I have to get more Mary Renault, stat. This was wonderful. The writing is absorbing, the love Bagoas bears for Alexander is beautiful to read, and an insider's perspective on Alexander's conquest of the known world is a joy to read.
London and Wolfman finally had their '80s party on Saturday. It was an absolute blast. Everyone's costume was great or at least funny.
RDC wore what he wore in the '80s--jeans (though current), a tie-dye t-shirt (from 1993), and his Levi jacket from 1985 ("Do you know where I bought this?" "Bob's Surplus?" Where else?) with the back panel painted black with a mushroom and Steal Your Face painted on that, and a bandana to cover his non-'80s hair. Thank goodness he donated his '80s tinted aviator glasses years ago and didn't grow the caterpillar.
In a last-minute shopping expedition with Soccer last night, I found a three-layer crinoline-and-lace skirt, à la "Like a Virgin," a black (of course) Ramones t-shirt, and--this was a great find--a pair of Converse High-tops, not in black or my own white but in preppy pale green lined with pale pink. I saw them first and since I had resolved not to be preppy or prep/New Wave ("Totally different head--totally"), I decided to do "casual punk" the way "casual black tie" means you can facetiously wear a flashing bow tie or white socks. I had to be, since the Ramones shirt was actually a "Rock and Roll High School" movie shirt and I doubt any self-respecting punk dressed like Madonna. Black tights that I cut off, because I thought they were footless but they weren't, and white socks. My high school class ring (which I didn't even think to consider for the reunion) and my earrings were my only actually '80s relics. The earrings were faux bronze Greek dramatic masks, smile on the right and frown on the left, that I have barely ever worn for fear of ripping my earlobes. I'm not sure that they scream '80s but they do date from 1985. I considered wearing the t-shirt from the 1987 Peter Gabriel concert at Meadowlands, but it wouldn't've worked: I still listen to So, and not just from nostalgia. Ideally, I would have been either Claire Standish or Alison Reynolds from "Breakfast Club," but it wasn't to be.
The hosts were Cyndi Lauper and Axl Rose, and also in attendance were Joel from "Risky Business" complete with candlestick microphone, Alex from "Flashdance," Maverick from "Top Gun" (and I pretended to be weirded out whenever Maverick and Joel stood next to each other), Indiana Jones (whom we made dance with us girls during "Whip It," because of course), a Robert Palmer girl, and a few Valley Girls and punks. Also, my ideal man in college--faded jeans rolled to a peg, black loafers, oversized thick white Oxford, and oversized houndstooth blazer. Him I called Flock of Seagulls, because he looked like the one on the couch in "Pulp Fiction."
The best punk was Maven, because of her makeup. I tried to put a lot of black shit around my eyes, like Alison Reynolds in "Breakfast Club" (speaking of black hightops), but I don't actually possess any such makeup. I knew I should have gone over to someone's house for dress-up. She had a plaid miniskirt and kick-ass boots and black tights with glowy skulls printed on them and a Kiss t-shirt. Kiss! on a punk! That killed me. Soccer wore a black velour pantsuit and a gold zebra print jacket she bought at a flea market on the way up to the cabin last year, and animal print shoes and belt, with a sideways ponytail. I think she's the one who left three lines of blow on a mirror on the back of the toilet.
London and Wolfman had found a gizmo at Target for twenty bucks that had Pac-Man and some other games on it, and they had a poster for blacklighting (is that '70s? did that carry over?) and Rubik's Cubes and an exceedingly fine playlist.
When Maven and I started slow-dancing to "Sister Christian"--which last weekend's bad deejay didn't play but which was audible at the coffeeshop the next morning, yeesh--a male voice piped up that finally this party was getting good. We--the women, rarely a man except Wolfman--danced. After "Addicted to Love" for the Robert Palmer girl, Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll" for Joel, and "Man-Eater" for Alex, the dance floor was open. Gary Numan's "Cars," of course, the sine qua non of '80s pop. Bow-wow-wow's "I Want Candy" and Toni Basil's "Hey Mickey" and Rick Springfield's "Jesse's Girl" and Tommy Tutone's 867-5309" and John Parr's "St. Elmo's Fire" (those two "artists" I had to look up) and Prince's "I Would Die 4 U" and the Pet Shop Boys' "It's a Sin" and the Romantics' "Talking in Your Sleep" (which I always thought was Hall & Oates) and Animotion's "Obsession" and A-ha's "Take On Me" and and Corey Hart's "Sunglasses at Night" and Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" and Tears for Fears' "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" and of course Simple Minds' "(Don't You) Forget about Me" and Michael Jackson's "Thriller," and Salt-n-Peppa's "Push It" and I am very proud of RDC for sticking it out and not running away screaming.
When Big Country's "In a Big Country" came on, I hadn't expected it--the playlist was so sugargum pop that the closest thing to alternative previous had been R.E.M's "It's the End of the World as We Know It"--so I shrieked with glee and proceeded to jump around happily for the next 3.5 minutes yelling lyrics. But then someone put on Van Halen's "Jump!" and I had to jump around again (though not "sing") and I decided I have lost significant aerobic capacity since the triathlon, which is the last time I ran.
But I had enough left in me for the Clash's "Train in Vain," though London Calling is 1979 and, unlike "Cars," does firmly belong to its decade.
After that someone started streaming from a Rhapsody account and there was harder stuff. Journey probably doesn't count as hard but it was for me in high school, and the Robert Palmer girl and I heartbrokenly emoted during "Separate Ways." After that came some Motley Crue and Def Leppard that I sat out, and Foreigner's "Jukebox Hero" which is one song I probably really hadn't heard in 20 years, and Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child o' Mine," which I did not sit out--because here was my chance to dance with Axl Rose!
Then it was 1:30 and we left, but that was the third time in eight days I had been out partying past my bedtime.
This kind of thing is best enjoyed only rarely, and I could not have such a party myself unless RDC and Blake both got lobotomies (both of them hate '80s music, with RDC saying even Eric Clapton wrote shit in the '80s and Blake just not finding a lot that is bob- or chatter-worthy), but if I did I would also have played Violet Femmes, both "Blister in the Sun" and "Kiss Off," and Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" and Modern English's "Melt with You." I listen to Kate Bush and Peter Gabriel and the Waterboys not even from nostalgia, but those feware definitive '80s songs everyone should know and sing. Which reminds me, there wasn't any Echo or the Bunnymen either.
But it was a lot of fun.