A Chameleon Ahead of His Time
I still want my MTV back! Yes, give me back that gold shag carpet rug burn, on my knobby knees! The rug burn from kneeling six inches from the screen of the old, beloved floor model TV. As Michael Jackson beat it, the Eurythmics gave me sweet dreams, Devo whipped it good, and Robert Palmer apologized that he did not mean to turn me on. I spent my teen years bedazzled by them all.
I cannot tell you how many times a skinny, pimple faced kid like me, karaoked my ass off in front of a mirror, before it was even a thing. I was a misfit kid, who found my friends on MTV. That was my social media, kids. Hearing that old theme song still makes me feel warm and fuzzy. The last time I tried to look at this newfangled MTV, I groaned “Nooooo!” in pure emotional turmoil.
Like Boy George, I wail, “Do you really want to hurt me?” Obviously, yes, they do. By the way, did anybody see that scene in Wedding Singer with the impersonator of Boy George? Very funny indeed but it sadly made me yearn for my childhood.
I absolutely loved every single artist on MTV in the eighties! Take me away, downtown Judy Brown! Every single sparkly socked moonwalk, every coo of a dove crying, Billy Idol having a white wedding and dancing with himself and let us not forget the image of a squinty, bent over Cindi Lauper belting out “Time After Time”, time after time after time. All of it, I tell you! Just pure joy!
If they ever produce a time machine, I will be the only person asking to get sent back to 1981, to sit in front of a gargantuan wooden floor model TV. But, hey, that was my childhood, man. Sad to say.
If I could pick one of those artists that was near to my heart and say somebody really cared, it would be Boy George. He personified my lonely weirdness and put a name to my lanky awkwardness. He was like an alien, an enigma, a sparkly eyed rainbow, my unicorn, and my little pony, all melted together. Somehow, he was way ahead of his time and, like me, did not quite belong yet.
He was every parent's worst nightmare. He was his own race and his own culture(club), as it were. He gave me that “To Sir with Love” feeling. That “you're not supposed to like being entertained by that person” feeling. I loved him and I thought he was beautiful. I embraced his strange and different look. I never thought of him like “Is he gay? or straight? or a cross dresser?” To me, he looked like freedom incarnate. Like a sparkler on the fourth of July. Freedom from any labels or mean stares. It was okay to be weird.
So, when I hear the “Karma Chameleon” song, I feel like a free-spirited teenager again. Just a little wider and with absolutely no ability to get a pimple, even if I tried. It takes me back to a time before extreme labeling and politically correct crap. That control baggage that bogs down people's true personalities. Nobody cared about gender back then!
Hell, we didn't care if men like David Bowie, Michael Jackson, Alice Cooper or even Kiss, dabbled their fingers in the makeup or wore feminine clothing. We didn't care that Annie Lennox wore men's clothing! That was who they were, and we loved them because of it. We danced and celebrated being different with them! They made us who we were. They made us look in the mirror and be ourselves. With our dangerously stiff hair and bedazzled jean jackets and all!
I hear Boy George is coming out with a movie, if the karma karma karma coronavirus lets him. I am curious who will play him? I'll be first in line to see that movie. Maybe the only one in line. He reminds me of myself, before the world crashed my “I like myself like this!” party. Kids today just don't know what they are missing, do they? I could possibly sum it all up for them, with a Billy Idol rebel yell. No? Ok, maybe I better not. Thanks for reading!