My Nerdoir

A nerdy, New Wave kid in East Texas during the 1980s.

Category: nerdoir

September 12, 2017

The Naked Time

by Jeff

Do you have photos of moments in your life that make you cringe? I have a handful of them, particularly from my early 20s, when I was searching for a path out of Texas. I had moved beyond my flashy New Wave days of makeup and big hair into a strange hybrid uniform of 1940s suit vests, cardigan sweaters, giant t-shirts, over-sized jeans, white boxer shorts, and black wingtip shoes. In 1993, my last year in Houston, the real crime was my goofy Roman haircut. I’m not sure why I thought I could make such an unflattering style into something cool.

This can work if you’re rugged,

or a rock star,

but not as a nerd.

My fashion faux pas was a personal line in the sand against the rise of grunge and its impact on the local art and bar scene. After graduating from high school, I had no trouble meeting interesting, attractive girls from the art and new wave scene, but my artsy friends and I saw ourselves as perpetual outsiders, happy to avoid trendy clichés. What we didn’t realize was that by identifying ourselves as outsiders, we were fulfilling another artistic stereotype. At least this stance offered us a small sense of self-worth and dignity in an environment that felt increasingly static. The Houston nightlife included the new bar Emo’s, which catered to the trendy grungy/alternative music scene that was rising at that time in which the standard patron was an avowed fan of Jane’s Addiction and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. On a typical night, the bartenders usually ignored me and my nerdy, un-inked friends, while the regular patrons were quickly served — reinforcing the message that we didn’t belong. This left us feeling invisible to anyone outside of our artsy circle, but it fueled our self-righteous resolve to reach escape velocity from the endless orbit of Texas.

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July 13, 2017

Always.

by Jeff

Odo – When you return to The Link, what will become of the entity I’m talking to right now?
Changeling – The drop becomes the ocean.
Odo – And if you choose to take solid form again?
Changeling – The ocean becomes a drop.

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, “Behind the Lines”

I.

I fell asleep while watching TV, but woke just before dawn to see this scene lighting up my room. Through the dreamy haze, I jumped up to film it with my phone, realizing that it was too beautiful to pass up. The clip is a detail from the opening credits of the late 1960s Lassie TV series.

The Lassie shows always intrigued me with their melancholy theme songs providing an underlying sense of longing and despair.

Each episode usually featured a formulaic conflict, followed by an unrealistic resolution. Lassie personified the dream that even though circumstances might look grim, any obstacle could be overcome through perseverance – and the assistance of a brilliant dog. Sitting in front of the TV during my summer mornings, Lassie’s super-heroic actions provided me with a daily lesson that alpha canine is superior to homo sapiens. This dream was juxtaposed with the lie hiding underneath – hard work and prayer don’t provide any genuine resolution. No god will intervene at the last minute, the way the god-dog Lassie miraculously appears to always save the day.

II.

During several times in my life, I have experienced moments of pure relaxation, which I equate to the serenity of a peaceful death. In those moments I’ve been able to let go of everything – thoughts, emotions, surroundings – and float in a pure, ego-less bliss. Occasionally, I have experienced a work of art which gives me the same tranquil feeling. It seldom occurs anymore with paintings, but I can still occasionally attain it with abstract music and film. Read the rest of this entry »

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Video | February 11, 2017

My Frakkin’ Goth Night – Battlestar Galactica at a Goth Club

by Jeff

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Image | December 26, 2016

by Jeff

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December 18, 2016

It’s a Wonderful Life

by Jeff

I tried to write today, but I was feeling low and nothing was happening so I headed to a thrift store on Pico. After surveying the block, I discovered a small store I had never  noticed before, which had several racks of men’s suits in the back. 
I was combing through them when the owner approached – an older gentleman with a long white beard and yarmulke, but not dressed traditionally. The soft spoken man began to talk earnestly about his business, which supports hundreds of families who have no other means to survive. He said that most of his items were donations from families in Beverly Hills, and based on the suits, that appeared true. 

We talked for about 10 minutes, discussing our place in the world as humans, as well as our responsibilities to ourselves and the planet. His belief in god peppered many of his ideas, but in spite of that difference, we agreed on how we are supposed to live our lives. It was so simple, and even though I have no religious belief, it was easy to say, “Yes, this is how we should try to live: Don’t be a selfish jerk. Understand that ownership doesn’t last forever, because everything is fleeting. The only things we genuinely have are a mind and body, and even those die off. Help anyone that you can while you have time and health. Be responsible and leave the world better than you found it.”

Then I told him that I’d gone to the theater last night to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and since it was a pristine digital print, for the first time I noticed the sign under the portrait of George Bailey’s dad in the Building and Loan office – “All that you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.”

We shook hands and introduced ourselves, then I pulled out $12 to pay for a beautiful blue suit.

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Featured

The Hunger – Bauhaus and the Endless Void of Teenage Depression

by Jeff

I.

I peer into the depths of a black tarp, loosely stapled across a makeshift wall. There is a constant hustle of people shuffling past as they rush to cobble together a haunted house for this elementary school carnival within 24 hours. By my side is David Johnson, a great neighborhood friend. I’d invited him to help paint this mural because I envy his casual confidence when we collaborate on our knock-off Garfield comic strips. We stand transfixed, staring into the endless void of black as the heavy, plastic scent of the tarp fills the air. In the background, the creepy noises from a sound effects album swirl around us as a plaintive dog howls in the distance, glass breaks and a wind storm pushes past.

I abruptly pull a comic book out of a manila envelope to use as a source, then grab a medium-sized paint brush, open a quart of dark purple latex paint and start roughly painting the outlines of a huge swamp monster emerging from the black screen. This is the creature known as Swamp Thing. David opens a bright green quart of paint and begins filling in the forms of the monster. It is 1980 in Texas, only a few days before Halloween and I am 12 years old.

bernie-wrightson-swamp-thing-9

Bernie Wrightson’s cover to Swamp Thing #9, from 1974.

Several years later I’m sitting in an R-rated movie that I’ve snuck into with two of my nerdy best friends, David Gregg and Mike. We sit transfixed, staring into the endless void of black as the heavy, buttery popcorn scent fills the air. In the background, the rhythm of brisk staccato drumming swirls around us as the title The Hunger flies out from the darkness and floats on the screen. Soon we are entranced by the appearance of an unearthly, ghostly thin singer encased in a wire cage. Read the rest of this entry »

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December 1, 2016

Estate Sales – Where the Dead Can Dance

by Jeff

I didn’t realize that I would have a problem when I wore the dead man’s shirt to the goth club.

When I first saw it at the estate sale, the black button-down was perfectly folded and stored in a withered dry cleaning bag, with the ancient identification tag looped through a starched buttonhole. Lifting it from the closet shelf, I guessed that it hadn’t been worn for 20 years.

The house had a musty odor that followed closely as I explored the rooms. Had the deceased owner been a former smoker? Considering the lingering scent, I sniffed the shirt and thought, “Does it smell like the house?”

It was only $1, so I brought it home and tossed it into the dryer for 10 minutes. It had no odor afterwards, so it hung forgotten in the closet until I needed a black shirt for the goth club.

At first everything was fine – I arrived at the club, enjoyed a drink, and moved onto the dance floor. Soon enough, the problem began. I was wearing a black jacket over the shirt, as well as black pants and a silk scarf tied as an ascot. As the night progressed and I continued dancing, my body temperature rose. After an hour of bopping around, I was feeling great and in touch with the music when I suddenly realized, “Wait…what’s that smell?!” I casually sniffed the air as I kept dancing, looking for a source when I realized that it was me! The air was filled with the unmistakable odor of the dusty house, wafting off me like a gruesome cologne of decay. That stench had been embedded dormant in the shirt, but was triggered by my body heat!

I kept to myself after that, which isn’t tough to do when you go dancing alone at a goth club.

When people ask if I believe in ghosts, I respond that I’m fascinated, but that I don’t believe. However in this case, the owner of that house was reluctant to let his shirt go. He had haunted me with his dusty stench, tagging along for a ride. It reminded me of the Disneyland warning: “Beware of hitchhiking ghosts.”

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Super 8 Home Movies Project #2

by Jeff

After a recent trip to Texas, I returned with a suitcase overflowing with Super 8 films from my childhood. Most of this footage ranges from the late 1960s through the 1970s. My goal is to regularly post about a random film, along with related memories prior to watching it. I will follow this with my response after the viewing.

June 1973 – Camping at Garner State Park, Texas

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BEFORE

Why do kids love to feed animals? Seeing this box triggered a pleasant memory of my family driving to a cabin for a weekend stay in the forest at the edge of a lake in East Texas. Along the drive through the low-lying forests on the outskirts of Houston, my sister and I were endlessly repeating the annoying “Are we there yet?” thing that kids do. We arrived in the slightly overcast late afternoon with the sun hanging on the tree tops as I went outside, overjoyed to see ducks and geese at the edge of the water. I ran back to the cabin, grabbed several pieces of white bread, then charged outside calling to the animals. Instantly I was surrounded by a sea of birds, all flapping, quacking and honking in unison. Read the rest of this entry »

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September 21, 2016

Super 8 Home Movies Project #1

by Jeff

On a recent trip to Texas, I returned with a suitcase overflowing with Super 8 films from my childhood. Most of this footage ranges from the late 1960s through the 1970s. My goal is to regularly post about a random film, along with related memories prior to watching it. I will follow this with my response after the viewing.

October 1972 Halloween party at 2702 Sweetgum St., Pasadena Texas

fullsizerender

BEFORE

Everything is blurry, maybe from my poor vision and the mask I wore, but possibly from my hazy memories. My parents put together a Halloween party for my sister Michaelle and I one night in October 1972, when I would have recently turned 5 years old and Michaelle 7. My cousin Angela, who was my age, probably came along too. Read the rest of this entry »

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September 13, 2016

Summit Bars and Other Strange Things

by Jeff

I was recently digging through a few old storage boxes when I discovered a package I had sealed away in 1983. At the age of 15, inspired by an article about time capsules in the Houston Chronicle, I placed a Summit candy bar into a Ziploc bag, which I then wrapped in a bundle of aluminum foil, followed by Saran Wrap, before gluing the mummified package into a cigar box. To make it official I carefully hand-lettered the box “DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 2013” with a black marker. I loved Summit bars, so when I heard they were being discontinued I decided it was the perfect item to bury into my makeshift capsule.

I was surprised to see that the package survived the rat and roach-infested journey of my life from Texas to New York and then Los Angeles intact. Feeling like an archeologist, I used an X-ACTO knife to surgically pry open the seal on the box and extract the mummified candy from the cardboard sarcophagus. After carefully pulling open the plastic and foil, I was struck by the familiar orange and brown colors of the wrapper, still pristine after 33 years. It is a perfect graphic design from the time, implying a landscape with the “MM” forming a mountain top while the dot on the “I” becomes a sun. Read the rest of this entry »

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