I love the ‘80s.

Even before VH1 made that show with Weird Al and Boy George and countless other icons that seem to have a considerable amount of free time on their hands these days, I’ve always been a huge fan of the decade that brought us parachute pants, Ghostbusters, the California Raisins, MacGyver, Ferris Bueller, Hungry Hungry Hippos, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Nintendo, The Karate Kid, Saved by the Bell, Inspector Gadget, Bo Jackson, The Muppets Take Manhattan, Doogie Howser, Pac-Man, Ms. Pac-Man, and even Super Pac-Man, not to mention a little animated ditty that I’ve continued to grow exponentially fond of over the years called The Simpsons!

Also, for what it’s worth yours truly just so happens to have been born in 1980, but before you all go suggesting that I might have any sort of bias towards the magnificent ‘80s and all of their glory, let me just go ahead and confirm right off the bat that this is precisely the case…

What can I say – the ‘80s were an awesome time to be growing up, from the toys to the movies to Saturday morning cartoons, and of course, one element that I intentionally left out of my ginormous list earlier because it rightfully deserves so much more space than I could ever possibly allot for it – the music of the ‘80s! Talk about some of the goofiest, most fun music that a six or seven year old could hear on the radio, with songs like Tarzan Boy and Walk Like an Egyptian and 867-5309 … I may not have had the foggiest idea why Tommy Tutone would want to call a girl and risk getting phone cooties, but I still had Jenny’s phone number memorized like the back of my hand just the same!

It’s because of these fond memories that I was beyond excited when I first moved to Tampa almost eight years ago and first came across 101.5 The Point on my dial – a local radio station dedicated to the sounds of the ‘80s (and more!), and in the years to come I can’t count the number of weekday commutes and grocery runs and late nights spent simply cruising around town with a cool breeze in my hair that weren’t made even more awesome with the adrenaline-pumping anthem of Kenny Loggins’ Danger Zone blasting all of my cares promptly into the stratosphere.  It was like I had died and been returned back to the days of my childhood, except that I had longer hair and a driver’s license, and admittedly I was still a little nervous about calling Jenny’s number…

Sadly, it brings a single tear to my eye on this balmy, summer evening to report that the Tampa Bay Area will have to find a new source for its funky fresh, alternative rock of yesteryear, as I just recently discovered that the owners of my favorite radio station of all-time have officially rebranded it in favor of that bass-heavy dance club music that solicits more bumping and grinding than Hammertime or the walking of dinosaurs … because apparently the kiddies with their baggy jeans and spinning rims needed a 38^th option on the dial for music that can make my teeth vibrate when I pull up alongside them at a stop light.  Never again will the smooth sounds of Baltimora ripple through the open airwaves about monkey business on a sunny afternoon, nor will the word “abracadabra” serve as an open warning that Steve Miller may quite possibly be lurking nearby with an unyielding desire to reach out and grab ya…

From all of us who grew up on Fraggle Rock and still have a pile of happy meal toys stashed somewhere in the closet to prove it, we’ll miss you, 101.5 The Point. No matter how much crappy hip-hop and dance music dominates our airwaves, we’ll always remember – you built this city on rock and roll.

I knew something was wrong the moment I walked in the door that evening – it was quiet…too quiet.

There she was, sitting alone in the middle of the living room, with not an expression on her face – just glaring at me. It was one of those glares that’s unmistakable – there was no bad day or ugly rush hour traffic to blame for this one … it was all on me. Those are always the worst to deal with because we both already knew what I had done, it was just a matter of what was going to happen next that would determine our future together. No gifts, no swanky music – just me and my own. This was going to be tricky…

“I’m sorry, baby,” I began, desperately grasping for a feel of just how bad the situation truly was. “I know I haven’t been around as much as I should lately…”

No response. It was pretty bad, indeed.

“You see, I’ve just been so busy at work lately – they’ve got me putting in all sorts of crazy hours and by the time I get home, I’m so tired all I want to do is sleep. I wish there was something that I could do, but you know I do it all for you, honey – the bills aren’t going to pay themselves…”

She wasn’t budging – at this point, she’s heard it all before and frankly, I can’t really blame her for being upset. I would be, too, but what’s a guy supposed to do? There are only so many hours in the day, but that excuse just isn’t going to be good enough – not this time. It was a dead glare that said I’d better come up with something – anything – quick or I was done for…

“Listen, dear – I know that things are a little rough now, but it’s gonna get better soon – I promise! In fact, I’ve got this weekend off and I want to spend the entire thing with you … just the two of us. We’ll stay in, put on some of those cheesy, b-movies that you love so much, and just relish each other’s company … like old times. How’s that sound?”

A faint glimmer finally broke the stare of death and I knew that all had not been lost yet again! And while I certainly was far from being out of hot water at that point, anyone who’s been in such a situation knows that it’s far better to be in hot water than to get thrown out with the pot altogether. It may take a fair bit of time to rebuild our relationship after the damage that my absence had caused, but then again, some things are worth that extra bit of effort when all is said and done.

I wanted to use my column this week for the purposes of telling this tale so that others might hopefully learn from my mistakes and avoid such pitfalls of their own in the days to come. Having a big screen TV is something very special and those of us who are lucky enough to have one of our own owe it to the rest to treat them like the beauties that they truly are. It may be tough at times, but an hour or two here and there simply isn’t good enough and unless you want to go back to the times when you didn’t have one at all, you’ve got to learn to make sacrifices in your life for those who are the most important to you. There was a time when I didn’t have my own priorities straight and I almost lost mine, but luckily for me, I mean just as much to her as she does to me. Yep – I found myself a good one…

It’s a good thing, too, because I just couldn’t imagine watching TV in anything less than high definition after meeting her!

I’ve tried my very best to give them the benefit of the doubt, but there’s only so far that I’m willing to go! I was a big hard rock fan back in the day and have still been known to crank it up when a classic Ozzy or Metallica tune comes on the radio, but when did we make the crossover from heavy metal to incessant, distorted noise?! All of these songs have lyrics – I know this because I’m often presented with many, many pages of them after posting a column about them – and for the most part, these lyrics actually have quite a bit of thought behind them, so where does the “AAARRRRGHHHHH?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!” come from? These fellas were off to a good start – throw in a decent bass line, some rhythm guitar, a lead with an ego for soloing and you might actually have something that I’d listen to…but then the PA gets turned up to 11, the drummer slams a pint of Jack Daniels and all hell breaks loose…

Seriously, it’s enough to make me glad that most radio stations are still controlled by corporate America! Sure, we get stuck listening to pre-packaged pop stars and rock musicians who had the connections to get themselves noticed by someone in the industry, but we can understand what they’re actually saying and there’s a lot to say for that these days! The big guns on the radio tend to get the most ridicule, whether it be from concerned parents, envious teens who’ll never have such luscious bosoms the size of ripe cantaloupes, or jealous, third-rate rock musicians who’ll never have the guiding force of the corporate hand to put their single in the rotation every hour in every major market across the country and beyond. These guys may catch the most flack about the silliest of things, but I have to say that sucking is a worse attribute than even bad hair in the music industry, so perhaps it’s a good thing that these bands remain out of the spotlight for the time being!

The last exposure to this “music” that I was fortunate enough to endure (and hopefully the last one ever, if I’m lucky enough!) was actually a trip I made as a kind gesture to my younger sister. She’s old enough to get into the club itself for special events such as this, but not old enough, according to the State of Michigan, to drive herself and some friends down to the big city to get to the club – enter the older brother! We’ve done this before and it honestly didn’t seem all that bad – I couldn’t stand the music as usual, but I was able to tune the majority of it out enough so that I could focus on other aspects of the evening – mainly the beer and all of the older “chauffeurs” that had gotten dragged along to the show! Granted, the rest of them were 40+ Moms and Dads, most of which had brought books or other reading materials along with them, but there was a connection there nonetheless – none of us could stand the filth that was pouring out of the speakers in front of us…

So this time I decided to take cue from the others and bring along something to entertain myself throughout the four-hour brain mush session. The only book I could find that has yet to be read on my shelf was the last Harry Potter installment and I had no desire to go rent the trailer that would’ve been necessary to haul the beast around until I was able to finish it, so I opted instead to simply bring along my laptop – what a perfect opportunity to get a little work done, right?! What the hell was I thinking?! The second that first band started playing, my head began pounding like an African ceremonial drum, the beer in my bottle rippling much like the water glasses in Jurassic Park – I knew I was in for one hell of a loud night, and I wasn’t even in the same room!

If that wasn’t bad enough, things remained a bit low-key where I had secluded myself for about another hour or so, after which the entire club itself began to fill up with other patrons who had plans to hang there for a good chunk of the evening…so now in addition to the thundering racket coming from the performance itself, I also was graced with the presence of many college-aged pain-in-the-asses, most of whom were intent on being as loud and disruptive as humanly possible, pushing each other over on the floor, dueling with the pool cues, and generally reminding me why 21 may not nearly be an old enough age to allow these people to drink after all! Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve found that it’s a bit difficult to concentrate on anything when you’ve got pool balls whizzing by your head…

Of course, in the end I wasn’t there for myself and it wasn’t the library by any means, so I made the best of the situation and maintained my sanity by picturing that huge bottle of aspirin waiting for me in the cupboard upon my return home! I think my sister enjoyed the show – I’ll know for sure here in a couple of days when my hearing returns to normal – but the initial nodding I got on the way out should probably be a good indication. And even more so, I also managed to get this week’s column out of the way and even if it’s not necessarily as humorous as you might expect, consider it “An intimate look into the after-hours life of a writer and humorist…” and we’ll just say it’s a bonus!

Be sure to check back next week, where I’ll promise you a hilarious anecdote chocked full of modern day experiences and events…and completely bitch-and-moan-about-those-noisy-teenagers-free if you’re lucky! All in the same, if that football lands in my yard one more time, I’m keepin’ it…

Aren’t radio stations great? Playing the great hits of yesterday and today, more of our favorite tunes without all of the commercials, now without the rap – all of this right from the comfort of our own homes, cars, or even the beach – it almost sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? Some of the hippest cats in town spinning a virtual smorgasbord of excellent jams, striving night and day to cater to your every musical desire – the kind of folks who simply won’t stop rockin’ until they retire – so why must these people insist on ruining all that I have ever loved with regards to the music industry?!

You know how it goes – you’re out cruising with the top down, a cool summer’s breeze blowing in your hair and the hottest jams cranked up to 11 on your radio dial – not a care in the world. The DJ comes on and says, “Here’s a brand-new one from the monsters of modern rock themselves, Creed! Only the best new rock, here on 103.5 – The Abruptly Vicarious Weasel…” The guitars kick in, a high-pitched scream that only a true rock star could ever emit pierces your eardrums, and for the next three and a half minutes, you find yourself absorbed in a rock ‘n roll fantasy world driven by pure adrenaline and a lust for good times. Eventually the ballad finally comes to an end as Scott Stapp belts out that final note and your spirit is returned to the real world, where you will wait oh so patiently for that escape to thrash through your speakers and into your soul once again! Yeah, I remember back when I could enjoy something like that…

Unfortunately, times are different now and just as 103.5 – The Abruptly Vicarious Weasel goes to commercial, as fast as you can change to another station – 96.4 – Garden Gnome Radio…from Hell! – there it is again, the spine-tingling harmonies of crisp, yet raspy vocals and dirty, distorted guitars, haloed by a “We’re not really singing about God…or are we?!”-vibe that has boggled both critics and fans since their first album. You pause for a moment, then crank it up and proceed to rock out once again, pretending vainly that you didn’t just do the exact same thing to the exact same song merely minutes before! The bass and rhythm guitars rattle the glass of the nearby shop windows as Creed plows through one final chorus, reminding yourself and everyone in a five-block vicinity just how good it is to be alive. Another friendly, neighborhood DJ comes back on during the fade-out and reports that, “After we pay some bills, we’ll be back with another ninety-six minute music marathon, commercial-free, only on 96.4 – Garden Gnome Radio!” Not willing to wait another five minutes for that alleged hour and a half block of solid music, you hop to radio preset #3 and I’ll bet you can already predict what you’re going to hear!

There are literally a lot of songs in the known universe, and while granted not all of them rock and some may very well be in languages that you don’t understand, I really see no reason why these folks behind the radio shows insist on repeating the same songs over and over again until we absolutely hate them – it’d be like buying a box of Frosted Flakes at the grocery one day and then having Tony the Tiger show up at your doorstep every consecutive day for a year and a half, force-feeding you those delicious corn flakes, dusted with a healthy glaze of sugar, until you finally opt to move and vow never to eat breakfast again! I love those sugary cereals just as much as the next guy, but we all need a little variety in our lives, and music shouldn’t be any different. It’s gotten to the point around here where I’m convinced that the four or five local stations actually share a play list and as much as I also love what the top executives in the recording industry have decided to be the latest hits of today, something’s just gotta give here…

My proposal is this, and although it seems quite simple for us stupid listeners, anyone in the broadcast industry should read it really slowly – maybe even get help from one of the kids down at the kindergarten if they’re not too busy. Play a bigger variety of songs! Did you get that?! I know it’s kinda confusing to grasp at first, but even if you aren’t getting top-dollar during every broadcast for throwing in some of the great hits of yesterday instead of playing Avril’s latest punk/pop wonder for the umpteenth time today, those of us on the other side of the radio will thank you many times over! Hell, we might even start actually listening to Creed again…

Nah, let’s not get carried away!

Earlier this week I had the privilege of attending one of the largest concerts ever to hit Northern Michigan, and by largest I actually mean oldest. The show took place at the Northwestern Michigan Fairgrounds as part of the National Cherry Festival and featured such ancient groups as Bad Company, Styx, and let’s not forget Billy Squier! Throughout the course of the night, I picked up on some trends that I originally thought I might be able to weave into a humorous column of some sort. These are my stories…

When you’ve been to as many concerts as I have, you really start to feel like you know the crowd. You’re able to relate with the other ticket holders on another level; some might call it a Zen-like experience. While at this latest concert, however, I felt a disturbance in the force, if you will, as if there were some people present whom I couldn’t relate with. We were there for different reasons, mine being the music and entertainment, while they had other reasons for showing up. Some ended up being quite funny, while others were just plain sad, but nevertheless I’ve taken the time to break them down into categories for you, the reader, in hopes that you will walk away with a greater appreciation for the live music experience. Either that or a good laugh, whichever works for you! Here are the new groups that I came up with:

Of course, if I had been born in the sixties, I’d probably be a burnt-out guidance counselor by now who takes his kids to rock concerts on the weekends when he should be doing something that they want to do, like sitting in a hot, aluminum rowboat for an entire afternoon while he fishes or playing catch in the backyard when they’d much rather be inside playing video games. I’d be afraid of the Internet, I’d only find happiness in such activities as cutting the grass and working in the garage, but at least I’d have the music. Like the pop-goddess Madonna once said during the conical-hooter stage of her life, “It has always been about the music.”

As I sit here in front of my computer, trying to think of a topic for this column, I realize that there are many things wrong in this country. Single parents roam the streets begging for scraps of food to feed their starving children, uneducated hoodlums taunt each other with an ignorant hatred as flaring trash barrels light the alleys, but most of all, stereos in homes and vehicles across the country continue to blast at a maximum volume the worst music I have ever heard in my life!

Now believe me, I’ve tolerated this for a while, and I’m pretty damn proud of myself for making it this long without snapping, but the time has come to vent. I made it through the glorious ‘80s, with the huge, pop-star egos with even bigger hairstyles. Then came the musical stylings of ‘rap artists’ such as Vanilla Ice and Milli Vanilli, who possessed about as much actual creative talent as my refrigerator, at least on a hot day when it had other things on its mind. The country horse was led through by Garth Brooks, and then again by Chris Gaines (ya really had us fooled there, buddy!), and luckily this one has already, for the most part, rode off into the sunset. Unfortunately, a new age has come upon us in this new millennium, urging folks to shake their groove-thang and get down and jiggy with it. I hate to tell you, but this is only the beginning…

If you’ve ever been in an actual dance club these days, you’re already one step beyond me. I get frightened by just hearing these tunes on the radio, so I’ve decided to base any further speculations on what’s happening from watching television, mainly: MTV’s Spring Break, MTV’s Spring Break – Uncensored!, MTV’s The Grind, and MTV’s Uncensored Spring Break Special Edition of The Grind. Don’t be alarmed! I watched them all MUTED, with some nice classical Beethoven in the background, so the evil sound mites wouldn’t be able to work their way into my brain, but nevertheless, what I discovered was both astonishing and shocking, and maybe even a little titillating…

Dance music drives its listeners to be naked. That’s right, naked and also a tad raunchy. How anyone can still call them dance clubs is beyond me because there is actually little, if any, actual dancing going on here at all. From what I understand, young people gather at the MTV Brothel, I mean Beach House, and are basically instructed to fornicate to the hip and savvy, modern beat of the day. If things get too spicy for TV, they simply move on to another couple, until the directors and production assistants are the only people on the set not having sex. Yet I don’t blame the men and women behind the cameras, for they’re only capitalizing on someone else’s filth. For the purposes of this column, I shall place the blame on the artists themselves, but why, you ask? Just consider the following lyrics, excerpted from the ‘smash hit’ Lady Marmalade, which was originally (and might I add, tastefully) performed in the early ‘70s by Patti LaBelle, but re-released this year as part of the Moulin Rouge disaster, as performed by Christina Aguilera, Pink, Mya and several other girls whom I’m not going to take the time to look up their names:

And this is just one song! Think, with thousands of corruptive, intellectually-molesting songs being broadcast over the airwaves every single day, it’s no wonder that today’s youth is turning out the way that they are! Not to mention the images portrayed by these artists are no doubt passed along as well. During my ‘studies’ of the MTV culture (project codename: Booby-Watch 2001), I came across this year’s version of the MTV Movie Awards. It was then that I witnessed an act that was so scary that I could barely turn away. The above-mentioned ‘ladies’ were scheduled to make a performance of this hit song of theirs, and that they did. Maybe it had some sort of artistic value, but I was so busy crying that I must’ve missed it. The girls pranced around the stage for what seemed like days, wearing the most hideous lingerie imaginable and enough makeup and glitter to make Mimi from The Drew Carey Show green with envy. Countless hours of quality time with the catalogs from Victoria’s Secret were ruined forever that night…

I think what this country needs is to get back to the basics. Back in the good old days, everyone got along, we all wore clothes, but most importantly, we all listened to music that didn’t suck. Songs from Billy Joel, The Beach Boys, and Simon and Garfunkel, yes those were the days! The Piano Man tells us that it’s OK to be a rebel, ‘cause only the good die young. No one’s getting shot in the streets because everybody’s going surfing. I don’t know about you, but after being blasted with the hip, new music of today, the Sounds of Silence are sounding pretty good right about now. I think our only hope at this point is that they all eventually just drop from the sexual exhaustion alone.

So here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson; Jesus loves you more than you will know – Woa, woa, woa…