March 22, 1996
My handwriting will be a little sloppier because I have gloves on as I write this (I’m outside Hunter College and it’s pretty cold out). Anyway, I have “Suffragette City” stuck in my head, last night I caught part of a Bowie concert broadcasted over the radio and was fortunate enough to hear (and tape) him singing this song (I had only heard—and loved—Corpus Delicti’s version up to this point).
[Here’s something embarrassing about me that’s still true to this day. There are a ridiculous number of famous songs I first heard as covers that I believed to be the originals. These include “Dancing Barefoot” (U2), “Gimme Shelter” (Sisters of Mercy), and “The Passenger” (Siouxsie & The Banshees). One of the most embarrassing was “Hazy Shade of Winter” which I used lyrics from in an 8th grade art project and actually attributed to The Bangles. Poor Simon & Garfunkel got the shaft again when I recently swooned over “The Only Living Boy in New York”… by Everything But The Girl.]
My parents talked to Brad last night. I was kind of nervous but he wasn’t (or so he said but I believe him). I don’t even want to think about the kind of things my dad said to him—he (Dad) brought up marriage—Jesus Christ! But he totally liked Brad. My mother did too, as soon as she got off the phone she said he was adorable. I didn’t get to talk to him much, but I’ll probably call him next week.
[Did I mention that part of my Dad’s leniency about this Alaska trip was his relief that I wasn’t a lesbian? Yeah, the less said about that, the better.]
Less than two weeks to wait now. It seems really soon now. Hm. I almost don’t even mind waiting because I know I’ll blink and find myself in Alaska.
[And in another blink I’d find myself back in New York and angsting it up about something new.]
I’m hungry and cold. I could go to Starbucks and hang out there until it’s time to leave for Pepsin Literary Agency (or Ms. Pepsin’s place, which is what it really is).
[When I was a senior in high school, I had this fabulous year-long apprenticeship with a literary agent who worked out of her Upper East Side apartment. I’d sit in her living room surrounded by books and stacks of mail and papers, reading and rejecting query letters and manuscripts and setting aside ones I thought were worth Ms. Pepsin’s time to review. Other than that, I did some coffee and post office runs, but it was mostly reading, reading, reading. It was heaven. It also concerned me that the fate of all these writers was being put in the hand of an 18-year-old; something I still think about as a querying writer today.]
Still not positive how I’ll do my make-up tomorrow. How superficial of me to be writing crap like this but I feel the need to keep writing. [If you don’t feel the need to keep reading, nobody will blame you.] Besides, I love “talking” (in spoken and written form) about The Bank. Don’t know if I’ll try to talk to anyone there. I keep telling myself I don’t need the temptation. I see an attractive male and immediately think, “I don’t need the temptation.” Part of me hopes Industrial Boy or Goth Boy (guys who work at Tower Records) are there, or Nate (this attractive guy who works in a clothing store I talked to a couple of times) but then the other part of me utters the resounding phrase.
[And this is the danger of falling in love with somebody for the first time who lives very far away (well, there are lots of dangers, this is but one). You don’t get to experience small daily interactions. You emotionally commit more than you should. You feel guilty for flirting with other guys when no boundaries were set. Part of you still wants to go to goth clubs and smooch boys in fishnets and eyeliner (that last one may be less universal and more specific to teenage me).]
Not that we’re engaged or anything, but I feel really committed to Bradley and I think he feels it too (not that there are that many temptations in Alaska, but still). I don’t even know what we are to each other. I mean he’s obviously more than a friend and there is a lot of attraction (well, 4,325 miles away there is, but also when I first met him). A word like “boyfriend” I would consider too mild and silly. He’s my soul mate, my other half. However I will not be able to introduce him as such (when I finally do introduce him to people). Ah well, whatever. In less than 13 days I will see my love. That is all that matters.
That is so not all that matters, I want to tell my younger self. There are a multitude of other things that matter with this whole Alaska situation. Protecting your heart matters. Not getting your hopes up so frighteningly high matters. Enjoying being young and foolish matters. Oh wait, I was already living that last one.
So I finally saw the Joel-Peter Witkin exhibit at the Guggenheim (this was Saturday, with Anita). It blew my mind. Very twisted, very dark. Brilliant. How these could be photos is baffling. There’s some collage work but the rest is just sick, fabulous imagination.
Also finally bought a Rosetta Stone CD, The Tyranny of Inaction. Great album.
Went online for the first time at Anita’s. The Industrial/Goth chat room was a bit dull at first, but got better. Was Instant Messaged by this cool guy in AZ, OrpheusBlack. There sure are a lot of people into Marilyn Manson and NIN. Not nearly enough Bauhaus fans, at least from when I was on. It was fun, but something I could definitely live without. I prefer letters.
I’m listening to Christian Death at the moment. They have grown on me a lot. I told Anita to tell me if I ever start to annoy her w/this whole Gothic thing, the way Claudia did with Punk. I depend on her to keep me grounded, like when I told Anita to make fun of me for wanting fangs (which I do).
Today I went to Didi’s. Played Monopoly with her, Leon and James. They said they’d go to The Bank with me the next time they come back from college (Leon in March, James in May). I must go back soon. Maybe I can beg Anita (doubt it). I’ll find a way. I always do.
Entered my portfolio in the Scholastic Writing contest (the same one I won last year for Short Story). This is the big one, $5,000. I’m hopeful.
Had a dream the other night about asking Nathan back on Sally Jessy (as if I would learn). In the dream he had a girlfriend. I’m basically over it, but not completely, not until that absolutely final time I go there.
So, to summarize my18-year-old self: getting fangs = good idea/The Internet = bad idea.
Man oh man oh man. So much to mock, I don’t even know where to begin. I remember how much I loved that Joel-Peter Witkin show, which to date is one of the best museum outings I ever had. I also remember there was a little girl there, which I found troubling. Five years old is too young to be looking at photos of cadavers, amputees and hermaphrodites (call me old fashioned, but six should be the minimum age for that sort of thing).
Rosetta Stone = Sisters of Mercy rip-off band with some catchy songs that you probably don’t know about unless you were a goth in the ‘90s-‘00s.
Going online! Oh my. It figures my sole purpose would be to find gloomy kids around the world to chat about Peter Murphy, Siouxsie Sioux and the other main players in my counter-culture obsession. But then again, there were no other goths at my high school, my best friend was going the Brit-Pop/Indie route, and I was dying (no goth pun intended) to share this interest with others. Because somewhere out there were people who also wanted to get fangs and could recommend more broody music to listen to.
I was a luddite for the longest time. I was one of the people who believed the Internet was a fad or just for uber-tech geeks and wouldn’t really take off. Just call me Little Miss Lack-of-Foresight. I was also adamant that I would not forgo letter-writing for emails and yet in the last decade, I have hand-written and mailed exactly one letter that was longer than a greeting card. Maybe two. And living without the Internet today? Yeah, I think I could go longer without food.
Now let me explain the fangs thing. It wasn’t about vampires so much. I appreciated their aesthetic but I didn’t actually want to be one, nor did I have any kind of bloodlust. Plainly put, I just thought fangs looked really neat. And I thought it would be cool to have some bonded to my teeth. Of course, it was above and beyond ridiculous (I mean, I can only imagine showing up to a job interview with FANGS. Oy.). Let’s just file that in the Thank-GOD-I-Didn’t-Indulge-THAT-Dumb-Teenage-Whim folder.
Also, I have no doubt that annoyed Anita with my goth fixation as much as Claudia annoyed me with her punk phase. Probably more. But it would be a long time before I outgrew that phase (and by “a long time” I mean “never completely”).
I’m floating. Barely slept (less than 6 hours), tossed and turned. I was back at the Bank yesterday by my lonesome. It was packed, took me a half hour just to get inside. Didn’t take me too long to get dancing, though (I would have gone out when they played “The Blood” but it was too soon). “Christine” is what did it (I actually had woken up that day to a different Siouxsie song, “Israel,” which they played later on). I really got into the dancing (esp. during “…zombified,” “reptile,” “this is heresy” and some really good Skinny Puppy song).
[Maybe it was a little weird for me to spend New Year’s Eve at a goth club on my own, but after the super-fun time I had their on my birthday, it was my happy place, so it didn’t matter that I couldn’t wrangle any of my friends—none of whom were goth—to go with me.]
I’m getting to the good part.
I was standing outside the Gothic room [not to be mistaken with the main room which played post-punk, industrial but also goth music] when a guy that I had been watching walked by me with a girl (he had dark wavy jaw-length hair and wore a velvet cape and lots of eye make-up and lipstick — black).
[Apart from the hair, that actually sounds a lot like my look at the club the previous week.]
He looked at me as he entered the room and we made eye contact again when he turned around. About a minute later he left the room. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I looked to my right and he was standing next to me. He asked what my name was (his is Morgan) and we started talking.
He said, “So you noticed me?”
I said, “Yes.”
He said, “Well, I noticed you too.”
[I am 1000% sure my little black heart did flip-flops when he said that.]
It was pretty loud where we were standing so we had to lean in really close and talk right in each other’s ears. It was nice just standing in the semi-darkness, chatting.
We were having some trouble hearing each other, so Morgan suggested we go upstairs. We did, it was actually more of a large balcony with a bar and some chairs. We were at one end of the railing watching the people and he asked how late I was staying. I said 4:00 (at this point it was about a quarter to) and he said that was unfortunate.
I didn’t know how late The Bank was open but he was under the impression that since it was New Year’s it was open until 5:00 or 6:00. So I offered to call to see if I could get picked up later. Well, I ran into a problem at the coat check (it took forever to find mine) and they told me down there they were open ‘til 4:00. I went back upstairs and we asked a bartender who said the same thing.
[“ran into a problem” is an understatement. At the time, I owned a black wool peacoat. Somehow, mine got misplaced, so I had to actually go and search through the racks myself. Imagine the coat check of a goth club on its busiest day of the year. The racks had HUNDREDS of black coats. 80% of which were peacoats. All I wanted to do was get back to the cute goth boy waiting upstairs for me.]
So then we went down this back staircase to this shady area on the floor not too far from the door. Though it was kind of brief, it didn’t take me long to discern that Morgan does not have a tongue piercing.
[My “coy” way of saying we had a brief make-out session.]
At one point he said something really interesting. Don’t remember the exact wording. Something like,
“You may not understand this. But save me.”
There were a few things I could have said in reply, but instead I just kissed his neck.
[Oh, how much bad poetry was inspired by the brief interlude with this guy…]
We talked about when we would meet and he gave me his number (he lives in Pennsylvania but is staying at his friend’s house in Queens).
I called him today and he wanted me to come over, but Mom was dead set against it. He told me I should come to the London After Midnight show at the Limelight on Thursday but that’s not possible, unfortunately. That’s all I’m going to write for now.
It was my first hook-up with a goth boy and I couldn’t have asked for it to be any more gothtastic. It had all the necessary elements: Noticing each other in a dark goth club? Check. Boy wearing lots of black make-up and a velvet cape? Check. Smooching in dark corner of said night club? Check. Boy says something insanely melodramatic like “save me” to girl, which girl finds strange and thrilling and romantic? Check and double check.
Another thing I learned that night is that smeared black lipstick takes forever to wash off. I must’ve come out of that club looking like a crazy hybrid of Marilyn Manson and Ronald McDonald. If my parents noticed anything unusual about my smudged appearance when they picked me up, I’m sure glad they didn’t say anything.