A New Years Confession

I have a deep, dark secret to share with you all. I almost put it on a postcard and sent it to Frank Warren, but I decided I'd feel better if I just came clean.

I'm sure that you're familiar with this video (unless you've been living under a rock for the past two months):



Well I have a sick, obsessive, love-hate relationship with it.

I became acquainted with this little ditty at a friend's party pretty soon after it was released. I smiled and nodded and told said friend that it was as magical as he thought it was. Then I found myself a few days later re-enacting most of the choreography in the middle of the night in the middle of a Cheesecake Factory parking garage for a group of un-hip friends who hadn't been so fortunate as to see it yet. We chortled. "How awful is that video?!" "What is she doing, the funky chicken?" "I could've written that song when I was five!"

But months later, I find myself somehow still hypnotized with the drum machine and mindless repetition. Or maybe it's the way she gets her hips to rotate like that. There are some who have even attributed my fascination to the jealousy I harbor against Beyoncé's alleged million-dollar weave collection closet. And then there are others (cough cough maestro cough cough) who consider my frightening ability to recall the choreography as a parlor trick to start conversations at parties.

Either way, I've got a fever that even more cowbell can't solve, and it's called "Single Ladies."

PHEW! Now that I got that off my chest, I feel better. Please don't judge me too harshly.