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Posts Tagged ‘prince’

Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life

Electric word life
It means forever and that’s a mighty long time
But I’m here to tell you
There’s something else
The after world

A world of never ending happiness
You can always see the sun, day or night

So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills
You know the one, Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright
Instead of asking him how much of your time is left
Ask him how much of your mind, baby

‘Cause in this life
Things are much harder than in the after world
In this life
You’re on your own

Prince 1958 -2016

PsychoBunnyPrinceWEB

Psycho Bunny does Prince. 1958 – 2016

 

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Continuing where I left off yesterday, (Yesterday’s blog post) now I’m going into music pins, buttons and badges of the 1980s.

My button collection started during my preteen years. It was around sometime during the early ’80’s, and I had just discovered rock music. The closest supplier of these badges was a local head shop called Yogi Lala, located in Astoria, Queens. For a small shop it was jammed packed full of juvenile delinquent merchandise. All sorts of hippie accouterments, silver biker jewelry, patches, drug paraphernalia, and hard rock band tee shirts. If you wanted the back of your jean jacket painted with a rendition of a particular Black Sabbath album cover, this was the place. For good measure, Yogi Lala mixed the sex, drugs and rock n roll wares with some 14k gold trinkets.

There was certainly a variety of genres covered within the rock music merch this place sold. Not only did they have your average classic rock groups like The Who, Led Zepplin, Pink Floyd, etc., but they also had the burn out Hard Rock stuff, Heavy Metal, and the newer New Wave and some Punk rock stuff. Mostly the more famous, or should I stay infamous bands like The Sex Pistols.

If you couldn’t find what you were looking for in Yogi’s, you could always walk further down Steinway Street, which to this day is one of Astoria’s main shopping areas, and check out Jolly Joint. The Jolly Joint’s store was a bit more spread out. It was a head shop as well, with a tiny more emphasis on the music. Jolly Joint was pretty successful in its day, with a second shop on Main Street, located in Flushing, Queens.

Jolly Joint is no more. Yogi Lala is still around, but they mostly sell gold jewelry now.

Anyway, I would start to buy these small music pins from these kind of stores. The pins would be proudly arranged with style and care on my jacket before heading off to my crappy junior high. The other kids would make fun of me listening to rock music, but I paid them no mind. I loved The Go-Go’s, Joan Jett, Soft Cell, Human League and David Bowie.

Metal David Bowie pin from the 1980s. Let’s Dance era. Most likely brought at Yogi Lala during 1983. Photo by Michele Witchipoo.

I was very fascinated with the whole New Wave and Punk subculture, even back in junior high, although my tastes at the time were more mainstream. Guess this is when I started observing different types of counter cultures.

Assortment of Culture Club pins from the 1980s. Check out the “Boy George for President” button. Maybe since it’s election year in 2012, should I start wearing this again? Photo by Michele Witchipoo.

Then came Culture Club. I loved Boy George so much, I even tried to dress like him. If you look in the photo, you can see a button that says “Boy George For President.” As I type this, it’s election year of 2012. Perhaps I should start wearing this one again?

Anyway, my attempts of emulating the Boy just resulted in more verbal abuse from my classmates. The comments got more ignorant too. My favorite one? “Are you a fag lover?”

Since I hated my junior high so much, I swore I would never continue getting my education alongside these ignorant f-heads. So I applied for a whole bunch of the NYC ‘magnet’ schools. To both my surprise and relief, I got immediately accepted into the High School of Art and Design. From there I met more like-minded peers. One of these kids would take me to my first ‘underground’ club, despite the underage factor. It was the original Danceteria, and I loved every second of it. Another girl took me to my first excursion into Greenwich Village. It was up and down 8th street to be exact. Eighth street at the time was the main shopping strip of the village area, full of record stores, imported shoe shops, clothing stores, etc. Located towards more going 6th avenue was The Postermat. That was my new found base for my button fix.

During my freshman year, my tastes in music was leaning towards mainstream rock, top-40, new wave and imported UK pop bands. I was still big into Culture Club then. For a brief time though, I was listening to the newer metal bands like Motley Crue and Twisted Sister.

Dee Snider, lead singer of Twisted Sister. 1980s pin. Possibly gotten from a button trade. Photo by Michele Witchipoo.

Sometimes us A&D students would trade with one another. I traded something for the U2 band shot, as seen in the middle of the pic below. I think a friend gave me the Cyndi Lauper and Prince pins. A loner guy mysteriously gave me the Billy Idol one. I forgot where the Frankie Goes To Hollywood button came from. Check out the photo below. I’m surprised I still even have these.

Various 1980s music buttons. Photo by Michele Witchipoo.

Needless to say this phase didn’t last long. I discovered Siouxsie and The Banshees. Right there everything changed. Went to Astor Place for a major haircut, dying my hair much to my father’s chagrin. My wardrobe completely changed. I discovered Bleecker Bob’s, purchasing a second hand pair of combat boots. Boy, did those boots piss my mom off.

Most importantly, my music tastes had changed. I embraced the classic 80s Goth and Post-Punk bands. I liked much of the seminal ’77 Punk stuff, like The Ramones, for example. Although I never got into the Hardcore or crossover genres that much. As you can guess, my button collection reflected this. Instead of Culture Club and U2, I had bands such as The Damned, Bauhaus, and Sisters of Mercy. Most of the classic 80s Goth bands found a spot on my schoolbag. Only I wasn’t going to school as much. I had also discovered playing hooky. That particular discovery is something I still regret to this very day. I’m making up for lost time now, but there’s still a ping of regret somewhere.

Unfortunately, most of my button collection from that particular time is gone. Don’t know where they went. Perhaps they’re in a draw somewhere at my parents’ house, but at this point I’m not going to bother looking. It’s the past after all.

I did find this, however. An X-Ray Specs pin, which I think I might’ve gotten from the original Manic Panic shop in St. Mark’s Place. Was it that, or was it the pin that said “Oh bondage up yours!” I think it was the latter. That particular pin was stolen by none other than this kid Mike Waste. He stole from almost everyone. Not only did he steal that pin, he also stole my Cure shirt and something else. A total creep who told tall tales. He had ratty hair extensions that clung for dear life from the brim of his cap. Yet I heard about the early Industrial bands through him. I always knew he lifted from me. I suppose twenty years later I’m kinda sorta getting my revenge by calling him out on a public blog.

Here’s the X-Ray Specs pin that escaped Mike Waste’s grimey paws:

X-Ray Specs badge. Photo by Michele Witchipoo.

Now that I’ve blogged about these pins, perhaps its time to finally get rid of them. After all, they served their purpose. Maybe sell them on eBay or something. Besides, I’ve got my memories. You can never take that away.

However, if all else fails, you can tell people this:

Where’s the beef? Button from mid-1980s television commercial ad. The slogan was part of the Wendy’s burger campaign during 1983-84. Photo by Michele Witchipoo.

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“Taxi! Taxi!
Lady cab driver — Can U take me 4 a ride?
Don’t know where I’m goin’ ‘cuz I don’t know where I’ve been
So just put your foot on the gas — let’s drive”
– Lady Cab Driver, 1984 song by Prince.

Ah, New York City. Sweet, sweet New York City. Here in the big, bad rotten apple we are surrounded by multicultural smorgasbord of art, film, theater, music, fashion, food…and douchebags who have the nerve to call themselves yellow taxi cab drivers.

yellow cab accident oct. 2009

Hey, first of all, I understand that the task of driving a cab is rather thankless and rough. As a livery person, you gotta deal with obnoxious drunks, bad tippers and overall rudeness. It could even be dangerous, for the next passenger might even have a gun hidden in his pocket. Next thing you know, the cab driver’s brains have spilled all over behind the steering wheel.

Some cab drivers are basically making ends meet until their next big break, a la like that 70s TV show ‘Taxi.’ Your next cabbie could be a struggling actor, artist, writer, musician, or even going for his/her PhD. Some cabbies have even been considered “heroes” helping delivering babies from the back seat, or saving passengers from a certain fate…

I have yet to meet cab drivers who possess some of the above mentioned qualities.

Perhaps its my “karma” or “cause and effect”…but I’ve had some pretty lousy experiences with the yellow cab world. Sure, I’ve met some really nice cabbies. I wish I could meet more. For example, I had a cab driver rush me home so I could pick up my tickets and arrive on time to catch Throbbing Gristle in concert. (Throbbing Gristle was touring through the US at the time, Spring 2009) Unfortunately in my case, the cons have outweighed the pros.

Since I’ve shared one positive cab experience with you, allow me to share some negative ones. Besides the ones who chat on their cell all damn day while missing your exit. Besides the ones who don’t carry a GPS device in their vehicles. Besides the ones who try to be slick, asking where you’re going before you get into the car. Besides the ones who pretend they don’t know where they’re going, raising the fare in the meter, relaying the cost to you. Besides the cab drivers who conveniently take the scenic route on your time. Especially the ones who refuse to take you on as a passenger, or refuse to take you to your destination. Which btw, is highly illegal, but cabbies do this none less.

I’ve had cab drivers proposition me sexually. Once, I’ve had this cab driver ask me to watch him masturbate. As he went to pull his stick shift out, that was my cue to exit. One time I hailed a cab, got in, and saw the cabbie smoking pot. He turns to me in a low, tough intimidating voice: “you don’t mind if I smoke do you?” (so let’s take a break and three cheers for those Jamaican stereotypes.)

In the looks department I’m not even all that. So imagine if a really hot chick gets in the back seat of one those awful cab rides.

Ironically, as I type this, I remind myself of a song I used to listen to during my tween years. Either the last year of junior high or freshman year in high school. Someone gave me a cassette copy of that Prince album “1999.” One of the songs from that album was “Lady Cab Driver.” To this day, I still think that song is hot. As in sexy steamy hot. Raw sexuality in the back of a cab, no questions asked. No thoughts of happy ever after, just him and the lady cab driver getting it on. Sometimes people just wanna screw.

“Lady cab driver — Can U take me 4 a ride?

Lady cab driver, roll up your window fast
Lately trouble winds r blowin’ hard, and I don’t know if I can last”

I never wanted the white picket fence with the SUV and being the queen of the soccer team. Romance, sure, but I never had that pre-Desperate Housewife fantasy. Lady Cab Driver though…now that was a hot fantasy. Hard, sweet aggression and with each thrust translates all that frustration into the best fuck you’ve ever had. Now that was a fantasy. One of my fantasies. Oh yeah baby, you can take your frustrations right out on me, right here in the back seat.

“This is 4 the cab U have 2 drive 4 no money at all
This is 4 why I wasn’t born like my brother, handsome and tall
This is 4 politicians who r bored and believe in war
This — Yeah, that’s 4 me, that’s who that 1’s 4
This is 4 discrimination and egotists who think supreme
And this is 4 whoever taught U how 2 kiss in designer jeans
That 1’s 4– That 1’s 4– 4 U have 2 live
This 1’s 4 the rich, not all of ’em, just the greedy —
The ones that don’t know how 2 give
This 1’s 4 Yosemite Sam and the tourists at Disneyland
And this 1– ooh! Yeah — That’s the 1.
That’s 4– that’s 4 the– the creator of man
This is 4 the sun, the moon, the stars, the tourists at Disneyland
This is 4 the ocean, the sea, the shore
This is 4– and that’s 4 U, and that’s who that 1’s 4
This is 4 the women, so beautifully complex
This 1’s 4 love without sex
This is 4 the wind that blows no matter how fast or slow
Not knowing where I’m going
This galaxy’s better than not having a place 2 go
And now I know (I know)”

Back to reality. Now if I had a hot cab driver, maybe I would consider these propositions. Just maybe. I seriously doubt I will find stinky, cranky, nasty men as sexy as that song. Sorry, pot bellies, mumbling immigrant accents and being an overall asshole just doesn’t do it for me.

How’s this for an example?
Would *You* Fuck This?
I rest my case.

Now the reason why I’m venting virtually for the world to see. Last night, me and the boyfriend got invited to the movies. The latest Terry Gilliam flick was showing in the AMC near Lincoln Center. So after ‘The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus’ was over (Pretty good film, actually. Maybe I’ll post about it some other time…) we decided to head over downtown. The heavy rain led to our decision to take a cab. The weekend before I had gone to a holiday party over at Jim Hanley’s Universe. Thanks to the heavy snow, three cab drivers refused service to me and my friend. Because they didn’t want to take us to Queens. So I wasn’t exactly thrilled to take a cab the following weekend. Yet it was raining so…we get a cab.

Me, Bejay, his partner Kevin and my boyfriend get inside the cab. The boyfriend gets in the front seat next to the cab driver. As me and Bejay talk about the film, the cab driver begins his own conversation with the boyfriend. He starts off by asking Ben (the boyfriend) how his year has been going. Of course, Ben is the type of person who sees the dark lining in every cloud. So his answer was as woeful as ever. The cab driver offers the solution to all of Ben’s ‘problems.’

“What you need to do” suggested the cab driver “is to eat more pussy.”

So as the cab driver relishes in the joys of eating pussy, and as much pussy as you can get, mind you, there was silence from the backseat. Me and Bejay looked at each other stunned, but Kevin didn’t seem to care. Me and Bejay looked at each other again…then Bejay blurted out “How about them Cleveland Browns?”

Mr. Pussy-Eating Cab Driver was on a roll. He bragged to his ‘captive’ audience about how wonderful eating pussy can be. His technique to getting as much pussy as he can is to hold down two jobs. He’s a school bus driver by day, and a cab driver by night. Sarcastically I remarked that he since he drives a school bus, he must get plenty of ‘young’ pussy.

Not catching the snark in my remark, he proclaims “Oh yes!!! Young pussy is the best!!!”

I took a look at the world’s biggest pussy expert in the yellow cab universe. He looked like a real skanky, greasy version of Borat. Only his hair was longer and slicked back. Slicked back in case he wanted to eat more pussy. Less hair in the way. Come to think of it, I’m surprised he didn’t have a goateee, aka a “taste saver.” But I suppose with just the facial stubble, it would be easier to wipe off those extra vaginal excretions.

“How about those Cleveland Browns?” Bejay chimed in again, trying to change the subject.

Ben takes out his cellphone to show cab driver that as a matter of fact, he does get pussy, thank you very much. On the display window on his cellphone was a pic of me. You know, the type of photo a girl sends to her guy when they’re first dating. It was a sexy one of me posing in a black bra. I still can’t believe Ben has that pic still on his cell. I still can’t believe Ben showed this pussy obsessed cab driver a photo of me. What the hell was Ben thinking? “Don’t show him that photo!” I snapped, “Put that away!”

Anyway, as Ben shows the cab driver that not only does Ben get pussy, but that his own pussy is sitting in the back of the cab. This very cab. Wrong move of course. I was proclaimed by the cab driver that I was “hot pussy” and if he was Ben “he’d make sure he get a job so he can keep on getting that pussy.”

Now here’s the clincher: we reach our designation in the West Village. The cab driver tries to convince Ben to pay the fare in cash. However, Bejay took his credit card, and swipped it in time saving Ben from paying the fare. I think the cab driver knew Bejay had paid the fare, but was still trying to take the cash from Ben. So he could be paid twice as much. His crummy little scam failed, because there was three witnesses from the back seat compared to the one passenger in the front seat. So the pussy eating cab driver got (pussy) whipped, forcing to pay Ben back. He grumbled during the refund, then swiping the receipt and crumbling it up before we had a chance to ask for it. In case we just might file a complaint.

So the cab driver sped off in search of more pussy. My thought was this…if he was getting so much pussy, then why the hell was he spending his Saturday night driving a cab? Isn’t Saturday night prime pussy time? The hell. Then again, there was the possibility of the cab driver, with all the pussy innuendos, was actually making a pass at Ben. As in reverse psychology. He wasn’t sure enough to outright make a homosexual advance, so he started talking about pussy. In case. Not the first time guys have dropped sexual hints towards Ben. Only Ben didn’t find the humor with this cab experience. I couldn’t help but laugh though. It was absurd to begin with.

The saddest part was that the cab driver’s prophesying the joys of pussy had been wasted. His proclamation was spent on two gay men, one woman, and her boyfriend who actually doesn’t have a problem eating pussy. It would’ve been nice to have that speech heard by men clueless about female oral satisfaction, but I guess that’s fate.

And you wonder why yellow cabs have the same color as piss.

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