Thursday, December 01, 2005An Idle Mind
Things I've been obsessing over since I finished my thesis:
1) My little step-brother, Travis.
Yeah, I had a sorta-kinda little brother once, a kid named Travis. He was a sweet little boy, only about four when I first met him. His big sister (not me, my step-sister) was a hellion, his dad was a colossal fuck-up, and his mom seemed nice enough the two times I met her. His parents had divorced when he was a baby; he never had an intact family. And then his father died when he was seven; the last time I ever saw him was at his dad's funeral. His sister (well, technically his half-sister) got pissed off because Travis came to me for a hug first. I took care of him as much as anyone during that last summer of his father's life. He came to stay with us over the school break, but my mother was too busy trying to stay afloat, his sister was off carousing all the time, and his dad was too drunk to notice him -- as often as not it fell to me to look after him. But I didn't mind, he was a nice kid... he really just wanted to play with his GI Joes and watch Drop Dead Fred.
Occasionally I wonder where he is now. He'd be in his 20s. Maybe he works in a warehouse. Maybe he's married and has a kid of his own. Maybe he joined the military -- maybe he's in Iraq right now. Maybe he's a redneck, maybe he's a born-again Christian, maybe he's a stoner hippie.
It would be nice to know whatever became of little Travis.
2) Gary Glitter
Gary Glitter freaked me the fuck out the first time I ever laid eyes on his blood-curdling visage. I saw him on the news in England right after he was first released from prison, and even before I knew what he'd been in for, he made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The 70s are already an alarming concept for me -- there's something about flared trousers and gold medallions in chest hair that just makes me nervous. Gary Glitter was the walking personification of the 70s. He'd been in prison for looking at child porn -- he took his PC in for repair, and the next day the coppers came 'round.
If the 70s could be summed up in a sex crime, it would definitely be kiddie-diddling.
Anyway, even more than Michael Jackson (who's really more of a train wreck than a boogeyman), Gary Glitter is the face of stomach-turning depravity in my mind (short, perhaps, of Fred West or, god help us all, Brian Peppers.) I try not think about him much, although that Starbucks commercial about Hank doesn't help.
But last week I was suddenly gripped by an overpowering curiosity about Gary Glitter. It had been years since he'd gotten out of the pokey and I hadn't thought about him in nearly that long, but he just popped into my head again and wouldn't leave until I looked him up. And do you know what I found?
That very week he'd been re-arrested for fucking a twelve-year-old girl in Vietnam. If he's convicted of raping her, it'll be death by firing squad.
I do not want to be on this dude's wavelength.
In case you can't read it, that bottom line says, "I Would if I Could But I Can't".
The jokes write themselves. |