Mother Sullivan strikes again.
Some of you might remember what my mother brought me from the Sullivan Archives on her last trip -- turns out a few of you were fans of The Book of Lists as well. She's not been back, but that didn't stop her from sending along another prized possession from my childhood.
Other boys had posters of Farrah Fawcett on their bedroom walls; I had Kiss posters. Other boys stayed up watching HBO hoping to see a second or two of boobs; I stayed up watching Kiss lip-sync on Don Kirshner's Rock Concert (well, when there weren't any boobs to see). The songs were pre-recorded, but the flash pots sure as hell were real, and staying up to watch it was worth every bleary-eyed second on Sunday morning.
This belt buckle (dated 1977 on the underside) no doubt came from one of Poughkeepsie, New York's finer head shops. If you're not old enough to remember strip-mall head shops, your life isn't as rich as it could be. Sorry, but it's true. I don't know where you spent 85% of your allowance, but mine went straight into Gene Simmons' pockets and up Peter Criss' nose.
Intense as my obsession was (this is far from the only Kiss belt buckle I owned -- Mom, WTF?) it didn't last forever. Kiss soon gave way to the Talking Heads and the Clash and the Ramones and to bands that I still listen to 30 years later. But I don't remember them having gear this awesome.
3 comments:
My 23 year old son and his 19 year old brother went thru a KISS phase shortly after we refused them both Marilyn Manson white contacts, and for 15 years the KISS figures hung from our ceiling on nylon fishing line (as did approximately 100 superheros and their various familiars). When I finally took it all down last year because everything was growing dust moss, I told the kids they could only keep the figures they could still name and they could name them all. WTF, boyz????? So now we have a box of dust covered superheros and KISS in the attic (worth a million to collectors in 20 years --HAH)! I do this to honor my husband, a rabid Chas Addams fan who cut out every single Chas Addams cartoon the New Yorker ran for about ten years, and carefully pasted them 9every single one of them sans caption, in a scrapbook, which his mother threw away, along with a set of Chas Addams plates his aunt gave him. That lingering bitterness was a warning to me about boys and their fetishes. I dare you to wear the belt buckle and dance the robot and put it on youtube.
July 23, 2008 4:04 PM
KIDS IN SATANS SERVICE!!!
Post a Comment