I think 14+ hours of Madonna on an iPod just might qualify. While filling in a few gaps in my collection this morn (i.e. things I had on cassette when I was 13), she officially surpassed Morrissey as the most prolific artist on the Trading Faces iPod. Well, she does if you don't count his work with The Smiths, and I'm sure she wouldn't since who wouldn't want to be the champ of my iPod?
Madonna would probably be quite pleased to know she was the root of the only physical fight I was ever in as a teenager. I got picked on a lot...that happens when you have a funny-looking face AND you are a big sissy boy AND you are one of the smart kids in class. It is really a miracle I made it out of my hellish hometown in one piece (I didn't emotionally, but that is another post). Anyhoo, I had just purchased Madonna's "True Blue" album with my lawnmowing pennies, and I had the cassette sitting on my desk at school in 8th grade while meekly minding my own business. The teacher, a woman who looked EXACTLY like Pat from Saturday Night Live, left the room for a moment, giving this fool an opportunity to upset the gay nerd kid yet again. He ambled over to my desk, dragging his knuckles on the ground, picked up my Madonna cassette, and hurled it across the room.
In that moment, mild-mannered sissy boy displayed a flash of the fag fury he was later to embody. Seeing my beloved Madonna lying on the cheap tile with her case cracked made me snap. I stood up, shouted, "Fuck you!!!!!!" and pushed that big gorilla across a row of desks. He smacked his head on one of them, and decided that if the sissy was going to fight back for once, that was not the day to mess with him.
That remains one of the finest moments of my childhood. Which perhaps is a sad commentary on my childhood, but it was a fine moment nonetheless. And a really really gay one.
6 comments:
As a therapist, I typically discourage violence, but I am proud of you for knocking the shit out of a big redneck from our town, and he WAS a big ol' redneck, folks. A badge of honor, I'd say. Way to go, Christopher!
This also goes to show that you can't mess with the nerds. It reminds me of when I got slapped by my archnemesis, BAS (initials to protect the not so innocent). We were playing peewee baseball in 2nd grade, and that fucker hit me when we were going down the line and saying, "Good game" in that annoyingly repeative and mandatory way that all little boys had to back then. I grabbed that little asshole's arm, twisted it behind his back, and pushed him to the dirt. I hated him, and also intimdated him, from that point on. I may have not been a little gay boy fighting a homophobe, but it was one satisfying event in my history. I have been fighting oppression and the effects of violence ever since.
From one survivor to another, I salute you.
I enjoy remption stories like these.
I got picked on mercilessly in elementary school (I was skinny, gangly, wore hand-me-down clothes, and was generally goofy looking). Well the kid who did it is now in prison :-)~ The hit-and-run case was well publicized on the local news, and he grew up to be quite a pretty-boy. I wonder who his boyfriends are in the prison....
Chris, you know my archnemesis...I just didn't want to waste my hands on typing his name. It is very satisfying to know he is an ubergeek, who was in a We'll-Take-Anyone-Frat, and that he still tries to wear his band t-shirt from 1992. I, on the other hand, am now a psychologist in private practice who has very cool friends and who can actually get a date with someone other than my right hand. Besides, I'm saving the real defamation of character for my book on that shithole where we grew up.
And you forgot to mention that Limmings was screwing the town crack-ho and went to college to study how to plant trees.
Ahhhhh.....it is so good to be superior!
Since we're sharing tales of geek triumph, mine was with a guy named Mike Rudish who was a year older and rode my bus. On my bus, there were so many bad kids that the driver filled up two seats on both sides of the aisle right in back of her to keep an eye on them so getting off the bus was like running the gauntlet of burnouts. They used to push needles through pencil erasers and stab kids as they went past. One day I'd had enough and as I took one step down to get off the bus after being stabbed for the umpteenth time, I turned, punched Mike Rudish in the face and ran. Of course I got the shit kicked out of me the next day and could never ever ride the bus home again but it felt so good at the moment, just to see the surprised look on his face. My sister worked with Mike later at the York Steak House (think Sizzler) where he was eventually fired for stealing a case of meat. I like to dream that he's still in my hometown, living in a hovel and eating beans out of a can or perhaps on Jerry Springer finding out that his girlfriend is leaving him for his 17 year old son. Jeez Christopher, there needs to be a separate blog for these stories!!
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