travelling, in space and mind
Dec. 8th, 2003 03:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcAs soon as I get out of the duvet, off the couch and into the shower, it'll be inevitable. A travelling day. While my flight isn't until 6pm, there's always a sort of vortex on days that involve flying; particularly when I'm heading back to...somewhere. Hongcouver's where I live, but not where my heart is, so home it isn't. Precisely.
In 1982, thanks to either chutzpah or naivete, I gave myself a backpacking trip to Europe for my (high school) graduation present. Ma and Da bougth the (charter) airline ticket and tossed in some spending money, but mostly I paid for it. As a young queerling I'd already sussed out that severing financial ties with the parental unit would be a good thing--lest they leave me high-and-dry, once my penchant for buggery were revealed. I don't think the ramifications of this idea--backpacking in Europe for 5 weeks--sunk in until my friend Steve and I jammed out of my cousin's place in Tipperary after one night.
I worked my ass off in high school, but not in terms of school work. I worked nearly full-time at McDo, prepped a bit for the SATs (standardized tests saved my bacon), and developed a taste for free-form sex in cruising spaces (I refuse to categorize it as casual or anonymous. They weren't). I did all sorts of activities (including the Math and Academic Leagues) whilst surfing between the nerds and the 'heads. My older sister and brother had oodles of social capital, which I surfed on somewhat resistantly. I was queer, I knew my job was to keep my head down and get the hell outta Dodge. But as a teen I had boundless energy, if also an inability to focus (focus came in my mid 30s). There was always *more* and I was always seeking *more*. And I had a profound sense that There was better than Here.
It had to be.
One of the first things I bought with my McMoney was a radio that received shortwave. Interestingly it seemed to work best in the basement, near the back window. One of those hideom wood-pannelled, billiard table--with ping pong table cover--'rec roooms.' Pop (my paternal grandfather) listened to RTE for the sports and news on his radio, and I thought picking up radio from overseas would be kewl: I'd already been doing the 3am AM radio surfing thing for a couple of years, getting stations from Canada, Chicago and Florida. But in 1981-82, most of what caught my ears was from Ireland or the UK. Words like Radio Luxembourg and Eurovision were already in my vocab thanks to the cousins Over Dere. I wanted to be plugged in.
I spent hours in the basement, tuning into various stations, including the BBC World Service's Top of the Pops. It's where I heard that Brass in Pocket by a new band called The Pretenders came in straight at number one. And that a group my sister talked about--Roxy Music--had a smash with the album Flesh and Blood. I found the cassette, bought it and really liked it. In 1982 they released Avalon. I still think it's the best album ever. Flawless. And their swansong.
I got my cassette of Avalon a couple of days before Steve and I boarded our flight to Ireland. And just as Avalon is a great album, More Than This is a fantastic single/opening cut. When I needed music to match my eager step, it was "The Main Thing" or "While My Heart is Still Beating'; when I needed to chill because either Steve was driving me mad or cultur choc overwhelmed me, "India" and "Avalon" caressed me. And for a semi-ignorant and insular 18 year-old, the shimmering, eros-laden sounds of Avalon were the perfect soundtrack to see Europe. The music matched my eyes...
The trip ended predictably (me sleeping under the counter of a hire car agency at Shannon airport ["em, excuse me sir, woulda ever get oop please? We're after opening the airport again..."], but the tape followed me to university that Autumn. To be replaced by a CD version. As I scratched at, then pushed and kicked at, the closet door, this music was safety, it was the importance of beauty, it guided out of the rigid notions of maleness and masculinity with which I grew up.
I can hear the opening guitar riffs of "More Than This," a memory ensconsed with warmth and joy.
*sigh*
So the bags are packed, all seems in order. A lovely surprise lunch with my sexy host Bill, and soon it's BART time. It may be blasphemous to say, but SF hasn't ever intoxicated me like it has so many people. But I seem to end up here more frequently as my circle of pals down here broadens. And deepens. It's lovely to have placed to come to that are away, but aren't wholly foreign. I'm appreciative of the generosities, large and small. Thanks! for the inspiration]
In 1982, thanks to either chutzpah or naivete, I gave myself a backpacking trip to Europe for my (high school) graduation present. Ma and Da bougth the (charter) airline ticket and tossed in some spending money, but mostly I paid for it. As a young queerling I'd already sussed out that severing financial ties with the parental unit would be a good thing--lest they leave me high-and-dry, once my penchant for buggery were revealed. I don't think the ramifications of this idea--backpacking in Europe for 5 weeks--sunk in until my friend Steve and I jammed out of my cousin's place in Tipperary after one night.
I worked my ass off in high school, but not in terms of school work. I worked nearly full-time at McDo, prepped a bit for the SATs (standardized tests saved my bacon), and developed a taste for free-form sex in cruising spaces (I refuse to categorize it as casual or anonymous. They weren't). I did all sorts of activities (including the Math and Academic Leagues) whilst surfing between the nerds and the 'heads. My older sister and brother had oodles of social capital, which I surfed on somewhat resistantly. I was queer, I knew my job was to keep my head down and get the hell outta Dodge. But as a teen I had boundless energy, if also an inability to focus (focus came in my mid 30s). There was always *more* and I was always seeking *more*. And I had a profound sense that There was better than Here.
It had to be.
One of the first things I bought with my McMoney was a radio that received shortwave. Interestingly it seemed to work best in the basement, near the back window. One of those hideom wood-pannelled, billiard table--with ping pong table cover--'rec roooms.' Pop (my paternal grandfather) listened to RTE for the sports and news on his radio, and I thought picking up radio from overseas would be kewl: I'd already been doing the 3am AM radio surfing thing for a couple of years, getting stations from Canada, Chicago and Florida. But in 1981-82, most of what caught my ears was from Ireland or the UK. Words like Radio Luxembourg and Eurovision were already in my vocab thanks to the cousins Over Dere. I wanted to be plugged in.
I spent hours in the basement, tuning into various stations, including the BBC World Service's Top of the Pops. It's where I heard that Brass in Pocket by a new band called The Pretenders came in straight at number one. And that a group my sister talked about--Roxy Music--had a smash with the album Flesh and Blood. I found the cassette, bought it and really liked it. In 1982 they released Avalon. I still think it's the best album ever. Flawless. And their swansong.
I got my cassette of Avalon a couple of days before Steve and I boarded our flight to Ireland. And just as Avalon is a great album, More Than This is a fantastic single/opening cut. When I needed music to match my eager step, it was "The Main Thing" or "While My Heart is Still Beating'; when I needed to chill because either Steve was driving me mad or cultur choc overwhelmed me, "India" and "Avalon" caressed me. And for a semi-ignorant and insular 18 year-old, the shimmering, eros-laden sounds of Avalon were the perfect soundtrack to see Europe. The music matched my eyes...
The trip ended predictably (me sleeping under the counter of a hire car agency at Shannon airport ["em, excuse me sir, woulda ever get oop please? We're after opening the airport again..."], but the tape followed me to university that Autumn. To be replaced by a CD version. As I scratched at, then pushed and kicked at, the closet door, this music was safety, it was the importance of beauty, it guided out of the rigid notions of maleness and masculinity with which I grew up.
I can hear the opening guitar riffs of "More Than This," a memory ensconsed with warmth and joy.
*sigh*
So the bags are packed, all seems in order. A lovely surprise lunch with my sexy host Bill, and soon it's BART time. It may be blasphemous to say, but SF hasn't ever intoxicated me like it has so many people. But I seem to end up here more frequently as my circle of pals down here broadens. And deepens. It's lovely to have placed to come to that are away, but aren't wholly foreign. I'm appreciative of the generosities, large and small. Thanks! for the inspiration]
