I got the cure...
If you are having trouble with your Spike/James Marsters obsession ruling your life, if you've seen him on talk shows and know he's a goof and it's STILL not enough to dissuade your emotions, well I know exactly the cure:
Get thee to a Ghost of the Robot show.
Which I did. Tonight. With my friend T.
And it was painful.
So painful that I was standing, say, 20 feet from the man himself, and I couldn't care less. He was not turning me on, per se. Because he was standing there with a group of kids who'd barely hit 20, hollering insipid, idiotic, often-out-of-tune lyrics over totally unimaginative 3-chord noise. The opening act - some group called The Pacific - blew them away for sheer musicianship (and they weren't even that great, but they made me dance despite myself). But what they didn't have was a 40-year-old television star who should be out having a grown-up career, but is instead happily jumping around at the front of them, blissfully and totally unaware that the words 'insipid', 'idiotic' and '3-chord noise' could be applied to his current endeavor.
I got home and couldn't help looking up some of the lyrics, to see how much of it James had written (it actually looks like most of the stuff is written by Charlie, whichever one he was. Charlie's lyrics are equally painful - there's a song of his about "I'm German, you're Jewish, what are we gonna do?" that belongs in the Cringeworthy Hall of Fame - which just goes to show that James' celebrity is not the reason his his awful songs get played. No favorites here, just an across-the-board all-crap policy.)
So there are evidently only a few James wrote, most of which seem to be devoted to the charms of those under the age of 18.
For instance:
I don't care what people're gonna say about it
I'd just wanna sit here and drink your sweet wine
Know you're gonna say you're too young for me but
Maybe if I kiss you that would be fine
Know how it's gonna end before it ever starts now
Gonna give me love sweeter than pie
Part your lips as if you're gonna kiss me
Say a word that's gonna break me
Bye, bye bye bye goodbye
Bye, bye bye bye goodbye
Christopher Robin gave old Pooh up
Grown up, didn't need Pooh no more
Babe, believe me this ain't the first time
Been thrown down on the playroom floor
Multiple times on the "playroom floor"?? YEEEESH.
Here's a snippet from the song he introduced by saying "If anybody finds out who I wrote this about, I'm in big trouble", and after which T looked at me and said "Hmm - Michelle Trachtenberg much?"
One baby, two, maybe three more years
Be a full hot baby, have all your curves
In a little taste of irony:
You'll be a too hot baby, too good for me
But I'll be looking at you
With your long brown hair
Pretty little feet
Sparkling everywhere
Sparkling feet? What?? That doesn't even make sense! Although you know, I do remember when I was but a girl, and my mother sat me down to tell me about how I would soon be a "full hot baby". And I could hardly wait! Ah, memories...
T and I did agree that we were glad he seemed to be happy doing this, and that he was expressing himself and following his bliss and all that. Then we agreed we were probably safer watching him on TV from now on.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work on cultivating some sparkling feet.
Get thee to a Ghost of the Robot show.
Which I did. Tonight. With my friend T.
And it was painful.
So painful that I was standing, say, 20 feet from the man himself, and I couldn't care less. He was not turning me on, per se. Because he was standing there with a group of kids who'd barely hit 20, hollering insipid, idiotic, often-out-of-tune lyrics over totally unimaginative 3-chord noise. The opening act - some group called The Pacific - blew them away for sheer musicianship (and they weren't even that great, but they made me dance despite myself). But what they didn't have was a 40-year-old television star who should be out having a grown-up career, but is instead happily jumping around at the front of them, blissfully and totally unaware that the words 'insipid', 'idiotic' and '3-chord noise' could be applied to his current endeavor.
I got home and couldn't help looking up some of the lyrics, to see how much of it James had written (it actually looks like most of the stuff is written by Charlie, whichever one he was. Charlie's lyrics are equally painful - there's a song of his about "I'm German, you're Jewish, what are we gonna do?" that belongs in the Cringeworthy Hall of Fame - which just goes to show that James' celebrity is not the reason his his awful songs get played. No favorites here, just an across-the-board all-crap policy.)
So there are evidently only a few James wrote, most of which seem to be devoted to the charms of those under the age of 18.
For instance:
I don't care what people're gonna say about it
I'd just wanna sit here and drink your sweet wine
Know you're gonna say you're too young for me but
Maybe if I kiss you that would be fine
Know how it's gonna end before it ever starts now
Gonna give me love sweeter than pie
Part your lips as if you're gonna kiss me
Say a word that's gonna break me
Bye, bye bye bye goodbye
Bye, bye bye bye goodbye
Christopher Robin gave old Pooh up
Grown up, didn't need Pooh no more
Babe, believe me this ain't the first time
Been thrown down on the playroom floor
Multiple times on the "playroom floor"?? YEEEESH.
Here's a snippet from the song he introduced by saying "If anybody finds out who I wrote this about, I'm in big trouble", and after which T looked at me and said "Hmm - Michelle Trachtenberg much?"
One baby, two, maybe three more years
Be a full hot baby, have all your curves
In a little taste of irony:
You'll be a too hot baby, too good for me
But I'll be looking at you
With your long brown hair
Pretty little feet
Sparkling everywhere
Sparkling feet? What?? That doesn't even make sense! Although you know, I do remember when I was but a girl, and my mother sat me down to tell me about how I would soon be a "full hot baby". And I could hardly wait! Ah, memories...
T and I did agree that we were glad he seemed to be happy doing this, and that he was expressing himself and following his bliss and all that. Then we agreed we were probably safer watching him on TV from now on.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work on cultivating some sparkling feet.