Monthly Archives: May 2009

Having a car meant a number of things, not least of which was not having to bum rides off of Kevin S. and his vintage Volvo. Kevin had scored his license during the last quarter of sophomore year, and when he grudgingly granted my request for a daily lift (round-trip), I knew my royal blue Schwinn Neu Citi (“The Ford Edsel of Schwinn 10-Speeds”) was retired forever.

It wasn’t a free ride, by any means. I paid every day in ritual humiliation as Kevin and fellow passenger Rob L. would slowly approach where I stood outside my parents’ glorified apartment (“townhouse”) then quickly accelerate, forcing me to trot after them, until I got just close enough to reach the back door, at which point the acceleration was repeated, to the delight of all except Your Humble Narrator. If Kevin and Rob got a really early start, they would park the Volvo a block or so away, and crawl into the dense shrubbery that surrounded my domicile, make a few Monty Python-esque yelps of “Ni!” or “Meep!” then dash back to the car with me in hot pursuit. Every so often, they would call my answering machine and fill it with chants of “we hate your speed bumps, we hate your speed bumps, we hate your speed bumps, God, they suck.” (Yes, the interior driveways of my townhouse facility were practically corrugated with speed bumps.)

But I took it. Because all that was still better than riding my bike to school. And I knew my license was coming soon.

In one of life’s cruel coincidences, I received my license the same month that the city of Marysville banned “the cruise.” I’m sure every medium-sized town with a lack of better things to do has had some version of the cruise ever since the advent of paved roads. To see an example of this in action you can rent American Graffiti, which depicts a northern California cruise circa 1962, or come along with the Holy Bee for a moment as I walk you through a northern California cruise circa 1991. On Saturday nights, hundreds of kids aged about 16 to 20 (old enough to drive but too young to get into bars) would drive slowly up the main street of the town, reach the outskirts, turn around, and drive slowly back. There were frequent stops at Carl’s Jr, and AM/PM, frequent switching of cars (each car usually carried no fewer than five kids), and shouted conversations and come-ons between cars at stoplights. This rite of passage for several generations of young motorists, celebrated in hit songs and major motion pictures, I got to be a part of exactly once before The Man shut it down permanently.

It was after we had all left Joanne B.’s Hawaiian-themed 16^th birthday party held at some roadhouse’s rented party hall out on Lindhurst Ave, which I don’t think is there anymore. A group of us ended up in the back of a Toyota pickup (I forget whose), on the cruise for the first and last time in my life, with a large box of those leis made out of plastic garbage bag material. Of course, this provided us with an absolutely sublime proposition for other cruisers: “Wanna get lei’d?” Who could resist that? As it turns out, everyone.

“Cruising Prohibited” signs went up shortly after that early August night. Continue reading →

The line marking the cultural beginning and end of a decade is a fuzzy one. Any one who doubts 1980 was still part of the 70’s can just take a look at a 1980 JC Penney’s catalog and marvel at the width of the bell-bottoms, or look at a list of the top-selling 1980 songs and count up the disco tracks. Anyone who doubts 1990 was still in the clammy grasp of the 80’s need only look at the Yuba City High School 1990 yearbook, and observe the enormous Vuarnet sunglasses, Reeboks, and feathered hair.

#9. “Vogue” – Madonna

#10. “Blaze Of Glory” – Jon Bon Jovi

In piecing together the smoking ruins of my ego after the First Breakup, I realized I had to expand my social circle. Mr. Tackmier’s Geography C class seemed like

a good place to start. I became friends with guys like Jeff W., Kevin S., and Bret K. Through Anthony W. in math class, I met up with guys like Jeff O., Eric L., and Pawen D.

On the last day of school freshman year, I went to see Dick Tracy with Jeff W., which featured lots of Madonna songs, but not this one. It came from the album I’m Breathless: Music From and Inspired By The Film Dick Tracy. How Warren Beatty’s brutal evisceration of the Dick Tracy character with his engorged ego inspired a treatise on dance moves from gay discos is anyone’s guess, but I’m Breathless kicked off a trend of “inspired by” albums where artists loosely associated with a movie’s soundtrack could unload their B-sides and outtakes. (The Madonna video hit around the same time, featuring our pal Madoo in a see-through shirt that wasn’t quite see-through, though not for lack of trying on my part. A Holy Bee Tip of the Hat to the original queen of titillation.)

That summer, Jeff W. and I rode our bikes out to Movies 8 to see Young Guns II, which is better than the original (and if that isn’t damning with faint praise, then I don’t know what is.) The accompanying Jon Bon Jovi (solo) music video serves as a reminder that they used to drop some serious fuckin’ coin on music videos. Jon strummed his acoustic and mouthed his watered-down remake of “Wanted Dead Or Alive” on a massive, detailed set built on the edge of a cliff, and was photographed with more swooping helicopter shots than you can shake a stick at.

#11. “Moneytalks” – AC/DC

When school started up again in the fall of ‘90, I must have spotted half-a-dozen The Razor’s Edge T-shirts under the denim jackets of the metal kids heading for the smoking area across from the front of the high school on Frederick Street. I didn’t stare too long, as the wearers surely would’ve singled me out for a beating, and blood would’ve been hard to get out of my preppy Cosby sweater.

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