Dear Meat,
You were first delivered unto me as I sat blinking in wonderbefore a new mind-blowing entity called MTV. Paradise by the Dashboard Lightswas unlike anything I'd ever seen. Your eyes drilled straight through me asthose long sweaty strands of hair whipped around your head, a living weapon. Youwere the antithesis of a teen dreamboat—a fat guy in a ruffled shirt, yet Iswooned at something I was too young and naïve to recognize: your unabashederoticism.
And that chick! Karla DeVito stood like a virgin flame inher white cat suit. Who cared if she was lip synching Ellen Foley's singing? Withlips rouged and blue eye shadow gleaming, she was a live-action Betty Boop. Butinstead of coy giggles and batting eyelashes, DeVito had all the power. It wasconcentrated at the tip of the inverted V formed by her not-so-subtly partedlegs.
When you two started making out, it was miles away from theantiseptic kissing manufactured by Hollywood. Why, you were practically dry zockingon the stage! My breath shortened as epiphany bloomed with sweet orgiasticglee: This was the kind of sex they didn't want me to know about. It had ataste and smell. This sex was alive. It was raw and honest and real.
You owned me, Meat.
The next thirty years unwound as fast as the turning cogs inmy portable cassette player. I traded in my shoulder pads and fishnets for thepunk look. Then life dissolved from college to a corporate career. The mortgageand husband and baby soon followed.
But you never changed, always with the motorcycles andruffled shirts and the sublime promise that the rock & roll of my youth wasreally opera. Bat out of Hell II, Bat out of Hell III. I gave you one passafter another. When you espoused, I'd Do Anything for Love (But I won't Do That), I was baffled. Huh? I wondered, not do what? What did itmean? You'd invite me to your bed and then promise to never break wind therein?
Aw baby, I didn't care. I'd do anything for love too, so I justswallowed it whole. After all, you were Meat Loaf and when you set me atop thatsilver black phantom bike all those years ago, it earned you hella good will.
Then you told me that Objects in the Rearview Mirror May AppearCloser than They Are.
Some things just have to be gotten through, so it was with yourunfortunate mumbling of that incredibly awkward title phrase. But like we vowedbefore those dashboard lights so long ago, I would love you forever, Meat. Iwas ready to suffer anything. Well, almost anything.
October 25, 2012, Defiance, Ohio.
"Meat Loaf endorses Romney," proclaimed theheadlines. You talked about the Cold War and it felt like a cold shower despitemy advanced fortysomething age. And when you said, "I want you to know, at65, that Paul Ryan has not pushed me off the cliff in a wheelchair," youcouldn't have been more wrong. You were finally speeding into a real abyss andthis bat wouldn't be coming out of Hell ever again. And then there was this:
Frankly Meat (or should I call you Marvin?), Romney lookedas though he'd just been presented with a plate of eyeballs floating in a moldof lime jello.
Yeah, yeah.
Now it's November 56th and Romney's still losing theelection (just ask his eldest son). Ihate to break this to you, Marv, but no one cares about your opinion on thematter. Paradise is lost, baby. Your sweat has dried into a crust of salt. Allthose ruffled shirts have long since gone yellow. In ten years or so when Mitt Romneyis reduced to a Trivial Pursuit answer card, I'm afraid you'll be just anotherold fat white guy alone between your waxy sheets wondering why you ever vowed, butI won't do that or two out of three ain't bad.
Whatever the case, Marv, you took the words right out of my mouth.
Love,
Erin* * *
Hiç yorum yok:
Yorum Gönder