a new stage
At the tender age of twelve I recieved a Sony Walkman for my birthday. This was an important event for a number of people and reasons.
For starters, my mom no longer had to listed to the music that fell outside of the genre which she most identified with (which I believe at that time was somewhere in the realm of Kenny G, Michael Bolton, and Meatloaf). The headphones served my mothers fanstasy that her boy had great taste in music. She imagined me listening to tunes that were both unobtrusive and wholesome - very unlike the music that I had begun to play on an increasingly regular basis: Prince, Guns&Roses, and various Pop/rock bands that were arguably better dancers tha musicians whil;e still managing to be 100% offensive to the over thirty crowd. I can only assume this also save my mom from explaing to visitors why she allowed her son to listen to Cher and prince at such high volumes -- or at all.
For me, the Walkman marked my metamophosis into a character actor, performer, and resident of a deep dark closet.
The privacy associated with the foam headphones granted me access to [flamboyant] artists such as INXS, George Michael, and Paula Abdul. As well, I was now allowed to take the elaborately self-choreographed performances from the practice studio known as my bedroom to the wider audience inside my head and the larger stage known as: "The field behind my house".
Before my mom came home from work, which she did religiously at 5:30pm each evening, I strapped on my headphones and took to the stage. It was a powerhouse show everynight; with performances by Madonna, [a dancing] Billy Joel, and the one man version of Ace of Base, it was Live Aid every night!
Now, I tell this story not as a reminder that I was fabulous even in my youth, but to highlight the fact that I have always been able to find an outlet for creative urges that may serve as an embarassment to those close to me. Although I have grown into my genre-bending taste in music, there are other aspects of my personality that i still stiffle with "headphones".
I have recently been having [characteristic] insomnia. I refuse to use the phrase 'sufferring from insomnia', because I see it as a blessing that I get a few extra hours to avoid missing the things I fear that I may miss if I were to go to bed at a decent hour each weeknight. Last night's insomnia resulted in me partaking in some naked time that I have been unable to practice in daylight hours due having a roommate.
Not only was I able to prance (is there any other way to walk without clothes on?) around the apartment naked, I was able to sit down at the dining room table and bang out four pages in my handwritten journal. How can I explain how rejeuvinated I felt? How can I put into words how cathartic it is to have been in a place that would have been uncomfortable for anyone to share with me, doing something that only my eyes would see, at an hour out of sync with the rest of the world?
I can say this ... you don't know what's in the journal and my roommate has no idea about this blog. Nudity is my new inspiration. Who knew what my mom would start when she paid $50 for that Walkman.
Thanks Sony.
For starters, my mom no longer had to listed to the music that fell outside of the genre which she most identified with (which I believe at that time was somewhere in the realm of Kenny G, Michael Bolton, and Meatloaf). The headphones served my mothers fanstasy that her boy had great taste in music. She imagined me listening to tunes that were both unobtrusive and wholesome - very unlike the music that I had begun to play on an increasingly regular basis: Prince, Guns&Roses, and various Pop/rock bands that were arguably better dancers tha musicians whil;e still managing to be 100% offensive to the over thirty crowd. I can only assume this also save my mom from explaing to visitors why she allowed her son to listen to Cher and prince at such high volumes -- or at all.
For me, the Walkman marked my metamophosis into a character actor, performer, and resident of a deep dark closet.
The privacy associated with the foam headphones granted me access to [flamboyant] artists such as INXS, George Michael, and Paula Abdul. As well, I was now allowed to take the elaborately self-choreographed performances from the practice studio known as my bedroom to the wider audience inside my head and the larger stage known as: "The field behind my house".
Before my mom came home from work, which she did religiously at 5:30pm each evening, I strapped on my headphones and took to the stage. It was a powerhouse show everynight; with performances by Madonna, [a dancing] Billy Joel, and the one man version of Ace of Base, it was Live Aid every night!
Now, I tell this story not as a reminder that I was fabulous even in my youth, but to highlight the fact that I have always been able to find an outlet for creative urges that may serve as an embarassment to those close to me. Although I have grown into my genre-bending taste in music, there are other aspects of my personality that i still stiffle with "headphones".
I have recently been having [characteristic] insomnia. I refuse to use the phrase 'sufferring from insomnia', because I see it as a blessing that I get a few extra hours to avoid missing the things I fear that I may miss if I were to go to bed at a decent hour each weeknight. Last night's insomnia resulted in me partaking in some naked time that I have been unable to practice in daylight hours due having a roommate.
Not only was I able to prance (is there any other way to walk without clothes on?) around the apartment naked, I was able to sit down at the dining room table and bang out four pages in my handwritten journal. How can I explain how rejeuvinated I felt? How can I put into words how cathartic it is to have been in a place that would have been uncomfortable for anyone to share with me, doing something that only my eyes would see, at an hour out of sync with the rest of the world?
I can say this ... you don't know what's in the journal and my roommate has no idea about this blog. Nudity is my new inspiration. Who knew what my mom would start when she paid $50 for that Walkman.
Thanks Sony.
posted by brian. at 10:58 AM
