Once Upon A Time In My Life: 1981 and 2006
1981
I'm 15. We're watching a hundred and fifty dollar copy of the movie "Fame" on our six hundred dollar television that's attached to our five hundred dollar VCR. By "we", I mean me, my brothers and my sister, and maybe five other kids seated and lying around our house's living room on Fairway Drive in Amherst, NH.
This scene comes on. Our parents are having a bit of a party in the dining room; having invited over the couple they were best friends with on the street, the R----, along with the R----' cousins and the R----' cousins children, visiting from Canada. Just as Leroy is diggin' on his johnson to "Red Light" on screen, the blond, thin lipped, severe Canadian woman, mom to a couple of the kids watching with us, comes in to the tv room and witnesses the dick grooving going on. Bad news.
She orders her kids to leave the room. "You're not watching that. Ever." I don't take my eyes off the screen. "It's just a dance. And kind of a cool one", I think. Why aren't my parents telling us to avert our eyes from the black kids onscreen bumping and grinding? None of us left in that room say a word.
That's the way it was in our house growing up: Weird and/or scary things would happen and no one would say anything about it.
We finish watching an awesome movie in silence.
===============
2006:
I'm as psychotic as I've ever been. I believe my blog is being read by lots and lots of people all over the country. And the cameras/microphones in my apartment allow me to have conversations with various people, usually famous. I communicate through my blog and listen for the responses that come through the mics.
Debbie Allen, possibly the hottest black women that's ever lived, is one of the celebrities I was listening to and communicating with. I rented the original "Fame" through Netflix and watched, for the first time since 1981, that scene with Leroy mentioned above. "Wicked", she said. Hot.
And her husband, former Laker point guard Norm Nixon, was jealous of her attention to me. I could hear him storming about their house, saying I was just a talentless, penniless, creepy loser from nowhere. She was psyched to read my shit, though. So I ripped ex-jock Norman. Said the Lakers were better off without him. Won four titles after he left them. That got him pissed and he left their house, apparently driving off to a friends house to chill out. I felt bad for them. Why was she picking on me out of all the bloggers in the world? It felt like a burden. Eventually she stopped paying attention to me and I moved on to other weirdness.
Oh yeah: around this time, after I've watched the movie and pissed Nixon off, I ask my Mom whatever happened to that family that hated our movie so much way back when.
She said she heard all the kids became drug addicts. Guess their Mom's watchdogedness didn't pay off. Did my parents leniency do us any good? I don't know.
I'm 15. We're watching a hundred and fifty dollar copy of the movie "Fame" on our six hundred dollar television that's attached to our five hundred dollar VCR. By "we", I mean me, my brothers and my sister, and maybe five other kids seated and lying around our house's living room on Fairway Drive in Amherst, NH.
This scene comes on. Our parents are having a bit of a party in the dining room; having invited over the couple they were best friends with on the street, the R----, along with the R----' cousins and the R----' cousins children, visiting from Canada. Just as Leroy is diggin' on his johnson to "Red Light" on screen, the blond, thin lipped, severe Canadian woman, mom to a couple of the kids watching with us, comes in to the tv room and witnesses the dick grooving going on. Bad news.
She orders her kids to leave the room. "You're not watching that. Ever." I don't take my eyes off the screen. "It's just a dance. And kind of a cool one", I think. Why aren't my parents telling us to avert our eyes from the black kids onscreen bumping and grinding? None of us left in that room say a word.
That's the way it was in our house growing up: Weird and/or scary things would happen and no one would say anything about it.
We finish watching an awesome movie in silence.
===============
2006:
I'm as psychotic as I've ever been. I believe my blog is being read by lots and lots of people all over the country. And the cameras/microphones in my apartment allow me to have conversations with various people, usually famous. I communicate through my blog and listen for the responses that come through the mics.
Debbie Allen, possibly the hottest black women that's ever lived, is one of the celebrities I was listening to and communicating with. I rented the original "Fame" through Netflix and watched, for the first time since 1981, that scene with Leroy mentioned above. "Wicked", she said. Hot.
And her husband, former Laker point guard Norm Nixon, was jealous of her attention to me. I could hear him storming about their house, saying I was just a talentless, penniless, creepy loser from nowhere. She was psyched to read my shit, though. So I ripped ex-jock Norman. Said the Lakers were better off without him. Won four titles after he left them. That got him pissed and he left their house, apparently driving off to a friends house to chill out. I felt bad for them. Why was she picking on me out of all the bloggers in the world? It felt like a burden. Eventually she stopped paying attention to me and I moved on to other weirdness.
Oh yeah: around this time, after I've watched the movie and pissed Nixon off, I ask my Mom whatever happened to that family that hated our movie so much way back when.
She said she heard all the kids became drug addicts. Guess their Mom's watchdogedness didn't pay off. Did my parents leniency do us any good? I don't know.
posted by joe sweeney at 5:36 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home