We all have a CD or two, maybe a file full of questionably obtained mp3s - that we would never fess up to in public. Tunes that seems out of place in our taste, but find strangely compelling. Yet we still feel the need to sock it away, as if it was some sort of Pagan Idol. Worship it all you want. Just never admit it.
In terms of music the most common form of lyrical S&M - the stuff that most have tired, most have liked at least some part of, most will lie about even under polygraph - is pop music. It is fun. Its is dance-y. It is devoid of all meaning. And the lyrics are completely insipid.
Before diving into my lil admission, lets looks at some friends, well, for the hell of it. Friend A as she will be known, was a big fan of Hanson back in the day. Back when people still thought the the dude on the keyboard was a girl. Pale long-haired androgyny had a comeback in music, and for a second Boy George seemed pissed.
But after a moment of "Its Pat!" and of teen boys trying to reclaiming their masculinity after remembering how hot they thought she/he was - the issue passed, they went on to sell more records. Friend A was still a fan even after they faded to the coffee house circuit... "Mmm Bop" still makes me want to retch.
At one point I was a technical adviser on her Hanson Fan site, titled BA: Blond Ambition. And as a website title, it serves as a great segue to Friend B.
B is another pop fan who will probably not be the type to admit it, amid all the rap that he consumes. His niche is that of Madonna Specifically the original 80's pop to mid 90 r&b Maddy.
An ironic side note: I really didn't become a fan of Madonna until I became friends with him. The straight one introduced the closet-case (at the time) to his 1st Queer Cultural Icon. Sigh, the story of the stunted late bloomer that is me - blah.
Anyway, back to B. If prompted, and with enough cranberry juice and Skyy in his system, he could probably perform the Immaculate Collection songbook, with a few moves from the tour thrown in. Now that I think of it there should be a VHS copy of "Truth or Dare" floating around somewhere that we pooled our money to buy. But thats where the two tastes diverge. He stalled somewhere around Bedtime, I went on through to Confessions.
And now, boys and girls, it is time for me to spill my lil melodic guilty indulgence. This all came about due to a statement of near-obviousness made today by one Lance Bass. He's Here. He's Queer. He's not really shocking anyone.
Lance, like many before him - Rosie, Ellen, Elton - has basically lived out his life with no qualms (since the hiatus - read: death - of *Nsync) being spotted at gay bars here and there. (As reported in the Gay Blog-o-sphere where some call him Princess Frostylocks) So he finally states the fact that many have seemed to know or have wished for years. Woo. He was also photographed with a bunch of Chi Chi La Rue's porn himbos, you can't really back track from that can you?
He's gay, the world moves on. Traditional family's aren't imploding, Self-hating, possibly closed, homophobes are flaming up message boards because they have no life - only making the rest of us laugh. And, dotted across this great nation, full grown women who never grew-up completely are sobbing. Knowing now that they will never be his Mrs. But cheer-up you budding fag-hags... He may just need someone to go shopping with. To close this, the only thing I am curtain of today is that a decent amount of money was ponied up as bets were finally made good. As "I Told You So!" rings in the air.
Now on to the whole: Oh my God - You liked *Nsync? Really? Wow, thats just sad.
It is a rather complicated story. One that started with reading a piece of online Slash Fiction.
A note on Slash Fiction: This is a subcategory of fan fiction that cant really be done justice by my own description, nor would a link to Wikipedia do any good. Its is something that has to be experienced 1st hand. Best when unintentional, and completely stumbled upon. It finds you - you don't find it. Google it if you wish but I shall say no more.
Anyway I read story based on *Nsync written by someone I had been chatting with, as with life, I find the freaks online too - its a gift. The piece was good for an amateur author and I could tell he was a big fan, especially of Justin... found a definition of Slash yet? Knowing basically nothing about them, beyond what I got from the media and radio, I did some research.
This web based quest then led to the digital acquisition of most of their catalog (back in the wild-west days of Napster - the REAL Napster, not the current pay form) and almost a six month mini-obsession with their tunes tunes and text files. But as with all faddish obsessions it fades and that section of hard dive space was long since reclaimed. Hell, that was one computer, two mice, and who knows how many keyboards ago.
Like all lil gays boys we all want the star that has our attention at the moment to be attainable. I pegged Lance, the only one I found cute - I think it was the eyes. Anyway, I had a 1 in 5 statistical chance. The odds weren't really stacked against me. And since Justin has recently admitted that he did his fair share of drugs - God only knows what may show up on tape from the band's early years. Paris Hilton may just get a run for her money from grainy VHS shot on a tour bus, no strings or clothes attached.
So now two things are out in the open, Mr. Bass, and my half-year nosedive into pop music fueled full-on psychosis. Good for him. Wish him the best. But God, what the hell was I thinking? I think I'll just blame the meds, that always works.
Ah, the mistakes made in youth