I did have a Kraftwerk LP in 1984 and Fun Boy Three's "Our Lips Are Sealed", went to see Depeche Mode in March of 1985(Book of Love opened) and danced to "Dreaming of Me" before "People Are People" hit the airwaves, and owned Ministry's "With Sympathy" Album and danced to "Work for Love" at many a juice bar before even reaching high school. I saw Front 242 summer before ninth grade and was at the Revolting Cocks/Ministry concert ON Halloween 1985. I also bought my New Order "Blue Monday" on a twelve inch. I was a true Goth when I was twelve. I loved Souxsie Soux.
I memorized every song from New Order's "Low Life" Album before starting freshman year of high school. I waited outside the Ambassador East Hotel for hours to see David Bowie when I was nine or ten. When he did finally appear he was wearing purple leather penny loafers - I will never forget them. I accosted Joey Ramone for his autograph around the same time as I remembered him from "Rock and Roll High School" and we were "hiding out" from murderers/thieves at a Holidome out in the boonies for few days. I stopped watching MTV after Kurt Loder pronounced Kurt Cobain the new John Lennon. Every time I hear Nirvana on the radio I stick my middle finger up to the sky. I hate Eddie Vedder - he is way too crunchy for me - and a Cubs fan. Kesha is the anti-Christ and a sure sign of the Apocalypse. I delivered my son to John Coltrane's "Love Supreme." I saw Frank Sinatra Live with my father at "Chicago Fest" when I was six.
At supposed "80's" parties I'm waiting for "World Destruction," "The Dominitrix Sleeps Tonight." or my beloved Heaven 17's "Let Me Go." but am instead hit with Cyndi Lauper. I can't even listen to New Order's "True Faith" or "Bizarre Love Triangle" because they nauseate me. I want to hear their "Temptation" instead (a song probably on my top ten deserted Island IPOD shuffle). I do like those lyrics.
Our famous DJ - DJ Scrappy(Jonathan Gilbert) - would go to clubs in New York and bring the music back to Chicago and play at a Juice Club called Medusa's. The door man was a seven foot, 300 pound gay man named "Sugar." My good friend and classmate lost his virginity to a prostitute in the back of a car in the alley of Medusa's in exchange for a bag of weed. Scrappy always ended the night with Data's "Living Inside Me," Blancmage's "Lose your Love." or Fatima's "Hassan"(my favorite). I always got prime scaffolding one way or the other. Then, of course, there was Chicago "House" music, but that is another conversation entirely. I lived just a few blocks from "Wax Trax" records and would go there every week. I agree it wasn't New York, but Chicago felt mildly important back then.
One of my modeling jobs was runway work in eighth grade/early high school for a vintage store named "Kitsch" which is how I earned my annoying Chicago nickname (besides the fact that it turns out I am overly sentimental). I removed the "s" to make the name my own. The store was owned by an Amazonian black woman named Gloria, who is now an 80 year old Yogi, who could give Iman a run for her money. She was close friends with my best friend Margeaux's mother, who was also a vintage designer and had that escaped from Texas, been married five times before she was twenty one, Jerry Hall thing going on. They moved every nine months or so, slept on Futons and drove baby blue and powder pink nineteen fifties convertibles that rarely started. They were the epitome of bohemian life and probably the coolest "Artistic" people I ever came into contact with. Refer or incense was always burning. Their whole house was vintage - her mother wore a MONKEY fur coat! They were vegetarians! Their record collection was outstanding - Kraftwerk, B52s, Roxy Music and Velvet Underground. When Margeaux and I would clean up after one of her parent's all nighters(my parents were there too) there would be glitter everywhere. When her mother would go out of town, we would have our own parties. One of which we hung naked Barbies by their necks from the ceiling, wore her mother's vintage kimonos, played Kraftwerk "The Robots" over and over all night long while serving Kool Aid and Vodka and charging $3 a pop at the door. This was the summer before freshman year of high school, and I was only thirteen, did not have a bra, nor a menstrual cycle, yet. If being a never-been- kissed, too tall, skinny thirteen year old in a kimono dancing to Kraftwerk on vinyl, smoking four inch Moore's in a Chicago apartment in the summer of 1985 isn't cool, than I don't know what is...
A Pool Hustler's Daughter grows up in subterranean America. She dreams big, hustles daily and loves her Daddy. With empathy, fascination and grace she navigates and inhabits every tier of society; sees beauty and hope and magic in all things; respects and lives by the "mitzvah."
A Pool Hustler's Daughter calculates the trifecta payout at the racetrack, hides money on three parts of her body, has an arsenal of "Uncles," and keeps a baseball bat by the front door. She values friendship, loyalty and experiences over "things." Like her father, she seeks to learn "The secrets of the universe" and believes "Life ain't on the square." She applauds the self-made and those who learn to "overcome" their circumstances. Her door is always open for a sofa to sleep on, a hot meal, or an eager listener for a life story.