Kenny Loggins must die. And not a quick, painless death, either. More like one of those leisurely, torture-filled demises practiced by the CIA in the top-secret prisons everyone knows about. I want 10,000-volt nipple clamps on Kenny. I want rabid dogs on Kenny. I want Kenny wearing a urine-soaked hood forced to listen to hour after hour of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie.” I will not rest until this happens. I want the man dead.
My white hot, vitriolic hatred of Kenny isn’t on a personal level. He’s probably a very lovely man who would cry in his organic granola if he knew a mother of two in Austin, Texas harbored such ill will against him. Now before you think me completely heartless, I admit that I’ve enjoyed much of Kenny’s music over the course of my lifetime. I partied to “Footloose.” I sang along to “I’m Alright.” “Your Mama Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock ‘n Roll?” Good stuff. Hell, I even rocked my babies to sleep listening to his beautiful lullaby “Return to Pooh’s Corner.” But those great times were instantly forgotten two years ago when my relationship with Kenny took an ugly turn. Kenny was no longer my friend. Kenny was a jackass.
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a good idea to let a two-year-old watch Top Gun. I’ll admit to that failure as a parent. But after our son Sam became obsessed with fighter jets, we didn’t see a problem with letting him watch the thrilling flying scenes. We thought the most harm that would come from this would be just some slight neurological damage due to early Val Kilmer exposure. Or that he’d make us call him “Maverick” for six months. Little did we know the real damage was that he’d become obsessed with the movie’s theme song, “Danger Zone”. Written and performed by Mr. Kenny Jackass Loggins.
Don’t get me wrong. “Danger Zone” isn’t a bad song. I liked it the same time the rest of the world did — from June of 1986 to July of 1986. If you had told me then that I’d still be listening to it almost 20 years later, I would have doubled over laughing in my “Choose Life” t-shirt and white sunglasses and yelled “Take off, Hoser!” then finished my Bartles and Jaymes. But now I’ve learned what Jim Messina was silently trying to tell the world all of those years — Kenny is the devil.
At first we thought it cute that our son, who could barely talk in sentences, would try to sing “Danger Zone”. We’d hear him in his crib belting it out in baby talk — “HIGHWAY DOO DA ANGEE OWN!” My husband helpfully downloaded the song from the Internet (where it was surprisingly free of charge) so we could play it in our car. Sam would go absolutely nuts, dancing and singing in his car seat. This was amusing for a while, but then he started to demand we play the song. Loudly. For the next two years. We tried to distract him. We played “I Spy,” we talked to him, and we even resorted to something we vowed we’d never do and bought a Wiggles CD. But to no avail. Our little brainwashed monkey in the backseat wanted “ANGEE OWN!!!” Now each trip in the car consisted of listening to the song at least once. Usually twice, or three times, or until mommy started jamming a juice box straw into her ear to numb the pain. It was only the fact that my car was leased that prevented me from driving it off a cliff. Well, that and I had my child with me. After my sister had the DJ play “Danger Zone” for Sam at her fricking wedding, I knew we could no longer live like this. Something had to be done. Someone had to pay. That someone was Kenny.
I combed the back pages of Soldier of Fortune magazine and chose a freelance mercenary named Gary who had a nice smile and low rates. I researched aerial photographs of the Loggins compound in Northern California. I watched America’s Most Wanted to see what islands were in vogue for those on the lam. Operation “Whenever I Call You Friend” was a go.
But then something miraculous happened. After two solid years of being obsessed with fighter jets, one day Sam up and decided that dinosaurs were his new thing and “Danger Zone” was suddenly no longer at the top of the hit list. Days passed when I didn’t hear it once. The blood started to come back to my head. I threw away my antacids. NPR made a return to my car radio and life was once again bearable. “Danger Zone” was now a funny childhood memory we’d all laugh about in 20 years. Like my parents giggling about how I was such a loser in high school the only prom date I could get weighed 30 pounds less than me. Now that his auditory assault was over, I even started to think more favorably of Kenny. I saw a picture of him in a store and rather than trying to gouge his eyes out with my car keys, I smiled and thought how cute his new hair plugs looked. Kenny and I were on the mend.
Our home was Kenny-free for a good six months, but then once again things took an ugly turn. Last week I came home to find both my sons, four-year-old Sam and two-year-old Jack, watching Top Gun with the babysitter. I furiously grabbed the remote, turned off the TV, and very firmly quizzed her about how they got it out of the double-locked cabinet marked “Do not open!” Then I took a deep breath and realized that I was probably overreacting. This is most likely nothing, I thought. Sam didn’t seem to be really watching the movie, anyway, so I’m sure he didn’t even notice the song. Maybe our family was still OK. Then Jack ran into the room and hugged my legs. “Hi, Mommy!” he chirped.
“Hi, sweetie,” I replied. “What’s going on?”
He then flashed his gorgeous smile at me, threw his arms in the air and yelled to the rafters, “HIGHWAY DO DA ANGEE OWN!!”
Watch your ass, Kenny.
This happened with my now 16-year old son, only it was the GoGos “We Got The Beat.” If I ever see Jane Weidlin, I’d punch her; but she’d probably enjoy it.
The current favorite is “I Can’t Drive 55” by Sammy Hagar. Every. Single. Day. I may have to switch my 20 year loyalty back to David Lee Roth.
I have limitless sympathy for your situation. My sister’s first son also suffered from Loggins Syndrome. It’s unfortunate that more moms don’t speak up because they’ll never fund research until the silent epidemic is unleashed. Unfortunately, my sister had developed an immunity to the disease, one that can only be acquired by a mother whose sole planetary purpose is to encourage her son’s dog and pony show. She even went so far as to name her next-born son, Maverick. You can call her if you don’t believe me. References provided upon request.
I, on the other hand, have an 8 year old daughter who got her hands on a copy of a song, lovingly entitled, “Smack That Ass.” It gives the term “danger zone” a whole new meaning. It makes me almost gooey for the Kenny Days. I even found myself using words like “love” to describe my fondness for him. To which my daughter sassily replies, “Like you want to marry him?”
Hi Wendy!
Awesome Awesome blog! You’re about as funny as I wish I could bit with your dry sarcastic humour. I am an instant fan, and have subscribed to your blog!
Just incase you were wondering, I found your site by Googling your name after I received your letter to James Thatcher via email from my friend in the UK. Toooooo funny and sooooo true!
Anyhoo… Just thought I’d let you know that you are now world famous!
Bren
aka IR_Moon
The Geek Mythologies
Hawkes Bay, New Zealand
Thanks Wendi, guess what I’ve been singing & humming for three days!
H E L P.
You can be my wingman, anytime, Sans.
Dude…we have this really cute rockin CD of Saturday Morning Cartoon songs sung by cool bands like the Ramones (spider man) and most horridly of all, Josie and the Pussycats sund by Juliana Hatfield and Tanya Donnely. Two awesome cool singers and the song is really fun. The first 200 times you hear it. My daughter who is 3 insists upon it every fucking car ride. Over and over. I rarely relent but then I listen to her scream and whlne about it while I say really parenty type things like, “I don’t hear you when you don’t use your nice asking voice” or “I will have to turn off the radio altogether if you don’t stop screaming because we can’t listen to you whine and the songs.”
In this case, I have only myself to blame. We try to avoid any kid type music because much of it makes me want to gauge out my eyes. We are close friends with the kid band Milkshake so they are the only concession. It is my fault. I know it. Aside from serious intended infliction of head injury..what do you suggest I do to her to make it stop?
Perhaps you should introduce him to the soothing sounds of Kenny Rogers instead?
I read this last night, then let my 9 & 13 year old sons read it. They in turn told their brother, 8, and sister 3 1/2. For the past 24 hours they have all been singing “HIGHWAY DO DA ANGEE OWN!!”
Make it stop…please…make it stop.
For us – it was Purple Rain, or Poople Wain, Poople Wain. From 18 months until about age 3. Every time we were in the car. On repeat. We were standing in the Poople Wain.
I have this same problem with Darth Vader’s Theme from Empire Strikes Back, of all things. If she can’t get her hands on the CD, then she wants it played on the cell phone.
Thanks for writing this.
So I read this the other day, and now Kenny Loggins seems to be popping up everywhere. Thanks so much. I’ve heard “Danger Zone” twice on the radio in two days. But wait, there’s more! I was minding my own business with the kids watching “Imagination Movers.” (Is it sad that I actually think they’re pretty hip? But I digress.) At the end, this scary looking guy sitting in a ginormous red chair is singing some nonsense about a caterpillar and a mountain that may or may not be there…and then I realize it’s Kenny Loggins. Nooooo!
Too funny!! I’m 46 and now have a 3 yr old who’s big thing is Handy Manny. Every thing we do and everywhere we go it’s Handy Manny! He has to sing the song, read one of the books, “watch tools”, “watch Manny”…and my son has a developmental delay which makes him want to parrot everything…repeatedly…over and over and over! I seriously wonder if he does it sometimes just to screw with my head. I think he’s one of those evil genius toddlers…lol. I swear if I watch one more episode of Handy Manny, I’ll know how to repair more crap around the house than Ty Pennington could ever fix!
It makes me miss the good old days with my daughter when she was 2 (19 years ago) her big thing was the B-52’s “Love Shack”. She’d just randomly start belting out the song, in school, in church, in the store…’wuv shack babeee, wuv shack baby!’ Try explaining that to her teacher or pastor…lol!
I have a hereditary hearing deficit for which I have worn bilateral hearing aids for several years.
We were driving to visit my son, wife and their 4 young children. During the first mile, my wife asked if I had forgotten my hearing aids.
I replied ‘no.’ She opened her mouth to ask why I wasn’t wearing them, thought again about our destination and then lapsed into what I can’t only infer was a jealous silence.
I avoided the Danger Zone by teaching my kids inappropriate songs about killing Barney and ensuring that they could quote the entire Princess Bride movie, which still amuses me 15 years later, for some reason.
I have a 5 year old daughter who was very into the Doodlebops from the time she was 18 mo. until she was about 4. Queen Deedee needs to go choke on a bag of D**ks. We then switched to Hannah Montana. A bit more bearable since she has millions of songs. My son, who is 18 months, however, has taken a liking to the “Who said?” and “Best of Both Worlds” songs that his sister’s Hannah Montana Barbie sings. He steals her doll, which is usually naked, so maybe that’s why he enjoys it so much, and repeatedly hits the button on Hannah’s naked belly which results in her singing just the chorus of each song. He does this for 15 minutes at a time, about 4-8 times a day. If you try to take Hannah, he screams for 45 minutes, as does his sister b/c she suddenly decides that she must play with her. Why is it that the battery in my cell phone, the baby monitors, I-pods, and flashlights go dead after 5 minutes of use, but Hannah’s never die?
Hilarious. I spent 7 months having to listen to Gwen Stefani’s “Rich Girl” (referred to as “Na na Girl”) 187 times a day. But it has now been replaced, because my 5 year old is currently obsessed with Lady GaGa. As soon as we get in the car she begs to hear “Poker Face”, and let me tell you there’s nothing like hearing your 5 year old little girl singing “I’ll get him hot, show him what I’ve got” at the top of her lungs.
I am sorry but I have no friggin sympathy. If I have to watch Top Gun one more time I think I will blow up the TV. I think I could handle it if it were my child, but this is a grown man who has inflicted this onslaught since this movie was made. He must feel the need to re-live his F-14 days from the Navy. It must make him feel like he’s young again and flying through the sky. It’s not the music so much that gets me. It’s that toothy grin on Tom Cruise.