[December, 1995] Epic Birthday Weekend, Part 1
I had the best time last night. I had more fun at The Bank than at any concert I ever attended. But before I talk about that, I must recount what happened when Anita and I were in B. Dalton earlier on.
[The Bank was one of NYC’s main goth clubs. There will be many many many mentions of The Bank in future diary entries, so remember it has nothing to do with financial institutions.
A word on B. Dalton. Located on the busy corner of 6th Avenue and 8th Street, even though it was a chain, the bookstore had it’s useful role in the Village landscape, at least to me and Anita. They had a decent magazine section upstairs and we could just hang out upstairs and read without getting hassled by anybody. That night, we were both in full goth garb, heavy eyeliner, all of it, and had some time to kill before meeting a friend for dinner, so we stopped by there.]
The two of us were just sitting there on the floor reading magazines when this guy comes up to us and introduces himself (his name was Brad). Brad was pretty attractive and at first I thought he was trying to pick me up (he was talking to both of us but standing nearer to me. Plus I was flirting—sorta). Then he says he’s from Alaska and to prove that people over there also dress up like that [gothy] he takes a Polaroid out and hands it to me. The photo was him in full goth make-up and clothing (the make-up was gorgeous. Tons of black eyeliner coming in streaks of lightning from his eyes). He looked amazing. Then he asked if he gave us his address would we write to him. I enthusiastically said “of course!” and he handed me a slip of paper with his name (in parenthases he had written “guy from bookstore” and Anita and I did wonder how long he observed us before he came over).
Actually, he’s from New York but goes to school in Homer, AK (!). He wants to be a screenwriter. I asked what he listens to and he took a tape out of his Walkman that said “this is just goth enough” and showed me the case (it was a mix). Then he said I could listen to it and mail it back to him. Then before he went he said if I really liked it, I could just keep it and make Anita a copy. I told him it was really hard for me to give the picture back and he said he’d make me a color photocopy of it.
This was just such an incredible thing to have happened, especially in New York. Brad said that living in Alaska for a year changed him, that a year ago he wouldn’t have been able to approach us like that. Well, my evening was made, and before we even got to The Bank.
[Talk about meeting cute. For a girl who grew up on a steady diet of fantastical tales of modern romance, having something like this happen was a dangerous affirmation on two fronts. First, it made me believe that if something like this could happen, that all of those movies I watched, all the love stories I absorbed and fell in love with myself, were real. Second, it made me believe that the rest of my life could be like a movie: well-scripted, perfectly-timed and plotted, and (most importantly, but of course) romantic. It’s dangerous for something like this to happen to someone so young and prone to flights of fancy, but also tremendously wonderful. I’d pay the price with many doses of reality later on.]
But before that, a few words on my birthday. It’s the best one I can remember. I love being 18. On Friday my parents took me to Atlantic City where I was able to sneak into a casino (the Showboat) and gamble for hours at this computer that had 10 different games. I lost but it was still fun. In the evening we had a lovely dinner at Nino’s, where I got a bit drunk on Margaritas and Frangelico. It was a great day. Yesterday was cooler, though!
[I realize my family is unlike other families in that gambling was one of the few things my parents and I had in common and a deep passion (the few other things the three of us loved being ABBA, unagi sushi, and the movie Ishtar—yes really). Never mind that the legal gambling and drinking age was 21, my parents thought 18 was a more appropriate age to start really partaking in vices, and I thank them for it. In the years that followed, no matter how badly we fought, Mom, Dad and I could always guarantee a peaceful, fun day if it was spent in a casino.]
OK, The Bank. We got there early. First, Dava and I went to a deli for a while. We came back and were told it would be another half hour before it opened. But they did let us come inside to wait instead of making us stay out in the cold. And a guy who worked there asked if we had passes and we said no, but he told us he’d give us pass price anyway (let us pay $7 instead of $12).
I’m not in the mood to finish this write [sic] now, but I will eventually.
Aren’t you so glad I took the time to write about the very beginning (and boring) part of the story of going to my first goth club in those last few sentences? And then stopped? I debated leaving that part out, but I couldn’t deprive you, dear reader, of not knowing what happened in that suspenseful half hour when we reached the club early (which is nothing!). But “fun” fact: the deli we waited in was Katz’s, a New York institution and the setting for the “I’ll have what she’s having” orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally…
Anyway, that night. That entire weekend. Possibly the best in my life up to that point. Meeting Brad set the tone for what would be a year filled with tremendous surprises. I don’t want to spoil any of them here, but I will say I still have that piece of paper he gave me scrawled with his name and number and “guy from bookstore.”