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thoughts . . . or something.
Jun. 26th, 2009 01:01 amI feel like I should write down some thoughts, if only because Michael Jackson was the first pop star I had any real inkling of out there.
In fourth grade, there were a couple cool kids who were also fortunate enough to have family who would buy more expensive things. They had fancy jackets and a single glove. I remember thinking it was the stupidest thing ever, though the zippers on that jacket were pretty cool.
At ten, I mostly listened to classical when I wasn't listening to my parents' classic rock. I don't think it was called classic rock in the 80s yet. Maybe it was called "best of the 50s and 60s". They didn't lump it in with much from the 70s yet.
My cousin gave me at least one, maybe two, dubbed tapes of Thriller. I enjoyed sneaking glimpses of the video for Thriller on department store TVs. I don't remember my reaction to the tape, but I know I listened quite a bit, mostly because she gave it to me. And because I really liked Vincent Price.
I later learned to distrust her musical taste when she insisted that I watch home tapes of MTV and held me down while the most inane thing ever played on the tiny lake house TV--"Shout". I kinda like Tears for Fears now, but don't tell her. As soon as I could, I escaped to the relative safety of the water.
I refused to watch MTV for several years thereafter.
In Moscow, 1996. I lived with a woman (retired film editor/splicer) and her elderly mother in a small apartment near the Dynamo stadium. They worried when I came home after dark, but also expected me to be late every night. The route home was generally safe. If drunken miscreants threatened me, the mafia bouncers at the stadium "club" would block the way while I ran past. It was a comfortable "hi, hi" relationship. Down the side alley I'd go every night, cross the street, climb over the crumbling asbestos-wrapped heat/water pipes, and cross another street to get to the apartment.
One night, my usual exit from the metro was blocked. I had to go another way, through what seemed like a heavily wooded forest park. (By day, I discovered it was really just a normal park, not a forest park.) I got lost. I saw a very drunk, crying woman (likely a prostitute given her other attire, but it's hard to tell in Moscow in the nineties) with no panties. I kinda wanted to help her, but there were a few too many creepy men about. I could hear a ruckus in the stadium, the lights were all on. And there were policemen around, though they were mostly just blocking access to any route one might want to take around the stadium. I asked one of them to help her, I doubt he did. I eventually found my way home, but damn . . . it's hard to find one's way in a strange city when a very large stadium, a larger park, and block-sized apartment buildings thwart one's every attempted egress. And it's not exactly safe to check one's map when drunken miscreants are around.
I made it home, obviously, no thanks to Michael Jackson playing on his world tour that night. I ended up recognizing a streetcar, realized I'd walked even further out of my way, and rode it back to my apartment block. The next night, the mafia bouncers were back to work as usual and we greeted one another as I headed home. I didn't get lost that time.
I have a turntable now. This is only of note because the first LP![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
explodingcat ever bought was Thriller. Maybe we'll listen to it this week.
In fourth grade, there were a couple cool kids who were also fortunate enough to have family who would buy more expensive things. They had fancy jackets and a single glove. I remember thinking it was the stupidest thing ever, though the zippers on that jacket were pretty cool.
At ten, I mostly listened to classical when I wasn't listening to my parents' classic rock. I don't think it was called classic rock in the 80s yet. Maybe it was called "best of the 50s and 60s". They didn't lump it in with much from the 70s yet.
My cousin gave me at least one, maybe two, dubbed tapes of Thriller. I enjoyed sneaking glimpses of the video for Thriller on department store TVs. I don't remember my reaction to the tape, but I know I listened quite a bit, mostly because she gave it to me. And because I really liked Vincent Price.
I later learned to distrust her musical taste when she insisted that I watch home tapes of MTV and held me down while the most inane thing ever played on the tiny lake house TV--"Shout". I kinda like Tears for Fears now, but don't tell her. As soon as I could, I escaped to the relative safety of the water.
I refused to watch MTV for several years thereafter.
In Moscow, 1996. I lived with a woman (retired film editor/splicer) and her elderly mother in a small apartment near the Dynamo stadium. They worried when I came home after dark, but also expected me to be late every night. The route home was generally safe. If drunken miscreants threatened me, the mafia bouncers at the stadium "club" would block the way while I ran past. It was a comfortable "hi, hi" relationship. Down the side alley I'd go every night, cross the street, climb over the crumbling asbestos-wrapped heat/water pipes, and cross another street to get to the apartment.
One night, my usual exit from the metro was blocked. I had to go another way, through what seemed like a heavily wooded forest park. (By day, I discovered it was really just a normal park, not a forest park.) I got lost. I saw a very drunk, crying woman (likely a prostitute given her other attire, but it's hard to tell in Moscow in the nineties) with no panties. I kinda wanted to help her, but there were a few too many creepy men about. I could hear a ruckus in the stadium, the lights were all on. And there were policemen around, though they were mostly just blocking access to any route one might want to take around the stadium. I asked one of them to help her, I doubt he did. I eventually found my way home, but damn . . . it's hard to find one's way in a strange city when a very large stadium, a larger park, and block-sized apartment buildings thwart one's every attempted egress. And it's not exactly safe to check one's map when drunken miscreants are around.
I made it home, obviously, no thanks to Michael Jackson playing on his world tour that night. I ended up recognizing a streetcar, realized I'd walked even further out of my way, and rode it back to my apartment block. The next night, the mafia bouncers were back to work as usual and we greeted one another as I headed home. I didn't get lost that time.
I have a turntable now. This is only of note because the first LP
explodingcat ever bought was Thriller. Maybe we'll listen to it this week.
