Divisions and Precisions

Confessions of a WASPy Adolescent

I have a confession to make.

While I was driving into work this morning, I did my usual hopping from radio station to radio station, and stopped at one, and just smiled. I started singing along, thrilled to hear a song I hadn't heard in years, but one that I used to adore completely. For several moments, I was in middle school again -- only, the good parts of middle school.

The song? "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey.

Yes, it's true. From the age of about eleven to about fourteen (About 1983 to 1986), I was one of the most devoted Journey fans on the face of the planet. Steve Perry, the lead singer, was nigh idolized. He was, to me, rock music personified. Long hair, a little wild, but not so wild that innocent, highly Christian little me was scared off. Those good old-fashioned rockers from San Francisco were rivaled in my affections only by a very similar rock group from Chicago: Styx.

Yes, it's true. (I'm so ashamed!) I bought Kilroy Was Here just about after the first time I heard "Mr. Roboto". I adored that album. I knew every word, every note. And then I found sheet music. For months (with no piano lessons) I struggled on my electric keyboard to play what I could. Finally I could play the intro to every single Journey and Styx song I had sheet music for, and one or two that I'd figured out by ear.

Elaborate fantasies? Oh yeah. Made 'em up. In fact, the first short story I ever wrote I wrote when I was eleven: "As The Nightingale Sings". All about a high school girl in San Francisco and her band, which consisted of her boyfriend, her best friend and her boyfriend, and their goofy oddball friend. Not a horrible story, as far as eleven year olds go, I'm sure. I can't for the life of me remember any of the character's names. Probably just as well. Anyway, the main focus of the story was how the band had a really important gig, and it just so happened that one of the right people was there (a Columbia records exec, if I remember correctly) and wanted to sign them up. And of course, since Columbia is also the record label that Journey was on, they ended up meeting the band and becoming good friends with them. Fame and fortune seemed on its way as the story ended, with one of the band's new singles breaking the Top Forty. It was supposed to be a trilogy: story number two was about how success and fame changed the five, and story number three was the aftermath.

Anyway. The main point of the story, for me, was how to get my heroine to sing for Steve Perry. Sad, huh? Ah youth.

I think that might have been when my fixation on men with long hair began. I find it difficult to resist. Especially very pretty men with long hair. I watched the Disney version of "The Three Musketeers" last night. In truth, the main reason I like that movie so well is because Chris O'Donnell is just so pretty in it, with the longish curly hair and the boyish face and the big blue eyes. Yummy.

Heh. Yes well. Now that you've all totally lost respect for me... did I mention that I used to worship The Monkees too?

Hey. I was an imaginative child. That didn't mean I had good taste. Although, in all honesty, I think The Monkees' TV show is still pretty damn funny, and pretty amazing stuff for the time frame it comes from. Subversive stuff. For example, Micky Dolenz (my favorite) rattles off some long, vaguely Shakespearian rant, then turns to the camera in all his hippie glory and beams, "Not bad for a long-haired weirdo, huh Mr. and Mrs. America?" This was before Woodstock, mind you.

Dear god. I admitted an adolescent love of vanilla, cheesy rock, admitted to bad juvenile fiction, then quoted and defended "The Monkees". I think it's time for me to go to bed. Posted by Lisa at October 22, 1999 11:30 PM