It’s no secret by now that I have a love of cheez. Give me something that has a little bit of corny in it and it makes me happy. Granted, most of the cheezy stuff I love has a dose of irony mixed in there somewhere, but the level of irony can be hard to parse out sometimes, you know?
Take, for example, my love of Doris Day. CORNBALL. She is just cheez, cheez, cheez, with more grated cheez on top. But I love her. I could watch a Doris Day movie until the cows come home, and really I would not want the cows to come home. Yes, I laugh at her and realize the full extent of the corny. But still. I just love it. I remember telling a co-worker about my love of Doris Day and he said to me, “Really?? Why? She is so…plastic.” And I said, “yes, but that’s the beauty of it. That’s the whole point of Doris. To be plastic.” To which he responded “Ah, I get it. You love her in an ironic way.” And to tell you the truth, I felt like that wasn’t it. There really isn’t a whole lot of cynicism in my love for cheezy things a lot of the time. It’s not a sort of hipsterish trucker-hat-wearing thing, you know what I mean? Like the privileged hipster white kids who wear trucker hats? I could be wrong, but they don’t exactly exude respect for truckers. Or the ironic mustache dudes. At that point, the ironicness has taken over and the love of the cheez is not really there any more. Am I making sense? I don’t know, but it makes sense in my head. The way I love Doris Day is a way that acknowledges all the things about what she represents that I know aren’t the best things in the world, but that acknowledgment doesn’t corrupt the love.
That said, sometimes I will, for the sake of the conversation, let comments like that of my co-worker pass. I don’t need to get into all that, you know? And besides, sometimes my love for cheez is a little embarrassing. Liking Doris Day at least has some currency in that I can frame it within my love for classic cinema. And that sort of gets me out of looking like too much of a doof, which is fine with me. Believe me, I need as many ways as possible to shave off doof points.
Other things, however, are harder to couch in an aura of sophistication. For instance, my unabashed love for Rick Astley.
I have nothing to add to that love. No qualifiers, no way of making it seem cooler. Nothing. All I can say is that there was a period of my life when I was a kid in the 80s and I went to England, and Rick Astley was the Royal Shit when I was there and I loved him then and I love him now. And it’s not like I don’t know that he’s the Earl of Fromage. I know it, I accept it, and I adore it. I have threatened, on many occasions, that if Nordic Boy and I were to ever have a wedding, that “Never Gonna Give You Up” would be what I would walk down the aisle to. And I’m not kidding. Part of it is because I know it’s hilarious and I think that would be entertaining. But part of it is because I truly feel like that song expresses my deep and abiding love for my man and his love for me. And when I sing along to the song, I feel it deep down and I know in my heart of hearts that I will never GIVE HIM UP! LET HIM DOWN! RUN AROUND AND! DESERT HIM!
I told you I wasn’t kidding.
Still, it’s not like I advertise my love for Rick. Nordic Boy knows about it, and maybe Biogirl has an inkling, but other than that it’s not like I play it when people come over for dinner parties. It’s on my iPod and I listen to it in the privacy of my own earbuds.
The other day, I had a friend in my car with me, and I put my iPod on and just did a shuffle. Putting your entire iPod on shuffle in front of other people is, to me, kind of like showing someone your underwear drawer. Pretty private. Of course, during the course of this drive, Rick Astley happened to pop up. And my friend didn’t say anything, as we were talking, but unbeknownst to me, as we were driving along, I was head bobbing along to the song. With shoulders. And maybe with full upper-body. I COULD NOT HELP IT.
Friend: You are totally rocking out over there.
Me: Oh. Yes, I suppose I am. I sort of love this song.
(I stopped head-bobbing and we continued the conversation)
(a minute goes by)
Friend: You are rocking out again!
Me: (catching myself in mid-shimmy) Oh my god, I totally am.
Friend: It’s like you can’t stop yourself!
Me: I can’t!
Friend: Wow, who knew Rick Astley could move a person like that?
I knew, that’s who. Good thing we got out of the car before 90s Mandy Moore started playing.