(this is annie)

I have a terrible confession to make. When I was in eighth grade, I shoplifted a Morrissey cassette tape from the campus bookstore at Kalamazoo College. Kill Uncle. Money was tight at home, and I didn't think my parents would give me the eight bucks for it. I can imagine them looking at the cover: "Why would he want to kill his uncle? Who is this queer-seeming man, and why is he praying like he's at a revival? His last name is Smith, you say?" So I took it.

Oh, but how I paid for that crime! I soon fell in love with Morrissey's witty lyrics and oddball appearance, and decided that my fellow Catholic schoolchildren would benefit from his brilliance. And what better time to introduce them to this foppish crooner than at a junior-high party? My teacher had cleared out the seventh-grade classroom to make room for the awkward spasms we called dancing. I can't remember who was in charge of manning the jukebox, but I do remember the teacher insisting that everyone be allowed to choose a song or two.

Most of my peers went with Paula Abdul, some New Jack Swing, a little Vanilla Ice, maybe a bit of Def Lep. I patiently waited in the shadows, cuing my tape to the right place on my Walkman. I could practically see my fellow students' gratitude: How happy they would be to discover such music, and how popular I would finally be! My turn came soon, and as I placed the tape into its holder, I bid adieu to my last moments of being a junior-high loser. Suedehead it was!

I don't think I really need to explain how things went down. Suffice it to say that I had not actually reached the lowest caste level prior to the dance, and choosing Morrissey plunged me into new depths of awkwardness. Poor Steven didn't even get a chance to get to the second verse before he was abruptly replaced with "Poison." (Yeah, "Poison.")

Morrissey is coming to town this month, and I so wanted to see him, but tickets were $65, and I'm still smarting from that adolescent stumble.

Labels: morrissey