Fragments #91
My first kiss may have resulted directly from an incurable, almost spiritual, anglophilia I had known since as far back as I could remember. Though raised an American, Britain was the first thing I could identify on a map, even before school. As I hit adolescence, I found I had a remarkable talent for accents, as long as they were either foreign or, especially, English. I could nail any one of them from the north to the south of England. Oddly, the Scottish — and even more, the Irish — proved more challenging. Irish is very close to the American heart because of our immigration patterns, and I found that the closer an accent was to America, the harder it was for me, except the Southern accent, because I went to middle and high school there. Of course anyone can do Southern because it is everywhere in the media, so that was not special. What’s strange is that Boston? New England? Forget it. New York? Well, I’ve been here in the Bronx for a while, and hear from Californians that I become quite thick with it when I’m angry — but generally American accents are tough for me. Of course, Australian took a while, and mine still is a generalized movie cliche, I think. Maybe it is too close to the English accents.
Or not. What mattered in high school was that I could do English accents, not that most Americans I’ve known can hear the differences among them. Try “Frasier”, where Daphne’s large Manchester family is a collection from all over England, and even Australia. I’m sure the producers were counting on Americans not noticing, and it is true that English actors are better at American accents than the reverse (I’m looking at you, Renee Zellweger in “Bridget Jones’s Diary”). I often drop into an accent when I am talking, just for fun. (I prefer Bowie’s put-on Cockney in “Scary Monsters.”) I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done this and got a response from a guy (it is always a guy), with an accent he thinks is matching mine, but is actually a bad version of a bad Irish accent like Brad Pitt in “Snatch,” or something else more atrocious. Then I would watch as others seemed to be impressed with him, because they had not noticed the difference. I never say a word, though. Why bother?
What was fun in high school was using accents to expose the shallowness of certain girls. I remember in Junior year, this girl I had a crush on a few years earlier walked up to my group to talk to my friends. I ignored her, but not because I was trying to make time with her. I knew little about the female mentality then, I was just generally an asshole. Suddenly, I turned to her and said something snotty in my favorite Bowie. Her eyes lit up as I knew they would, and she became mush. I tell you, American girls will jump in front of a train with an English accent. Hilariously, none of my friends said a word, even though they knew I did this sort of thing. I said a few words to her, then dropped the accent and watched with a grin, as all the lust drained out of her to be replaced with look of loathing.
Later, I was to find myself getting my first kiss from her. It was a sloppy, inexpert, embarrassing affair, but it was worth it.
I understand religion now. It is like following someone who does all the work of pulling together all the icons and objects of worship so you don’t have to. All you have to do is show up and say, “All hail Bowie… All hail Bowie…,” then go on with whatever you were doing.
(via expressnothing)
Mummified priests in the Catacombe dei Cappuccini - photo by Marco Lanza
“Let’s dance!
Put on your red shoes and dance the blues…”
I thought i was one of the only ones who knew what pansexual was :)
Haha Indeed not (:
Yeah, this guy had a notion of it…
Put on some clothes, shake up your bed
Put another log on the fire for me
I’ve made some breakfast and coffee…”
