1984

When I was growing up, I had a vague notion that the year 1984 would somehow be significant in the history of the world. Looking back, I suspect that this started with an awareness of George Orwell's novel 1984, even without my reading it. Orwell published the novel in 1949, a full 25 years before the timeline of his dystopian nightmare of a story. Knowing the premise of the story, I am thinking that he should have named the book 2024, but that is another essay for another time. 

1984 was forty years ago. Forty years is a fuck-ton of time in my view, and maybe in yours as well. Believe me when I tell you that nobody who was in their 20's in the 80's ever thought that the decade would be looked back at with nostalgia. This is because we never thought the culture would change again. For those of us who were there, 1984 felt like the end of time--the culmination of style and fashion and music--where it was impossible to imagine further progress being made. 

***

I was all of 21 in early 1984--I wouldn't turn 22 until August, and I remember feeling my new adulthood bookended by the greatest expressions of both life and death. There was a feeling of power in being 21--a full "adult"--and yet I wasn't completely sure what that power was or if someone was supposed to be giving it to me. I knew I could drink alcohol legally, but like most young people I had been drinking it illegally for years, so no big whoop. 

But there was a curiosity for how this would all begin to lay out for me--not dissimilar to the curiosity I currently feel about my approaching old age. What will it look like? Will I feel any different? Is there anything I need to know going in? Not knowing the answer to any of those questions, I dove in with both eyes open, looking primarily for love.

I did know one thing, and that is that is that I had to be careful. Death was lurking in the form of AIDS, and this terrified me (and others). If you weren't there, try to imagine that you are invited to most wonderful party with the most beautiful people, but amongst the guests are men with knives waiting to gut you--and you can't see them until the knife is already in. Get the picture? 

Like most, I didn't quite know how to respond to what was going on. Nobody had prepared me for facing possible illness and death during the ascent of my youthful power, and there was little reassurance from family or even friends that I would make it through. It felt like everybody was like: "You're on your own--good luck!" So I did the only thing I knew that might protect me--I stopped having sex. Sort of.

I reduced my sexual activity to the bare minimum that could be done without exposing myself any more risk than necessary, and in doing so I successfully avoided contracting HIV. I don't know if I was smart or fortunate or a little bit of both, but please don't call me lucky. That is disrespectful to those who did not avoid the virus. There was no shining star protecting me--I merely minimized my exposure enough that the danger missed me. It was not the last time I relied on intuition to save my ass.

Believe it or not, life went on in the 80's, even with AIDS crashing the party. Have you ever been walking on the street and you see someone fall down? You express concern, and maybe even offer assistance, but you also note that you have to continue on your way and cannot let this incident stop you. It was a little bit like that. We were concerned, but we also had to continue on our way. Or maybe we were just too afraid to stop.

I continued on my way, music continued on its way, art continued on its way, and in the process the culture shifted. In 1984 we had to find another way to live and love, and our lives reflected this investigation. Perhaps this is when we began to prefer observation over participation? 

***

My Life in 1984:

1. City: San Diego
2. Where: my first apartment--a room in an old 3 bdrm house that I rented for $150/mo. There was just enough room for a twin bed and an upright dresser, on top of which I placed my 12" television set.
3. Job: I believe I was still working at the Safeway grocery store in Coronado, in the deli department, though that would not last long. I quit that job one day to spite my bitchy manager, and two days later got a job as a waiter in a gay Hillcrest eatery called "Teddy's Diner". It is no longer there.
4. Favorite songs: "Borderline" by Madonna, and "Love Is A Battlefield" by Pat Benatar. Both songs had amazing videos that hold up to this day, though Madonna's holds up a bit better than Pat's.
5. Favorite movies: Terminator, and Sixteen Candles. Both hold up well today. 

I shared the house I lived in with a couple of roommates, but I only remember one of them--he was another gay guy who did drag, and we were friends. He was funny, I thought. He was also the person who, one unforgettable day the year before, he told me that he had bought the album by the singer who did the "Burning Up" song that was a hit in the gay clubs. I remember saying to him, "Wait, she has an album?" 

Back then, we were used to one-hit wonders, especially when it came to dance music. In 1983, "Burning Up" was a song that I loved to dance to in the clubs, but nobody knew much about the singer, other than the assumption that she must be black. When my roommate told me he bought her album, I went downstairs and looked at it. This was the album cover:

The singer, of course, was Madonna, and this was her first album. At the time I thought she looked rather extreme (this was not how pop stars posed on album covers!). Although I was familiar with her previous singles, including "Holiday" and Lucky Star", in 1984 I would completely fall in love with her song "Borderline"; the accompanying video would cement her in my life as a new kind of perfect goddess. 

1984 was the year that Madonna became a fixture in my life (not just mine!). 

And another reason I bring her up in this essay is because from the start she acknowledged the duality of life and death. Her music and look represented what was fresh, new, and exciting, even when life was looking like it was over, and her early activism with AIDS showed us how to look this nightmare directly in the eyes while looking amazing--and dancing. 

***

As a professional dancer in training myself, I thought about where I wanted to go in the future, and the answer was not always clear. I knew that I dreamed of dancing for Madonna or Michael Jackson on tour, but who didn't? In 1984 I was two years out of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, without a degree (since I did not finish), but with an honorable discharge that put me squarely back at Step One. I had given up a directed, secure, and respected life for an insecure way of living and a unsupported dream that could be cut short at any time, but as I look back I have no regrets, just as I had none then. 

I had full confidence in the choices I made, even if others did not. My confidence was not about any guaranteed future, but instead about the certainty that my intuition would never let me down. In a way, intuition became the "higher power" I learned to respect, communicate with, and have faith in. It reassured me that trusting it would lead to a life rather than a living. How funny that I currently have both as a result of honoring its guidance! 

If there is one theme I wish to convey in this essay about 1984, it is that this was a time when the world, and my life, both fell apart and fell back together. It was a time where I lost my faith in god and parents, and found myself instead inspired by a bleached-blonde dancer/singer with a killer look who, coincidentally, also trusted her intuition. It was a time when I embrace my identify as an outsider, , without shame, and I found community with others who identified as the same. And it was a time when music pointed me in a direction of assertive self-expression and creative possibilities. 

I think this was when I really started to become an adult.