Mix Tape

JH was one of my two great High School crushes {yep, we all had them, the kind you never forget, and yeah, the other one knows who he is too, especially since they were best friends} and it was long enough ago, that I can admit that easily and earnestly with an easy heart, and most certainly no ulterior motive. I’ve been pondering if I’m just getting way to personal on this blog, but I figure why not? People are interpersonal, that’s what makes us special and no one has to read if they don't want to or if I make them uncomfortable, and what could be nicer than reading that you were someone's HS crush and they’ve remembered you fondly for so many years, why not give someone that, as so many have and are giving so much to me?

Thanks to Facebook and the aforementioned 30th reunion it was lovely to see that JH is settled into a happy life, happy marriage and has followed his bliss into a career in the music industry. He and I, neither musicians, loved the same kind of music and he has remained obsessed. Looking back, I suppose we were suburban outsiders, in cahoots with a small eclectic group in our constant quest, need, for road trips into Manhatten {from our suburban hell} to soak up all the punk rock and emerging bands wherever/whenever we could find them. In those days, the drinking age was 18 and NY had paper licenses, sans picture, the numbers easily scratched off and modifed with pencil and a steady hand, and in the city, they never carded anyway. So we’d ditch the keg parties midway to get over the bridge in time for the Ramones, Dead Kennedy’s, the Clash, the Damned, Plasmatics, English Beat, the Specials, Madness, the Psychedelic Furs, Go-Gos, B52s, Television, the list is long.

I had a magenta streak in my dark hair, things change, they stay the same, if we’re lucky we find ways to merge our then-selves and our now-selves staying true to whatever makes us who we really are -- symbiosis. It’s been a long trip for me, but I feel more comfortable in my own skin that I maybe ever have which is why getting cancer now, is a little silly. And by the way, I’ve dyed my whole head purple to enjoy my last few weeks of hairfullness and it’s making me very happy. Sadly, I’ve had to ditch the pink {and I mean very, very sadly} because everyone at the clinics thinks I’m making a breast cancer point. I was speechless on one of my early visits when a group of staff said “oh we love your hair, it’s so great you did that to raise awareness.” I’m thinking... are you insane? I found out I had cancer 48 hours ago and you think the first thing I did was run out and buy hair color? No, I will not become a cancer zealot, sorry breast cancer industrial machine, you will not become my identity.

In 1980 I had a beat up 1967 Mustang that got us where we wanted to go, when I wasn’t broken down on the sides of random roads, because that car was a wreck, but it was a beautiful wreck. I was fearless at 17 but somehow lived to tell the tale which is, actually a tad suprising, I was probably more wreckless than fearless, I was an angsty-girl. When JH and I reconnected on FB we exchanged lists of our favorite movies, books and music from the last few decades and while I'm rarely a prankster I couldn’t resist populating my list with Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston and the like, Titanic as my favorite flick, all the elements of pop culture that just baffle me and turn my stomach. He was a true gentleman and tried to hide his dismay and just said “wow, you’ve changed a lot, but that's cool”. And I have, but no one changes that much and if they have, they are or were, just pretending. Interestingly, our current lists had many crossovers, but mine was probably a bit mellower, more Cowboy Junkies, Lucinda Williams, far less head bashing than in the past.

So in reading the blog, which I’d not expected him to read, JH said he’d love to share some music with me and I was expecting a padded envelope with a CD or 2 but yesterday, I got a package I could barely lift {ok, exaggerating a little, I’m not that pathetic, I practically haul crap around for a living}. But what fun! A gorgeous cardboard box jammed full of new music to discover and old music to relive, a box of proverbial mix tapes and when was the last time I got a mix tape? I haven’t opened it yet, I’m waiting for the right moment. I don’t want to rush, I want to enjoy the experience.