I squandered a good deal of my childhood listening to the vocal stylings of Allan Sherman, a Borscht Belt singer whose schtick entailed silly parodies of familar tunes, including “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh,” otherwise known as “Camp Grenada” (“Hello muddah/hello fadduh/here I am at/Camp Grenada…”).
Most of my friends enjoyed Allan Sherman’s company as well, but not one, a kid named Marlon who lived down the block. At nine, a year older than me, Marlon was the alpha male of the neighborhood group, and he seemed to take pleasure in trying to humiliate me.
One summer afternoon as five or six of us were playing in Marlon’s front yard, he decided to hold court on my tastes in art and music. He thought that the fact I liked “Snoopy, Come Home” was stupid, for instance.
He had particular scorn towards my tastes in records. “[Bookfraud] listens to stupid music, like Alan Sherman,” he said, positively spitting out the words.
It was humiliating, I’ll give him that. Fortunately, Marlon didn’t know when to stop.
“Allan Sherman’s stupid,” Marlon said. “[Bookfraud] doesn’t like good songs, like ‘The Candyman.’”
The Candyman. The mere mention of that title brings Sammy Davis Jr.’s voice into my head: “The candyman can ’cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good…” The song might as well be a paean to child movie stars’ drug dealers.
“The Candyman” is a punch line without a joke, while “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh” is widely acknowledged as a classic.
I was right; Marlon was wrong. Revenge is mine!
Looking back, the realm of treble and bass clef stands as one of the few things from my childhood and adolescence that doesn’t embarrass me. High school, when one’s allegiance to Band A or Band B defined your persona, was a time of particular pride: I hated REO, but loved the Ramones; I hated Rush but loved Devo; I despised Journey but loved the Clash. For these very things I was mocked, forced to wear a crown of thorns!
Years later, in looking at the Big Playlist of Life, I can say that my music was great; theirs sucked. Revenge is mine!
We must repeat
Marlon, The Candyman, and Devo don’t have much to say about the literary life, per se, but it’s come to me lately how much resentment and the need for revenge motivate people to create art.
As I’ve noted before and will probably note again as the idea-factory known as my brain reaches its natural limit, fiction writers usually do not start their quixotic journeys from a shiny, happy place in their hearts. Those who do simply are setting us up to have our hearts broken.
Do you want to read about the happiest childhood ever with completely functional parents, a story about how great it is to be rich, and why this narrator wallows in bliss, all delivered without a shred of irony or perspective? Perhaps you do, which probably explains why you are drawn to my painfully earnest prose.
Viewed from the surface, Marlon doesn’t display much in the way of inner turmoil, except as perhaps a bully; he’s a fine caricature. Marlon could write a book featuring characters who are always right.
Or take those who dominated the hierarchy of high school — jock kings and cheerleader queens. Can you think of one good novel, story, or movie that looks at them in anything but an unsympathetic light? It’s because the people writing those books about high school were the outcasts, losers, stoners, and sensitive folk nobody wanted to emulate.
They were the people who were listening to the DKs and the Sex Pistols; they were the people sitting in the corner, smirking, suffering, being ignored, and counting the days until they could escape the hell known as adolescence. If they were lucky, they could play a mean guitar and grab some girls.
The sense of alienation motivated many of us to write, usually terifficaly pretentious poetry that we’d rather eat than have to read aloud. But for someone who wants revenge, I always get the picture of an angry nerd saying “I’ll show them. Everybody who makes fun of me is going to regret it,” and, as a result of such anger, starts Microsoft or arrives at school with an AK-47.
(I often wonder if it’s still the same — in suburbia, I imagine that the jocks and cheerleaders still rule the roost, but “alt culture” has become mainstream enough that the mohawked punk — or even the computer nerd or gay teen — may not be a de facto outcast).
Best served cold
It’s a nice feeling, being vindicated. But ultimately pointless.
Feeling superior for things I loved 20 or 30 years ago is empty solace, proving absolutely nothing. I also greatly exaggerate the sense of separation I had from my classmates; it makes me feel superior, which is a feeling I’d just as rather not indulge. Those who are motivated to take revenge on the unpleasant memories of being 16 probably are best served by something called therapy.
But damn, did I hate those years. If someone says high school was the happiest time of his life, punch him in the nose. I’ll pay your legal bills.
I enjoyed my high school years. Catholic in every way:-)) “We are told that writing is the ultimate form of expression” — Every artist dips his brush in his own soul.
I think the ultimate form of expression is “words” the “spoken” words.
Oh, THAT Journey. I can’t hear a Journey song without flashbacks to Jr High dances and continued rejection whenever I asked a girl to dance.
Once I discovered New Order in high school, it was over. I knew I was the coolest dork in the world.
Hmmm…I liked a few songs by all those folks you mentioned…including Rush and Journey, but I was mainly in my Fleetwood Mac and Kate Bush era in the late 70s and early 80s. I’m still proud to say that when I mention Kate Bush, most people go “Who?” I never minded being odd man out when it came to music.
High school was a huge bore. I skipped the last two reunions and might skip my 20 in 2008. I’m still in contact with the few people from back then that I want to be in contact with. No need to muddy the waters.
dora: i am kind of curious who the “creep shows” were at a girls school. maybe you could write a novel about it.
quinn: actually, i’m not jealous of people with a lot of money and suv and big house in the suburbs, who may have “finished the journey,” as you say. i’m jealous of those people with a lot of money and cool car and big house in the big city, who are writers and get to keep telling stories for wealth and fame.
then again, if you want $$$ and fame, writing is not the best way to do it, and, as you say, it’s the journey that counts. man, i hated journey.
dora: i am kind of curious who the “creep shows” were at a girls school. maybe you could write a novel about it.
quinn: actually, i’m not jealous of people with a lot of money and suv and big house in the suburbs, who may have “finished the journey,” as you say. i’m jealous of those people with a lot of money and cool car and big house in the big city, who are writers and get to keep telling stories for wealth and fame.
then again, if you want $$$ and fame, writing is not the best way to do it, and, as you say, it’s the journey that counts. man, i hated journey.
michele: welcome back, good to see you. cool is only in the audience beholding it, and my musical taste did not make me such ? also, was a nerdy, awkward, poorly spoken teenager, like most of the world.
e.p.: no, keep this stuff popping out of your head. i was just messin’ with ya. i happen to agree with the great aristotle. he’s da man.
michele: welcome back, good to see you. cool is only in the audience beholding it, and my musical taste did not make me such ? also, was a nerdy, awkward, poorly spoken teenager, like most of the world.
e.p.: no, keep this stuff popping out of your head. i was just messin’ with ya. i happen to agree with the great aristotle. he’s da man.
I enjoyed my high school years. Catholic in every way:-)) “We are told that writing is the ultimate form of expression” — Every artist dips his brush in his own soul.
I think the ultimate form of expression is “words” the “spoken” words.
I enjoyed my high school years. Catholic in every way:-)) “We are told that writing is the ultimate form of expression” — Every artist dips his brush in his own soul.
I think the ultimate form of expression is “words” the “spoken” words.
Oh, THAT Journey. I can’t hear a Journey song without flashbacks to Jr High dances and continued rejection whenever I asked a girl to dance.
Once I discovered New Order in high school, it was over. I knew I was the coolest dork in the world.
Oh, THAT Journey. I can’t hear a Journey song without flashbacks to Jr High dances and continued rejection whenever I asked a girl to dance.
Once I discovered New Order in high school, it was over. I knew I was the coolest dork in the world.
Hmmm…I liked a few songs by all those folks you mentioned…including Rush and Journey, but I was mainly in my Fleetwood Mac and Kate Bush era in the late 70s and early 80s. I’m still proud to say that when I mention Kate Bush, most people go “Who?” I never minded being odd man out when it came to music.
High school was a huge bore. I skipped the last two reunions and might skip my 20 in 2008. I’m still in contact with the few people from back then that I want to be in contact with. No need to muddy the waters.
Hmmm…I liked a few songs by all those folks you mentioned…including Rush and Journey, but I was mainly in my Fleetwood Mac and Kate Bush era in the late 70s and early 80s. I’m still proud to say that when I mention Kate Bush, most people go “Who?” I never minded being odd man out when it came to music.
High school was a huge bore. I skipped the last two reunions and might skip my 20 in 2008. I’m still in contact with the few people from back then that I want to be in contact with. No need to muddy the waters.
kathleen: you enjoyed your high school years and you call yourself a writer? just kidding, of course.
quinn: “continued rejection” ? now that i can relate to. at least you asked.
collin: i know who kate bush is! yah!
you make a good point about being in contact with those from h.s. you want to be. i am friends with precisely one person from h.s. my closest friends from those years have all fallen away, one by one…
Beware, long post.
I could cry, since I believe that I am BF’s sole contact from h.s. BF and Mr. Cheraldo have mocked my early “taste” in music and informed my later choices. It is true that the Ramones, the Clash and Devo stand up far better to the test of time. I just spent the past 4 days painting my dining room to Clash on Broadway. I could not spend that much time with REO, Journey and/or Fleetwood Mac.
I may be the lone person that did not hate h.s., then again I am not a writer. The misery is what makes some of the funniest memories. BF dubbed one of our classmates the “Walking Anus”, which made dealing with this yutz much better. BF also made one of the funniest commencement speeches ever. Basically called the graduates a bunch of useless, self-satisfied, waste of space losers. Classic, then again, I may have been one of the only ones laughing. Hmm, maybe that is why I am his friend.
kathleen: you enjoyed your high school years and you call yourself a writer? just kidding, of course.
quinn: “continued rejection” ? now that i can relate to. at least you asked.
collin: i know who kate bush is! yah!
you make a good point about being in contact with those from h.s. you want to be. i am friends with precisely one person from h.s. my closest friends from those years have all fallen away, one by one…
kathleen: you enjoyed your high school years and you call yourself a writer? just kidding, of course.
quinn: “continued rejection” ? now that i can relate to. at least you asked.
collin: i know who kate bush is! yah!
you make a good point about being in contact with those from h.s. you want to be. i am friends with precisely one person from h.s. my closest friends from those years have all fallen away, one by one…
Beware, long post.
I could cry, since I believe that I am BF’s sole contact from h.s. BF and Mr. Cheraldo have mocked my early “taste” in music and informed my later choices. It is true that the Ramones, the Clash and Devo stand up far better to the test of time. I just spent the past 4 days painting my dining room to Clash on Broadway. I could not spend that much time with REO, Journey and/or Fleetwood Mac.
I may be the lone person that did not hate h.s., then again I am not a writer. The misery is what makes some of the funniest memories. BF dubbed one of our classmates the “Walking Anus”, which made dealing with this yutz much better. BF also made one of the funniest commencement speeches ever. Basically called the graduates a bunch of useless, self-satisfied, waste of space losers. Classic, then again, I may have been one of the only ones laughing. Hmm, maybe that is why I am his friend.
Beware, long post.
I could cry, since I believe that I am BF’s sole contact from h.s. BF and Mr. Cheraldo have mocked my early “taste” in music and informed my later choices. It is true that the Ramones, the Clash and Devo stand up far better to the test of time. I just spent the past 4 days painting my dining room to Clash on Broadway. I could not spend that much time with REO, Journey and/or Fleetwood Mac.
I may be the lone person that did not hate h.s., then again I am not a writer. The misery is what makes some of the funniest memories. BF dubbed one of our classmates the “Walking Anus”, which made dealing with this yutz much better. BF also made one of the funniest commencement speeches ever. Basically called the graduates a bunch of useless, self-satisfied, waste of space losers. Classic, then again, I may have been one of the only ones laughing. Hmm, maybe that is why I am his friend.