Here's my Number, So Call Me.....Ishmael

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, so call me, maybe?
Call me, maybe?
Call me, maybe?
Maybe?

      No one can escape this song. It's impossible because it's everywhere. On practically every radio station known to man. In stores. At the pool. On facebook. Even from the person humming it in line behind you at the movies.

      I admit, it is catchy. Once you hear it, even if only for a second, it is trapped in your head for the rest of the day, night, and sometimes even all the next day. Its lyrics revolve around the classic tale of boy meets girl, and girl becomes obsessive. And if you watch the music video, theres a twist in the ending that could rival any Nancy Drew, James Patterson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Hunger Games or whatever your personal "twisted endings" preference may be. Now, if you can't pick up the fact that what I just said is soaking in sarcasm, then there may be a slight problem.

      I would sit with a guilty conscience if I pretended to loathe this song with every fiber in my being. Because I don't. In fact, when it first came on Ryan Seacrest's "American Top 40", I loved it. For weeks I blasted it in the car with no fear of being caught singing along on the highway. I sang it at home. In the shower. With my friends. At work (because yes, we are one of the stores where you cannot escape from it). I was a fan, and I am not ashamed to admit it.

      But alas, I got absolutely positively unequivocally sick of it. I went from blowing the speakers in my car out every single time it came on the radio no matter how many successive times it was played, to changing the station or even just turning the radio off as soon as I heard "I threw a wish-".  I still don't hate the song, and if one of my friends is listening to it, I'll sing along. But I got to thinking about how on earth this song is possibly so popular, and it annoyed me into this post, just as feminist poet Marianne Moore was "annoyed into poetry" in The Grave.

      Before you start thinking that this is going to be a "hater" blog post about Carly Rae Jepsen and her one-hit-wonder, you are wrong. If this makes you sad, then just go to Google and I am sure you will find a plethora of "Individuals Against Pop Culture Music" who's goal in life is to open the ears of today's youth and show them how low the music industry has steeped. But, that is not my purpose. It never will be. Actually, I am, in a way, about to jump ship and talk about a different kind of "Call Me". And if you understood the title of this particular blog post, then the "Jump Ship" should have made you laugh. I hope it did... At least, it made me laugh.

      And now it is time for the biggest twist yet. I, because I can, am proclaiming this post To Be Continued (cue the shocking intake of breath). You may think that "this is crazy" but I have my reasons. Mostly, because if I continued on to explain my odd yet completely intellectual thought process, this blog post would be excrutiatingly long, and no one wants that. So, reader, I hope I have thoroughly piqued your interest in what I have to say. If I have, then stay tuned for Part 2.  I can guarantee it will be worth it. I think it will be, and therefore, it must.

      But reader, I warn you, if you are considering leaving my blog without the slightest inclination to return for Part 2, I am going to be forced to ask, "Where You Think You're Going, Baby?"

                                                                   Sincerely,
                                                                              Me