by Mordantia Bat 

The New Noire Stars of the 90s

the photocopied origins of a myth

A little story-poo about the olden days: 1986.  




Once upon a time, everyone liked to sit in my closet during parties.

Actually, this was more than once upon a time as there have been several times during my existence where I have observed that friends and mere acquaintances will insist on sitting amongst my laundry during parties.

I try not to contemplate the meaning of this too deeply.


But this particular once upon a time, in 1986, my closet in that apartment (the one on Stockton & California - ding ding went the trolley!) was one of those odd-shaped closets that was rather roomy as it had once held a murphy bed in a previous era. In the 80s, though, it usually held the majority of my party guests.

Here above, we see Nancy and David talking to a very blurry Lorrainne. There are, I am pretty sure, one or two more guests in the corners of the closet with my laundry and Dead Boys' albums. There always was.

Now, let me tell you, that sitting in my closet was not the only fun we "elder goth-types {uh!!!}" would have at parties in the primordial days. Here, captured in the photos to the left, was an example of one of our other very very favorite pasttimes!

Watching [Airline] Todd eat lit matches.

Todd's talent at this came in very handy in various bars when we wanted to repel frat boy-types* away from the pinball machines we wanted to play.

Once, we came across a particularly stubborn drunken frat boy who failed to run away after he was shown the match trick. He insisted on keeping his place at the pinball machine and making me play against him. To show, I surmise, that spirit of camaraderie and healthy competition so intrinsic to frat boys, he tried to show us he could eat matches, too. He became somewhat irate when he burned his tongue and we laughed.

Then, I beat him at pinball, too, and his world was really wrecked.

My, my, this frat boy certainly vocalized a whole string of rather inelegant and unimaginative one-syllable words at us that evening as he finally took his leave.


(*this is but a sloppy generalization and meant in no particular offense to congenial frat boys, whom I've been assured do exist. But there were less congenial ones running about in our social environs back then who disliked us on sight, and so we tended to return the favor. The hazard of generalizations is to forget that they are, merely, just generalizations, n'est-ce pas?)


Sometimes, life in the 80s was such a whirlwind that Lorrainne found it necessary to hold up my wall.


Later that evening, when Lorrainne let go of the wall, she metamorphized into a New Noire Star of the 90s.

We had not realized such a thing had occurred that night, so blinded by our huddlings in the closet we were. This worthy transformation did not actually reveal it to ourselves until later when we quite over-photocopied the photos from that Edgar Allan Poe party (there were always Edgar Allan Poe parties - as ubiquitous as my laundry).

Norman and I had office jobs back then and had apprenticed well at the arcane skills of the "I'm-really-bored-here" photocopy. We had mastered it so well that we could hike the contrast up so high that all of us in the photos went beyond that sought-after rockstar-in-the-liner-notes look and flew further and further until we had reached uncharted territory: that of becoming a NOIRE STAR!

We instantly set about chiseling out the inklings of a new myth and took on our rites-of-passage names to solemnize the sacred event.

Lorrainne, here, became the heroine - America's sweetheart - and was henceforth known as PEELOTTA HEMMORHAGE VOMITORY.







Bat Cafe Disjecta Membra Suffering is Hip Sepulchritude

Contents of the Misspent Youth pages ©2001-2003 by Mordantia Bat

Though Bat misspent her youth well, she still ended up with some change leftover. So, she plans on having a misspent dotage as well. For some more recent slices into Bat's life, see her journal/blog Extispicy.