Sunday, May 31, 2009

Guess What Steve Perry is a Fan of?

This blog! Sike. I wish. But while I may have to dream up schemes to get him to notice my work, there's a group that doesn't: Outkast.

Now I know what you may be thinking: "Outkast?! Hold up. Pump the breaks. Stop the presses. Is this a typo? Did you mean to type The Moody Blues and accidentally type Outkast because you were listening to them while writing this post or something?" No, dear reader. You read it right. Our beloved Steve Perry is a fan of Outkast.

This post is in no way meant to criticize Steve Perry's taste in music. Frankly, he could be a fan of Yanni and I would still think he was a god among men. No, the purpose of this post is quite the opposite: his loving Outkast just illustrates how badass he is. Think about it: he could be like every other musician and say that he was a fan of Steeley Dan or The Beatles, or some equally such "go-to" music group, but he says no. Fuck that. He chooses more relevant, progressive groups such as Outkast and The Postal Service, which broadens the spectrum of his appeal. Now, in addition to the 35 and older crowd, the 10-34 group favors him as well. His choice in music is both excellent and a shrewd marketing move.

Well played, Steve. Well played.

Edit: If you want to know the source of this information, click on the title of this post.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

There's Nothing Sweeter...

...than coming back from a jam-packed (and at times stressful) work trip, firing up your car, and being greeted by the vocal chops of Steve Perry. I completely forgot Raised on Radio was in my CD player. It was a nice surprise.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

How to "Steve-Up" Your Summer

First of all, how awesome am I to have found this picture of Steve Perry to use with one of my summer posts? This, ladies and gentleman, is the power of the internets: just type in a phrase and you're sure to find some sort of picture to match with what you typed. In this case, "steve perry summer" in Google Images did not disappoint.

Secondly, I wanted to get at least one post in before I leave tomorrow on work bidness and am out of operation for a few days. And so, with summer just around the corner, I present to you a few tips on how to "Steve-Up" your summer:

1. Make a Journey playlist to play while you're out at the beach. And driving to the beach. And coming back from the beach...

3. The band is touring this summer. Even though Steve won't be with them, Arnel sounds close enough that you can just close your eyes and imagine it's Steve:

4. Craft time! Create an iron-on transfer of a picture of Steve and make a custom beach towel!

5. Barbeque, a la Steve (see accompanying picture)

6. Create a Journey trivia game, and have your friends over for some friendly competition.


Okay, since my co-workers are hell-bent on making me be productive, I have to go. These are just a handful to get you started. If anybody else has tips to add, feel free to leave a comment!

Edit: Okay, let's see how this works out. If anybody has tried or is planning to try any of the tips listed in this post and in the readers' comments, or has their own Steve Perry summer tradition and wants to share with the rest of us, please email photos, recipies, etc. to Put something that references Steve Perry, this blog, or Journey in the subject line, just so I won't confuse it with spam and delete it. And include some sort of identifer so I can credit you when I post your submission. You don't have to give out your full name or any sort of personal information, but either a first name, nickname, whatever, so I can credit you.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

How Steve Perry Woos His Woman

I don't know if it's the rain outside, the Killian's in my belly, or the high I'm still on because of Glee, but I thought I'd take a romantical turn on tonight's post and describe how I would think Steve Perry would woo his woman. What, say you? You're thinking that's a great idea? Well, hop on board the Pleasure Express and we'll stop off in Fantasyville!

Okay, that last part sounded a bit kinky. But you know what I meant. Let's dream, shall we? (Insert Wayne's World daydream music)

First of all, it would be raining outside, and the main reason why it's raining is because 1) it's raining outside my apartment for real and 2) there's something romantic about rain. I could expound upon that last point, but that is another discussion altogether. It's raining. Done. You (for the woman in this little scenario is you because it makes this game much more fun) pull up in the driveway, get out of your car, and walk to the front door of his mansion and ring the bell. You're a ball of nerves: you're excited to be on a date with a legendary musician who has a head of the most gorgeous man-hair in existence, yet nervous as hell. Will my hair look like crap compared to his shiny locks? Does my outfit make me look like a chunky monkey or a sex goddess? Would asking him to sing a few Journey hits be weird? You ponder these questions, resisting the urge to bite your nails out of nervousness, when the door opens, and there stands Steve, all smiles. He's wearing black slacks and a plain white t-shirt and his hair is glowing. Glowing. Unfortunately, it does make your tresses look like they were manufactured at a shit factory, and you immediately feel self-conscious, silently cursing Pantene and their false advertisements.

But Steve knows what's up. He knows that love-making doesn't begin in the bedroom--it starts way before that. He's an old pro at this, and knows that a woman needs to feel confident about herself before she can let her guard down. So he looks you up and down in a not-creepy fashion, lingers on your eyes for a moment, lets out a breath, and says, "Damn, girl, I am one lucky man." He smiles reassuringly, lets you inside, and leads you to the couch, where he says to make yourself comfortable for a moment. He comes back a few minutes later with two glasses of white wine.

Now, Steve is a classy guy, and his opinion of what constitutes "the good shit" is not based on price, but on quality. So it's a safe bet that he will not be trying to serve you Arbor Mist (not trying to hate--I myself am a fan of The Mist--just saying). No, the wine in those glasses will be, at the very cheapest, from a $70 bottle. He might even up the ante and break out the Dom Perignon. He is also a master at setting the mood, so it's also a safe bet that he will probably have a jazz CD or Chicago on as background music. The music and wine, coupled with his easy-going manner, make you feel instantly relaxed, and you begin to open up and share. The conversation is flowing, and the sexual tension is mounting. You begin to not care whether you ever get to the dinner portion of the date.

Suddenly Steve puts down his glass and announces that he'll go get the food. Remember when I said that he was an old pro at wooing women? This proves it. He's serving oysters on the half-shell because he knows that oysters are aphrodisiacs, and you have to eat them with your hands, which will make the date all the more sensual. And he's serving a shit-ton of them.

Now, you've never eaten oysters before, and when you see the plate, you're a bit put off by their slimy nature and the fact that you have to suck them off the shell. That will not be sexy. In fact, you fear it will be the complete opposite and you'll come off as looking like a gluttonous buffoon. You might start to feel resentment--what the hell was he thinking when he chose this type of dinner?

But that just shows your inexperience, oh Unenlightened One. Steve knows how to sex up any occassion. He chuckles at your reluctance and assures you that you will enjoy the dinner. He picks up an oyster, puts a little Tobasco on it, and holds it up to your lips, telling you to suck. You tentatively dip your tongue into the goo and then just decide to go for it and suck it down. You're amazed. The oyster wasn't just good--it was like a culinary god was making love to your tastebuds. You relax, and begin to feel the effects of the aphrodisiac.

I'm going to stop there and let you flesh out the rest of this scenario in your mind. I know, I know, but this is a--well, I wouldn't call it a classy blog exactly, but I don't write no X-rated content. Finish it on your own, pervies.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


So apparently the Idol kids sang "Don't Stop Believin'" earlier this season for their group song. AND I MISSED IT!

Seriously, how did I miss it? Did I run into a wall and black out for 2:39???

Anyway, here's a link. Warning: it's a BAD video quality. But you still get the picture.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Oh, Sheeyit!!

So I'll admit it: I tuned into Glee tonight only because they used "Don't Stop Believin'" in the commercials. For one thing, any show that uses Journey to promote itself deserves at least one viewing; for another, I wanted to see if any Journey songs would actually be featured in the episode.

Oh. My. Steve Perry-lovin' GOD. I was treated to not one, not two, but three Journey moments! Two moments of people rocking out to "Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'" and "Don't Stop Believin'," respectively, and the badass arrangement of "Don't Stop Believin'" the glee club sang at the end of the episode.

I'm having a PIO (by proxy) as we speak. I don't know if Journey will be featured in future episodes, but I will definitely tune in this fall. If you haven't watched tonight's episode, do it now. Do it for Steve. Do it for Journey.

Edit: here's a link to the audio of the arrangement of "Don't Stop Believin'" at the end of the episode:

Steve Perry's Origins

Most of us probably haven't thought about Steve Perry's origins. For many of us, he's just this super-talented anomaly, who burst onto the music scene in the 70s, rocking a flowing mane and powerful pipes, only to retreat to obscurity in the late 90s. But, kids, Steve Perry has an origin, and I'm about to lay it on ya. Forget what you've read on Wikipedia or on the official Journey website. This is the real story. It's just way too awesome for most people to handle.

One-month old Steve was found floating down a river in Portugal in an empty guitar case. Now, this should have tipped off his adoptive father, but the kindly man who found him didn't make the connection between the case and his son's genius. He did know the boy was special, however--not many one-month olds have a head of long, super-shiny, super-soft black hair cascading down their backs and stopping at their feet. But young Steve did. His adoptive father, who had started losing his hair in his mid-twenties, saw in this strange baby an opportunity to leave his legacy--a legacy who flaunted better hair and who was easier to come by than one who was born via some knocked up chick. So the man named him Steve (after himself), scooped up the baby, guitar case and all, and took him back to his village, to his cobbler shop, hoping to teach him the trade and eventually leave the shop to him when he got of age.

For a long time--years--young Steve didn't talk. Or cry. Or laugh. Or make any kind of noise whatsoever. He would just sit in his father's cobbler shop, watching intently, absorbing the process. At first, it didn't bother the elder Steve, but by the time the boy turned 5, he began to wonder if maybe his son was retarded. Or autistic. If the child did have special needs, he questioned whether he could properly meet them, and began entertaining the idea of taking young Steve back down to the river where he was found, and leaving him there, hoping somebody else would take him in. This option saddened him, as he had grown very attached to the boy, but he didn't know what else to do.

So one afternoon, after pleading with his son to talk, to say something, the elder Steve took a deep breath, and lead his boy back down to the river. Just as he was about to turn and leave, young Steve opened his mouth, and sang out, "Father, please don't leave me here!"

It was loud. The ground rumbled. Leaves blew. Long after it was over, an echo resounded throughout the trees. And the elder Steve just stood there, awestruck, with his mouth hanging open. He realized that his son was neither retarded nor autistic, but quite the opposite--a musical genius. He quickly went back to his village, young Steve in tow, and took him to the seeker--an elderly lady whose lined face looked like a roadmap of experience and had a reputation of accurately predicting the future. The elder Steve commanded his son to sing, and Steve obediently opened his mouth and sang, "This old lady scares me! She looks like a witch!" The seeker, too blown away by Steve's voice to notice the insult, predicted that the boy would have great success with music in his life.

The news about young Steve's talent spread quickly throughout the village, and the cobbler shop was often visted by curious onlookers, hoping to hear a little of what had been nicknamed the "Big Voice." Young Steve was soon putting on concerts three times a day, singing early variations of what were to later become some of Journey's biggest hits. As he grew, his voice matured, becoming even more brilliant, and when he turned 21, he decided to set off for California and fulfill his destiny.

The rest, as they say, is history. Journey had some of the biggest hits in the 70s and 80s, and Steve Perry became a household name and an object of lust by people of all ages, sexual orientation, race and creed. And now he's retreated into obscurity. But I don't think that's the last we'll hear of him. My guess is that he's working on something extraordinary, and when the time is right, he'll explode back onto the scene in full force, adding another chapter to his epic legacy.

Look What My Co-Worker Made Me!

It's a little small (and kinda pixelated because I tried to make it bigger), but this is an image of a shirt my co-worker, Taylor, made for me. It's a snapshot of my farm on Farm Town, and the avatar with the long brown hair touching my crops is none other than Steve Perry. He's saying, "Just a small town girl, workin' in a Facebook farm," and the other avatar is me, saying, "I bet it is the nutrients in my soil that makes his hair so shiny." I believe it is a mutual relationship--the nutrients in my soil make his hair shiny, and in return, my field is fertilized whenever his man-hair grazes my crops.

It was a nice surprise this rainy Tuesday. Thanks again, Taylor!

Edit: So I'm a dum-dum and forgot that if you click on the picture, you can see the full-sized version. :-)

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Steve Perry is a Sun God

So I realize that the last few posts have been about "Don't Stop Believin'," and while that's a brilliant song, probably deserving of its own blog, I've steered off-course somewhat from the true subject of this blog: Tom Selleck.

I kid, I kid. YouTubing the intro to Magnum, p.i. at work has me in a Tom Selleck frame of mind. We're all here to talk about Steve Perry, of course (But since Tom Selleck did get awesome is his 'stache?). And since summer is almost here, I thought I would post about Steve Perry being a sun god.

Now you may be scratching your noggin and saying, "What? Steve Perry is a sun god? I knew of his ability to cure disease and sex up millions of women (and men!) at the same time, but this is new to me."

Well, allow me to school you. Steve Perry is a sun god. Steve just laughs at all those good-natured people trying to educate others about the damaging effects of UVA and UVB rays and the importance of sunscreen that comes with the advent of summer. You know why? First, he's Portugese, and it's pretty safe to assume that every Portugese person is born with a base tan, their own built-in supply of at least SPF 15, if you will. Second, he's STEVE FUCKING PERRY. He's not like the rest of the Portugese common folk. His skin is genetically engineered with a shield of SPF 85, and because of this, he doesn't need sunblock. Ever. He can never get sunburned, and on the flip side, he can never get pale because his skin is made in such a way that leaves him with a healthy, sunkissed glow all year long.

The verdict: he's a sun god if I've ever seen one. And I've seen one. His name is Steve Perry.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Why "Don't Stop Believin'" Should be the National Anthem

In a previous blog post, a reader commented that right now, "Don't Stop Believin'" is America's favorite party song, and next it'll be its national anthem. And I thought, why the hell not? There are some distinct advantages to that being our national anthem.

First of all, "The Star-Spangled Banner" sucks balls. It's long. It's droning. It's monotonous. It's a buzz kill. Anybody who's ever been to a sporting event has seen the energy in the crowd go from 60-0 in less than a second when it's announced that "The Star-Spangled Banner" will kick off festivities. In fact, the crowd only perks up after that damn song is finished, not because they're all inspired and patriotic, but because it's over.

"Don't Stop Believin'," on the other hand, is upbeat. It's got a good tune to dance and sing to. People love hearing it, and everytime I've ever heard it in public, everybody around seems to perk up instantly. Think about the last time you heard it. Didn't you get instantly happy and feel akin to a hippie, wanting to spread the love to less enlightened folk? Thought so.

Another downside to "The Star-Spangled Banner:" nobody knows the frigging words. I take that back. Maybe 1% of the population know the words. But next time you're at an event that employs the song, look around. Everybody's eyes are vacant, and they're either not singing at all, or they're mumbling along, and what they're mumbling is probably anything but the song they're supposed to be singing. And they don't give a rat's furry ass. They're just waiting for the song to be over so the real fun can begin.

On the flipside, everybody knows the words to "Don't Stop Believin'." And they gladly sing and dance along, not wanting the song to ever be over. They get a high off the song that's greater than what any narcotic drug could give them. That song isn't the prelude to the party; that song is the party!

Look, I'm not trying to be unpatriotic by hating on our current national anthem. In fact, I love my country. America is a pretty cool place. We're the home of baseball. McDonald's. Snuggies. The Shamwow. Steve Perry, for god's sake! And I just think that a cool country like America deserves to have a national anthem that's equally rockin'. "Don't Stop Believin'" may be an unlikely choice, but it does embody the American spirit. It says, "Hey you. Don't stop believin'. Even you can have your own slice of the American dream if you just hold on to that feelin'."

So let's start a movement, right here, right now, to upgrade America's national anthem. It's time for a change. It's time for Journey.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Next Time You're at EPCOT...

...Be sure to count on Journey to help you find your car. You'll get lost for sure otherwise.

Thanks to Brian for the picture!

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Get This Party Started!

The April issue of Glamour asked a handful of celebrities to list their favorite party songs. Wanna guess which song Estelle listed?

"Don't Stop Believin'."

This publicly brings to light what we already knew: wherever Journey songs are playing is where the the party's at.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Steve Perry Can Cure World Hunger...As Well as Life-Threatening Diseases and Other Catastrophes

More and more evidence has been cropping up as of late that Steve Perry has the power to single-handedly cure world hunger, AIDS, America's obsession with The Hills and anything else falling into the life-threatening disease/catastrophe category. I don't know how he could do it--I've heard murmurs that the power lies simply lies within him; he only has to will these things away and it would be done--but I believe it.

After all, studies have shown that he has the power to cure swine flu, make men more virile and father children by pure magic (although he chooses not to, as there can only be one Steve Perry). Why not be able to end widespread famine and crappy reality shows?

As another fan so articulately put it, "The awesomeness of Steve Perry’s voice will carry through the entire world and will better humanity in every sense of the word. Babies will no longer be hungry, famine will no longer devastate, floods will no longer strike the land. His voice makes the world brighter and mankind more giving."

So why hasn't he chosen to use his power and cure the world of everything evil? Perhaps it's because even he doesn't know the sheer depth of his potential. Maybe he's learning something new about himself everyday that blows his mind and someday he'll learn about this. In the meantime, though, let's try to speed it along.

Steve: you can do it. The power lies within you. Look no further than yourself.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Even Lesbians Want a Piece of Steve Perry. In a Sexual Way!

A co-worker of mine sent me the following blurb from a lesbian discussion board, and it was so funny that I had to post it ASAP:

RE: Steve Perry=Greek God
Fri, April 1, 2005 - 4:01 PM
Well, Steve Perry's hair is... so soft. His body... so supple. What dyke wouldn't want him?

The fact that Steve Perry has the power to make lesbians bat for Team Hetero elevates him to god-like status in my book. And it stands to reason that he could probably convert straight men to play for Team Homo. The man is deserving of mad respect.

By the way, I have no idea what my co-worker was doing on a lesbian discussion board. His only response was, "I am a lesbian. Duh."

Steve Perry Can Get You Hired...At Least in a Virtual World

If authoring this blog doesn't adequately illustrate what a nerd I am regarding all things Journey, then this post definitely will. Recently, my co-workers got me into a game on Facebook called Farm Town. It's a very basic Sim City-type of game: you build a farm, hire people to harvest your goods, and plant more stuff with the money you get from selling your harvests. You can also earn money by harvesting other people's crops, and one way to do this is to go to the marketplace and, essentially, whore yourself out.

Sadly, I'm not exaggerating when I say you have to whore yourself out. The marketplace is teeming with other farmers who need the work, and you have to make yourself stand apart from the crowd. You really have to hustle. (Ironically, it's a perfect illustration of our shitty economy--too many farmers need the work and there aren't enough farms hiring.) So, after a couple of days of going to the marketplace and begging for work unsuccessfully, I decided to take a different approach and "sing" "Don't Stop Believin'." I was hoping that the mutual love for Journey that everyone shares would get me a job--after all, how could you not hire a farmer with a love for Journey?

Well, I was right. No sooner had I typed in "Just a small town girl/ Livin' in a loney world/She took the midnight train goin' anywhere" than somebody hired me. Wanna know what he said? "Honestly, I saw you singing and had to hire you. I love Journey."

BOOM. Journey=jobs. At least in Farm Town, anyway.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Seen and Heard

Location: O'Toole's Irish Pub in Brandon, FL (the name makes me laugh because it has the word "tool" in it--I'm juvenile, I know)

Heard: "Don't Stop Believin'" sung by ME

So I realize that it might be considered cheating doing a "Seen and Heard" on something I instigated, but, really, I don't care. Besides, if it had been anybody else, I would have posted about it as well.

Anyway, after a day of farmer's markets, cupcakes, cafes and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, a friend invited me to get my karaoke on at O'Tooles on Saturday. Since I love me some sing-alongs, I agreed to go, and we headed out to meet up with some of our other friends who were already there. When we got there, I knew the place would not disappoint--a woman was up onstage singing a country song, the DJ was smiling, and the crowd and bartenders were singing along. All in all, it had a good energy and I could not wait to see what other songs we would be treated to.

While the songs that followed were fun, I knew something was missing--namely, a good, rousing Journey song. So I filled out a slip with "Don't Stop Believin'" (as well as a few other non-Journey tunes) and handed it to the DJ. And when my turn came to sing, I was right. The crowd started to fill out and rock out, not because I was any good, mind you, but because it was "Don't Stop Believin'." Helen Keller could have sung that song and gotten the same reaction. Journey has this indescribable power to bring people together. A bar full of strangers? After a Journey song, they're all BFFs. A lover's quarrel? Play a little "Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'" and that will be what the couple will be doing after two seconds of listening. I don't know of any other song or band with that kind of power.

Maybe we should start sending our soldiers overseas a shit-ton of Journey CDs and boomboxes and have them blare Steve Perry at all hours of the day and night and let him work his magic. Pretty soon guns will be exchanged for hugs and words of hate for words of praise of the awesomeness of Journey and the wonder that is Steve Perry.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009


As I was browsing through the pictures on the Steve Perry (Journey) fan page on Facebook, I ran across the above picture. Your eyes aren't deceiving you. That's Steve Perry showing off his glorious man-hair. Even he knows it's gorgeous! And I can't say I blame him. If I had a head of Steve Perry hair, I'd be drawing attention to it as much as possible.
Steve, what do you use on your hair?!

Monday, May 4, 2009

What Would Happen if Steve Perry Crashed Karaoke Night?

First off, it would be awesome. In fact, if a genie were to pop up out of nowhere and offer to grant me three wishes, I would use one of them to be Steve Perry just so I could crash a karaoke bar. Talk about an epic night...*insert Wayne's World daydream sequence music here*

Okay, so you're at the bar, throwing back a beer with your friends. You just finished a rendition of "...Baby One More Time" and are eagerly waiting to go back onstage to follow with "Baby Got Back." Then the karaoke DJ announces that they have a new singer named Steve. No last name, just Steve. (Or, if SP really wanted to throw us off-track, he could use a totally random name like Carl.) A guy about average height and build comes up onstage. He's wearing a baseball cap (because all celebrities treat the baseball cap like Clark Kent treats his glasses; the only barrier that's protecting them from notoriety), leather jacket, white shirt and jeans (just because). He clears his throat and the DJ says that Steve (or Carl) is going to do a little Journey tonight. Don't Stop Believin'. That automatically gets cheers from the drunken crowd because how can you not like Journey, that song in particular? Steve (or Carl) clears his throat, the DJ hits the play button on the karaoke machine, and everybody waits in breathless anticipation.

Steve (or Carl) is good. No, not good. Great. Amazing. Fantastic. Like a friggin' angel. You, your friends, and everybody else in the crowd starts automatically cheering and rocking out. Somebody yells out, "Journey is the fuckin' shit, man!" Then you stop. You listen. Something sounds familiar. All of a sudden it hits you like a ton of bricks: Steve (or Carl) sounds just like Steve Perry! You immediately tell this to your friends, all of whom stop to listen. One by one, their heads begin nodding in agreement. There is frantic whispering. Could it be? Is this just a weird coincidence? Then the friend that is always the voice of reason snaps you all out of it with, "That cannot be Steve Perry. Do you honestly think that Steve Perry would waste his time singing Journey songs at a karoke bar?" The spell is broken. Of course not; you guys just let your imaginations get the better of you. Steve (or Carl) just happens to have an amazingly good voice like Steve Perry. You guys resume rocking out until the song ends, thinking that you just got treated to a private Journey show. You are pumped and ready for Steve (or Carl) to do an encore. But instead of regaling the crowd with another Journey tune, Steve (or Carl) bows slightly and silently walks offstage and out of the bar. The crowd is momentarily bummed out but soon forgets it as another round of drinks are purchased and a Rod Stewart wannabe starts singing, "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"

Little do you know, however, that your instincts were right. That was Steve Perry who sang "Don't Stop Believin'." The same Steve Perry who left the bar, hopped in his Porsche and is now in his hotel room (or house, if the karaoke bar was local), pouring himself a scotch on the rocks and chuckling to himself. Thinking, if they only knew. Thinking what a rush it was to sing in front of a live audience again. He opens up his laptop and maps out the next closest karaoke bar for a repeat performance the next night and sighs contentedly.

I don't think Steve Perry knows this blog exists, but on the off-chance he stumbles upon it, I'm just putting it out there: please crash a karaoke bar. That would be so amazingly epic. And if you find yourself in the Tampa Bay area, let me know so we can do a duet together.