NRKANGEL'S BLOG
Maybe Paradise Wasn't So Much... Part 1
Thursday, September 16, 2004 5:52 AM
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious....hmmm...so THAT's what it looks like typed out....sonuvagun... some things you just have to see for yourself...
You know, I've spent so much time dwelling on the aspect of life changes that I need to go someplace else tonight. So I've put on a little mood music, made myself a sandwich, poured a glass of water and one of white wine and decided to visit a fonder place.
The movie that Rod and I are working on is a Romantic Comedy called "Finding Love for Annie". I don't want to go into too much at the moment, but suffice it to say, I'm really happy with our progress so far. But thinking about how to express yourself in a story requires at least a little dredging of the past if only to bring up feelings to work with.
To that end, awhile back, I wrote about someone I haven't thought of in years who brings me back to the first time I fell in love. They say that you never forget it, and I haven't, nor have I quite gotten over her despite the fact that I have not seen her for a quarter of a century. (I love how that sounds...)
Anyway, I beg patience in this indulgence. I'll get back on track with goings on later.
It was the summer of 1981 and I had just turned 14. I had finished freshman year and starting what looked to be a fantastically long summer spent playing sandlot baseball and listening to music.
I had discovered music the year before and I was the proud owner of a slightly used portable radio with headphones along with a brand new turntable that I had gotten that Christmas. It was a cheap, off-brand, but I didn't care. It played music beautifully and it was mine. Besides, at the time I only had two albums to play, otherwise I had to borrow my parents music. I had the Car’s “Cars” album, which I had bought with my own money. (And would have sent my parents into apoplectic fits if they'd heard it despite it's being tame in comparison to most pop-music of today.) And I had the Star Wars soundtrack that my parents could accept (dark and menacing as it looked) mainly because it was symphonic. But I also had my radio.
The first time you become aware of music, it's like you finally learned to see. Oh, I'd always heard it, sang in church and on the holidays, but prior to the year before, I never gave conscious thought to turning on the radio and choosing it! After I learned that little magic spell, I would spend hours at night listening to Blondie, Billy Joel, Sheena Easton, Pablo Cruz, Journey and on and on.
But music wasn't the only great thing about that year. My best friend, Louie, had moved into the neighborhood not long before from LA. Louie's dad was the first divorced guy I knew and Louie was his first son by his ex-wife.
Louie was a strange kid. Having lived in the gang area of LA, he had a reckless streak that came out at the worst times occasionally getting us into trouble. (One night when we were fifteen, we took my father’s car out for a drive even though neither of us really knew how. Fortunately it was an automatic. We even bought gas to replace what we’d used and were scared out of our minds the whole time we were on the road.) I would never have dreamed of trying that myself, but Louie could make an outrageous suggestion, follow it up with his devil-may-care, lop-sided grin and make it seem like the most reasonable idea in the world. Of course, being what everyone considered a "good kid" maybe I was a bit too trusting.
We became pals that summer and, though I’d been friends with the other kids, Louie and I were tight. But as much as I quietly worshipped the guy's “crazy vato” act, the best part of that year began in mid-summer when Jenny moved into the neighborhood.
Jenny had arrived after the start of summer with her parents and sister. Her parents were former counter-culture hippies who'd gone on to bigger things, but would never be able to shake the echoes of their youth. They were firm, but easy-going and always great adults to have around. Barbara was a big woman full of bright laughter like her daughter. Stro
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