Touch of Ivory Soul..

Heard about the passing of Teena Marie this morn.
As I thought of the loss for her family,
I thought of the loss to me. Granted, I hadn't bought a
Teena Marie album (yes, ALBUM) in years-
Yet I'd started to see her on TV and my
Interest piqued again. How I danced to her music
Especially this song, "Square Biz"
And slowed danced all sultry to my
Boyfriend at time, to her duet with Rick James, "Fire and Desire."
For those minutes, I lost all consciousness and thought he my desire
Thankfully the song did end!
That's why "Square Biz" has the best memories!
Dancing in my skirt that flew out as I twirled, and my 4 inch heels
That I reasoned were 'just 'right'-in height.
Yea, another time, another place. When gas was less than a buck a gallon,
And I think apartment rent was less than $300-
Thank you Teena Marie-
And I know Heaven's choir just gotta bounce
Of a more soulful beat
RIP.

January 19, 1974 was Saturday

And I went to my first real time high school dance. It was held at our town's Armory after a high school basketball game, which my diary tells me. was a loss. However, the next line tells me the dance was BEAUTIFUL. I actually wrote it in caps. Too funny!

First I wonder who got us TO the Amory, because neither I or my possee had a driver's license yet. And I doubt we walked, because it was January in Iowa afterall. Even if the Armory was just a few blocks away.

But the dance. My first ONE! So psyched. I'm sure I wondered if I would even dance with anyone. My diary tells me, I danced with a guy from my French class, three times. I was horrible to him in French class--you see, during a speech I called him a 'cochon'--which was pig. My teacher wasn't amused, but he was. Wonder what ever happened to him? I also wrote how this other guy I danced with, jetted around the floor like a turkey--just all over the place. You ducked to make sure he didn't bop you in the head with his arms. Sweet guy tho. Even found me when he heard about my book I self published. Very sweet indeed.

Yet the night belonged to a guy I had such a mad crush on. In fact, mentioned him on the blog a few times. We reconnected, years later, at our 20th Reunion. He lived in Chicago by then. However, this night in 1974, all my dreams came true when we danced--twice. The second dance wound up being the last dance of the night. I wanted to put my arm around him, I wrote. He called me by my first name. Melted, I did. Back then, I had a nickname I still hear when I head home, but to hear my actual name uttered from HIS lips, while a chat over a can of soda pop? I floated higher than the clouds. I felt like a princess eventho my gown was faded blue jeans, and tennis shoes.

During our 20th Reunion tryst, Chicago Chum wondered how it would have been different if I'd told him my feelings. He said he never realized I was crazy about him. I guess that's what writing fiction is for--to have the stories come out the way you want.

I smile at the memories my diary made me remember.

Now cue up Steve Miller and "The Joker"--it had been #1 a week before the dance. Don't know if it was played that night in 1974, I just know I like the song.

December 31, 1980 was Wednesday

Pulled out the diary--just had to see. Was gonna write about the party in the chicken coop during our senior year. Too much beer blurs all that memory. Just know it was a good time, while I added names to my Kiss List. My high school classmates know all about my list. The world--well, not so much. And yes, that's another post. :) So I thought of other kinda memorable New Year's and 1980 came to mind.

Not so much what happened, but the person I chose to spend it with. My boyfriend at the time. Let's see, let's call him Camaro. Why? Because he had a black white one with a black top. Said it reminded him of the girlfriend of his dreams. Camaro was black, she was white. He pined for her. They dated 8 months. She met a guy, married and a had a son. Camaro's transmission was so stuck in neutral.

And yea, I dated him anyway.

So that NYE's, he wanted me to wear a particular outfit, which actually belonged to my roommate. She said no. She always complained I looked better in her clothes than she did. She even said that this past June. I digress. Camaro wanted us to wear matching outfits. We didn't. We were headed to the place to party The Joker, in Des Moines. The best and biggest dance place in town. Today--I think it's a department store. To really get to the point of this story.

We got into a fight. Well, it was actually a continuation of the fight earlier in the day. It wasn't a done deal we'd spend NYE together. We came together, a cup of molasses wasn't as thick as the tension between us. We fought alot.

Yep, I remember this. We were dancing, me in all my jheri curl glory, and him thinking he the black John Travolta, when somebody called our names. A friend wanted to take our picture. Camaro ignored the request and kept strutting his stuff. She yelled from the side of the flashing light floor (it was 1980). He still ignored her, so I called his name.

Wrong thing to do. It was ON. He yelled at me. I recall his eye buldged from his reptilian head. Being the girl I was then--I screamed a word that rhymes with "Luck" and added 'it' at the end. It's in my diary, in bold letters. Kid you not. And we both stormed off the crowded floor. Friends were concerned.

We made up, because I dated the idiot --er--guy off and and on for a couple more years. Camaro was a bit different. He thought he was a warlock. OK. Fine, but I don't think most warlocks read how to be a warlock out 25 cent booklets from the drug store. Because of him, I went to my first adult bookstore. This was way before you could order it on the Internet or buy your own videos. You had to go to the places with the one lone blue light bulb hanging. I was curious what went on there. Then my curiosity ended, the day when some humpty dumpty not too cute guy asked me, while I stood trying to look composed at the wall of magazines. No Better Homes and Gardens there, this guy opened a centerfold of a girl hanging all her stuff out and asked, "You swing?" As I iced in place, Camaro comes into view, and I usher him out.

Where had my Prince Charming been? Using up his quarters, saved for laundry, in the peep shows. As we walked out of the place, Camaro asked, "So what did you tell him?"

Yea, and I dated him. I survived that New Year's Eve. Oh wow, I could tell you stories. And ya know, what else I wrote on that diary page? That the NYE's was OK, but not as good as the NYE 1975. Which wouldn't you know, was the party in the chicken coop?

Anyway, cue the number one song at The Joker. Not one of my favorites, yet makes me smile.

And Now Isaac Hayes...

Just talking about "Shaft"....Isaac Hayes' versions of "Close to You," "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" and "Walk On By"---give treat yourself to a listen. I'm sure The Carpenters, Glen Campbell or Burt Bacharach and buddy Dionne Wawick didn't think those songs would sound so sizzlin' with his dolop of hot buttered soul! .

Actually, I was going to post By the Time I Get to Phoenix here--my favorite--Then I came across something else. Back in the days of The Joker in Des Moines, Iowa, this was a great dance song! When this tune began, the way the crowd jetted to the floor, The Joker could have been in New York City...well, almost.....

Rest well, Black Moses.

With Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes both in Heaven...who's the headliner?

.....and so it's Friday!

Long, long ago in a decade far away--where my spandex skirt, four-inch heels and jheri curl where the norm (remember that gunky moisturizer/activator?)I counted the minutes and seconds to Friday. When my chums and I headed to the Joker on E. 14 in Des Moines, Iowa. Of course, we'd all ready been there for Thirsty Thursday the night before....however, that is another post. This night, Friday, was more the pre-lim for Saturday, while Thursday has just a reminder we hadn't forgetton to drink beer since the last weekend.

Yep. Fridays in Des Moines, Iowa. Where to get inside The J0ker was two bucks. Where the hum drum of the work week was quickly and solidly forgotten. Where I had the biggest crush for this skinniest guy because he could shake his groove thing so right to, Don't Stop Til You Get Enough, by Michael Jackson, when he really was a genius.

Fridays. Yep. Kinda miss all that partying I use to do. I'd have to take out hazard insurance if I wore four inch heels now. That would be twisted ankle and fall flat on my face. 911 would be on speed dial.

Hmm.

But ya know....if somebody threw a disco night, a GOOD disco night, for folks that really lived it...make sure I get my e-vite...Thank God It's Friday!

As Much As Something Changes.....

I spent time in a bowling alley tonight. A Saturday Night. I didn't even bowl. A chum asked me to be her guest at a celebrity bowl-a-thon to raise funds for scholarships. Comedian Dick Gregory was in attendence as was some local Dallas celebs, from media to sports.

As I sat and chowed on nachos--which were good when the cheese was warm-unfortunately, once underneath the top chips, the cheese was cold, I listened as a dj spun tunes. He went all late 70's, early 80's dance music. OK--some of us would call it disco--yet, I digress--I surveyed the room.

I wondered if some of the folks remembered other Saturday long ago nights. When the music the dj played tonight was the music we hit the floors with. Danced all night--or at least to 2 am in Iowa, more procisely, the Joker in Des Moines, Iowa. I thought of the Joker's huge floor- that flashed red, yellow, blue lights. When THE song came on, smoke pushed it's way over the floor. Ahh...that was the time.

Some of the folks tonight, tapped their foot, bobbed their heads. Yep. It all came back. Was it really that long ago, that being in bed by 11 only happened when you were sick or old people? I just smiled.

Maybe the nachos weren't so bad afterall--the music warmed em up.