Just because I want to do everything I can to destroy my readers’ opinions of me, I follow up my post from last month about Googlestalking a clown with this juicy tidbit of impropriety: I’ve got the hots for a chick who sings children’s songs.
I know. I know.
Those of you who have small children might very well be familiar with Laurie Berkner. If you have small children and you have cable and you get the Noggin network and let said small children watch said network, you undoubtedly know Laurie. Noggin has six or seven videos of her songs, all filmed against a plain white background with insanely cute moppets doing insanely cute moppet-y things while Laurie and her band sing.
Before we get to the impropriety, I’d just like to say that her songs are good–they’re not the annoying drivel so frequenly found in music for kids. They’re groovy little pop songs that happen to be about marching dinosaurs or talkative bumblebees or using pigs as headwear. Parents can listen to these songs over and over without feeling the need to slice their own ears off and stuff the earmeat in the newly-exposed holes in sides of their heads. Or, y’know, feeling the need to go to another room and ignore the music while their kids dance to the silly songs.
But this post isn’t really about the music. To quote famed philospher Jimi Jamison: “It’s the singer, not the song.”
I’ve got a thing for women who play guitar and sing. I admit it: a gorgeous voice can do more to get a rise out of me (so to speak) than a gorgeous figure. (1) One of the first reasons I found myself so insanely attracted to my wife was because of her voice and her fretwork (neither of which she uses anywhere near enough anymore…nudge nudge, Terry). So Laurie’s got that going for her, and then she’s got this awesomely sexy curly honey-blond hair and a scrumptious bod and…and then I imagine myself with Laurie on that stark white set, her backing band playing a slow and sultry jazz number, the children ushered offstage to prevent them from witnessing the acts of desperate sin that are about to begin…oh, Barney would NOT approve (“I love you, you love me” indeed)…
…why is that I keep having these completely inappropriate thoughts about women who only want to entertain my kids? What does that say about me? Am I going to the special hell reserved for child molesters and people who talk in the theater? (2)
- I swear that I half fell in love with the chick who played Eponine in Les Miserables when I saw it in Orlando in ’92–and I was sitting almost in the back of the theater. I have very little idea of what she looked like, but her smooth, powerful voice went straight through my ears and right into my pants.
- Thank you, Joss Whedon.