nancy.
december 1987, i heard the sex pistols for the first time. one of the defining moments that clearly was the catalyst for the direction of my outlook, character and progression in life.
this was also around the same time when the movie 'sid and nancy' hit the video stores. i became obsessed. i copied the movie and watched it over and over and over. it became my night-light and for years i couldnt fall asleep without hearing gary oldman say "piss off" at least three times.
for a kid who felt like he had found the soundtrack of the gods encapsulated within one album written by a handful of poor teenagers, i couldnt help but want to learn everything there was to know. but in 1987, i didnt have much more than a handful of bootleg records and this movie, sid and nancy. i based my look, my demeanor and my taste upon what i saw on that video tape.
and of course, all i wanted was a nancy.
a nancy to be my companion as the garbage rained down upon us as we made out in the alley. two damaged kids being okay with each others baggage. i wanted this messy ideal who hated the world for the same reasons i did. someone who would pick up a bat to fight for me. someone who thought of me when she masturbated. someone who wouldnt think it was strange that i peed in bottles, jerked off into socks or used old tshirts and underwear as pizza napkins. i wanted someone who looked good in black. someone who was willing to hustle, scrape by and scheme because she saw the people around her and scoffed at the way they threw in the towel. the way they sold off their dreams for a mini-van and a well-manicured lawn. i wanted my nancy to come into my life and make me never want to look at another girl.
and i found her.
it was the only time i had ever let out a true exhale. the first conversation we ever had went something like this...
me: "if you can name a cro-mags and murphys law record, ill buy you a ring."
her: "best wishes and back with a bong"
she was the only woman i ever went looking to buy a ring for.
tonight, i sat on the couch and watched sid and nancy again. fruity and i commented on how inaccurate the movie is. how it is so over-dramatic and how the continuity of the story is off and how overall it is just a poorly made movie. knowing what i know now about the true story of sid and nancy, seeing the documentary who killed nancy and, well, becoming an adult... i simply dont see the movie the same way.
we used to joke as we danced in her kitchen and say that she was "my nancy" and "my alabama" from the movie true romance. corny, sure. but then again, what isnt when you're in love. she would put her feet on top of mine, i would hold her close and she would rest her head on my shoulder and we would sway back and forth like two kids at an 8th grade dance.
she was a mess. but in those moments she was quiet. for five minutes, i could hold her. she was still. she wasnt a raving lunatic. she was mine. we were ours. and the world could have fallen around us and we could have died and everything would have been just fine.
but tonight as i watched the movie, with the kind of clarity hindsight shines on all history, i realized what she really was. she wasnt my nancy. she was chloe webb, the actress who played nancy. much like the romanticized movie version of the tragedy, i can see her for the facade she truly was. an image. she wasnt the mess i was to find love and identity within, she was just a mess. a compulsively lying little girl dressed up as a woman. she wasnt the romance in an alley, she was the garbage that rained down around me.
when i looked around and saw her dirty underwear and her snot rags i thought they were adorable, because they were her. and when she looked around and saw my pee bottles and cum-stained socks, she thought it was tolerable. and theres a difference there. the difference is, she was never my nancy.
she was only the actress who played her.
this was also around the same time when the movie 'sid and nancy' hit the video stores. i became obsessed. i copied the movie and watched it over and over and over. it became my night-light and for years i couldnt fall asleep without hearing gary oldman say "piss off" at least three times.
for a kid who felt like he had found the soundtrack of the gods encapsulated within one album written by a handful of poor teenagers, i couldnt help but want to learn everything there was to know. but in 1987, i didnt have much more than a handful of bootleg records and this movie, sid and nancy. i based my look, my demeanor and my taste upon what i saw on that video tape.
and of course, all i wanted was a nancy.
a nancy to be my companion as the garbage rained down upon us as we made out in the alley. two damaged kids being okay with each others baggage. i wanted this messy ideal who hated the world for the same reasons i did. someone who would pick up a bat to fight for me. someone who thought of me when she masturbated. someone who wouldnt think it was strange that i peed in bottles, jerked off into socks or used old tshirts and underwear as pizza napkins. i wanted someone who looked good in black. someone who was willing to hustle, scrape by and scheme because she saw the people around her and scoffed at the way they threw in the towel. the way they sold off their dreams for a mini-van and a well-manicured lawn. i wanted my nancy to come into my life and make me never want to look at another girl.
and i found her.
it was the only time i had ever let out a true exhale. the first conversation we ever had went something like this...
me: "if you can name a cro-mags and murphys law record, ill buy you a ring."
her: "best wishes and back with a bong"
she was the only woman i ever went looking to buy a ring for.
tonight, i sat on the couch and watched sid and nancy again. fruity and i commented on how inaccurate the movie is. how it is so over-dramatic and how the continuity of the story is off and how overall it is just a poorly made movie. knowing what i know now about the true story of sid and nancy, seeing the documentary who killed nancy and, well, becoming an adult... i simply dont see the movie the same way.
we used to joke as we danced in her kitchen and say that she was "my nancy" and "my alabama" from the movie true romance. corny, sure. but then again, what isnt when you're in love. she would put her feet on top of mine, i would hold her close and she would rest her head on my shoulder and we would sway back and forth like two kids at an 8th grade dance.
she was a mess. but in those moments she was quiet. for five minutes, i could hold her. she was still. she wasnt a raving lunatic. she was mine. we were ours. and the world could have fallen around us and we could have died and everything would have been just fine.
but tonight as i watched the movie, with the kind of clarity hindsight shines on all history, i realized what she really was. she wasnt my nancy. she was chloe webb, the actress who played nancy. much like the romanticized movie version of the tragedy, i can see her for the facade she truly was. an image. she wasnt the mess i was to find love and identity within, she was just a mess. a compulsively lying little girl dressed up as a woman. she wasnt the romance in an alley, she was the garbage that rained down around me.
when i looked around and saw her dirty underwear and her snot rags i thought they were adorable, because they were her. and when she looked around and saw my pee bottles and cum-stained socks, she thought it was tolerable. and theres a difference there. the difference is, she was never my nancy.
she was only the actress who played her.