ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- how to deal the new trend at the discotequches this season? sand-crested halter tops and perfect precision cubic eye make up!!! nothing says "glamour" like a perfectly crafted cube along the posterior of a honey-dipped ladygirl's left eye. all respect to Left Eye, (late to this world, but finding out if Heaven indeed does or does not have a ghetto.) former condom-clad verse spitter for TLC. Left Eye may have had the foresight to forsee this trend back in 1992 when the debut album "OOOOOOHHHH!!! On the TLC tip!!" hit the streets and then immediately hit the dollar bins, each and every last copy holding a brazen image of Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez Loeb on the cover wearing a pair of glasses with wrapped up condoms saftey-pinned to the lenses, as well as spare rubbers tacked and nailed to her oversized overalls and baggy ass shirt. The fashion sense was there for sure but the COMMON sense was a bit impaired, as this constant focus on the prophilactics themselves took away from the fact that the pins that attached them to Left Eye's clothes poked tiny sperm-shaped holes in the birth control devices, literally opening the flood gates for a halo maelstrom of bad press, bad reviews, sperm, mucous, alienation of fans, alienation of groupies and the time-honored STDs. Luckily T-Bozz and Chilli; the still-alive faction of TLC, were smart enough to skip the punctured-scumbag-as-fashion-statement motif and applied their own brand of "preventative medicine" and fashion, dragging the hairpin (aka crazy-as-fuck, setter-of-fires) Left Eye along to enjoy greater success with hits such as "Creep", "Waterfalls", "Givin' Him Something He Can Feel", "What A Man What A Man What A Man What A Mighty Good Man He's A Mighty Mighty Good Man", and their crowning jewel, 1999's multi-platinum tinged hit "No Scrubs". In 1992 I was in the 8th grade, and this girl named Kay asked me to be her boyfriend. I can't remember her last name or anything, but she was a second-to-third teir burnout girl. NO WAY was she as hot as the first level burnout girls, and she even might have been more along the lines of like a Mach One Trailerpark girl, but the levels of rank were blurry at best back then. I would sit by her at lunch, until one day she said I didn't have to, and then I went and sat next to my friends again. A bunch of definate second-teir, non trailerpark girls kind of hastled me to break up with her, so I said they could tell her I was. Her brother called me that summer and said he was going to kick my ass, but he never did. In 9th grade at the start of the year she came up to me and said her brother might still kick my ass because I didn't have the balls to break up with her in person, but had some higher-level burnouts do it for me. God, she was right. I wish her brother (who I think was already graduated or dropped out and definately had something to do with fixing cars) would have at least smacked me once, even though I had never even thought about what it meant to be someone's boyfriend or then not be someone's boyfriend. I just knew that I felt some vauge, muted tinge of excitement, followed immediately by a sense of obligation to sit next to her at lunch. TLC played in the hallways all year that spring. It can be most important to know exactly HOW TO DEAL. HOW DO YOU DEAL??? HOW DOES ONE DEAL?? TELL ME GOD!!! TELL ME SOON AND TELL ME LOUDLY! HOW TO DEAL? It's more than likely all in your head, but it's also all on the dancefloor. Remember all those days you didn't eat a thing all summer long, but the four-on-the-floor blogbeat made it all worthwhile. Things are changing everyday! You might be writing from the other side of the moon, but there's always going to be an opposite side. You can run as fast as speed and sound, but you'll always be on one side and everything else will be on another. I'm considering some major changes, starting here and now with a switch from off-burgundy left eye cube to new style mauve right eye imperfect cube eye make-up. This may sound subtle, and yes, I suppose it is, but there are roots made out of bits of old branches that fell into the river and floated beneath the embankments without anyone noticing. These roots grew into Discos and when the Cotton Clubs and speakeasys were paved over with the Interstates, the Discos sat just outside, always easily accessable from any exit or low-stress turnaround point. The white people danced inside while the not-so-white people built the highways and waited in the rain next to the mailbox for checks that would never come. You danced and fucked standing up and did cocaine sitting down while the others got colds and flus in the downpours, and you did it for years. Maybe even 1986 years, but there's always things changing, and the universe remembers every movement and every misgiving, from the first imagined cussword to the final impersonal note of breakup you hand off to some slightly less trashed out burnout girl so she can break the news the totally trashy burnout girl that she'll be sitting alone all lunch period from now on, even if she did care. 2:15 a.m. - 4.13.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||