Ignorance is Bliss

The year was 1983. As a surprise one day, my mom brought home Air Supply's Greatest Hits. (Amazon lists the release as 1988, but that must be for the CD, not the super cool cassette version.) It was a mistake, actually. The last song on Side 2 was a song called "Sweet Dreams" and, not having the benefit of Internet and constantly missing the D.J. introduction on the radio, my mom figured it was the popular Eurythmics song. No matter. Even if "Sweet Dreams" was the worst song on the album (it was), there was plenty to love. Oh yes.

My Air Supply cassette accompanied me wherever I went, usually tucked inside my imitation Walkman with the orange sponge headphones, manufactured by Unicef. For me, it made my brother's seemingly endless soccer games bearable. I would even sing along - that is, until my brother helpfully pointed out that singing when you can't hear yourself makes even the most accomplished singer sound tone deaf (actually, he probably just said, "Shut up. You stink.").

While a number of the songs competed for second place, there was a definite favorite: "Making Love Out Of Nothing At All." It was prominently placed in the first slot on Side 2, and I knew all of the words by heart. I especially enjoyed when the song hit its crescendo, and I could sing to the top of my lungs, "We could make tonight forever, or we could make it disappear like a dog . . ."

Yes, that's what I said. "Disappear like a dog ..." I happily sang these lyrics for a good five years, and no one bothered to correct me. See, we didn't have the Internet to look these things up. Back then, we were lucky to find the lyrics in the cassette insert, and even then, only Chuck Yeager could read them. (Raise your hand if you remember Chuck Yeager ...)

Today, I could find out in less than five minutes exactly what Graham Russell was saying.

But where's the fun in that?