Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
To be fair, I never noticed just how long Steve's neck was until Ohthatdeb mentioned it in a few of her comments, and now whenever I see a picture of him, that's the first thing I look at (no, seriously). The man has a long-ass neck. And I can't help but wonder: why is it that big? And okay, smart ass, I know that it houses his vocal chords and helps him sing and swallow and all that good stuff. Doi. But so do the rest of our necks, and ours aren't nearly as long or as majestic as Steve's. So what gives?
Here's my theory: Steve Perry's neck is evolution's way of saying, "This man's voice will knock your socks off, so recognize and respect." The packaging of Steve's power--his vocal chords--is obvious so that anybody who comes across him will immediately know that he is more special than any other human being on Earth and to treat him as such. Also, Steve Perry's vocal chords are double the length of ordinary ones--how else can you explain his magnificent range?--and made of platinum. No shit. So they need to be housed in something that's just a teensy bit different than the run-of-the-mill models currently on the market. Basically, it boils down to this: Special vocal chords=Better packaging. Hey, it might not be fair--I'd like a long, sexy neck--but I didn't design Steve Perry's anatomy. Take it up with Mother Nature if you have a problem, k?
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Edit: I just watched it again. It's like a trainwreck I can't stop watching. What is up with that blonde, big-haired guy and his incoherent rambling, or scatting or whatever the hell it was? Can I single him out for an extra punch in the face? Good grief.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Okay, first thing's first: if you've read this blog--at all--and are still wondering about why his man-hair is so gorgeous, just save yourself some embarrassment and leave now. Steve Perry's man-hair looks like it does because he's Steve Perry, alright? There's nothing you, or I, or Paul Mitchell can do to make our hair sparkle with just a fraction of the radiance of Steve Perry's. It is what it is. Deal with it.
However, I can shine some light on Perry's diet. Quite simply, Steve Perry eats whatever the hell he wants. His genetics (him being Portuguese and Steve Perry) are such that they practically make him a god here on Earth. He always sports a natural sun-kissed tan, even in winter; as mentioned before his man-hair is incomparable; his teeth are always white; and his physique is already perfect. Unlike the rest of us mere mortals, Steve doesn't have to worry about things such as transfats and bad cholesterol--they have absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. In fact, he could chow down on nothing but Country Crock, Crisco and powdered sugar and his body would still have no fat and perfect muscle tone.
Bet this bit o' info makes you want to kill yourself, don't it? I know, I know. Me too. It's almost not fair. Steve gets to enjoy the nectar of the gods (i.e. all the junk food ever invented ever) and the rest of us have to moan, groan and sweat our asses off on the treadmill if we so much as look at a doughnut. But, like Steve's man-hair, it is what it is. We just have to deal with it and continue to count our calories.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Hey, Steve Perry!
Yeah, I'm talking to YOU, buster.
Listen, I've been doing some checking and you seem like a decent sort:
and from my personal "I'm married, not dead" perspective, nummy like massa sovada:
Crinkles! Those are the eyes of a man who knows how to laugh!
(I’ll assume that you are also a magnificent human mess, just like everyone else—but we'll stick with warm, goofy and nummy for now.)
So this is gonna hurt but baby, we need to talk.
OK, fine: I need to talk. You need to listen. Stay with me here...
For a very long time you recorded and toured and ran yourself ragged...
And that made a lot of people really happy. But it wasn't making YOU happy (which I guess is sort of important) and you were fried:
So you retired.
And then... you came back! Sweet!
And might I add: Damn!
Aaaaand... then some other crap happened soooooo... you retired again.
But ok, that whole thing sucked, I can understand why you'd throw up your hands. And maybe at some point you'll want to record something else—you, I'm saying. Screw those other guys.
I'm being very nonchalant about this, you notice. We’re cool.
Here's what's NOT cool. Every once in a while, someone says something about you writing new music. New music in 2008! New music in 2009! Oh, now wait... new music in 2010! And who keeps saying these things? Hmmm... let's see... well, among others, YOU do! For YEARS you've been saying this: I'm writing again, I've got some sketches, I go into the studio every once in a while, I've been thinking about it, I can't decide, I think I'll think about thinking about it...
Stephen. My friend. I have to assume that you DO know what your voice means, to so many people. The reaction is not “Oh. That’s nice.” It's emotional. It's visceral. It's sexual.
It's medical! Studies prove that only the very strongest opioids trigger the same endorphine release as listening to Still They Ride live at Budokan, 1983. (Which was, incidentally, named the "Best Vocal Performance of Anything Ever" at a recent UN General Assembly plenary session on Music for Peace and Development.)
But, see... the maddening thing is that you DO sing... anyone with reasonable skill at internet research knows THAT... you're just not sharing, dammit! There you are, storing up for yourself this treasure upon the earth, and every once in a while saying that you're thinking about singing for us again. And then, you know, NOT singing for us. I gotta call bullsh*t on that.
As a matter of fact, I gotta call something else. If I had an attribute that made men melt and swoon (or whatever you guys do... what, howl and hit each other?) Anyway, if I kept saying "Mmmmm, yeah, I've been thinking about sharing this attribute... maybe..." and then when it came right down to it, kept NOT sharing it? Guess what they would call me. Go on, guess. You already know the answer, but I'll say it in good old Anglo Saxon. They would call me a c*ck tease.
Now, I don't know what the male equivalent would be but, with all due respect sir, you are one. Why do I say this? Because you know all about it. I find it hard to believe that you've never Googled yourself, or perused the comments on the squillion YouTube videos of you... you know, the ones covered in virtual lipstick kisses (and/or drool)? Steve, these women... they’re serious. They are in love. And you're toying with their affections.
Even the guys want you back—this is from a recent article on Cherrybomb:
"Is it just Cherrybomb’s obsession with one of the greatest bands of the 80’s, or does Steve Perry not understand his importance in the world of rock and roll? I’m completely f*cking baffled by Perry’s ability to resist his own greatness."
Every time you drop a hint we get all worked up. And I'll be honest -- it almost seems like you're having fun. Example: one of the Q&As on Fan Asylum asked whether you were ever going to release Always (w/ Nuno Bettencourt). And you said "I've thought about it.... Always is a beautiful song."
Honey, why you gotta treat me so bad?
And here you are at the U2 show:
Unfair! Look at you, all trim and relaxed, that long graceful neck, sexy motorcycle boots, even THE NECKLACE. And do I see some classy silver threads in THE HAIR? And the worst part is that little half smile -- you look like the cat that ate the master tapes.
You're trying to kill me. You're trying to kill me right where I stand.
Look, if you DO want to sing and keep your sanity, here's my recommendation: Establish your independence.
Record an R&B covers thing -- whatever you like (as long as you do Jackie Wilson's "I'm the Man" because that's totally hot.) It’s a sure bet for sales, and given your retiring nature, just the fact that you’ve released something is big news. Now here's the beauty part: you release it yourself, on this thing called the Internet. All downloads, very little overhead, you keep the cash. You don't tour, or maybe just a few scattered shows. No, it's not a big worldwide splash, and yes, some a**holes decide to pan it because your voice is different from the way it was 30 years ago. But your faithful fans love it, and you gather about you a cozy little cult following.
Once you've established this setup, you can record and release whatever you want. You can perform when and where you feel like it. You proceed with your current boundaries: If I'm wearing a cool mafioso suit, you may take my picture. If I'm wearing scruddy sweats, get lost. If I happen to be with someone whose precise relationship to myself you know I am not eager to discuss... c’mon, don't be a jerk. (Please. Thank you.) Everyone respects these boundaries, mostly because of your niche-y awesomeness, but also because they know that if they don't, 50 women wearing "Mrs. Steve Perry" t-shirts will sweep in and make with the pummeling.
Once you see that this works, you call me up: "Deb, you were right—this rocks." I do not say I told you so. However I do happen to mention that I make kickass sweetbread (true) and the hands-down best cup of coffee you will ever have (I'm not bragging, these are just facts). You get a wild idea: "Hey, lemme fly you out here, we'll hang around in scruddy sweats, watch baseball, and eat sweetbread until we bust a gut." Awesome! You quickly realize what a truly gifted writer I am and hire me to ghostwrite your autobiography. This is a massive success, we both become rich as Croesus, and everyone lives happily ever after.
See? No big whoop.
So here we are at The Bottom Line.
We miss you, Stevie.
We will leave you alone if that's what you want.
But if that IS what you want then STOP MESSING WITH US!
If you aren't going to sing ever again, just tell us, so our broken hearts can start to mend. (Sniffle, sniffle...)
If you DO want to sing, then SING, DAMMIT!
But baby, please... don't tease.
Love and kisses,
But you know what? I say screw it. Because the picture I found is so sweet, and is the perfect combination of Halloween magic and Steve Perry goodness that I'm doing you mofos a disservice if I don't post it:
That's Luke Skywalker and Steve Perry, right down to the glorious man-hair and bad-ass leather jacket. Happy (belated) Halloween.
P.S. You can see more of the iconic awesomeness here.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Partial fact: The song "Afternoon Delight" is about having sex in the afternoon with Steve Perry. It was so good, it spawned a song which has been featured in Arrested Development and Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy among other programs.
Sky rockets in flight takes on a whole new meaning, doesn't it?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Now you would think that since Steve's slacks played such a prominent role in his career, they would have played an equally prominent role in this blog. Well, I hate to break it to you , but your humble narrator is sometimes oblivious to things and once in awhile needs a swift kick to the behind in order to wake up. I'm only human, after all. But my lovely reader Ohthatdeb got me in gear by kindly suggesting an idea for a new blog feature (and she didn't even need to kick me, switfly or otherwise--she's that good). So it is with great pleasure I announce Crotch Shot of the Day. It's pretty self-explanatory, but in case you need a little extra help, it means that I will post pictures of the ensembles that best show off Steve's family jewels. Consider it a hall of fame of his crotch, if you will. And for the first entry, I thought this little number would be appropriate (again, submitted by Ohthatdeb):
Ta-da! Now I'm no anthropologist, but something tells me that such a blatant display of both Steve and Neal's disco sticks is probably a primal form of peacocking--maybe they're subconsciously channeling an animal that flashes his dick in order to get mates, I don't know. What I do know is that both are out there, daring the world to look and admire. And that what Neal's sporting may not be legal.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Happy Hump Day.
Monday, October 19, 2009
We all know Steve is a badass. However, very few of us (and by that I mean only me) know just how much of a badass Steve truly is. Believe it or not, luscious shiny man-hair, wrinkle-free sun-kissed skin and a voice that could make Joan Rivers cry (have you seen her face? NOT an easy feat) does not make someone a badass. Well, what does? you may be wondering. And I'll tell you: being able to crush a man with your bare hands.
Little-known fact: Steve Perry was trained in the martial arts by Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan AND Chuck Norris. He was trained in boxing by Mr. Rocky himself, Sylvester Stallone. And he opted to stay a month in a maximum security prison ward, just because. The result? He can round-house kick you in the face, feed you a sucker punch before you knew what hit you, and shiv your ass with nothing but a Q-Tip and a paper clip--with lethal results.
My point? Don't fuck with Steve, okay? Just leave the man alone. Nobody has ever been able to say, "I took on Steve Perry and lived to tell about it." Food for thought.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
First, I added a search feature right at the top of the blog. If you want to look up a specific post or whatever, just type in a keyword or phrase and you're good to go. There's also a "share it" widget in case anyone just loves a post so much, they want to shout it from the rooftops...er, the virtual rooftops of the internet.
And the addition I'm really pleased about: a contact widget, located underneath the "about me" section. As always, you are welcome to leave comments on specific posts, but if you'd like to contact me directly about anything you see on here, have any questions, or simply want to say hey, click on the button and type in your message. I love communicating with my readers and hearing feedback, so don't be shy! I don't bite--hard.
And finally--I doubt anyone who reads this cares about any of this, but I do like to flatter myself from time to time. So please indulge my delusion. ;-)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Locations: Five Guys in Tampa, FL; a USF football game at Raymond James; a wedding in Louisville, KY
Heard: "Don't Stop Believin'" (Five Guys); "Any Way You Want It" (football game); "Faithfully" (wedding)
Probably my favorite out of the three was being surprised by "Any Way You Want It" blaring from a car radio in the tailgate lot at Raymond James Stadium. The icing on the cake was the drunky drunk slurring along with it, decked out in green and gold. Just witnessing the school spirit, along with a love of Journey coalesce so beautifully brought a tear to my eye and an extra spring to my step and got me psyched for the game. And talk about a good omen: USF won that night, and I do believe that it was the talent of the players plus the fact that a Journey song was played beforehand that helped seal the victory.
I was also excited to hear "Faithfully" played at the wedding reception, although I do believe the DJ played it at the wrong time, thus wasting a perfectly good Journey song. He just didn't read the crowd properly. A few too many slow songs had already been played and the energy was just dwindling. While I do applaud this effort to psych everyone up with a little Journey, I think a more appropriate song would have been "Don't Stop Believin'" or maybe a little "Be Good to Yourself." But that's just my humble opinion.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Fact. Steve Perry's genetics (being Portuguese and Steve Perry) makes him impervious to most afflictions: cancer, high blood pressure, depression, STDs, PMS and, of course, dandruff. In fact, if you looked in his shower, you wouldn't see any bottles of shampoo or conditioner. Well, you would, but you wouldn't recognize them being as such. They're marked simply magic and wonder.
However, every Superman does have his kryptonite, and Steve is no exception. When he's within 50 feet of Neal Schon, he's powerless and vulnerable.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
No doubt you've all seen the commercials for Gardasil, the vaccine that promises girls and young women they will be "one less" victim of cervical cancer should they choose to get vaccinated. But I'll let you in on a little secret the pharmaceutical bidness doesn't want you to know: the shot DOESN'T WORK. That's just a ploy to get you drop more of your hard-earned money on a "miracle cure" for, let's face it, a disease you probably didn't know was that serious in the first place. All so the pharmaceutical industry can make more dough.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
This video gives us the rarely seen "angsty Steve." That's right--not all of his videos are of him undressing you with his eyes and serenading you with sweet nothings. There are a few (see also Foolish Heart), such as this one, where the snazzy outfits and flowing man-hair are considerably toned down because Steve wants you to feel one thing and one thing only: his angst!
And after having watched this video, can't you feel it? I mean, the angst and hopelessness is palpable! If you were to stick your tongue out, you'd be able to taste it. Try it. See? Taste that metallic flavor? That's Steve Perry's ANGST! His hurt! His anger! (Told ya you'd be able to taste it.)
But, like any man with a support system, his bros come to the rescue in the form of free-falling out the window and staring at him as he drinks coffee. Hey, I don't pretend to understand male-bonding. But, really, when it comes to Steve Perry and Journey, are we even entitled to an explanation?
Friday, July 3, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
According to this blog, this picture documents a Steve Perry sighting made back in March of this year. Thoughts? Methinks he's not lookin' too bad for, what, sixty? Of course with him being Portuguese and Steve Perry it shouldn't come as a surprise: the man is ageless. It's a fact. Look out for a future post that goes into this further.