Desperate But Not Serious

I was supposed to marry Adam Ant. It was my prophecy in the Swampscott Junior High School Yearbook. And it was my prophecy because I was on the yearbook staff and wrote it myself. Either that, or I muscled the Prophecy Editor into writing it because I thought what she wrote was total horseshit. I had to have a cool prophecy just in case it came true, you know?

Anne and Adam Ant. Anne Ant. And then when we had nephews and nieces, I'd be Aunt Ant. And most of the country would pronounce it "Ant" Ant, and New Englanders would pronounce it "Ahhnt" Ant. I was really looking ahead.

My friend Danielle introduced me to my prospective husband Adam and his Ants, and thank God she did! I believe Adam and the Ants was might have been my first-ever concert. I get it mixed up with the Ramones opening up for the B-52's. Yeah, 7th grade was young to go to shows, but we were chaperoned into Boston by her older sister at these things. I still have the t-shirt. It's black (now light black) and he's all bare-chested on the front, vogue-ing like only Adam can do. I wash it in a gentle cycle, cold water, inside out.

I wear the shirt all the time and get seriously offended if nobody knows who he is, or if they think my shirt is a hipster re-make from Urban Outfitters: "No, prick, it's real. I'm old. I WAS THERE!" like it was Woodstock or something. Nothing like shutting someone down when they give you a compliment. It's just how I do. Please, I can't explain Adam Ant to anyone. He was a cutting edge melange if you will. A mixture of punk, rock 'n roll, pop, and he was even an early rap pioneer (see Ant Rap on his album Prince Charming to see for yourself, ok?) And if that's not enough info, I don't know what to tell you. He can't be explained. You either know him, or you don't. And I do.

Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, there must be something inside...Goody two, goody two...goody goody two shoes...

I mean, come on. He was speaking to me. I didn't drink, I didn't smoke. What did I do? I was a goody two shoes seventh grader. In love with Adam. I love you Adam! I remember being nervous getting dressed for the show that night. What will I wear? How should I act? Like if I actually had the chance to meet him backstage, he'd want my number or something. Hot 13 year olds were in short supply at his concerts, no doubt.

People come people go, how long I'll stay I just don't know. When showbiz is a dirty word, I hope my time will come...Crackpot history and the right to lie...

Showbiz a dirty word? Is it ever, Adam! Again, singin' to me! Years later, and the lyrics still holding up--sign of pure genius. He wore hot sexy pirate-inspired costumes. Puss 'n' Boots style, white ruffly shirts, gold slouchy pirate boots. Read: bad boy. Oh, and Indian warrior face paint. But he softened it with Wet 'n' Wild light blue eye shadow (revealing his sensitive side)

Desperate but not serious, your kisses drive me delirious...

I wore those cassette tapes out. My dad brought me home one of the first portable music systems, pre-Walkman. It was the size of an answering machine, shaped like a toaster, and on every family trip I had to go on, Adam was there. Auto-rewind function in full effect, which may explain the fact that I don't have those cassettes today. That auto rewind does some damage.

This afternoon, I decided to replicate my cassette collection with 3 Adam Ant CDs at Virgin. I wasn't pleased with their selection, but what are you gonna do.

Gotta admit though, I was a little nervous to play them, for fear I'd be disappointed now with something I loved so much back in the day. Enter Mom's tuna noodle casserole with the crumbled potato chips on top. BLECCCH. I made it a few years ago and gagged with every bland bite. How did I eat that shit? But disappointed I am not! In fact, I'm dancing around the apartment as if I'm going to clean it. He is just as amazing as ever.

Back to our marriage that never materialized. For awhile, I blamed it on the fact that he lived in London, England, and I lived in Swampscott, Massachusetts. Everyone knows that long distance relationships never work. But it's more likely that we're not married because, um, I heard that he

is gay as all get out?

What gave it away? I don't remember exactly when I learned this, but I definitely was far too old to be as disappointed as I was--still held a candle, thought there'd be a small chance. But in my defense, I did realize it before stalking him at his shows and marrying him anyway (see Renee Zellweger and Kenny Chesney). Sure, news of his alleged homosexuality was dissapointing. But the devastating news was to come.

A few years ago, he was hammered in a London pub, rockin' a new cowboy hat apparently. Someone ragged on him, and he couldn't take it. He went crazy. Not plain crazy, but like crazy crazy. There was a scuffle, and the story ends with him throwing a car engine through the pub window and him being carted off in a strait jacket. No need to repeat this sentence, right?

Sigh.

Pictures of him now are pretty depressing. He hasn't aged well to say the least. You can only drink so many pints and wear so many strait jackets before they take their toll. He took the Marlon Brando Hot-to-Not trail, which we all know is horrifying terrain that involves bloating and the like. He's so far removed from what he was, that I'm having a hard time believing that the picture on the back of the CD liner notes actually him. Would they put a strange old man with Grecian formula on the back cover? Probably not, right? So I had to do a forensic mental study of the shape of his ear and compared it to the ear he's sporting on the front of the CD.

Same ear.

Sigh.

My Prince Charming.

Don’t you ever, don’t you ever

Stop being dandy, showing me you’re handsome

Don’t you ever, don’t you ever

Stop being dandy, showing me you’re handsome

Prince charming, Prince charming

Ridicule is nothing to be scared of

Don’t you ever, don’t you ever

Stop being dandy, showing me you’re handsome...