Tunesday : You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)

You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)

(Percy, M / Burns, P / Coy, S / Lever, T) Performed by Dead or Alive

If I, I get to know your name
Well if I, could trace your private number, baby

All I know is that to me
You look like you're lots of fun
Open up your lovin' arms
I want some, want some

I set my sights on you (and no one else will do)
And I, I've got to have my way now, baby

All I know is that to me
You look like you're having fun
Open up your lovin' arms
Watch out here I come

You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round

I got to be your friend now, baby
And I would like to move in just a little bit closer

All I know is that to me
You look like you're lots of fun
Open up your lovin' arms
Watch out, here I come

You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round

I want your love
I want your love

All I know is that to me
You look like you're lots of fun
Open up your lovin' arms
Watch out, here I come

You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby

Right round round round
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round

You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round

It shouldn't really be surprising that someone like me -- who loved Adam Ant and Boy George through the earlier Eighties -- would have been 100% primed and ready to love Pete Burns and Dead or Alive when they appeared on the scene; yet something about this band and this song felt even more transgressive than what came before; more naughty; and I loved them all the more for it. What might be more surprising to learn is that I had a signature dance move when I was out with my friends (totally cringe-worthy when I think of it now): whenever the mood gripped me, I'd start "stomping"; hunching forward and spinning around in a circle, my outer foot stomping around, my arms airplaned out. When You Spin Me Round started playing at the clubs, it was like it had been written just for me: I'd jump up from my seat whenever those opening strains would begin, whether anyone else was coming out on the dance floor or not, and I'd ease into the song with our group's usual nonchalant barely-moving dance moves, but when the time was right, I'd go full freak and stomp and spin and generally make an ass of myself. But, man, was I ever having fun.

That's the literal reason for this week's song choice. But wait. There's more. 

When I started this memoir-project blogging thing, I pretty much decided that there were three or four stories that shouldn't be told; these aren't stories of incest or murder or anything that major, but if I get to frame my own history (and by extension, that of my family) I can't see the point of preserving forever those things that would make me (or other members of my family) look bad; and especially since those stories have been lost in the fog of time. In the memoir or biography of a famous person, it would be fair to go and interview old friends and classmates, to correct or corroborate those factoids that the subject's memory might be fuzzy about, but I'm certainly never going to be famous and I think part of the strength of blogging my memories is the fact that they are totally subjective and fuzzy -- I can't guarantee that anything happened just the way I remembered, but I have made an honest effort to unpack what my brain believes happened; with a few considered omissions. So where could I be going with all this?

On Saturday night, totally out of the blue, I got a Facebook friend request from my old pal Nancy. I haven't spoken to her since I left Lethbridge in 1988, and as I have written about her before (as the only female ally who survived my high school years), I'll just reiterate that she was always a lovely person and was totally there for me when I could have felt alone in the world. I stared at the request, and without accepting or declining, I decided to sleep on it: how did she find me, why did she reach out to me, and do I really want to stir up old ghosts by reconnecting with someone from those days? I couldn't answer any of that -- I was mentally spinnin' right round -- but there's no denying that if there's someone I still feel fondness for from that time, it would be Nancy. Then the next morning, there was another friend request: from Curtis. Now, I haven't gotten to this part in my story yet, but although Curtis and I were good friends for many years, it didn't end well: after living with me and Dave for a few years, everything fell apart over the money he owed us, and when Curtis had to leave Edmonton and return to his mother's house, I suppose he hated me for not continuing to put our friendship above my marriage: I was put into a position to choose between Curtis and Dave, and I made the only possible choice. So, Curtis and Nancy both friend requesting me on the same night didn't feel like a coincidence, and I didn't like it.

So next I did the only logical thing: I went to my sock puppet (hopefully untraceable) Facebook account and looked up Nancy's profile (totally private, so I learned nothing) and then Curtis', and what a shock that was: his latest post was from the night before; a group selfie of all our VOMIT friends on what they were calling their 30th reunion. And I mean, they were all there: both Robs, both Michelles, Hillary, Jeff, Kevin, Nancy and Curtis (not Jaybo, but when I linked to his profile, I saw that he [and the handlebar moustache that totally didn't surprise me] lives down in the States and getting back to Alberta for this kind of thing probably wouldn't be easy), and then it all made sense: I must have come up as a topic of conversation; they may even, as a group, have searched for me on Facebook. Cringe. I thought I had all my privacy settings at the maximum, and while nonfriends can't read my posts, they can see most of my photos (which I learned when I searched up myself from the sock puppet account, and while my first instinct was to go through and firm up my security settings -- which I can't figure out how to do -- I'm actually glad that I wasn't immediately able to: if anyone looked again while I was still fresh on their minds, I wouldn't want them to know immediately how much they freaked me out.)

I've been writing nostalgically about this group (and the songs we loved) all summer, but that's mostly because I've been thinking about them in the context of these moments in time: in the time, these were my best friends in the world. But of course things changed. I wrote before about how I wronged Rob. I wrote just last week about how crazy I was in the head at this time: smiling on the outside while disguising a life that didn't feel worth living. By the time I left Lethbridge, I wanted nothing more to do with the ghosts of mistakes that were torturing me; nothing more to do with anyone who might remind me that I'm a person who has done wrong. By the time I left Alberta for good, I put a mental lock on all of it: I was happy to know that I would never accidentally run into to someone who could hurt me with the facts of my own life. 

But up pop two ghosts on Facebook. Nancy, who would have never had a reason to personally dislike me. And Curtis, who in his own mind anyway, did. With all of VOMIT together -- and who knows how often they all get together -- if I came up as a topic of conversation, I can't imagine it was with fond nostalgia: as an outsider (moving into and out of Alberta), I merely passed through their lives, with no continuous effect; I am also frozen in time, defenseless against those (Curtis and Rob) whose last memories of me could frame (and freeze) my entire existence as a hurtful/totally nutso person. What would they have been saying about me? Mocking my stupid stomping dance moves? That would be small potatoes, I suppose, but still hurtful to think about: what to me was about freedom and joy (two states I was desperately craving; in ways none of them ever understood about me) could reasonably be reframed by those who witnessed it as simply evidence of my uncoolness. Rob could have retold what a cold and heartless person I was: letting him firebomb his life to follow me to Edmonton, only to throw him over once I didn't need him anymore. Curtis could do the most damage: not only explaining that I had valued money over friendship, but since he did live with us for years, he'd have the inside scoop about what my life and marriage had been like (and I'll just note that he and Dave got along fine [other than the money in the end], but Curtis could say anything he liked without understanding that this is a happily ever after story). Nancy could go even further back: by now, she might even know why it was that I lost my best friends in high school; I'm sure the details of that can't be flattering to my memory. 

Ultimately, I can only imagine there was something cruel motivating them to look me up on Facebook -- Remember Krista? Oh my God, what a looooser!  I wonder what she's doing now? Let's find her! Look at her stoooopid face!! -- and sending me friend requests is a challenge that I'm not up to accepting. What would be the point? So that someone could tell me that they've assembled all the evidence against me that would prove I really was as worthless as I felt all along? I've wrestled with ghosts and demons and I've put them to bed: at this point, I have no desire to nudge anything back to life.

How strange is life. I've spent months now writing about these people who had been so important to me, and in my memory, they're fixed in time; I have frozen them as avatars of friendship instead of attempting to really flesh them out as people. And that's probably appropriate: this is my project -- unpacking what's in my brain instead of going off on a fact-finding mission -- and I'd rather remember them as they were instead of learning where they ended up. I have no desire to accept friendship requests from people who probably don't think of me in a friendly way; some things, and people, deserve to remain hidden within the fog of time.

You spin me right round, baby

Right round like a record, baby

Right round round round

You spin me right round, baby

Right round like a record, baby

Right round round round