Sometimes you just need bubble gum.

I swear, it's not my fault.

It's true: I've developed a soft spot for Kylie Minogue. Not the old school Kylie of Aussie soap operas and dalliances with Michael Hutchence, either. Because that would be forgivable. No, it's the unabashed past-her-prime-but-still-churning-out-dance-hits Kylie who's caught me by surprise.

I don't know what to do about it, so I've decided to just embrace it. I haven't reached the point of buying her most recent album, but truth be told it might not be far off. I'm holding the line strong for now, determined to acquire a dozen more indie credentialed albums first. But once I've made it through that list? I'm not sure I can be trusted.

It would be guilty pleasure music, except I don't feel nearly as guilty as I'm supposed to. No Dear Abby can save me now.