The summer of 85. Last summer before mass deaths in the third world country called America.
Summer of Madonna
Summer of Live AID–which I did have confused with AIDS at first as I had so many sick friends.
Two thirds of all my friends were to die between 10/09/85 and I don’t remember the exact date in 91.
Days before the protease inhibiters, days before common courtesy was extended to men sick simply because of sexual preference.
I didn’t have any junkie friends. I didn’t know any sick women.
I can only speak about the Gay community. One I was very fond of.
1985: year I was in one jet with a bomb in it–Heathrow, June, and one jet with the body of a man killed by terrrorists, Rome, October
1985: year Mick danced with Tina as if there would be no tomorrow. For years I had a poster of Tina on a wall, and I’m not that type of poster person. Tina Turner was inspirational.
1985: Year I would run into Diana Ross every damn night. Her office was on my block. I would come home from work, she was just leaving her office and she would stop as if a statue and wave at me. I think she wanted me to courtesy.
1985: a good summer for the beach, a place I could be found at frequently. In between my trips to Europe
1985: my parents last road trip in Europe. They asked me to come along to navigate. I thought it was because my closest friend was dying.
It turned out that they really needed a navigator.
My father was the only known male to stop every two miles to ask directions. He drove my mother and I crazy.
We had fun on that trip. I got my parents tipsy at Octoberfest on Spaten, the only beer that I have ever really loved and been able to drink.
We talked and laughed a lot. I would leave my parents during the day and meet them for dinner. I never like to be on other peoples schedules when traveling. I like to walk everywhere.
1985: Year the Blenderbusters got our name when the bartender said we were going to bust her blender. Jim Thorpe PA was just beginning to become a touristy town. We were searching for the perfect strawberry margarita from Jim Thorpe to Montauk.
One of us, not me, has a house in Sag Harbor. We thought the Hamptons were built up and crazy then. We had no idea….
1985: Too many men, gay and straight wanted to become Blenderbusters. We were four girls so we made an auxiliary and had initiation.
They had to drive around in the rain for hours listening to Rod Stewart.* Any man who could survive that…
As Blenderbusters we had an energy, a force, that none of us had singularly. We can do a Motown medley like nobody. We spent Saturday afternoons discussing women’s issues and at five out would come the beer, joints and cookies. We were thin anyway
We had so many options it would take us hours to decide what to do. That is why when we went to the movies, we sat in the front row, pre-stadium seating.
I was into vintage clothes, tiered skirts, halter tops, lace socks, lace in my hair–the Madonna look before I ever consciously saw her, dresses with jackets, jackets without blouses, much marcasite, red hair, sometimes too much make up. Oh yeah, I liked going out.
I managed large scale litigation projects. It was 24/7 before the term was invented. I had worked 20 straight months between 83 and mid 85.
It was exhausting. My father offered to pay me to quit. I didn’t but took time off.
1985: I had a rare breakdown in musical taste and had a thing for Rod Stewart*. Hence the auxiliary initiation. It was his old songs that got to me: “Maggie May,” “Every Picture tells a story”
My fiancee and I broke up early in 85, and I turned away from all music that had a personal association with one of my relationships. That precluded almost everything. Rod was available.
But I couldn’t turn away from Eric and Tom. So when Waits did “Downtown Train” by Rod, I was in YUPPIE/Something else/Something better/Heaven.