31/3/96

Homeless

A homeless man’s feet, taken on K street in Washington DC on this day.

 

Yesterday I went to DW’s house. Little did I know it was his birthday so I told him I’d bring him a fiver sooner or later. DF and CA were there as well. (And AB).

 

Us three went to the video shop. We tried getting a 15 but the lady wouldn’t let us, so we ended up getting “Groundhog Day”, which was about someone getting stuck in the same day all the time. Not my kind of film. Some of the RoboCop series were there, but for some reason we didn’t get them.

 

Here comes the good part. After the film Danny put PRODIGY FIRESTARTER on. (Currently at number 1) We all started headbanging and I stuck out like a sore thumb so this lady got a camcorder out and I did a solo. It was wicked!

 

Then a man came up to me and said I was dead good at dancing. Then he taught me the “goose step” which was pretty easy. He said he had never seen anyone pick it up so quick, and that I’ve got talent and I’ve got potential, and I could take it further. I told him I wanted a copy of that video when it was produced, and we shook hands and they (him and his wife, maybe, who was probably filming) went.

 

Then DW told me he (the man) was pissed, and I was badly cheesed. What he said could have been a load of crap. I hope I get the video though. I wonder if HC will get to know about this!

 

What a strange blog post. So much to analyse.

 

First off, a close friend- or as close as I had- invited me to his house without telling me it was his birthday. If memory serves me correctly, he’d not told me he was inviting anyone else either.

 

How cheap was I to not even want to get a present? I could at least have got him something more than just money, which I probably didn’t anyway. But to openly tell him that all he was getting from me was cash reeks of stinginess. But I was a stingy twat. And I still am. I just know it now.

 

Who exactly the three were isn’t clear as there were five school friends at the party, including the host. We couldn’t get a 15-rated video because I opened my mouth in front of the store clerk and asked how we were going to get a 15 when none of us were actually 15. So she wouldn’t let us.

 

I grew to appreciate the brilliance of Groundhog Day as I got older, but it pales in insignificance when placed next to its predecessor, 12:01, starring Kurtwood Smith (Clarence Boddeker from RoboCop).

 

 

This leads us nicely onto the RoboCop series. Does anyone remember this?

 

 

If you do… I bet you wish you didn’t. The series is truly awful. The original movie is an SF classic, but everything else in the whole franchise is an embarrassment. The rest of the lads probably knew this, or could guess if they hadn’t heard of the series.

 

The reason I turned into a headbanging mentalist is that I was given a small portion of DW’s mum’s tiramasu, which tasted like shit. But I ate as much of it as I could and got pissed for possibly the first time.


If you’re not familiar, here’s the track I danced to, slamming my head on DW’s lounge floor in time to the beat:

 

 

I never got to see the video. As it happens, I am a pretty good dancer. It’s something I’ve always had a talent for. Teens tend not to encourage each other, though- that’s a characteristic that emerges in adulthood. No, people in their teenage years just want to berate each other to make themselves feel better. That whole era was frought with cynicism. So it stands to reason that my “friends” would put me down.

 

In this diary entry I also left out that DW pulled some weird wrestling move on me that really fucking hurt, and when he let me go I went ballistic, throwing punches at everyone including DF who was noncholantly playing on the MegaDrive at the time. This was one example of how I found forming friendships to be difficult. I still have this problem in my thirties (forming friendships, I mean. Not an urge to indiscriminately beat people across the head).

 

HC probably did not hear about it and, unbeknown to be at the time, she obviously wouldn’t have given a shit.

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