Party of One Read Online Free Page B

a way that might qualify as an actual medical condition. Recently, Steve and his wife, Betsy, went on a last-minute ski vacation, and with no time to shop for her own, Betsy borrowed my mother’s ski vest. The first ski lift they got on, their seatmate was golfer Phil Mickelson. Steve and Betsy looked at each other and said the same thing: “It’s a
pheromone.
”

    *2 And I mean
bitter:
the show ended its four-decade-plus network run on a cliffhanger in which a drunk and rageful J.R. shot blindly into a party.
Who did J.R. shoot?
was the question they intended to leave us with, hoping we’d forget that at least a third of the guests at this party had already died on camera. Some had actually returned as ghosts for holiday episodes, or donated organs to other characters who were also at that party, but somehow they had been found in the basement of Dr. David Hayward, who had been keeping them alive this whole time—even the ones who had died when he would have been, like, eleven years old. Who cares who gets shot when there’s a guy in town who can
cure death
? (You guys, I might still be holding on to some anger and frustration about the way
All My Children
ended.)

The pop culture of the mid- to late 1970s had no interest in entertaining children, which worked out beautifully because I had no particular interest in being a child. I was a sponge for all the music, TV, and movies I could get my eyes and ears on, and even the silly shit left a mark forever. Here are a few of the reasons I can’t hold down a regular job.
    Grease,
The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
    I begged for and received the soundtrack to
Grease
(a movie I had seen and not understood) in the summer of 1978 and swiftly went about the business of learning every single word, which required me to stop my father in the middle of his lawn mowing and ask, “What’s a tit?”
Grease
was a pretty filthy soundtrack—much filthier than the presence of a pre-“Physical” Olivia Newton-John would suggest—and while it may have worried my parents to hear me singing “she’s a real pussy-wagon” and “get your filthy paws off my silky drawers,” what really should have had them concerned was such early, prolonged exposure to Stockard Channing.
    The Carol Burnett Show
    If subtlety had been invented in the mid-1970s, it did not get through the doors of CBS Television City. Carol and the gang were turned all the way up all of the time, which for a child’s first exposure to sketch comedy is actually perfect. They did show-length parodies of
Mildred Pierce
and
Gone With the Wind
—movies I had not seen—and yet I ate it up. Could Harvey Korman have pulled it together once in a while? Sure. But it was the first time I saw grown-ups goofing off in an effective, efficient way, and I wanted in. (Honorable mention goes to Cher. In the early ’70s, we said to Cher, “Listen: we know that you have a lovely, husky singing voice and a body for Bob Mackie gowns, but can you also do broad comedy?” And she said: “You know what? Let’s find out together.”)
    “Hot Stuff”—Donna Summer
    Children don’t really get euphemism—sexual euphemism, particularly. So when this song came out, and Donna Summer was on the radio pleading for some hot stuff baby this evening, I assumed she was asking for a soothing bowl of clam chowder. I thought:
Donna Summer is enthusiastic about a hearty soup, and she doesn’t care who knows it.
As with most truths you learn in adulthood, this one really disappointed.
    “Lay Down Sally”—Eric Clapton
    What I loved about this one was the emotional bait and switch Eric plays with Sally. He spends most of the song begging her to stay the night, and then once he’s convinced her, he’s all: “Don’t you ever
leave
?” Man, isn’t that adulthood right there, I thought. Just when you think you know where you stand with someone, they toss you right out on your ass. And then an older kid in the neighborhood set me straight.