Well, my bloggy friends, I am off to visit my family for the weekend with only my cell phone for technology. There is no computer or internet where I am going.
The house I grew up in, which was a lot like the funhouse without the fun, has a lot of personal rock n'roll and music history.
It's the first place I heard the Soviet Marching Band. My mom and uncle were put on the record and talked it up how great it was, at 7am on a gray Massachusetts morning in 1982. I think they were on their 3rd beer by then.
It's where I used to practice my karate while listening to "Double Fantasy" in 1981 under Christmas lights in the kitchen in the spring.
It's where I danced around to the Pagan's "Boy Do I Dance Good" and The Misfits "Little Angel Fuck" from a mixtape in 1988 after washing the supper dishes.
where I first watched Elvis and Ann Margret, read Heinlein, Niven, David Eddings, Lloyd Alexander, Eugene O'Neill, on a fake fur tiger couch in the living room,
learned to draw stick figures, then faces, then realistic noses, and finally a series of erotic posters which I sent to Def Leppard in 1987 when I was 16,
and recovered from being repeatedly beaten by a boyfriend in 1990.
While I've kept with the coolness here (mostly), I have to say going back there brings up a lot of heavy Eugene O'Neillesque crap--I don't really care to go. I would like to get to a spiritual place where I am okay with the family thing. Maybe one day...