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Credit: Hall & Oates: Andy Freeberg/Retna

It’s time for our weekly meeting, people. Everyone grab a cup of coffee and a handful of M&Ms and let’s get started.

Okay, I’ll go first…

My name is Mickey and I love Hall & Oates.

(Hi, Mickey.)

Christmas 1982. My not-so-music-savvy mom buys my heavy-metal cousin Scott H2O, which he looks at and makes a face like he smelled something bad. It comes home with us, and, on a whim, I put it on the turntable. (Yes, I’m THAT old.) While Scott may have preferred headbanging to “Maneater,” I was hooked on “yacht rock,” as these kooky guys on Channel 101 call it. Two years later, they were my first concert (an extended, a capella version of “M-E-T-H-O-D-O-F-L-O-V-E, the method of modern love” is a particularly fond memory). A day doesn’t go by that “Rich Girl,” “Sara Smile,” or “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” doesn’t come around the iPod shuffle bend. “Private Eyes” has entered my karaoke repertoire (lots of jaunty hand claps), and if I ever make a movie, there will definitely be a scene scored to, um, “She’s Gone.”

So with Michael Slezak out “sick” this morning, imagine my Diet Coke-fueled glee when I discovered that our friends at Stereogum have pointed me to the breathlessly titled “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Daryl Hall and John Oates, Part I” (meaning there will be more!). Go. Read. Learn. Love.

Okay, PopWatch Confession over. Now, what’s your secret music shame? I’m looking at you, DeBarge fans… (Sorry, but I can’t go for that, no, no can do.)

addCredit(“Hall & Oates: Andy Freeberg/Retna”)