Gone

Yesterday I mentioned my departure from active involvement in some fandoms. Last year I removed all fitted skirts and button-down blouses from my wardrobe. Last night a friend took away my massive Salem Biscayne vintage china set.

Personal tastes and hobbies shift and change during our lives, and that's normal. It's sometimes a little sad when it happens, though, especially when the decision to change isn't completely internally motivated.

The fandom thing--that's entirely my decision. I choose to no longer overlook Marvel's blatant racism and sexism even though I continue to overlook it in regards to Sherlock. My biggest gripe with that production is the overall degeneration of writing, plot development, and character behaviors. I'll continue to remain active (as active as I've ever been) in the Sherlock fandom at least until I see how Season 4 pans out.

Regarding the wardrobe shift, that was motivated by my physical discomfort (caused by my inflammation issues) wearing non-knit clothes anymore. I refuse to feel pinched and restricted in a daily-wear outfit. I love clothes and I won't let myself hate my clothes or hate myself in my clothes. There's a time and place for wearing restrictive clothing (high heels, corsets, shapewear, push-up bras) and daily office and casual wear is not that time or place for me. Again, my choice, and a choice that makes me feel (literally and figuratively) good.

Those dishes, though. The giving-up of those dishes represents something else.

A long time ago, so long ago in both years and mental/emotional development that it seems like a different life--I guess it was a different life--I was a rockabilly. I was active in my local scene and even more active in the (inter)national scene where I wasn't one of the biggest Big Name Fans, but I was kind of up there.

Some of the best-known names in current rockabilly music knew me, and when they toured through Lawrence (which was frequently because our live music scene used to be fucking amazing), they'd stop at my house for dinner before a show. I once served five racks of ribs and five pounds of mashed potatoes (as well as multiple salads, vegetables, and two casserole pans of Dump Cake) to Deke Dickerson and the guys touring with him that year.

My god those men ate a lot. I was honestly concerned they'd be fit to perform that night.

If a band didn't have time for a sit-down dinner at the house, I cooked them two or three meatloaves and packed them in a disposable cooler with bread, condiments, and a couple quarts of home-made slaw. I did that for The Derailers at least three times (and the last time, got to hang out after the show in their amazing tour bus while they scarfed down the chocolate chip cookies I'd brought for dessert).

When I used to regularly attend the annual Viva Las Vegas convention (which used to be about 2,500 to 3,000 people--it's much bigger now), I was one of the lucky hundred or so who was invited to Ronny Weiser's get-together at his (amazing) house in Las Vegas.

Anyway, my point is, I was super invested in rockabilly and rockabilly culture. Like, hardcore invested.

I'd started listening to rockabilly and rockabilly-related country because I was not into the music getting radio play in the early 90s. I was already hanging out with some of the local retro-type folks, and I discovered that I really, really dug it. I dressed it (every day--to work, to play, to the shows), I danced it, and most of my home furnishings, from couches to kitchen, reflected a rockabilly aesthetic. I wore cat-eye glasses for nearly a decade, for godssake, and not to be edgy or ironic. It's just what else would I wear with my pencil skirts and Marilyn haircut?

Then there was A Breakup and because I didn't have the emotional fortitude to continue that lifestyle on my own (seeing him at shows, dealing with the awkwardness at parties being both there-but-not-together), I completely dropped out of the scene, pretty much overnight. He kept most of the furniture (and the vintage house), as well as the rockabilly lifestyle. I gradually shed my retro wardrobe. I stopped swing dancing. I was never a popular dance partner with anyone else to begin with. I honestly have no idea why. Maybe I'm a terrible follow? Even the music itself was tarnished for me and was pushed further down the listening choices when mckitterick proved to be less than a fan of the genre. Anyway, it's just not the same listening to Cave Catt Sammy and not being able to grab my partner for a quick swing around the living room. Rockabilly like no other genre cries out for me to dance, dance, dance and solo groove-type dancing just doesn't cut it.

So anyway, where I'm going with this is those dishes. Getting rid of those dishes, man. It's been a long time coming, and I'm not gonna lie, it fucking hurts. They've been boxed up and stored in the garage since I moved with with mckitterick, like, what, seven years ago? And I don't want to keep them. I don't. But they're some of the last few things I've got from a huge and important part of my life and it feels like ripping off a scab to send them away. And I know, I know, it's not about the fucking dishes. I know this.

It's about (still, over a decade later) dealing with a life change that I didn't want. Yes, technically I chose it. I chose to stop going to shows and I chose to drop out of the social scene, but those weren't the choices I wanted to make. I simply wasn't emotionally strong enough to choose otherwise. It makes me sad, and even sadder for the fact that there's no going back now. The local scene has largely dried up, and the national scene is so huge that I wouldn't go to a VLV weekender even if I wanted to (I hear over 7,000 people pack into the hotel ballrooms and over 20,000 come to the car show). That whole era is just completely and irrevocably gone from me. Gone like those friends, those clothes, that dance partner, and now those dishes.