My boss had a spare ticket to an Alicia Keys concert and asked if I wanted to go. It’s not really my kind of music, but hearing artists perform live really changes the game for me. I’d go hear RNC Chairman Michael Steele play the kazoo if it wasn’t too far away.
The opening act was Robin Thicke, whom I never even knew existed but apparently he is Alan Thicke’s son. Robin is touring with Alicia to promote his new album, Sexual Therapy. Can you imagine the album titles that he decided not to use?
“Let’s call it Orgasmaeriffic. No wait, that’s a bit too subtle. How about Sexual Therapy?”
My boss hadn’t thought that Thicke would make it, because apparently his wife gave birth to their first child earlier in the week. But no, Thicke showed up, And he introduced his masterpiece by saying “I wrote this because all women need a little Sexual Therapy sometimes.” Well, perhaps they do. But what about Stay-at-Home-and-Help-the-Wife-with-the-New-Baby Therapy? Nope, no degree in that. Seems to me that his wife is likely to need a little actual therapy nine months following the Therapy.
Alicia was fine and definitely gets a pass from me because she sang her song from the last James Bond film--anyone who ever sings a James Bond song is allowed to live, which is why I continue to suffer Madonna to walk the earth--but she kept talking about how hard her struggle was to become a successful performer, and how she was proof that anyone who believes in a dream can achieve it.
Yeah, right, Alicia--have you seen yourself lately? You have cheekbones as high as the Swiss Alps. Of course you achieved your dreams. Let’s do a compare and contrast:
ME: I’d like some dreams.
FATE: You’re ugly. Next.
ALICIA: I’d like some dreams.
FATE: Sure! Have a bunch of Grammys. And you look hot in that dress.
The moral of the story is: Don’t be a motivational speaker, just shut up and sing. And also, if you’re going to have children with someone who holds a degree in Sexual Therapy, don’t expect a lot of help with late-night feedings.