Guilty Pleasures

...out of that dark place in my closet where there's a community of dust bunnies picking their nose in public.

Many of us secretly lace ourselves in the poisonous. In the ridiculous. In the embarrassing. Often times we do it behind closed doors, in dark alleys or behind big oak trees. Within the company of the silent walls, taciturn pets, oblivious parents and stale dust passing by. Some of us embrace our hidden skeletons, take them out to lunch and do the salsa with them in public. Here’s a less torrential alternative. Share it here on The Loop. Because amongst friends, who can really play the fool? Amongst friends, we’re all just fools with our guards down at a higher percentage than you’d allow in the presence of monster in-laws. If you’re going to tell me you’ve never listened to anything shameful before, then I’m going to go over there and talk to your mother. I’m sure she still remembers all those hours you spent listening to N’Sync/Westlife/Spice Girls and staring lovingly into the eyes of Lance. Sure, at that time you didn’t know he was gay. At that time you didn’t know that gay meant not in love with you…because you had the wrong genitalia. At least at the time you weren’t sure of the human anatomy nor did you have proper taste. C’mon, Lance? He didn’t need a press conference, it was pretty obvious. He was eurotrash bleached blonde!
AND he didn’t sing. He just danced around. WITH OTHER MEN. Hm…

Anyway, I’m going to share with you today something I found way back when embarrassment was acceptable if you’re trying to be your own mind, body and soul. And trust me when I say that at that time, society still mattered, school girl crushes were still being conjured by the sight of boys and hope was a compound found in breathing air. Something from the past. Something that hasn’t been in rotation for many years. I don’t even have it in my computer but I’m sure there’s a copy in one of my old back up CDs somewhere. It doesn’t matter because we won’t be needing the mp3.

Now, this is going to be emo. This is emo. This is blistered-pieces-of-a-broken-heart emo.
However, there’s no beware-of-screaming-feral-vocalist warning here. This is Butch Walker’s Mixtape. It is a guilty pleasure I’m foisting upon your innocent ears because it is so teenage poetry. Lost love being the subject matter. Pounding fists and breaking things being the actions taking place. Moping insides included.

I don’t remember how I came about it. I don’t remember what I felt about it. But I do remember that it was just something that latched on to me like a 10 feet long tape worm. I remember it playing in the dark as I tried to fall asleep and always thinking my god, is he going to strain his heart? This is cacat.

But c’mon! It was…it is emo catchy, mixed with boo hoo sorrow. Butch Walker delivered it with all that he had in him. I’m sure he tore opened some stitches and even BLED.

I didn’t listen to it on loop back then and I’m not asking you to either. I just want to share this little slice of disconcerting music that once upon a time I thought was ok to listen to. Butch Walker is whiney, lame, pathetic and appalling. The song and lyrics is whiney, lame, pathetic and appalling.

Example:

You say hello, inside I'm screaming I love you
You say goodnight, in my mind
I'm sleeping next to you
You drive away from my car crash of a heart
And I don't know.

You’re in for some bad music. This comes from a guy who did pretty much everything Avril Lavigne has ever put out. I know. I can feel the tumult of all minds from here. If you’re wearing white, change first before your brain explodes. It’s to be kind to your mother.

Maybe it is best that I just throw fecal matter at your bedroom window instead of making you read this. But where’s the fun in that?

And yes, with all that you’re permitted to laugh at me.

Rest assured I’m not listening to it anymore and it actually ceased being a guilty pleasure way back when it came up and I felt my ears being sexually assaulted. Like being licked in the lobe by some pervert. Or Richard Simmons. Or Gay Aiken. That was how unnerving the realization that this guilty pleasure is now dead and buried. Not of course until you suffer too.

As if we needed a creepy video to prove my point but let’s go all out for the experience.

There goes my unsullied reputation for good music =) I do it all for you.