Check your pager and get your period in gym class… it’s time for my inaugural ’90s VIDEO BREAKDOWN!
Yes, this is the first in a series of postings where I use the power of song to relive the decade in which I had a bowl cut, a unibrow and SO many friends I just didn’t have time to modge-podge this tupperwear container:
Get these underpants signed:
Or glue my-14 year-old face onto someone else’s body to make it appear like Brian “B-Rock” Littrell, in his dreamy iridescent suit, was singing to ME:
Okay, so I did all those things. But only when I could fit them into my busy schedule of re-winding and playing my extensive Backstreet Boys Video collection on VHS. And of all the videos I watched alone in my basement, featuring cowboy hats and chair dances and impossibly thin pencil beards, this was the one that got rewound and played the most:
Don’t pretend you didn’t feel that deep in your loins. As a preteen, I genuinely believed that this video had taken my virginity. And in many ways, it did. So let’s get some action and break it down, one dripping wet, gyrating, shaved chest at a time…
Our scene is set late at night in what appears to be an urban streetball court somewhere deep in the projects, where a crew of gangsters are just waiting to start some s**t.
Yep, just 5 hard-ass mother f*ers in white chinos, polo T’s and, wait a minute, is that…
Yes. It’s a beaded choker.
Just a subtle, decorative touch to compliment EVERY OTHER ACCESSORY KNOWN TO MANKIND and a hairline receding faster than my ovaries.
While AJ was busy setting hearts aflutter, among employees working on commission at Claire’s that day, Kevin was busy singing , dancing,, working a killer pair of wrap-around shades and a layered pixie cut.
A look eerily reminiscent of this:
For those of you who may be too young or too straight, that’s music legend and icon Kevin Richardson, next to Liza Minnelli.
In sad news, when I Googled Kevin’s name last night, and that’s not the sad news, this is what came up:
See, Kevin?! That’s what happens when you turn your back on the most beloved boy band in the history of 1996-1999, you are dead to us. Or gay.
But I digress… back to the slums of Harlem where Brian is waiting to seduce me with his sultry vocals then stab me in the throat with his cheekbones.
As soon as B-Rock steps out to re-apply his Dep, it’s time to hold on to your overalls because Nick Carter is here to make you feel all the things you never did when Nathan Rosenberg was grinding up against your knee at the Homecoming dance.
Oh, hell yes. As a pre-teen, I wasn’t sure whether it was the piercing stares, the double finger points to camera or the wind through his bowl cut that made me feel warm in my Guess jeans. Upon further inspection, it could have been the fact that throughout the entire duration of the video, Nick Carter appears to be having a breathtaking, earth-shattering, MIND BLOWING orgasm. At ALL. TIMES.
But enough about ‘sex appeal’, let’s bring things back to the MUSIC. Obviously, this is a song with deep and powerful meaning, set against a rich instrumental tapestry. Thankfully Howie D. has the to artistic integrity…
… to pretend to play the guitar for a total of 2.16 seconds so we can all rest assured that these are true authentic musicians, then get back to watching them writhe in the rain.
YESSSS. Whoever brought the extra pastel button downs to this gang brawl was a genius!!
Stuck in the immaculately well-lit rainstorm, Howie re-applies his CK1 and ceases his only chance for a close up:
Kevin and AJ have a private moment. (See: kevin backstreet boys gay)
And Nick has another orgasm.
He also provides an excellent educational tool for 9th grade health class.
Kids, this is the face of a man who is about to rape you:
Or in my case, give you wet dreams until you are 28.
At the end of these 3 minutes and 56 seconds of unadulterated bliss, we are left with what I can only imagine is a deep-seeded reference to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
That, or Kevin just wanted to feel the pattering of raindrops on his nipples.
Either way, at the end of this video, I am left with an overwhelming sense of gratitude…
Thank you, Backstreet Boys. For the memories, for the butterflies, for the time you signed my underpants. Thank you for seeing me through the pains of adolescence, for teaching me what it meant to love and for ultimately making me the woman that I have become. Even if that woman just spent 3 days watching, rewinding and blogging about a Backstreet Boys video.