Marva King- Feels Right (1981)

Life would be so much easier if I just got everything right the first time around, but the learning curve is so much more severe and permanent if I fuck things up real good a few times first.

Skyy- Call Me (1981)

I feel sorry for today's kids. With caller ID and IP addresses and whatnot, they will never know the thirty seconds of soul-less joy that comes with prank-calling someone in the middle of the night.

Pike- Good Feelings (1982)

This morning, Reggie squatted over, and pooped on, a crushed, wet cowboy hat, and nothing in the world could've been more effective at conveying my feelings about the past two weeks in this city.

Prestige- Cheating (1983)

You'll never see so many people visibly mulling over the intricacies of the "eating is not cheating" theory as you will during the ten days of the Calgary Stampede.

Aretha Franklin- Every Girl (Wants My Guy) (1983)

I'd never really dated anyone in the public eye before, so I had no idea that walking around with a "I get good dick face" was going to get me a slew of haters, but dear jesus that shit is worth it.

Manhattan Rhythm- Sweet Lady (1983)

I get super disappointed when I get a summer cold, but then I remember it's just the quarterly siren song of sweet lady Robitussin, ready to take me on a journey full of giggly highs and terrifying lows, all in the name of cough control.

Peech Boys- Don't Make Me Wait (1982)

The hierarchy of artificial fruit flavors is as such (in descending order): grape, lime, lemon, blue, strawberry, green apple, watermelon, cherry. This list is thrown completely up in the air when the seldom-found, seldom offered peach flavor is added to the list, because you just cannot fuck with peach.

Intrigue- I Like It (1982)

The intrigue and allure of driving around in a shiny, brand-new drop-top Beamer is lost completely if you're driving around loudly listening to talk radio discuss why allergies are so prevalent nowadays.

The Brothers Johnson- Stomp! (1980)

On the top of the list of things I swore I'd never do, but secretly knew I probably couldn't avoid forever: Cirque Du Soleil. For those who don't know, Cirque Du Soleil is what happens when you give French Canadians their own circus. They stomp around in elaborate costumes and everyone is a contortionist, or someone that enjoys genuinely endangering themselves. Watching people fly through the air, catching each other mid-flip, I spent half the show marveling at the control these people had over their bodies, and the other half staring at the floor, shaking my head and thinking to myself "white people".

p.s. RIP Louis Johnson.

George Duke- Reach Out (1983)

Working with street youth can be tough. With a natural distrust of the system, connections can be hard to make, and can take weeks or even months to make any headway at all. All in all, I've just learned over the years to try to be as approachable as possible, and listen more than I speak. I have to admit, though, there's still a very small part of my brain that wants to turn my baseball cap backwards, sit on my chair the wrong way, and start speaking in faux ebonics, just like the Narcs that use to come do anti-drug presentations at my elementary school. The fact that I'm ten years in the game without being stabbed tells me that I am correct to stifle those urges.