Guilty pleasures

Watermark; Enya

In episode fourteen of the fourth season of “The West Wing”, called “Inauguration, Part 1”, Josh tells the President that …

“I did just get off the phone with Jeffrey Tomlinson and Bob Bibbet…”

The President says, “The language (in his inaugural address) is being polished.”

“That’s what I told them. They just asked me to remind you that their version reflects existing treaties some of which …”

“Some of which have my name on them. So tell Jeff Tomlinson and Bibby Bob to take a deep knee bend, would you? I’m just as big a cotton candy ass as they are.”

Josh smiles and says, “Yes, sir.”

The President immediately looks up from the papers on his desk and asks, “You just gonna let that hang in the air?”

“Course not, sir, you’re a much bigger cotton candy ass than they are.”

“Damn right.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Have you ever experienced the guilty pleasures of listening to a CD that you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to be enjoying? I will stand right here on this page and declare that I enjoy the music of Enya. There was a time when I never would have allowed myself to do that. Not until one of my many social visits to the house of D. and G. One time, when I walked in, they had an Enya CD playing on their stereo.

My first silent snide comment went like this: “Look at these two wishy-washy yo-yo’s listening to the shallowness of Enya.”

The second silent snide comment went like this: “Hold it there, haystack boy. Don’t you have two of her CD’s? And don’t you play them frequently?”

Okay. You got me. Yup. And yup. Ms. Enya frequents my stereo speakers on a regularly recurring basis. Oh, boy. Here I thought I was just as wishy-washy as those yo-yo’s D. and G. But it turns out I was a much wishier and washier yo-yo than they were.

That was a waking moment. It wasn’t okay for me to profess, or confess, my appreciation for the quality and atmospheric bloviations of the artist who calls herself by a single name until I knew that my friends were listening to her, too? What kind of namby-pamby game of musical chicken was that?

I haven’t figured out why I like Enya yet, but I’m no longer concerned about wrecking some imagined type of snobbish, effete and feckless musical integrity by hiding behind a tree wearing a fake nose and moustache at an Enya festival. Nope. I have manned up. No more guilty pleasures. All musical enjoyments have legitimacy. If I like Britney Spears, I’m going to shout from the rafters, “I LIKE BRITNEY SPEARS!!”

Okay, I don’t like how that last paragraph ended. I really don’t like Britney Spears. Okay, maybe the video to “Oops! I Did It Again”. But then only for that orange jump suit she was wearing. She has a nice smile, y’know. And her big eyes? But if you tell ANYBODY…..

Credits: To Uncle M., for helping Dad put up haystacks for more than thirty years.