Cruising for Chicks on the Radio
Inside the market, Dion croons about his romantic wanderings. Meanwhile, I cut up the Spanish cheese called Mahon, which, like Dion, turns out to be extremely versatile.
Long before Lou Bega mambo-ed his way into radio fame in 1999, introducing us to Monica and Erica and Jessica, Dion talked up Flo and Mary and Janie in "The Wanderer." It was 1961. But of course it really could've been any year in the History of Manhood. (If that sounds like masculine boasting, it is. If that sounds like a compliment to our species, it most certainly is not.)
I wrap and price Mahon, moving on to Goat Gouda, which, surprisingly, I only discovered last fall. Through the glory of gouda, I begin to contemplate the symbolism of it all: G.O.A.T. Greatest of All Time.
Dion? Lou Bega?
Who is the greatest (list-er of female conquests by way of radio) of all time?
Sweet Lou's ditty has garnered almost 95 million views on YouTube. He makes his smooth case with lyrics like: To me flirting is just like a sport—even [hands in the air] appealing to the Good Lord for help. Sweet Lou can't help it, and, realistically, every man knows, we shouldn't be so hard on the guy.
Notwithstanding, dividing up the female person into her constituent parts for the satisfaction of the male ego doesn't get any better than: A little bit of you makes me your man.
On the other hand, there's Dion and his ode-to-casually-falling-in-and-out-of-love-continually. As seen through a twenty-first century lens, his song contains a somewhat creepy mission statement: I roam from town to town. Dion also exhibits a real kick for not revealing his name to his would-be lovers; perhaps he is above such things.
At the end of the musical day, and almost at the end of another work day, I end up giving Dion the definitive nod over Lou.
Dion is not content with mere male egocentrism, playful or otherwise. He ignores the obvious double-standard that he laments in "Runaround Sue": She took my love then ran around/With every single guy in town. And, of course, it's an outrageous hypocrisy. The kind that knows no male bounds but is set to a catchy sing-song jingle-jangle.
Game, set, and match to The Wanderer.
I head downstairs to the cheese cooler to grab the Manchego.