In High School, I would go to parties with friends.
These parties were held while parents were away. A lie was a key ingredient to the evening.
Most of the time, I didn't know the kids who were throwing the party.
Those who invited me did.
The houses were situated atop wooded hills with steep and perilous driveways.
We would arrive and knock on the door.
Door answered. Explosion of Hellos.
Not knowing anyone, I would be left alone.
The house always smelled new. Sometimes with an undercurrent of bacon.
I edged around the house looking at everything. Never touching. Sid Vicious Posters. Earrings. Cigarettes.
These kids seemed cool. Distant.
I'd return to the pack before I was discovered.
During my explorations, this song always seemed to play in the background.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
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5 comments:
She's like Sarah Brightman meets Siouxie Sioux. Or Freddy Mercury if he were a girl who'd read solely 19th Century novels by women who died of consumption. Or a character from an unpublished Edward Gorey story called The Cloistered Nightingale.
About once a year I'll have a dream in which she figures prominently.
She was 19 when she released Wuthering Heights, for chrissake.
pricys (pl.) - (informal) extravagantly expensive small item, usually owned by children: I see all them la-dee-da kids leaving school with their cell phones and pricys. Org. Northern England
"She was 19 when she released Wuthering Heights, for chrissake."
And glory be to that. I'm so glad that she was allowed to flourish before any post-25, mid-nineties self-consciousness could take hold.
In some cases, she can be her own worst enemy. There have been a couple of songs that have been marred a touch by her over the top theatrics.
But like her or not, due respect should sent her way for going for it...and all the way.
Is this "Not Jerry"? or Jerry?
Is it weird that I am also "Not Jerry"?
One of the only Kate Bush songs I hate. I don't mean to contrary or look some sort of horse in some sort of orifice, but the dancing alone makes me want to die with embarassment about being a HUGE fan. I am so conflicted.
TRUE STORY ALERT: When I went to Shakespeare Camp after third year, I met a guy on the second day of camp who said I reminded him of his other friend Kate. A few days later he pulled me aside after lunch to tell me that it was just so uncanny how like his friend I was that he left her a message saying as much. I think I asked if she was an actor or something because he replied, " You probably haven't heard her, she's a singer in England, Kate Bush." I died. And at some point, she heard that I existed. Now I must listen to the entire Hounds of Love album and reassess my life.
lenowzqj: most likely that guy's last name...
Dag. Of course I would choose the song you hate most.
You know what the dancing reminds me of?
"Get your hands off her, Get your hands off her, Get your hands off her..."
I spent about 27 minutes looking for get your hands off her on the internets a while back. I must have gotten distracted/drunk, as I never found it.
reereh: uber-tarded
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