Supernatural hotness

There’s so much going on in my mind right now that I can’t sleep. Images of shirtless Rick Springfield from his concert at the Arkansas State Fair this past week are mixed with images of him playing the devil in tonight’s “Supernatural” episode.

The part of my brain that deals with everyday life – work, carpools, homework, parent-teacher conferences, housekeeping, grocery shopping, scheduling dentist appointments, bedtime routines, etc. – has short-circuited due to an overload issue so all I have left is the brain power to contemplate the awesomeness that is Rick Springfield.

Maybe it is a long-term effect of having my bedroom walls plastered with posters like this one:

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I wonder if there have been any studies done on the effects of poster-covered walls on brain development during one’s formative years.

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My actual bedroom wall, circa the early ’80s. The photo is so old that it has faded.

It’s quite possible that having someone’s face greet you every morning when you wake up and stare at you as you fall asleep permanently alters your subconscious mind. Especially when it’s supplemented with listening to that person’s music over and over again during those formative years.

That would actually explain a lot.

The early days

I don’t remember how it all started but maybe if I find my diary from those days, I’ll find out the truth. But all I remember is that my walls were covered with Rick Springfield posters and by the time I moved out of my house out of high school, I had nine of his albums (long before CDs) and knew the words to most of the songs, having listened to them over and over. For a time, I was also a “General Hospital” fan – or specifically of Dr. Noah Drake. I was also a member of the Rick Springfield Fan Club.

At some point, I think in eighth or ninth grade, my focus shifted to Duran Duran. This was a phase shared with my closest friends, to the point where we wrote letters to each other describing lengthy scenarios as if they were our boyfriends. There was also an elaborate Duranie community, with fans donning alias names and posting messages to each other in the free classified listings of City Life. (I was White Sox, because Roger always wore white socks. I guess all the good names were taken). We exchanged phone numbers in these listings and spent hours on the phone talking about the band. Occasionally there’d be a gathering at the local mall where the young fans would come wearing T-shirts filled with little pins with the band members’ pictures.

Throughout this time though, I always remained loyal to Rick Springfield and his posters dominated my walls throughout high school. My sophomore year I was really into ska music, favoring The Specials, Madness and English Beat; the RS posters remained. The Beatles dominated my junior year, with the treasured album box set from Price Club, and I read all the books I could find about the group. I added a couple of Beatles posters to my ceiling but RS was still the dominating force (perhaps because he was the best looking of all of them?)

After graduating high school, I moved to California. My sister started moving her stuff into my bedroom before I left and the posters came down.