Leather & Cigarettes

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Today is my birthday, was born September 18th 1974, hurricane season. Stay tuned for a bitchin’ 80s rewind, after I bring ya up to speed on the current temp of me now, circa 2019. Not quite sure how interesting I am to ya, so, if you only have time for the 80s Rewind, feel free to scroll down to: Leather & Cigarettes. Otherwise, Class of ’92 folks, & all my Gen-Xer peers, will enjoy this whole article. Keep reading!

For the past 5 years, I have been going stag. It’s been my great pleasure to be removed from the relationship dynamic, to rewire my programs & become totally free. A few weeks ago, I cut my hair pretty short, cause I am ready to begin a new chapter. Aaaaaand… it starts NOW. If you would like to gift me on my special day… BUY BOOK HERE>

Many thanks!

Regarding my birth date, technically the cusp doesn’t start until tomorrow, but after much research over the years, I definitively consider myself both a Virgo & a Libra. For those of you who roll yer eyes & think astrology is a myth, think again. The movement, science & design of the planets, moon & stars significantly influence everything. Up to & including you there pal, whether you agree or not. Kinda like God. The God Force & Universal law indefinitely eternally exist & are indeed structurally sound, no matter what, beyond what any man decides to think or say about it.

“In Astrology, your Birthday is known as your Solar Return. It’s when the Sun returns to the precise position it was at the moment you took your first breath as your “Sun Sign” here on earth. Ever wondered where the Birthday greeting “many happy returns” comes from? Well, now you know. Every single year that passes, your transiting Sun returns to the exact location in the heavens as your natal sun… providing unique insight into the planetary energies and influences that will affect your upcoming year.”

—www.numerologist.com

I turn 45 today. The U.S. is in the age of the 45th president, El Trump-O. And, here’s a little numerology for ya… feel free to scroll past if you’re not interested.

A number’s meaning can be thought of as the number’s basic tone or vibration. As an overview, the numerology number 45 represents a composite energy containing the ideas of:

  • Humanitarianism
  • Compassion
  • Pragmatism
  • Conscientiousness
  • Adventure

The 45 essence contains:

  • the 9’s essence, such as humanitarianism, compassion, and philanthropy,
  • plus a dose of the 4’s focus, pragmatism, and conscientiousness.
  • plus a dose of the 5’s adventure, curiosity, and expression of personal freedom.

The result is a unique essence.

45 is pragmatic, not easily persuaded by hyperbole. It is an active existence. And generous with its skills and time. It’s creative, tolerant, compassionate, and intent on doing the world some good.

The number 45 essence generally prefers interaction with others.

It’s also worldly and sophisticated, and has a global consciousness — aware that much needs to be done to bring humanity to a more ideal existence. It’s both idealistic and pragmatic. It provides generous charity for individuals and organizations dedicated to the benefit of mankind.

The essence is nonjudgmental, deeming no value difference between itself, its neighbors, and people living in different cultures in other parts of the world. There’s no judgement of lifestyles, societal expectations, religious beliefs, and political practices — unless they oppose the work 45 is doing, in which case 45 can be quite persistent in accomplishing the vision regardless of opposition.

Imagine welfare of humanity as your highest priority. Compassion and tolerance are innate, as is idealism. You are pragmatic in your pursuit of helping people and you get results. Occasionally, you go off on an adventure, yet are always conscious that things need to be done to get humankind on a better plane.

That’s 45.

—affinitynumerology.com

Honestly, I think 45 years old, is young. I love my age. I don’t dread another birthday or shame getting older. I think it’s a true achievement to have conquered another year on this planet. And it’s a sheer privilege to get to embark on yet another go of it this year, despite the risks (though, isn’t that what makes it fun?). I don’t feel old, I feel wise. I feel accomplished. I feel initiated, or finally sworn into the Cool Kids Club. We are seasoned, have seniority, clout, accrued standards, strong muscles, a well defined palate, clear boundaries, plenty of life experience, a depth of vast understanding, a valid proven stand point & a pretty boss vocab, if ya ask me. If we were a stock… our holders would be pretty rich by now.

I feel like the mid-aged ruby red fine 100% proud to be Italian… wine, I am. I might not be old vine oak yet… but, I’m definitely spiked with subtle notes of warm toasted apple cigar box vanilla. I definitely feel more powerful, healthy, abundant, whole & balanced more than ever before, despite my tendency to sulk & question my whole existence once a week. After select long pauses of quiet desperation, or voracious venting fits to a good listener… I usually bounce back pretty fast.

I gotta say though, despite my wisdom, I most definitely picked the Fool card out of the Tarot deck a time or two (or three) in the past few years. Learning lessons the hard way by trial & error, is definitely not my favorite thing. But, oh well… a sense of humor… is like, in a bejeweled holster on my hip, for the golden quick draw of self-deprecating oh so charming sweet sweet sarcasm.

If I couldn’t laugh & have a tail wagger with four paws & stink feet, I would have been a statistic long ago. Those of us with brain damage from a history of heavy drug use, have a few more emotional loose strings than the average Joe or Jill. Not making excuses, just saying. “Recovered addict” folks have to catch up the lazy brain parts that got left behind nodded out under a tree somewhere. Whether its two years or 20, the last time a person got high, the lazy brain is always having to up its game. It’s a lifelong process. This Opioid crisis we have right now in the midst of humanity is gonna wind up eventually turning into a lazy brain crisis when they all get clean, & droves of folks have to retrain their brains to catch up. It’s the nature of the beast. Oh well, all the best to ya, mates…

Since its my birthday, I think it’s fitting to say, I certainly believe in ageless beauty, unedited, unfiltered, minimal make-up if any, bra-less (if I lived in Spain) & pretty much… no airs. Just me, sitting on the dock of the bay swingin my feet watchin’ the gulls play & the little waves bounce. I like to think I am past having to explain myself to anyone, & over the hump of trying too hard or people pleasing. What you see is what you get, drama doesn’t do anything for me, & responding rather than reacting is a good skill. I’ve honed in on the ability to think>>>things>>>through. And, those moments that deserve no filter & the uncensored truth… I’m your gal. 🙂

Self preservation is of utmost importance at this stage of the game. I have my RX regimen down pat pretty good by now. I believe in natural organic earthy preservation of youth. Clean eating, exercise, stretching, meditation, recalibrating the soul via communion with nature. Stress will put ya underground in a box fast, (not to mention, give ya bags, lines & wrinkles). I try not to worry too much, despite my tendency to get melancholy & hormonal on special occasions. Paying attention, & slowing down once in a while… popping out from behind the techno curtain of the screen, is usually a good idea.

I believe in downtime, a good night’s sleep, solitude, & regular R&R, just as much as rigorous activity, ambitious pursuit, & social engagement. If you are gonna “work hard,” “play hard,” I guess. Balance & moderation are our best co-pilots. I don’t believe in regrets, that’s no fun. I can’t say I practice what I preach all the time… but who can? We are all flawed little human captives of Earth. I don’t believe in deterioration, either. 99 is the new 50, haven’t ya heard? We have slowed down the aging process… kudos to us! Remember those days when our grandparents were only like 30, & they looked not a day under 55? Lol. The idea of aging felt so grim back then.

Regarding the likes of “shit happening,” what’s done is done. No use in worrying or obsessing or running around like a nut in the jungle of thorny “why me” trees. What for? Who cares. No one is keeping score, really. It’s all imaginary bullshit jibber jabbering in your head like a penny jangling around in a tin can piggy bank. What ya did or didn’t do, what ya coulda, shoulda, woulda, & how your life would be so next level, if you weren’t such a dumb-ass whenever that random time was before. Why do that to yourself? It’s not nice. Let it go. It’s time. No use in getting the panties in a wad, sweating small stuff or bein’ your own worst enemy ‘n’ shit. Spilled milk is exactly that: spilled. And, for the record, the future can be totally shifted in your favor still yet based on your behavior in the present… to not have anxiety over it, & instead visualize its glory. Up to you there, champ.

Those pesky times when I find that I’m caught up in the struggle, I remind myself of how it could be so much worse. A bee coulda flew in my can of Pepsi today & then stung the crap outta my lips, or, I coulda got food poisoning & been trapped in a work bathroom stall of all places, or I coulda locked BOTH sets of keys in the car, or dropped my phone in the unflushed toilet bowl (yellow rice for dinner anyone?).

Not to minimize the impact of anyone’s twist of fate, bad luck, mood or day, but some people are like trapped in refugee prison camps n shit. Keep trucking, everything improves eventually. It’s the nature of duality & 3 dimensional gravity. What goes up must come down, & vice versa. I try to keep in mind that life is a big goddamn paradoxical adventure filled with discrepancies & contradictions that alotta times don’t even make sense. Everything seems alright in the world, until all of a sudden IT’S NOT. Blind sided, like a little bitch. So, “So what, who cares”… is my newest motto. Life goes on. A strong level of detachment proves a trusty companion.

Hootin’, hollarin’, whining, crying, struggling & trying, permitted only in micro bursts. It all comes down to two things (unless you live in Comfortzone-ville on Complacent Street) one, the ability to tuck the fear-based ego back into its wasps nest & dare to live free despite its rather rude interference & two, coping skills. Which yes, people, I’m still polishing.

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I gotta say, I don’t prefer the company of those who feel they have to put people down to feel good about themselves or who play the holier than thou card to gain leverage or advantage. We are all different. Every circumstance, & experience… is tailored to a unique moment in time. I’ve learned, true empathy comes only from walking in another persons shoes. Otherwise, it’s just mere ego based speculation. You can keep that shit in the junk drawer next to the scissors, old keys, random pills & shriveled up balloon animals.

“It is what it is,” another good slogan to iron on your tee shirt. You & me & everyone else are exactly where we are meant to be, in the scheme of things, all things considered. We are then thus where indeed we are supposed to be… which is, here, in this moment, which, if we are good little conscious creators… Is where we will choose to be grateful.

#GratfulAF

The Universe has playfully paired me with a feline reflection at this time in my life, by perfect whisker snouted sweet design. Her name is MOOSE, and she is the coolest alive stuffed animal ever, & very much a hit in my circle. She has proven to be thee most social butterfly cat that ever lived, a service animal/emotional support cat of sorts, & can most likely be labeled a 100% genuine Cat-DOG, with a kissing issue. She is the most loved animal, I have ever had. She is so open that she lets me massage her tail, bite her lips, pull her whiskers, scratch in between her toes, pick her nose, smack her belly & flick her ears. Sometimes, I don’t even think she’s real. She’s just an illusory fun magic cartoon creature that Angels or Aliens sent me temporarily… to help me through. Hahahahaha…

This year on this birthday, I have made an executive decision to not allow myself to be bullied by lack, limitation or loneliness. I have decided once & for all, to not ever again focus on… what I DO NOT have (for long periods of time, anyway)… It screws up my manifestation skills & messes royally with my point of attraction, prohibiting me from creating the life I deserve. Also, included in some clause in fine print somewhere, I have decided not to set myself up, due to the haunts of prior patterns.

That said, previous years, unfortunately, on or around my birthday, I have been pulled over (& all that comes with it), hand cuffed, locked up, beat up, jumped, chased, robbed, broke down on the side of the road, incarcerated or in a rehab, fired from several (good) jobs, kicked out unexpectedly of some living situation, living in my car, curled up in a ball crying my eyes out, sitting in an ER somewhere, & I got a really bad case of Bells Palsy (my second month in Wilmington @ birthday #41) which completely rocked my world in the most terrifying way. And, I haven’t told anyone this in a long while… But, back in the day… 20 years ago… my prison inmate # was my exact birth date (091874) when I got arrested>>>on my exact birthday<<< the year of 9/11. And those inmate #’s are TOTALLY RANDOM. Um, weird coincidence.

Strung around my birthday week like a halo of spinning cartooned tweetie birds when ya get the wind knocked out of ya, my bell always got rung over the years, it never failed. Somehow, whether I like it or not, it always seems, that some big giant monumental change is destined to shake things up around the day of my birth, a sinister reset button, if you will.

My ex threw me a surprise party at age 21 or 22, circa 1995-ish, which was magical, & all my loved ones were there, but after that… the book of my birthdays had some whole other shit planned. That was 25 years ago. That’s a crapload of birthdays, I felt impending doom since. My birthday, even up until last year, had a black cloud looming in the background, which wound up pouring acid rain on me pretty hard, in a most unexpected way. Just when ya think you are in the clear (and you have a bunch of positive fortune cookie fortunes to prove it)… a bomb drops. That was the buried belief I’ve had for a long time, so, I’ve been tiptoeing around the sleeping dogs of September with my helmet on for a while now.

Today, it all changes. Like I said, it’s executive decision time. Impending doom… be gone!! Tough times, unwelcome surprises, self sabotage, betrayal, repeat offenses, illness, anger, arguments, fights & volatile disagreements… ENDED, over, null, void, banished. So it is! This September, & from now forward I am changing my fate. “Attention! Henchmen of the Black Cloud Council… stay the fudge in your lane, I’m not your bitch anymore.”

Moving on to brighter days then, I will have you know that doesn’t mean I’m now magically crowned a little angel with perfect manners. I may not welcome gloom or doom any longer, but I sure as shit will always keep the screen door unlocked for those savvy little charming guilty pleasures, once in a while.

Speaking of the little devils… you got me, I admit it, even though I gave it up (like 78 separate times), not a day goes by that I don’t really really want a cigarette. It’s my 45th birthday… maybe I will smoke one today, just for old times sake. Fine, I will pretend it’s a cigar, which is more celebratory & socially acceptable then, if that keeps my moral compass’ trap shut. A nice cold mentholy strong street gang Newport 100 with that sneaky little sweet rush at the end. Dang things. Givin’ up the sheer swag of the cool factor was probably always the hardest part of the “quit,” honestly. Love that prop… it was my thing. Gum, candy & toothpicks just don’t say: “keep your shit up… & I’ll smack ya one,” quite like the lovely pairing of a stink eye & a smoke hanging from a bottom lip does. Jus sayin’…

The following is a list of celebrities my age, in the 45club, you might know & love. We were all wee tykes, eating outta Muppets, Star Wars, Smurfs, He Man, Hulk, Barbie, or Care Bears lunch boxes in fifth grade in 1985. We were all likely playing the shit outta some Tag, doing cartwheels & hand stands, competing who could swing higher, jumping rope, climbing trees or monkey bars & jumping into piles of coats… lol.

Jimmy Fallon (we are only born a day apart); David Muir; Penelope Cruz; Leonardo DiCaprio; Jay from “Jay & silent Bob,” Allanis Morrisette, Julian Castro (D), Mos Def, Beanie Sigel, Amy Adams, Christian Bale, Eva Mendes, Seth MacFarlane, Victoria Beckem, Nas, Hilary Swank, Derek Jeeter, Tyra Banks, Steve-O, Mario Lopez, Neve Campbell, Jenna Jameson, Seth Myers, Nick Lachey, Kate Moss, CeeLo Green, Terrell Owens, Jillian Michaels, Ryan Seacrest, Lil Kim, Nelly, Joaquin Phoenix, Elizabeth Banks, Ryan Phillipe, Chloe Sevigny, Alyson Hannigan, Giovanni Ribisi, Dale Earnhardt Jr.

Settle in, pop the corn… In honor of my Gen-X co-conspirators… I’m about to herald the 1980s!

Leather & Cigarettes

The aroma of leather & cigarettes mingling in the air reminds me of my Pop when he was in his prime. It was back in the day when Rock & Bowl was the signature spot on a Saturday night, feathered winged back hair was trendy, & you could win a feathered roach clip at the neighborhood carnival (I really did). Knee socks were in, “Lipsycning” was cool, the Kmart snack bar was still kickin’, & my mom called jeans: dungarees. “Three’s Company” was winding into its last season, everybody knew your name at a bar affectionately called “Cheers,” & “Campfire” TV was just beginning to fade away as the VCR was invented. My mom had a 78 burnt orange gremlin with white stripes & no seat belts she just traded in for a red/orange barely loaded, as is, plastic made 80s Honda. I was always scared to get into that thing, even at age 7, I knew it was a deathtrap.

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Like the kind you might still find bolted to a wood work bench in a hole in the wall small town dusty mechanic’s garage, we still had rotary telephones. Mustard yellow, baby blue or army green colored ones hung on the wall with stretched out tangled cords that hit the ground. And how could anyone forget that ring? That earth-shattering oh so vociferous ring tone would shake windows, & shrill right through walls & down the street & slap ya in the face if it could. We also had big push button phones too then, with big bulky answering machines with removable mini cassette tapes. It was the age of digital clocks & watches, sweat bands, boom boxes, wicker & that tacky mirrored wallpaper left over from the 70s in everybody’s powder room.

With forensic science only in its infancy stage, the infamous cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer was just getting warmed up, joyfully leaving his DNA all over the place with no regrets. “Dead Heads” & VW buses were spotted all over town, & free basing cocaine, now called “crack rock,” was the dangerous new craze amongst high & low brow circuits alike, making meth pale in comparison for a stretch.

Weed was called “dope,” joints, “doobies,”AIDS was feared, gays were hiding in plain sight, black lives matter was definitely not a thing yet, & women just entered the workplace in force as secretaries & what not. Main Street was still very much alive… with graffiti laced walls, but… the “store front” was still a booming industry. Walmart didn’t rule school yet, Mom & Pop were still tucking us in at night. Tailors, RX Drug Stores, Italian bakeries, butcher shops, boutiques, book stores & Jewish delis were still surviving around almost every corner.

Ronald Reagan the actor, just got elected President, you could still smoke on airplanes, & as disco flew out the door with bell-bottoms, MTV was just starting to catch fire. Heavy Metal was spawning cults & suicides, the New Wave British invasion would brand music history, Michael Jackson was about to go viral, Rap music was this underground sensation just beginning to bubble to the top, & Punk was definitely NOT dead.

{Fun Fact: Forensic DNA analysis was first used in 1984. It was developed by Sir Alec Jeffreys, who realized that variation in the genetic code could be used to identify individuals and to tell individuals apart from one another.}

My newly divorced Dad, early thirties, sporting a genuine leather “Thriller” jacket, was always takin’ me through the car-wash in his fully loaded leather-bound Lincoln Continental. It felt like a cool safari ride to mini-me then. Mysterious soapy snake things hitting the winda, the spooky suds made the car go dark inside & bein’ in neutral, felt like a phantom was the driver. My dad made it fun, he knew how to trick me, plus “Scooby Doo” was every kid’s staple back then, everything was somehow sneaky, suspicious & possibly haunted. Zoinks!

My dad had a brand new leased luxury vehicle every 2 or 3 years all his life, it was his M.O. Never seen anyone so smitten with their vehicles. It was how he represented himself to the world. The kind of car he drove was of utmost importance, especially when he pulled up to a customer’s house with carpet samples for an estimate. The guy was a sharp dresser & make no mistake, Caddies & Lincolns are where the buck stopped. The guy was obsessed with Turtle Wax, Armor All, old ripped up tee shirt rags & coconut spray car freshener. He always had tasty cakes in the center console, a lukewarm 7-11 coffee in the drink holder & the pull down ashtray was always kinda smoldering & full. No matter how clean the car was, there were always ashes flying around. Jimmy Carter was the guest of dishonor on right wing radio subliminally streaming always on in the background. I was like 8 or 9, adorned in those gumball ponytail holder pigtails or woven ribbon barrettes that hung down with beads. My pop always smelled good, had gold rings on & some fruity candy of some sort & I definitely thought my Dad was a Rock Star…

It was circa 1983, I had a killer sticker book (actually more like 3 or 4), courtesy of our father/daughter midweek moo-moo/Q-mart runs after school. Unicorns were definitely my spirit animal, E.T., stuffed animals, Atari, Sea Monkeys, Madonna, “Fraggle Rock,” & pretend friends my forte. I ran up to pet every single dog I saw, assaulted every gumball machine with a pulse, & I played every pinball machine, & piano I could get my little hands on. I reckon I still had a fighting chance at becoming a talented phenom maybe or just at least a regular productive emotionally stable human being with my own family & what not.

In the early eighties I had the dillusion that my mother could still be a somewhat sweet & kind nurturing soul (in there somewhere was the good fairy, I thought). My grandmother still had Sunday spaghetti dinners choc full of meat-a-balls-a, soss-age & braciole (pronounced: Braa-shole). My dad was moved out from the divorce, but everything still felt sort of pleasant to me for some reason, between migraines & crying spells anyway. When the snow fell on the County Line in those days, it still felt fresh & magical, & hot chocolate & Xmas cookies were filled with jam not fat, calories & guilt, & I felt like people still cared about me, & that I mattered. In retrospect, I was still little enough to be a liability I suppose… so grownups had no choice but to take care of me. That’s how I see it now… anyway.

Awe, bless her heart.

vv

Courtesy of: blurryoldphoto.com

lol

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Here they are… my uncle & my dad (on right)… the dynamic duo. Ernie & Gary, their names were almost synonymous with each other back in the day. Sadly, eventually they broke up, & these old friends became enemies later in life. But in this photo, these two pals were my world back then. Little kid me was always the indiscriminate fly on the wall of their kooky friendship & fun, dysfunctional, love/hate bro-mance. They were in the carpet business together, like partners, for all intents & purposes. I was the sole casualty of my parents split at the time, & so, Uncle Gary was the guy who distracted me from the friction of the family feud for a spell.

One of the summers to follow… was “Live Aid…” July circa 1985. Not only was it to be the largest concert ever held in history, but it was being held right in my back yard! Uncle Gary VHS’ed the whole 3 day event front & center at Mom-Mom’s house on the pea green old itchy chair still half covered in plastic. He wore pulled up basketball socks with the red ring stripe & a pair of white converse, & I was wearin’ jelly’s, & spotted with red Ringpop goo. I mighta been a kid, but I knew exactly the moment Queen flew on that stage, Phil Collins flew back & forth from London on the Red Eye in an hour flat & when young mullet-fied revolutionary Bono rose to the occasion with freedom bells on, introduced by none other than Mister Jack Nicholson. I mighta had a bad case of poison ivy, but I was squatted right on that floor, calamine lotioned up & glued from end to end. What an amazing monumental pop culture event it was… every single second, biting at the bit for the next act, not to mention: EVERYONE was there. It was superstar heaven, literally, every Rock & Roll Great was in attendance.

{Fun Fact: 150 million pounds: The amount that Live Aid raised for famine relief in Ethiopia. It works out to some $245 million U.S. 162,000: The number of people who attended the two main Live Aid concerts — 72,000 in London’s Wembley Stadium and 90,000 in Philadelphia’s JFK Stadium.}

Loved that worn gruffy spot in that old brown rug at my mom-mom’s house on Lakevue Drive, In Willow Grove Pennsylvania. Right in front of the floor model tube, X marked the spot for the kid butt to be planted. Freeze pops, pudding pops, or a big fat trough of vitamin D milk saturated sugary cereal was the eighties kid’s finest indulgence. Yep, I was raised on high fructose corn syrup with the best of them. Musta drank a million gallons of milk too, unfortunately. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. It went with the territory back then, I guess. Bless our little cute Stone-age hearts…

Despite our less evolved nature, the eighties was a revolutionary decade, to say the least. The dawn of talk shows was the original Reality Television. Oprah, Phil Donahue, Morton Downy Jr., Geraldo Rivera, Sally Jesse, started significant taboo conversations about controversial topics. The buzzing of current hot button issues thus created a very poignant proactive platform. The general public could now openly share their stories, relate, connect & heal. People had a stage to hash things out, argue, vent & clash all kinds of personalities & viewpoints. Skeletons were flying out of closets by the dozens. Tempers were flaring so irreverently, & it all was so deliciously damn necessary… lol. I remember specifically being in 6th grade & running home from the bus to catch Oprah at 4pm. Her show riveted that little 11 year old. If I recall correctly, that is when I began to put everything into perspective & could really counsel my Dad through his shit. Lol. That’s funny. Thanks, Big “O!”

The Eighties was the home of “the one hit wonders” that we all made up dances to. Classic legendary sitcoms coveted our after dinner time slots. Like, if it’s odd & obscure, or had some kind of parable behind it with a feel good lesson in the end, or weird-ball scatterbrain characters enmeshed in slapstick comedy… it came from the eighties, no doubt.

Infomercials, “The Headbangers Ball,” & David Letterman gave us late night wings, reruns of the Brady bunch & Happy Days made us feel safe, & lunchtime reruns of The Munsters, Adams Family, & Bewitched made us feel like it’s okay to be different, lol. The Love Boat & Fantasy Island put a little Pina Colada magic in the air, Dallas & Dynasty, made us feel seductive & fancy, while Entertainment Tonight & Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous put a little diamond twinkle in our eyes. Saturday Night Live was exactly that: LIVE. It was spontaneous, edgy, silly, sardonic, politically charged, wildly funny & trendsetting at its finest. In the 80s, SNL was in its prime & chock full of the budding talent of all the famous celebrity comics we have today.

So many other classic TV shows & movies were born & raised in the decade of iconic pop culture. The A-Team, Dukes of Hazard, Knight Rider, Chips, Miami Vice… I mean… we make movies out of these gems today. And, Hollywood sure had its hands full… Sixteen Candles, Ferris Beullers Day Off, Say It Again (boombox, “In your eyes…”), The Goonies, Poltergeist, Spaceballs, Moonstruck, Stand by me, The Terminator, Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, The Breakfast Club, Top Gun, Aliens, Die hard, Star wars, Trading Places, The Gremlins, E.T., Karate Kid, The Lost Boys, Dirty dancing, Beverly Hills Cop, Scarface, Risky Business, National Lampoon’s Vacation, Cocoon, the Rocky sequels, Nightmare on Elmstreet, all the Halloween sequels, Friday the 13th, Full Metal Jacket, Big, Weekend at Bernie’s… blockbuster memorable hits. The eighties was a whirlpool of strong IDEAS. The imagination was running wild. Inventions & original ideas were overwhelmingly abundant & so apparent, as art imitated life. So many household names we have today were founded in the 1980s.

We had the HOTTEST Hair Bands… come on! Ladies?! Van Halen, Bon Jovi, White Snake, Poison, Def Leopard, Motley Crue, Warrant, Cinderella, White Snake, Skid Row, Ratt>>> DEFINED Glam Rock. They were the O.G.’s of boy bands, if ya ask me… the original… slutty version. They were the sexiest & prettiest boys to ever slide across a stage in skin tight jeans, leather pants & snake tattoos. They coined the rocker howl & made panting in a song or crawling toward a camera, not creepy. This was the birthplace of bad ass ballads with dramatic synthesizer story lines. They would choreograph their rugged high voices & share a sweaty communal microphone singing into a video camera while rippin’ some killer panty-dropper guitar solos. Lol! This is the stuff, “Guitar Hero” was made of. This is the stuff the Jersey Shore was made of & make-out sessions in the back seat of muscle cars were sound tracked to. The Eighties were so like, totally gnarly, bra…

Video killed the radio star. Ya think? Prince was the king of innovative punk funk, MJ, a straight pop phenomenon, Madonna, a women’s lib movement all by herself. The Police, The Cure, Metallica, U2, big time musical genius was woven into the fabric of our culture then. Hip Hop gave a voice to the streets, gave the mess a message, leading to “Rap for a reason” Mind Revolution music & eventually political Gangster Rap.

Did someone say “Silicon Valley?” Technology in every form… erupted, the video revolution jumped off, the arcade was born, home movies, home video game consoles, cassette tapes, cordless phones, answering machines, “call waiting,” 1-900-milliondollar-a-minute-dirty-talk hotlines, & typewriters turned into computer key boards with monitors & memory. The world’s first commercial handheld cell phone became available to the public in March 1984. And, need I say… “WalkMan??” A game-changer for all… Geez, I could go on & on. Hope ya had fun!

The Eighties… I love that I lived it.

*DEDICATED TO: Mister STEVE WEST

(Love ya, kid!)

“Does anyone have a time machine handy?’

#PacmanFever

#MallRat

#ProudEightiesKid

To be continued…

Um, HELLLLLOOO!??? TAP FOLLOW!!! (damn it!)

…And BUY THE BOOK!!

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Namaste ❤

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