I'm bringing sexy back

"Later that day, I got to thinking about guilty pleasures..." (At least that's the way I'd phrase things if I were Carrie Bradshaw.)

But seriously folks! What defines a guilty pleasure? It's more than just something you happen to enjoy that might be slightly outside the mainstream; I think the guiltiness inherent in the guilty pleasure implies some sort of knowledge on your part that what you are enjoying is lowbrow or embarrassing to admire, and yet you're compelled to partake nonetheless.

So, in true Rachel fashion, I decided to share my guilty pleasures with the world!

Books
Sure, there's the Baby-sitters Club and the Animorphs, but those hardly count; they're just good old-fashioned adolescent literature that no one can resist engrossing themselves in once in a while. No, for real guilt and real pleasure I turn to the Flowers in the Attic series by V.C. Andrews, one of America's most notoriously fine trashy writers (so beloved by her fans that her estate continued to publish books under her name even after she was dead). What makes Flowers in the Attic so deliciously, sinfully pleasurable? Well, there's the brother-sister incest, for starters, and then there's the description on the back cover, which describes Flowers in the Attic as a "strange, dark, terrifying tale of passion and peril in the lives of four innocent children, locked away from the world by a selfish mother." (OK, I'll grant you "strange" and "dark" and raise you a "bizarre," but let me tell you something: After the narrator and her brother have sex with each other, it's a pretty safe bet that they're no longer "innocent.")

What makes Flowers in the Attic a guilty pleasure is obvious: It's trash, and yet I love it. Every once in a while, I get the great urge to re-read all five books in the series in one feverish swoop...which is why I just won the series on eBay for $8.25 (including shipping). These are books I would never, ever take out in public, so I'm enjoying the hackneyed, overblown drama of the Dollanganger siblings at home. (Full disclosure: I first discovered this series at my dad's library on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. Thanks Dad!)

Music
I think my taste in music is pretty respectable. The Beatles, Dylan, Springsteen -- hallowed classic rock. The Killers, David Gray, Coldplay -- hip modern music. I even listen to Beethoven sometimes when I'm studying.

But no iPod playlist is complete without a few songs you like to belt out in the car but that you wouldn't want anyone else to ever know about. And for me, those songs are performed by a certain Mr. Clay Aiken of American Idol fame.

Clay Aiken's catalogue is riddled with power ballads that would probably make even Celine Dion cringe. But for those moments when you fancy yourself a superstar, there's nothing like hitting a big Aiken note. I recommend the showstopping moment from "Somewhere Out There": "...un-der-neath the same big skyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!"

Movies
If there's one thing I've learned in my ballet class this summer, it's that I'm ridiculously uncoordinated and will never be a dancer. Perhaps this explains my deep affection for all kinds of "dance movies": Center Stage, Dirty Dancing, Save the Last Dance, and so on. "You didn't have the feet. I don't have the heart!" "You were born to do this." "This is my dance space, this is your dance space." I love it all: the extreme close-up montages of battered feet, the repeat cuts of grimacing dancers falling and falling again, the music of triumph that swells during a dancer's finest hour. Maybe I just find it comforting that dance movies always following the same predictable formula: There will be strain, and there will be strife, but you know there's going to be one hell of a final performance.

Television
Unfortunately, I watch a lot of TV. So to get to my guilty pleasure TV, you have to go all the way down to the bottom of the barrel, down past even a show like Deal or No Deal hosted by Howie Mandel, down to The Real World/Road Rules Challenge (or whatever the hell they're calling it nowadays).

I haven't watched The Real World itself since high school, but the fact that cast members who are now in their 30s continue to make a living off appearing on ridiculous MTV reality shows fascinates me.

(At least I didn't say Flava of Love. That would be worse than a guilty pleasure.)

Magazines
I subscribe to Rolling Stone. I adore the Sunday New York Times Magazine. But really, is there anything more satisfying than a good Us Weekly or In Touch at the gym, the doctor's office, the checkout line or the airport? I'll never actually pay for one myself, but if I go to the gym and someone hasn't left behind a scandalous tabloid, my whole workout just takes on a gloomier mood.

Internet
You know how I love my fanfic. But without the fabulous Internet, it might not exist. And then I'd never get to read about the time when Scully in her infinite wisdom solved the medical emergency and saved Mulder's life. (This happens a lot in fanfic. It's a guilty pleasure thing.)

Food
Look, I've seen Super Size Me. But every once in a while -- mostly when I'm drunk -- I crave fast food. (But even if it would make me rich like Morgan Spurlock, I don't think I could eat it at every meal for a month.)

So, there you have them, my guilty pleasures. The real question is, do I have others that are too embarrassing even to share...?