03/20/2004

Obsession #2 - Suzi!

Suzi was an even deeper experience for me. Suzi Quatro was a Goddess to me, really, and when I gazed at her it hit me for the first time that something was "up" with me, something was out of the ordinary. I had feelings that I never had for a girl before (although, to be fair, I hadn't really had them for a guy either, at this point). I was probably 9 or 10 when I first saw her and she was the whole package. That feathered hair, those amazing pipes, the tight pants and that rockin' guitar. I was gone before I knew what hit me.

I ran out and bought every album she made, played "Devil Gate Drive" and "Rock Hard" up at full-tilt volume with the speakers stuck out the front windows of my parent's bedroom so I could blast Suzi down the block (my mom never would have allowed this had she been there, so the parental units were probably on vacation at the time). I caught Suzi on "Happy Days" (in the role of Leather Tuscadero) as often as I could and my mind was as full of Suzi goodness as it could get.

Yes, I wanted Suzi carnally (although of course I wouldn't have thought in those terms) but I also wanted to be her. I wanted her ability to rock with the boys and to look skin-tight and to live the rock lifestyle of the 70's and to be free. Oh, how I wanted to be free. With Suzi as my role-model who knows what my teen years would have brought, but I moved on as my tastes changed and as the glitter years ended for good, Suzi moved on too.

She always was and always will be a hero of mine though, she still looks good enough to eat and I'd still like to. I love you Suzi! Rock on!

Mar 20, 2004 12:50:00 AM | Literature

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Up We never look up. Never. We plod through our heartache, some of us take it out and examine it with a microscope, others just step over or around it, but we all watch our feet as we march by. If we were asked why we did this, why we trudged unknowing through the gauntlet of our lives, we would say that we wanted to rush through the bad parts to get to the good. ...and still, we don't look up. The pain is important to us, the process is important, yes. Are the things we miss in all this pointless musing important? Are the birds that fly by unseen, the sunrises and sunsets we miss, the breezes, the snow, the rain, are these things important? What of our friends and family? Our loved ones, the little babies who's growing we march through, the aged who's end-game we ignore, are they not important? Are we then the most important thing in the universe? Is there nothing above or around us that is more important? Stop. Get up from the keyboard (just for moment let the cord be cut). Walk outside. Look up. There is life all around you. All about you are things more important than yourself. Smell the air, touch the earth, gaze at the wide, blue sky. How many days do you imagine you have left to enjoy these things? You can always return to the pain, if you must, there's no chance of it leaving. You will, though, have only a limited amount of time to stare at this amazing expanse of sky and at the many, many things that are not of yourself. Enjoy them, revel in them. Tell your family that you love them. Be among your friends and WITH them instead of trying to save...
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....but, WAIT... Ever notice how stupid the heroines in most novels are? How they are "strong" and "noble" or "independent" or whatever the hell they are written as, if only to frustrate people like me who dream that the happy ending is supposed to be the two people who are in love - together. But noo... some impediment is found so that they don't come together and that's supposed to be good enough and we (the deep down romantics) are meant to feel happy that the idiotic heroine "followed her heart". Bullshit. Some things I may never have. Somethings I may never possess because of my fear or my stubborn nature or, hell I dunno, fate maybe. I'll tell you one thing though, if someone told me that they loved me and asked me to stay with them, you can damn sure bet I would do it and not leave them there, broken-hearted, to find something which, in the end, won't matter anyway. If I could be with someone who loved me, who honest to god loved me and told me so, there is nowhere on God's earth I'd rather be than in their arms. The end. There's a reason they don't write a lot of novels like that. It's because it makes the heroine seem weak. So be it. I'm weak. I need love more then anything else I could ever possess. Where are the novels written with me in mind?