On Hallowed Ground by Violent Femmes by Steve Goldberg
The fall of 1983, my junior year of high-school, I finally shed my heavy metal skin; I shaved my wispy mustache, flipped my shaggy mullet into a new-wavy long-in-front/short-in-back, took out my David Lee Roth gold hoop earrings and tried on Robert Smith eyeliner and lipstick.
Sure, this all (mostly) began because of a girl. A girl who loved Culture Club and more specifically Boy George, to the point of single-minded obsession. “You look AMAZING!” I remember Julie saying to me as I sat perched on the edge of her black bedspread, as she held the small pencil up to my eye, her thin index finger gently pulling the skin beneath the lid down. “Don’t move.” I didn’t, but that didn’t stop another part of my hormone-ravaged body from moving around and I started to fantasize about Julie and me conjoining our deep red and black lipsticks.