When I was 17, I had an enormous crush on Derek. Immense. He worked at the record store, and I'd go there to purposely look for obscure records so I could talk with him more. Derek introduced me to Stan Getz and The Winter of Our Discontent and the Coen Brothers and all kinds of other good things that I still love. He never judged me for buying awful hardcore records, for which I am now thankful. Before I moved to Ann Arbor for college, I dressed up as him (yet another example of me being quite drag-king as a kid) and made my mother take a photograph. In it, I am wearing a Broken Hearts Are Blue t-shirt, dark green men's trousers, a slicked-back faux pompadour, and a smile.
Last night he informed me that I'm staying at the hotel where much of Combat Rock was written, which made my night. Then we had a quick hour today. Not enough time, of course, but it's funny how old friends always feel like home right away.
Last night he informed me that I'm staying at the hotel where much of Combat Rock was written, which made my night. Then we had a quick hour today. Not enough time, of course, but it's funny how old friends always feel like home right away.
Labels: new york, regression to adolescence, signs of latent homosexuality
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