Tuesday, January 25, 2005


March May Be The Greatest Month Ever.

Alright, I'm going to admit to something that I've kept for myself for a very long time.

Because, quite frankly, I was embarrassed about it.

As a teenage boy, I was a *huge* fan of Debbie Gibson.

I know, shocking-- but true.

The same guy who owned every Van Halen album ever released, including Mammoth bootlegs; the same guy who had fourth-row tickets to Monsters of Rock at Alpine Valley, Wisconsin; the same guy who swore that the real Metallica were kidnapped and replaced by pod people after they released And Justice For All.

That guy just couldn’t get enough of that Electric Youth.

Yeah, I said it. Whatchya gonna do about it?

See, I’ve always had two problems when it came to music.

First, I can’t understand lyrics to save my life.

I’m not talking mere comprehension here. I mean, I literally have no idea what anyone is singing about. Goth metal, Copkiller rap, Anne Murray standards, they all sound the same to me because I base my musical tastes on melodies instead of lyrics.

The most infamous manifestation of this phenomenon was witnessed after I lent my Jars Of Clay CD to my buddy Ranger, only to have him tell me that I had spent the previous six months grooving to Jesus Rock without even knowing it.

Second, I’m a sucker for cute girls. And in 1989, Debbie Gibson was pretty damn cute.

Sure, Tiffany was cute too, but she did lame-o covers, and she had that nose, and this was before I entered my “Sacrifice All Of My Dignity For The Sweaty Love Of A Sultry Redhead” phase (that didn't hit until freshman year of college).

But Gibson, she had talent. She had pluck. She could carry a tune, and she could play piano too.

I even went to not one but two Debbie Gibson concerts in high school. I won tickets to the first, but I purchased tickets for the second.

And yup, at that second show, my hand touched hers. Without washing it, that hand rotted off in 1994, to be replaced by my current +4 Vorpal Blade Of Vengeance.

So, why am I bringing this all up now?

Kevin over at Wizbang posts a rumor that Debbie—now Deborah—Gibson may be posing nude in the March 2005 issue of Playboy.

Hey, if it worked for Tiffany—and any guy who saw her pictures knows that boy, did it ever work for Tiffany—then perhaps the move will also boost the popularity of Ms. Gibson. Who, it must be noted, has matured quite gracefully thanks to the miracle of modern medical science.

Finally, more than a decade after my teenage fantasies ran rampant over whatever sense of taste I may have once had, I learn that I might—just might—be able to go home again.

At least for a few minutes, with a little privacy.

I get the Super Bowl and the World Series, you get Debbie Gibson finally after all these years. Congratulations Dave.
I ain't gonna lie to you-- I'd rather have the Series.
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