in the melodic sounds of The Pet Shop Boys. And when I first spied the super dapper and nattily dressed Neil Tennant, I wanted to sing, "I Can't Take My Eyes Off You," to him. I've always felt an attraction towards the men residing on the nerdy end of the spectrum and when Neil proposed certain "Opportunities" and said that I had the looks and he had the brains and "Let's Make Lots Of Money," I knew what "Love Comes Quickly" meant

My Mom had her love of Neil Diamond and I had my own Neil love. During my moments of "Being Boring," I'd fantasize about Neil forgetting his "West End Girls," and instead deciding on an H-Town girl. Together we'd pay "Rent," for a little house out in "Suburbia" where "The Streets Have No Names." Happy thoughts of engaging in "DJ Culture," and a little "Domino Dancing" with Neil put a spring in my step and a song in my soul. Yes, that Neil Tennant was "Always On My Mind." If "Left To My Own Devices," I might have flown off to England to claim him as my own. Then, tragedy struck. I found out that no matter how cute and charming I was, Neil Tennant would never be interested in me. Ditto for George Michael. Ditto for Doogie Howser. Ditto for Lance Bass. Well, you get the point. That was "So Hard" to take and I kept thinking "What Have I Done To Deserve This?" But dwelling and coveting the very "Heart" of another individual, well, "It's A Sin."

Things between Neil and I never materialized, but at least we have some fantastic music for Gay Tuesday provided by him and his partner. I need my army of Gay Warriors strong out on the battlefield to reclaim Teh Gay and cheesy Rainbow merchandise back for the regular folk. The song playing today by The Pet Shop Boys will help to fortify and boost the morale of my Gay Warriors and Dusty Springfield fans alike!

Forget About Your Nervous Breakdown, Enjoy A Tantric Styled Breakdown!

Hear the awesome guitar driven sound pulsating through your PC speakers? See the super hot Portuguese lead singer, Hugo Ferreira? What about the video showing the classic struggle between geekdom and chicdom among high school students? How do you feel about happy endings where the much abused and bullied nerd finds a friend and an advocate? Yes, 'Breakdown' ranks as my absolute favorite Tantric song ever. Alas, they've since parted ways, never to realize a follow up hit. It's all for the best, though. Do you know how weird I felt sharing with people about my enthusiastic love of Tantric? They gave me those mal de ojo looks like I was some sort of twisted kinky freak. I got all excited when I found out that Sting adamantly loves Tantric too. He even gave an interview about it! Ummmm, then I discovered that he was referring to the other Tantric, as in the ancient art of tantric lovemaking. Slap to the forehead moment. It's like the time when a casual boyfriend asked me what I was listening to on my Walkman and I blithely responded, 'Do Me Baby.' Oh, what a priceless moment of confusion.

Life has kicked this Infidel butt all over the place the past few days. I'll return shortly to read what's been going on during my brief blogger sabbatical, and to share some love. No, not Tantric love. Sicko.