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Okay, here's the thing: after more than 350 posts or reviews or
whatever it is I've been doing on this blog, I've either developed
some credibility with you, my esteemed reader, or you're just enjoying
me demonstrating whatever lack of taste you've gleaned from all these
words. What I'm getting at is that either way, I've earned the right
to admit that I liked Barry Manilow back in the day, and I still do.
I like his ballads; I still get misty listening to
Weekend
In New England and remembering a not-relationship I once
believed had a chance. I like his upbeat numbers, even if nothing in
my life quite measures up to the cheer and optimism of
It's
a Miracle. And I especially like his self-deprecating sense
of humor, as evidenced in his
Very
Strange Medley of commercial hits. I know it's uncool to
like Barry Manilow, or to ever have liked him. Then again, when was I
ever cool?
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