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Health & Fitness

When the Lights Go Down on the 1980's: Twenty Years Later

Join me as we revisit the era that brought us the first MacIntosh computer, skinny ties and acid washed jeans. It's the 1980's Revisited.

 

Everyone has a weakness. Not a weakness in the sense of what kryptonite was to Superman.  I’m talking about something you just can’t resist.  Like chocolate molten lava cake or the sales rack at White House Black Market.  Maybe it’s Brad (or Angelina),  fried Twinkies at the Big E or a fully restored 1970 7.5 liter V8 370-horsepower Pontiac GTO "The Judge”.  Whatever it is, we all have something that hits us in our sweet spot.[1] 

My weakness?  Steve Perry, former lead singer of the band Journey.  Not just for his feathered hair or for the way he managed to squeeze into some of the tightest jeans ever made, but for his voice.  That crystal clear luminous voice capable of reaching unfathomable sopranic heights, no doubt helped in part by skin tight jeans.  The Golden Voice which launched Journey into super stardom in the early to mid 1980’s.     

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I grew up in the ‘80’s.  So, it’s only natural that Steve Perry’s voice brings back quintessential memories of my youth, back to the days of boom boxes, hi-tops and Run DMC.  Breakdancing, walkmans and synthesizers –  it’s OK.  We all wanted to play the keyboard like the guy in A-ha’s “Take On Me” video.[2]  I’m also reminded of moments in my youth that read more like a Stephen King novel:  a mouthful of metal (with rubber bands that shot out a spray of tiny bullets), headgear, perms gone bad, pegged jeans and periodic acne wars so horrific it sent a slew of white lab coats scampering back to the Clearasil research labs.

However, lurking somewhere in between the New Wave invasion and the Valley Girl slang, among the preppy collars and shoulder pads, there was some really good stuff.  Even if it was clad in a Members Only jacket and a skinny tie.  Behind the big hair and among the Skidz, Swatch watches and Z Cavaricci’s, there was dancing (OK, maybe just swaying) to “Open Arms” and “Faithfully” at school mixers in the Cafeteria.  While disapproving chaperones watched with eagle eyes to be sure the required bodily distance was kept, the unguarded punch bowl made for easy access.  There was lip synching to “Oh Sherrie” and “Only the Young” [3] with hairbrush microphones in front of full length mirrors and rocking out to “Don’t Stop Believin” in between swigs of Purple Passion.[4]

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That’s good stuff, right there.  Journey is feel good music so whenever I detect the faintest strains of a Journey song (even if it’s in my head) and I spy a microphone, “It’s over, Johnny!”[5]  Done deal.  We’re all, like, totally, going back to the ‘80’s whether we like it or not.  It’s not merely a question of if I’ll sing.  It’s a question of whether my husband can quietly escape from wherever we are before I start. 

I’m not a terrible singer.  After all, I was a Chorus geek for many years, long before Glee made Chorus slightly cooler than Latin Club.   Yet, there must’ve been a reason I didn’t get a solo in all those years of chorus concerts.  Whatever it was, I’ve forgotten it so I’m making up for those missed opportunities now.

One of those opportunities presented itself a few Saturdays ago.  As I grabbed the microphone from the DJ for an impromptu rendition of “Lights”, it wasn’t much of a surprise to my husband.  However, my high school classmates were a bit surprised.  See, I was at my 20 year high school reunion when Steve Perry temporarily inhabited my body.  Twenty years later, Steve and I are both a little older and a little grayer.  Neither of us can fit a single leg into those skin tight jeans of yesteryear and we both have trouble seeing when driving at night.

But that night, with no karaoke screen to cheat off of, I closed my eyes and sang the lyrics by heart, from the heart.[6]   A few of my classmates, clearly drunk, actually clapped for me.  Although no ears bled (that I saw), the next morning I copped a Homer Simpson, slapping myself squarely on the forehead with the palm of my hand and letting out a loud, “DOH!” 

What does this have to do with trains, you’re asking?  Plenty.  It’s the train of life.[7]  Before you judge me as being overly dramatic, throw me a bone here – I just went to my 20 year high school reunion, a significant marker in anyone’s life and one of the few times in life when you’re allowed to reminisce, so here it is.  I’m thankful and grateful my train has been a local and not an express.  I’m glad for all the stops, glad I got off for a while and explored different stations, glad I meandered down unbeaten paths. 

To all those who clapped for me, I’ll send you the twenty bucks as we discussed.  And to Steve Perry, wherever he is, I hope he’s on a local as well, cruising the streets in a tricked out GTO blasting “Any Way You Want It”, fried Twinkies in hand.

[1]Speaking of sweet, if you ever have a dream that involves fried Twinkies, and Brad and Ange in a Pontiac GTO…sweet dreams!  When you wake up, find a dentist and a good psychotherapist.

[2] Anyone?   Fine – maybe just me.

[3] Vision Quest!

[4] Do they even still make Purple Passion?

[5] Col. Trautman to Rambo in Rambo: First Blood.   Watch it.  Memorize it.  Quote it.

[6] Like nails on a chalkboard, baby.

[7] I can hear you groaning from here.  I’m wrapping it up, so hang on.

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