I was riding home from work, with my iPod on random, and out of all 7,000 songs that could have popped up on this afternoon, No One is To Blame by Howard Jones Came on. I instantly wanted to eat raw, powdery, sweet, sugary, jello right out of the box.
Let me explain, since anyone who says something that recockulous had better well explain his or herself:
When I was in the 9 to 10 years of age division on my swim team, we'd eat raw sugar during meets, because someone, somewhere along the line must have told us that it gave you energy, which somehow made you swim faster. I was skeptical, since I was a skeptical kid (the Easter Bunny was bullshit to me by the time I was four), but I suspended my disbelief for any excuse to eat a box full of colored sugar. Hell, it would stick to your hands and make your fingers all red, then you'd wipe your face and hands with your towel. Fucking decadent.
Anyway, for whatever reason, my brain has a decades-long, lasting, Pavlovian response to Howard Jones, which makes me want to pour gelatin in powdered form down my throat, which may make me choke and cough a little, but sweet, sweet, sugar-burning, choking coughs. I can't say that I listened to HoJo at swim meets, ate raw jello while listening to his Brit-synth pop stylings, or at any time combined all three elements, but I'll be damned if I didn't want to, the second the song came on, want to pull my piece of shit Camry into the Wallgreens, walk up in that piece, find a box of jello, lick my dirty, little finger, and lick me up some strawberry, jello powder.
How's about you, seven readers? Anyone out there have a knee-jerk response to a song they'd like to share for the other six readers?