28 Oct


Everyone at my high school was straight. Their idea of fun was to go to McDonalds and throw pickles on the roof. Afterward a trip to ‘Las Vegas’ computer gaming emporium where the girls’d watch the boys play Defender for 45 minutes before the inevitable tedious fumbling somewhere dark. Yawn.

Our idea of fun was to get into nightclubs and bars; live music venues for live bands. We started way too young and became seasoned scenesters before we were legal. Casually comporting ourselves on the afternoon deck of a trendy balcony bar, age 16. Bloody Marys.

This was the trendy balcony bar in Brizvegas. Not just as in the ‘coolest’ place in town. Also as in the only one in the whole flat city. The place was owned by Stefan who was the local celebrity hairdresser for the same reason. Every week-day morning on channel 9 Stefan had a thirty-minute spot which kicked off with a theme song inviting you to “discover yourself at Stefan. The exciting you with beautiful hair.” Stefan had space age franchises in every important retail zone in the greater Brizvegas area. They really liked blow-dryers at Stefan.

His trendy bar was like his salons only they put firewater in the orange juice. The Bloody Marys were 8 bucks and they inserted a whole fucking garden salad in it. This was not our kind of place. Normally we wore the black stovepipe/pointy-boots and paisley shirt uniform that declared dissent from the world of FM Smooth and Bland: The same 40 songs on high rotation Classic Rock.

That afternoon we dressed like Yuppie Scum: narrow cloth ties, baggy pleated trousers. Stuart Membrey bullshit leather tags on the back of our shirts. Leather deck shoes. Totally disgusting. Why’d we do it? That’s what we always did. Life was theatre. Here we were pretending to be something we weren’t. Just the once. The next time we’d impersonate something else.


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