middle school, making out, and other misadventures with lionel richie
I saw Lionel Richie making his token appearance as a guest judge on American Idol tonight, and it reminded me of something I intended to rant about before. Here goes…

Lionel’s greatness in the realm of big love ballads can’t be disputed. This is the man whose career has spanned three decades and who brought us Say You, Say Me and Hello and Penny Lover and Stuck on You and Do it to Me and Easy and Three Times a Lady and…well, you get the point. Anyone who can have one of his love songs turned into the soundtrack for an NFL commercial that makes grown men cry some twenty years later sho nuff got tha stuff. When Lionel talks love songs, I listen. [I’ve even inserted my Lionel Richie: Truly – The Love Songs cd for effect as I write. Pretend you’re listening to it as you read along. …guess I’m oooooooon my way.] Anyway, my interest was understandably piqued as I was flipping channels and saw Mr. Richie’s mug on VH1 the other night. I don’t know what the show was called, but it was one of the 637 programs they’ve produced to pay homage to the 80’s. In this particular segment, Lionel was offering a list of “the best make-out songs of 1989.”

(If you’re my Mom, you should probably stop reading here.)

For many, this particular list might have invited complete ambivalence, but not me. For me it couldn’t be more relevant. Behind some of my friends and ahead of others, I began making out in 1989…middle school dance, Crane County Youth Center, Alonna Smith. Maybe I shouldn’t be so specific, but it was somewhat public, and I’m fairly sure the statute of limitations has expired on any kiss and tell laws governing my behavior in ’89. Besides, we’re all grown ups now and we can laugh about these things…right?* As a last resort at rationalization, I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t read my blog (nor do any of her sisters that I might or might not have also made out with during my misguided adolescence).

Anyway, given all that I had personally invested in this list, I came away quite disappointed. It was both short and lousy. This is what Lionel gave us:

Right Here Waiting … Richard Marx
If You Don’t Know Me by Now … Simply Red
Love Song … The Cure

When he started with Richard Marx, I was on board. Right Here Waiting is a classic of the era, and it fits the criteria well. The other two I can take or leave – they were big hits, but I don’t think they belong in a top 10 (much less top 3) make-out songs of 1989. A cynic by nature, I’ve purposed to invest as much energy in reconstruction as in deconstruction in all of life’s little neighborhoods. In that spirit, we’re going to make our own list. My ten nominations (in no particular order):

Angel Eyes … The Jeff Healey Band
Patience … Guns N Roses
Look Away … Chicago
Heaven … Warrant
What I Am … Edie Brickell (hey, to each his own, right?)
When I Look Into Your Eyes … Bad English
When I’m With You … Sheriff**
Blame it on the Rain … Milli Van—sorry, wrong list
I’ll Be There for You … Bon Jovi
Every Rose Has its Thorn … Poison
The End of the Innocence … Don Henley

Just to prove the invalidity of Lionel’s list, I stuck to 1989 with all of those. Feel free to expand your nominations a bit beyond that so that they fit you. Not everyone was making out in 1989 (which is a good thing), but most of us were at least imagining it until we finally found someone willing to waste hours of their life swapping saliva with us. For others, all of this talk of making out stirs some unpleasant memories (or at least it should – I know who some of you were making out with in 1989). Even if you were a wiser kid than me or you wish you’d saved your lips much longer than you did, you can still get into the spirit of this. Cast your votes† for the above nominations or throw in your own via the Comment link or by email.

NOTE: This post does not represent an endorsement of thirteen year-olds making out at dances or behind the bushes or in the basement (or at the drive-in or in the old man’s Ford). I was stupid and wasted a lot of kissing. Not because Alonna or any of the others weren’t nice or cute or whatever, but because we were kids dealing in a commodity we didn’t understand. Anyway, if you miss the heart of this little jaunt through the past, you’re probably either too young or too old to be reading this particular piece. Try this one.

* I warned you, Mom.
** This was the song playing at the middle school dance when…well, you know.
† Anyone who was over 30 in 1989 is not eligible to vote. That’s gross.

…notable lack of Jayhawks around here today. Hmm.

Somebody needs to pass Bonnie Bernstein a clue. Did she really think Roy was going to respond any other way? Ridiculous. I’m sure some folks will whine about the language, but who can blame the guy? Good for him for expecting a little decency and niceness. I wonder if some of these reporters actually trade in their consciences for a microphone and a can of hair spray.

Props to Boeheim and his youngsters. I tried to warn people this could happen. Roy’s boys made a valiant effort at getting back in the thing, but they waited too long. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a worse non-Shaq free throw exhibition, and I can’t understand why they weren’t shooting threes. But Syracuse is fo’ real. Gerry McNamara is a local kid who I watched on the news all season last year as he led his high school team to a state championship. He could not miss from downtown in the first half. The Scranton folks are dancing in the snow tonight.

Just for Mike.

I walked in the room tonight and Amy was watching the weather. The guy was predicting up to twelve inches of snow here tomorrow. I swear I thought she was watching something on tape. She wasn’t. Snow tomorrow. Lots. April 7. This is great for the cold our household can’t seem to shake.

Carmelo Anthony can go to his left.

http://thad.typepad.com/homeanywhere/2003/04/aiden_cant_go_t.html

My son isn’t quite seven months old, and it’s amazing to already see evidence of my own shortcomings in him. I once prolonged an 8th grade basketball practice by at least fifteen minutes because I can’t go to my left.

It was 1989, and the Crane Middle School boys athletic program was still under the iron-fisted rule of the oppressive Jerry Don regime. Coach A (I’ll show a bit of restraint by withholding his complete last name) was a balding, moustache-wearing cartoonish character who measured about five-foot something (and that’s a generous approximation). His primary goal in life was to compensate for his lack of ________ (the plethora of objects that could occupy that blank exceeds even my imagination) through any or all of the following methods: demeaning 12-15 year-old boys; earning the starry-eyed esteem of 12-15 year old boys; inviting the attention and affection of 12-15 year old girls; telling tales so absurd that even my innocent, almost seven month old son would roll his eyes when he talked.

…which reminds me of my point in the first place: the inability to go to one’s left. As one particular 8th grade basketball practice drew to a close, Jerry Don declared that practice would officially end when the entire squad successfully executed a right-handed lay-up and a left-handed lay-up without a miss and in proper form. Simple enough. Unless you can’t go to your left. I can’t.

I don’t know how many left-handed lay-ups I missed that morning, but before long the entire team was stopping to watch and yell as I botched one after another. [And when I say ‘yell,’ I don’t mean that

Hollywood

sort of yelling where all the normal kids root for the underdog to overcome his athletic inadequacies for a moment of glory ala Rudy or The Waterboy. I mean the kind of yelling junior high kids really do at those who become easy targets of ridicule.]

It gradually became self-perpetuating. In my defense, I have no problem making a lay-up from the left side as long as I can jump off my left foot and shoot with my right hand. Unfortunately, this is not proper left-handed-lay-up form (as declared by hoops deity Jerry Don). You see, if you try to make a lay-up from the left side using your right hand in a game, you’re likely to get your stuff slapped into the stands. This was important for someone like me who saw, I dunno, maybe about two minutes and seventeen seconds of action per game (on the B team). My ability to successfully execute a lay-up from the left side without getting my stuff slapped into the stands was clearly pivotal to the ultimate success of the

Crane

Middle School

8th grade basketball B team. Pivotal enough to warrant this thrilling exercise in humiliation.

Anyway, as I said, I prolonged practice at least fifteen minutes as we repeatedly went through the entire routine – everyone making a right-handed lay-up, then a left-handed lay-up, building to the thrilling climax of….Thad missing another left-handed lay-up. Some of them I missed; some I made but not in a form to Jerry Don’s pleasing (a ridiculous fact which gradually did swing much of the team support my way and scorn Jerry Don’s way). There was no doubt that this little routine was more than exceeding his original expectations in the realm of entertainment. It was neither the first nor the last experience for me in discovering just how much pleasure he took in the belittling of those he knew were smarter than him. I’ll spare you the other stories (for now). I think I finally made a left-handed lay-up to his pleasing, but I’ve never overcome my excessive right-handedness.

Aiden isn’t shooting lay-ups yet, but he’s pretty well mastered rolling over: to his right.

Moral: If you aren’t popular on your first run through junior high, don’t try to compensate for it in your 30s. Seriously. It’s sad. Popularity is overrated anyway, and you’ll just end up playing the jackass years later in some sarcastic late 20-something’s web journal.

Moral #2: If

Iraq

is anything like

Crane

Middle School

, regime change is a good thing. Can I get a witness?

(nyquil is 10% alcohol.)

i’m about to try and fade into a nyquil-induced coma. i have to feel pretty lousy to resort to drugs. i do (feel pretty lousy). i’ve never much cared for helen hunt. not ever. not in mad about you (though i think paul reiser is terrific). not in twister. not in as good as it gets. not in cast away. not tonight on dave. she seems utterly uncharming, unengaging, and unhappy to me. i mostly wrote that sentence to see if i could use four words that start with u in the same sentence. she just talked about her dog — it’s a snow breed and she lives in beverly hills. i bet she’s all for animal rights too. perfectly sensible hollywood celebrity logic. these people don’t exist in the same reality as you and i. not that she or anyone cares what i think about her, but i’m working on 1/10 of a buzz, so i thought i’d write a little.