Have you heard the news? Cicadas are back. I know. You hear them every summer, right? But this year, if you happen to live in the southeast, you’re really gonna hear them because the periodic cicada will be amongst us for the first time in a long time. And according to my buddy Meredith over at Babble, the little buggers will be out in full force, as she reports that they’ll number as many 1.5 million per acre.
So, is it just me, or does the imminent arrival of the periodic cicada conjure up images of Latino heartthrob and erstwhile pop sensation, Jon Secada? You remember him, don’t you? He’s pictured above opposite his near namesake. Here’s another pic, just in case.
See? I knew you’d remember him. He’s the guy who broke onto the scene in the early 90s with his monster hit Just Another Day (as if I had to tell you). The video? It was EPIC. The forlorn Casanova shows his emotional vulnerability by unabashedly singing about love lost as he walks aimlessly down a lonely beach, his unbuttoned white satin shirt blowing seductively in the wind allowing but the faintest glimpse of his toned, taut, hairless pecks—a tanned spectacle which contrasts brilliantly with his super-tight acid wash jeans (complete with the requisite knee hole, thank you very much).
You say cicada, my friends, but I say Secada. And as I do, I cannot help but recognize the undeniable similarities between the two. As I already mentioned, the periodic cicadas are back. And it’s been quite sometime since we’ve heard from them. Thirteen years to be exact. Jon Secada? Similar situation. No one’s heard a peep from that fucker in nearly 20.
Cicadas are famous for making noise. Same thing for Secada. But what’s more, the noise cicadas emit? They come from the male of the species a la their mating call. That’s right. Like Secada, their singing gets them laid.
And though, to many, the sound of cicadas is synonymous with summer, their droning can certainly get annoying with prolonged exposure. Secada? Same deal. At least the annoying part.
So you see, cicadas and Secada really do have a lot in common. But, to be fair, they also have a few differences, too.
For example, cicadas don’t like the rain. In fact, a good downpour on a hot summer night is about the only thing that can shut those little guys up. But you give Jon Secada a little rain and it’ll only make the love-starved Latino sing even louder.
Also, cicadas are constantly confused with locusts. Jon Secada? Not as much. They’re easy to tell apart because videos of locusts aren’t oozing with tacit yet palpable homoerotica.
That’s not to say that Secada hasn’t ever been misidentified. I’m pretty sure he’s often confused with Rick Astley.
Which is bullshit. Because Secada’s head and shoulders above Astley. Plus, I bet he could totally kick Astley’s ass in, say, a mud wrestling match, or something of the like. Even if exercising such a whooping might leave the lyrics to Never Gonna Give You Up stuck in his head.
But by now, I’m off the beaten trail. For this post isn’t about how much more of a man Secada is than Astley. This is a post about cicadas and how their imminent arrival has reminded me of Secada. Which, in turn, led me on a disturbing 72-hour Jon Secada bender that has me mildly concerned and my wife contemplating divorce.
Which, paradoxically, could leave me wandering aimlessly on a beach near you, clad only in a white satin shirt and acid wash jeans, signing forlornly about love lost.
So I’d better get my shit together before this goes any further. Because I’m pretty sure no one wants to see that.