borderline

i am old enough to know that the term "wannabe" was coined for the early 80's madonna obsessed teens who dressed like her, danced like her and wanted to be just. like. her.

and like, that was totally, me.

like madonna, "like, totally," never really left the english vernacular. and neither did my star struck admiration for all things material (girl). it's tough admiring the most commercial of 80's icons, while traversing the plains of high school angst, but she had me by the fingerless gloves and fishnet bow in my kinked out hair.

i love all kinds of music, but i am a slave to the hook. the relentless pop song beat that gets jammed into your hard drive, impossible to eject. so when the first few notes from that casio board jumped my desk top transistor radio, i cranked it. and high.

{"something in the way you love me won't let me be"...}

1983. parachute pants with backwards pockets. utterly impractical, but totally awesome. shoelace thin ties, and neon bright shoelaces. everything rip torned; jeans, fishnet stockings and off the shoulder t's that hung above your knees.

more is more was the yuppies' daily mantra...

[take down wall street anyone?]

more makeup than a post-communist russian immigrant could ever slather on. more cocaine than escobar could ever traffic. and more great music than brandon flowers could ever write.

[i can't believe i just wrote that.]

when madonna's squeaky, pre--evita, minnie mouse voice drummed my ear, i hit the nearest record store the way i would one day hit an l.a. pharmacy. with nervous, anticipatory glee...

{"i don't want to be your prisoner, so baby won't you set me free"...}

but despite her record setting song book of chart topping hits, her astounding chameleon transformations and her inspiring commitment to health, i eventually came to realize i was a certified "wannabe" for only one reason.

she is.

madonna. the material girl. madge. the ex-mrs. ritchie. esther. lourdes, rocco, david and mercy's mom...

society flocks to pigeonhole her, but like johnny weir, you can't clip wings that fly this high...

joan jett, blondie, pat benatar, madonna: independent, magnetic, street smart, wild, wailing women; me: puppy love, imitation station and fatal attraction to their true blue stripes and stars...

{"just try to understand, i've given all i can"...}

madonna is who she is. you may not like what she stands for, but she stands for what she likes.

and she pushes everything right up to the borderline.

despite losing her mother. despite her rape. despite her divorce.

{"'cause you got the best of me"...}

she straddles it, flirting with the razor's edge, paper cutting, but never bleeding heart.

[hmmmm...]

maybe that's why she's alone (do 24-year-old boy toys count?).

maybe we have more in common than our middle names.

maybe we both need to straddle the borderline.