Chapter Five: Bands, Boys and Broadway
I have recently become extremely obsessed with an anime called Blood+, which is bad because I need to be working and should not be humouring my obsession by watching a 50 episode long anime...
Anyway, chapter five. Lots of photos this time. I will warn in advance that there won't be any more pictures posts for the stage of the story where Sarah enters fantasy land...
So, chapter five. The first picture is dedicatded to misofuhni, for painstakingly talking me through the popular culture of the eighties.
Once every mark of the old, immature Sarah had been banished to the attic, I reformed myself, becoming a normal, inoffensively-rebellious girl. I brought posters of rock stars and teen idols to stick to my wall, listening to their music on the radio and renting their films. I soon knew all about Bon Jovi and dutifully purchased their singles, playing them at full volume in my room. Tom Cruise’s dully handsome face swiftly became familiar, and I had soon seen all of the films of his they had at the rental store in town. Irene poked her head through the doorway when I was watching one of them, sweetly asking if I would like a snack. She was thrilled by my efforts; her step-daughter was finally displaying telltale signs of normality.
The record I played was the weirdest song I have ever heard. It wasn’t really a song; it was more like a recording of a solemn voiced girl saying strange, ambiguous things. It was very fragmented, I got the impression that parts of the song were missing. The record player hadn’t been used in a long time, and the music blared when I first started playing the song. I hastily turned it down, letting the song play quietly. It unsettled me even more when the girl singer began to whisper. I lifted the needle away before it could end.
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On one occasion, I told them about the time my mother’s clever, well connected boyfriend had introduced me to Patti LuPone in 1980 after a performance of Evita. He knew I idolized her, and orchestrated the encounter as a treat. She bent down until her eyes were level with mine, shook my small, podgy hand and asked if I had enjoyed the show. I wanted to say yes, but my reply got stuck half way down my throat and I ended up glancing shyly at the floor. She laughed and got up, moving away. I remember watching her beautiful white gown trail across the floor, it was so awkward and heavy she had to stop and hoist the back of it up before she could walk on. She had joked about it to her friends, and the last thing I heard from her was her loud, boisterous laugh. Both of my friends gasped in amazement and bombarded me with questions after I offered a lengthy, mythologizing explanation of who Patti LuPone was.
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