My best friend in grade school had a cooler house than mine. Not only did she have a front porch, but her bedroom had slanty ceilings and hidden closets you could hide in. She had her own phone. They had a very plush and funky velvet couch we never sat on. They also had cable.
My mother did not have cable. We couldn't afford it. We were also the last people I knew to have a microwave and "totalphone" in the 80's, but it was the lack of cable that hurt the most, because lack of cable meant lack of MTV.
See, MTV isn't what it used to be. MTV used to belong to me and my friends. We would sit watching for hours WATING for that ONE VIDEO that we passionately loved ("Hungry Like The Wolf", or maybe later, "Hot For Teacher"). We ended up watching a lot of strange stuff that the English bands were doing. Little did I know we were in the midst of the Second British Invasion as music critics like to call early New Wave of the post punk early 80s.
No band personified it for me more than the Cure. Here was this yelpy dude with crazy hair and lipstick and flat out saying he wanted to go to Bed, which MEANT SEX! Freaky AND titilating.
I can't hear the opening notes of this song without being thrust into my best friend's living room, in the dark, sitting on the floor with our back against her couch, butt numb from sitting for hours, eating Elio's Frozen Pizza.
