An Open Letter to Adam Levine

Dear Adam,

First off, however ashamed I am of this (frequent) lapse in judgment, I like your band’s music. I think it’s because I love classic rock so much; your prepubescent, glass-shattering voice fits perfectly with the musical stylings of Brad Delp and Steve Perry. It’s unfortunate that you were born in 1979, too late to shine there. In any case, Maroon 5 is my guilty-pleasure band. Even when your lyrics have the emotional depth of sawdust, the melodies themselves are just too catchy to ignore. And for a really good breakup song, one needs to look no further than your albums. Really, I wonder if you divide your time evenly between gratuitous amounts of boning, weeping over your lost loves and engaging in drunken recording sessions. (To be fair, you probably also pencil in some time at the tattoo parlor now and then.) I mean, from the sound of things, you could open a store with the negligees these women have abandoned in their haste to flee your cold, dead eyes and the consummate potency of your lovemaking (see what I did there?).

Enough about your personal life. Adam, you’re a decently attractive man, right? SIDEBAR: like I even have to ask what you think; the world sees you shirtless more often than not, as though your life is a never-ending calendar shoot. My favorite line in "Moves Like Jagger" is "I put on a show/ Now I'm naked," or as some people hear it, "Now I make it." My money's on the first version, because come on, we all constantly picture you as naked, Adam. (That came out wrong.) I mean, has anything more patently obvious appeared in a lyric? It's like saying Oprah is loud, or Brittany Spears is trashy. The sky is blue and Adam Levine is naked. No big deal.

Digression over. In any case, I feel obligated to ask you not to get carried away. Ever seen a photo of David Lee Roth, circa 1985? All the girly antics and assless chaps in the world could not dilute that man’s sex appeal. He belongs on the cover of one of those redemption-themed romance novels women love so much. You are not David Lee Roth, Adam. You are a pale, skinny white guy with enough tattoos for about seventeen convicted felons. Rippling abdominals aside, you’re not as hot as you think you are. And your head is way too small.

However, your bandmates look like the leftovers at an audition for either Led Zeppelin or the Beatles, depending on the album; whereas you look like James Dean, or perhaps a slightly less-fruity version of John Travolta in Grease. I guess this combination of styles is ok, seeing as how nobody watches Maroon 5 play to see the sexy bassist, or something. It’s all about you and your “little kicks.” As cracked.com has pointed out, you wisely surround yourself with these less-attractive men, and as a result, you look like hot stuff. Beauty is relative. Well played, Adam.

But let’s talk about this new song of yours. “Moves like Jagger”? What the hell is that about? I’m having flashbacks to the 2006 Superbowl where Mick Jagger’s leather-clad pelvis was moving in a lot of ways that arthritis should really prevent at this point, and short of electro-shock therapy, I will not be able to get those images out of my head. My childhood ended that day. (Note that I have the class not to mention Jagger and David Bowie's music video for "Dancing in the Streets.") Why would you compare yourself to that? Because moving like Robert Palmer, which has been your M. O. to date, was no longer cutting it? I watched your music video, Adam, with footage of Jagger as a young man. Guess what. He was an uggo, then as now. Let’s not even picture what present-day, 68-year-old Mick Jagger looks like. In person, Dave Barry says, Mick Jagger looks like Yoda wearing a Mick Jagger wig. In any case, you, Adam, are hotter than Mick Jagger. Don’t get too excited, because so is Al Gore, but really. The music video for “Makes Me Wonder” makes me chuckle, but the music video for “Moves Like Jagger” gives me nightmares.

Adam, I’m not writing you off as I did Bruno Mars (“MARS, YOU’RE DEAD TO ME”). The fact that I discovered “Stereo” is not, technically, a Maroon 5 song is what saved you. But you seriously need to check these lyrical and dancing shenanigans. When all you offer us are a bunch of crummy lyrics AND weird dancing, you’re on equal footing with that sticky, glittery Ke$ha. Don’t be that guy, Adam. Don’t be the male Ke$ha. Because I’m pretty sure Nick Carter has already called dibs.

Your favorite secret fan-
Carie Mac

The Church Search

Last night I went to a church that has a specific ministry for young single adults. It turns out that they were planning on a brief prayer walk around the church wherein we would each write down some concerns and swap papers and pray for each other. Harmless, right? My group consisted of two guys, one who obviously loved to hear himself talk, and another who had no idea what we were in for. These gentlemen are herein referred to as Dr. Phil and the Hapless Victim.
The Hapless Victim and I both shared our names and how long we’d been going to this church. Dr. Phil felt that the situation warranted more self-disclosure, and told us his name, occupation, how long he's been at this church, how he got connected, his hometown, his hobbies, what he did the past few weekends, his dietary needs, his social security number, etc. I'm thinking, Does anyone else remember asking for this guy's life story?

I got Dr. Phil's card of prayer requests (lucky, right?). He had the Hapless Victim’s card, and I kid you not, went over everything his Victim had written with a fine-toothed comb.

Dr. Phil: "So, I see here that you're thankful for your mother."
Hapless Victim: "Ah, yep."
Dr. Phil: "I assume you have a good relationship with her."
[Already at this point I'm turning away to smile because this can only get better.]
Hapless Victim: "Yeah, I do."
Dr. Phil: "Well, you know, my mother passed away eight years ago, and..."
[Or not.]
Dr. Phil: "... so I understand the bonds of that relationship, etc., etc."
Hapless Victim: "I just can't imagine losing my mom; I have so much respect for people who experience a loss like that and keep going."
Dr. Phil [displaying no emotion whatsoever]: "Well, my mother raised my sister and me to be independent. By the ago of sixteen or so, I had already moved to another city to start working..."

And so on. To my misfortune, the Hapless Victim had written on his card that he was looking to meet someone. Dr. Phil was all OVER that. " Hapless Victim, can I just say... that the search for a mate is one of the most demanding aspects in a man's life."

Ohhhkay. First thought: "mate"? Are you a biologist now? Try not to sound so creepy. Second thought: Dr. Phil has effectively cut me out of this conversation. It's a boys' club now. Apparently the "search for a mate" is just a cakewalk for women, and we couldn't possibly understand what men go through.

But Dr. Phil is in no way finished.

Hapless Victim: "How do you mean?"
Dr. Phil: "It's a search that necessitates so many of his rezzources." [NB: Yes, he did just pronounce "RE-sour-ces" as "re-ZOUR-ces."]
Hapless Victim: "...his resources?"
Dr. Phil: "Yes, emotional, financial, mental... It's quite exhausting. I myself have been engaged twice, but am now in a positive long-term relationship..."

We'll skip ahead to the coup de grace. Poor, poor Victim, whose only crime was following directions. He'd written that he needed prayer for his brother, who was going through a divorce. Dr. Phil proceeded to ask district-attorney-style questions about the situation. Basically it sounded to me like the Victim's brother and sister-in-law had met at their workplace, and now that the husband has been fired, he and his wife have lost the main thing they had in common and the relationship is deteriorating from there. Dr. Phil had a slightly different take on it:

Dr. Phil: "Well Victim, that's just how women are. If a wife loses her job, her husband hastens to take on extra hours and support her. If the husband loses his job, though, she immediately thinks, 'I don't want to spend my time supporting this man. I'm going to go out and find another man to support me.' It's a bit of a double standard."

Well, at least now we know why he can't manage to hold down an engagement. My new question is, who would think for a second of marrying this guy? Just as I've decided to write Dr. Phil off, he turns to me and says brightly, "So, do you have my card?" I mumble something in the affirmative and glance at the card, noticing that he's asked for prayer for someone named, let’s say Katie, who’s starting her own business.

Me: "Is Katie one of your friends?"
Dr. Phil: "My girlfriend, actually."
Me: "…What kind of business is she starting?"
Dr. Phil: "A dog-sitting business."
Me: "Will it be full-time?"
Dr. Phil: "Oh no, she's in school."
Me: "What degree is she getting?" [See, I was trying to be nice.]
Dr. Phil: "Mumble mumble bachelor of arts mumble."

Ohhhh. That's how he got a girlfriend. Creeper.

I feel like I need to say that this church was very lovely and Dr. Phil was the only person I met who I didn't like. But wow.