Tunesday : Jet Boy Jet Girl

Jet Boy Jet Girl

(Deprijck, F / Lacomblez, Y) Performed by Elton Montello

Can you tell what's on my mind
She's with him it's driving me wild
I'd like to hit him on the head until he's dead
The sight of blood is such a high
Oh
He gives me head

We made it on a Ballroom Blitz
I took his arms and kissed his lips
He looked at me with such a smile my face turned red
We booked a room into the Ritz
Oh
He gives me head
Jet boy jet girl
I'm gonna take you 'round the world
Jet boy I'm gonna make you penetrate
I'm gonna make you be a girl
Oh
Jet boy jet girl

I know I'm only just fifteen
I like to kick I like to scream
And even if I had a kink or two in bed with him
You know it's just a dream
Oh
He gives me head

Jet boy jet girl
I'm gonna take you 'round the world
Jet boy I'm gonna make you penetrate
I'm gonna make you be a girl
Oh
Jet boy jet girl

The other day what a surprise
I saw him with some other guys
God he was dressed up with a girl around his neck
I could have cried with both my eyes
Oh
He gives me head

And if and when I make it though
Or if my brain is stuck on glue
And when the world tries to forget all that I said
You know I'll still remember you
Oh
You gave me head

Jet boy jet girl
I'm gonna take you 'round the world
Jet boy I'm gonna make you penetrate
I'm gonna make you be a girl
Oh
Jet boy jet girl

This is another song that was a favourite of my freaky group of friends, a favourite of mine, in that first year of university. I understand that the lyrics are, perhaps, shocking (and would especially be so to anyone who actually knows me), but I was always only just playing at the fringes of shock. It might say PUNK in big pink letters on that album cover, but this was a very conventional sounding song that was a blast to dance to -- the fact that I was singing along to naughty lyrics in public was all a big game, made hilariously ironic by the poppy melody. So much of what we listened to and danced to was in this pocket of ironic hilarity; for me anyway.

This week, as that heading picture suggests, I want to talk briefly about the movies we watched as a group. Remember: back in the 80s, watching a movie meant going to the video store (which, at the time in Lethbridge, wasn't a big chain store), looking through the limited options, and then selecting from amongst what was unrented: this was no Netflix. If it was up to me, I probably would have chosen one of the campy horror movies that always seemed available and intriguing (Eating Raoul, I Dismember Mama, Basket Case), but as in all things, I demurred to the more sophisticated tastes of my friends.

I remember watching Eraserhead and not getting a thing out of it. I remember watching SubUrbia and Quadrophenia and marvelling at the way my friends raved about how they captured the zeitgeist -- but they didn't for me: I was no disillusioned youth; no rebel. This was always a game for me. I'm sure there were more nihilistic movies that I'm forgetting, but there's one movie I'll always remember, even if I've forgotten its title (durr, I know).

I don't know who selected this for a group movie night, but it was a quasi-pornographic, quasi-documentary about making people's sexual fantasies come true. It started with the setup -- putting an ad in the paper, interviewing applicants -- and then walked step-by-step through to each conclusion. This movie totally foresaw the appeal of reality TV, because that's what was compelling about it: cheap video, low production values, confessionals to the camera, and always always focussed on these people and their real, kind of sad, fantasies.

In one storyline, a man had always fantasised about making love to a female version of himself. He was overweight, with a handlebar moustache, stringy hair, and a Latino accent, but he was sincere and excited to be a part of the project; overjoyed to be selected. When we get to watch his fulfillment scene, this man is dressed in a sexy feathered peignoir and a long, blonde wig in a room full of mirrors. As he ogles himself and runs his hands up and down his body inside the lingerie, the look on the man's face is ecstatic and we all stared open-mouthed: he's happy about this? As it turns out, yes: in the post-fantasy interview, wig askew and brow sweaty, this man was grateful to have been given this opportunity. When asked if he would consider doing this again, I will never forget his final words as he rubbed a meaty hand along his chin: Maybe next time I chave. 

In another storyline, this little weasly looking man with tinted glasses and a porn 'stache explains that his fantasy is to ram his entire fist inside a woman. In his fulfillment scene, he is given a giant can of Crisco and a willing participant. The camera is focussed on the front of the woman, who is on her hands and knees on some kind of a platform, and she is wearing lingerie that totally covers her from our vantage. She keeps smiling into the camera the entire time as we watch the weasel over her shoulder, him getting more and more frustrated as his fist refuses to fit inside her vagina, and although he keeps apologising in the event he's hurting the woman, she just smiles and giggles and shrugs as well as she can while balancing forward on her palms. It was surreal to watch. He eventually gave up and left kind of angry: surely the producers could have found him a woman with a more compliant anatomy?

Jet boy jet girl
I'm gonna take you 'round the world
Jet boy I'm gonna make you penetrate
I'm gonna make you be a girl
Oh oh oh oh
Jet boy jet girl

Now, our gang of friends was guys and girls both, but most of the guys were gay and most of the girls had boyfriends outside the group: for whatever titillating reasons this movie was picked, it wasn't intended to start an orgy; and in the end, it wasn't in the least sexy or graphic. We were all university students and we watched like anthropologists observing an uncontacted culture, and when this movie was done, we talked about it forever ("Maybe next time I chave" became a favourite catch phrase). I don't remember if we ever decided it was more sad or hilarious: should we feel sorry for these sad little men and their sad little dreams or laugh at the absurdity of their low budget fulfillment? We weren't cynical enough, hadn't yet been exposed to the manipulations of reality television, to ask the obvious question: was it the viewing audience who was being set up with this movie instead of the participants? For all I know now, the Latino in the wig and the weasel with the Crisco were simply actors in on the gag, and in a way, I hope that is the case.

So that's what it was like to be on the edge of adulthood in the 80s. Before the internet (with its endless variety of porn and explicit everything), this is what counted as "shocking". In retrospect, it was all pretty tame; and especially for someone like me who was just playing at the edges.