BENEATH THE AIRWAVES--What I am writing about may seem hard to believe, or to accept. The thought of it is ridiculous, unbelievable really. But it's true--80's music almost ruined by life.

I would spend hours listening to classic music from bands such as A Flock Of Seagulls.

I'm not sure how it really began. Like the heroine pusher who always boasts "the first one's always free," I was seduced by an endless supply of cheerful, cotton-candy, pop-synth dance music. You know, the pure new wave sounds that were created and shipped out en masse to an unsuspecting public from 1980 to 1989.

For me, it started out harmlessly enough--the odd "one-hit-wonder" here and there. It was innocent fun, and I thought I could control it. I was a product of the 1990's, but I had a curious desire, mild at first, for the fluffy kick-back fashion music of the previous decade.

It wasn't long though, before that gentle desire became a craving, as I needed to listen to more and more of those perky, post-disco dance tunes. You know, the stuff that made up the soundtracks of those teen angst John Cusack movies--back in the 80's.

But before you could say "Breakfast Club" the craving had become a habit. I needed hit after hit. It went from being an occasional listen to becoming an all-out 80's music fix, as syrupy David Foster mixes coated my brain with a sticky patina of mindless pop. I couldn't do the Platinum Blonde or Flock Of Seagulls hair (and I believe the hair spray is illegal in most developed countries now), but I just couldn't resist the passioned innocence of Ultravox and Survivor.

Before I knew it, I had an 80's radio station programmed into my car stereo, and my glove-box was stuffed with hand-mixed cassette tapes featuring, Loverboy, Nina, and Iggy Pop. I'd drive to work singing along with Falco and Bronski Beat. I'd be in my parking spot and wouldn't leave my car until my Mister Mister song had ended.

Oh I bought those cd collections from late-night infomercials featuring washed-up video DJ's, but it still wasn't enough. Yes, The Bangles and The GaGas would sooth my restless soul for a short period of time, but still I needed more. It wasn't long before I was using Napster (and other music-sharing websites) to download countless MP3s to feed my unhealthy lustful craving for brain-numbing pop music, the kind they only wrote in the 80's.

I was fascinated with the one-hit wunderkinds that pumped out catchy song after catchy song. While my friends were heading to the Coliseum to see "real" bands, I was at home watching old music videos of the Thompson Twins, Corey Hart, and Cyndi Lauper.

Soon it became obvious even to me that I had gone over the edge. No one got my references to "Two Tribes" in idle office banter. Humming "Come on Eileen" did not impress the women, and I found myself hiding my CDs before my friends (fewer and fewer) came over.

I knew I needed help. My portable MP3 player was smoking from excessive use, and I was going through 'AA' batteries faster than smores at a slumber party. I was overdosing on Asia. I was speedballing songs from the Top Gun soundtrack. I knew I needed to do something to rid myself of my dependence to the cursedly-sweet bubble-gum music created in the 1980's.

Luckily, through a special program at the local clinic, I was able to overcome my dependency. They said that my need for 1980's pop music was related to my anxiety over the War in Iraq--I suppose. The 80's were an age of noodle-headed innocence. It was only about sex, hair, and sports-jackets with the sleeves rolled up. By obsessing over the rhythms of Frankie Goes To Hollywood I was apparently avoiding my own needs for stability, and denying my mortal fear of terrorism.

I'm doing better now. I've been clean for six months; I haven't listened to any Soft Cell, Billy Ocean, or Adam Ant. I've deleted all the MP3's and gave the CDs and tapes to charity. Now I only listen country hits from the 90's, and all is right with my achey-breakey heart.

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