122. Agalmatophilia

122. "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Starship

For a #1 charting song, I don't think this song is very good. The music video for it is even worse. And the movie "Mannequin"--upon which the music video is based and in which this song is played during the closing credits--is even worser. It's all one huge heap of rock 'n' roll mediocrity.

But that's a good thing.

I'll explain why after the video.



If the movie hadn't been painfully bad, I never would have gotten bored watching it the first time I ever saw it. And if I hadn't got bored, I wouldn't have started thinking about what I could be doing besides watching the movie that would be more fun and exciting. And if I hadn't started thinking about fun and exciting things to do, I wouldn't have had the idea to try to kiss my date that was watching the movie with me. And if I hadn't kissed my date, she wouldn't have kissed me back. And if she hadn't kissed me back, I wouldn't have asked her out again, fallen in love with her, and then married her. Consequently, every time I hear this song, I think about kissing my wife for the first time, which happens to be infinitely more pleasurable than the second-most fun thing I've ever done while watching a video about a paraphilia involving sexual relations with dolls--which is chuckle in bemusement at the video for this song I heard in Sweden.



So I say thank you, Grace Slick, for leaving Jefferson Airplane to join Jefferson Starship, and then leaving Jefferson Starship to join Starship, which was featured in a stupid movie that Leonard Maltin said was "absolute rock-bottom fare, dispiriting for anyone who remembers what movie comedy should be" (after which you left Starship to reform Jefferson Airplane again). Because if you hadn't done all that band-hopping, I wouldn't be married today to a wonderful woman who still lets me kiss her from time to time during boring movies. Instead, I'd probably have to satisfy my soul with a cryin', walkin', sleepin', talkin', livin' doll, which I'm sure would eventually lead to me being bashed over the head mercilessly by hammer-toting brits and/or publicly criticized and humiliated by Leonard Maltin and/or photographed by Pete Welsh.