It’s been a while, the longest while since I started this blog in fact. I got an email from Google last week letting me know that the site wasn’t mobile friendly anymore, so I logged on to fix it, and saw that I didn’t post anything at all here in 2014. I’ve still been online, just sharing my thoughts in other places like Twitter, Facebook and commenting on various other sites. I’ve added links to the menu above so you can check them out if you’re so inclined. I haven’t even really been that active on those places in the last few months because I always seem to be out of time.
In the years since I’ve started this blog, the amount of things available to fill my free time has grown considerably. I’ve upgraded my TiVo to a modern unit that’s capable of recording six channels at once. There’s shit on there from last year, entire seasons of shows that I haven’t got around to watching because there’s not enough time in the day. I still haven’t watched The Knick, Extant, or Gang Related (which I just learned was cancelled when I looked for the link to the show, that’s what I get for trying to avoid spoilers); I haven’t watched Halt And Catch Fire either and they added it to Netflix already, so I might as well delete those and make space for shit I won’t get around to watching until Christmas.
Here’s a masturbation song that I’m sure you’ll agree is suitable for Sunday. It’s from Tori Amos‘ second album, Under The Pink, which is not only a great album musically, but was great for hooking up with women around 20 years ago. On a personal note, I actually hadn’t heard this song in years because I’m pretty sure my CD was stolen by this racist chick I was banging around 10 years ago, but I can’t be sure, because it also could have been this wannabe starlet that I never got to bang. The point is, one day the CD didn’t turn up, and I have no idea what actually happened to it. For I all know, underpants gnomes transported it to the eighth dimension.
Anyway, the video embedded below is from The Tonight Show with Jay Leno (of all places). I’m sure a large percentage of the folks watching thought she was singing about banging Jesus. By the way, I wish I could find an HD clip of this, because she looks stunning, but I don’t think they were shooting The Tonight Show in HD back in 1994.
I was going to dedicate this one to someone, but wasn’t sure it would be appropriate. I don’t really know her; she’s someone I run into in the neighborhood once in a while and have small talk with. Nothing very deep or probing. For example, the other day I found out what her mother’s favorite ice cream is and when reflecting back on the conversation later, I realized I don’t know what her favorite ice cream is. So I figure, for once, maybe I should err on the side of discretion. Ain’t that a shock?
You know, now that I think about it, it’s probably never a good idea to dedicate a masturbation song to someone. Could you imagine the end of American Graffiti? Wolfman Jack goes on the radio, all, “Yowza! Yowza! This is The Wolfman howling’ at you!! Can you hear me?!? AAAOOOHHH!! Suzanne Somers, I’m howlin’ at ya with a dedication from Richard Dreyfuss who says that even though he doesn’t know you very well, he often thinks about ya when he’s doin’ the five knuckle shuffle — and eatin’ your mama’s favorite ice cream! Can you dig it?!?”
Yeah. So much for discretion.
Every once in a while I get in an argument with someone about who performed this song. For some reason, people seem to think Blondie did it, but it’s by The Divinyls, and yes, Lucy Lawless has done a cover of it as well. The song has an unusual structure; most songs go VERSE/REFRAIN/VERSE/REFRAIN/BRIDGE/REFRAIN/VERSE/REFRAIN. I Touch Myself goes into the bridge very early, leading into the second verse. Despite this, it has a strong hook and an immediately catchy melody. The lyrics have a double entendre motif; one can look past the obviously sexual connotation to a deeper meaning, that of a great romantic or spiritual longing, which comes through in Christina Amphlett‘s singing.
Continuing with the masturbation theme, can you believe back in the 1980’s a racist euphemism for jerking off was totally acceptable subject matter for a radio friendly new wave hit? The Vapors‘ David Fenton swears it’s not about masturbation, but the lyrics don’t mention jack shit about anything remotely Japanese. Rather, the dude sings in lovingly perverse detail about his lover’s picture and how he wants the doctor to take one so he can “look at you from inside as well.” There’s videos on the internet like that, and they ain’t on medical sites.