We were liars in love

You know you have some embarrassing stuff on your iPod, among the cooler than thou selections. If you're my age it's probably stuff from the 80's, furtively purchased on iTunes or taken from a 10-disk 80's CD set that you got last year for Christmas, with a title like "Omigod, It's the 80's," or "She Blinded Me With Music." In my case this would be the Hooters.

You know the songs I mean, of course-- that handful of shameless hits from your school days of listening to boisterous top 40 DJs, biting your nails, wondering if you should call in and request "True Colors" by Cyndi Lauper, and anonymously dedicate it to that stuck up sophomore football player with the sleepy eyes who didn't know you were alive, even though you were a junior. But: the last laugh is on him, as these things often turn out. He has been spotted within the last decade serving up chocolate covered Gummi bears behind the candy counter at my hometown Cost Plus, this being presumably, his career. Guess the Dallas Cowboys passed.

Note: this is purely a hypothetical anecdote.

Where was I? Right, the Hooters. Put me in a Chevy Nova with my old spiral permed C-list girl friends from high school, and crank up "Day by Day" or "And We Danced," the two peerlessly awesome mandolin rockers from this defunct, mulletized party band, and for the entire three-minute length of either one of those songs, I was feeling the gale force top-40 wind in my hair, probably accompanied by some utterly shameless Walter Mitty style fantasy of romantic intrigue that no archetypically indifferent, slack-jawed high school boy could ever make true, damn all their stunted souls.