Performer: Depeche Mode
Songwriter: Martin Gore
Original
Release:
Black Celebration
Year: 1985
Definitive
Version:
None. All three songs flow seamlessly from one to another in this suite, which makes breaking them up impossible in my opinion.
When
Dave and I were in Chicago for White Sox Fest in January 1992, Jin mentioned
that the Chicago Symphony Orchestra was performing Don Giovanni the next month.
Was I interested in going? The only answer was, duh.
I’d
been a huge fan of Mozart’s blackest opera since seeing Amadeus my senior year
at Wabash. In fact, I wrote a paper for my Music 1 class on the final scene—so
moved by the power of that incredible music. Now I have a chance to see the entire
opera performed? I wasn’t going to pass that up.
Going
meant that I would be back on the floor of Jin’s apartment for a weekend. It
also meant I’d have to re-encounter her roommates, one in particular.
When
we went to Sox Fest, that Friday night, Jin and I took Dave to Sluggers for a
little work in the upstairs batting cages and some Hi-Ball. When we got back to
Jin’s apartment, I had to go to the bathroom. Before long, there was a knock at
the door. It was Dave. “Uh, Will? Someone out here is in real need.”
I
got out of there as soon as I could, and one of Jin’s roommates raced in as I
opened the door. Dave gave me a look that bordered on humor and shock. I wasn’t
quite finished. Oh, man, Dave said conspiratorily, barely able to contain a
laugh, she came in and was holding herself, like this. He put his hand on his
crotch and pushed his thighs together. She did that in front of you? Uh huh.
That
was my introduction to Jin’s roommate McKenzie. McKenzie was, shall we say, not
burdened by the conventions of a polite society. In fact, because of that lack
of restraint, the next night she delivered the line of the weekend—one that
Dave and I giddily recalled in ATEX messages to one another for months after and
even worked into our card column at some point.
The
next night we were in Jin’s apartment after the Fest and dinner—might have been
Penny’s, now discovered because of its proximity to Jin’s apartment—when
McKenzie came in hand in hand with some guy. He was introduced briefly,
emphasis on brief, and was taken promptly into McKenzie’s bedroom. But before
he was, McKenzie announced as the poor guy smiled sheepishly, “If you hear
screaming, that means things are good.”
Dave
and I looked at each other and did all we could to not crack up. Now, THAT was
a bon mot worthy of immortalization. The obviousness was topped only by the
audaciousness.
It
occurred to me that a woman like McKenzie, who had both a nice body and a more,
shall we say, morally casual attitude, was just what this 27-year-old needed. The
thought apparently also occurred to Jin, and she made it quite clear that her
roommates—McKenzie—were strictly off-limits.
McKenzie
and Jin weren’t friends, but I suppose the fact that she had to live with her
was worthy of consideration, so I promised I’d behave. Besides, what
opportunity would I have to do otherwise? I doubted McKenzie would be
interested in me.
With
that as the backdrop, I drove to Chicago in February 1992. Friday night was a
Penny’s night, and I saw no trace of McKenzie that night. Don Giovanni was the
next night, at Symphony Hall downtown. Jin and I decided to dress up, almost as
though we were on a date. She wore a dress; I brought my suit.
McKenzie
emerged from her room that afternoon—alone—to bake cookies. She was going to
some party that night and was going to take the cookies. The three of us hung
out a bit in the kitchen before it was time to get ready.
I
got cleaned up and ready first, rejoining McKenzie in the kitchen as she
finished up. We talked for a while, and then, as the dying sun began to fade in
the late afternoon, I was given a test of my willingness to abide by my
sister’s wishes.
McKenzie
put the last batch of cookies in the oven and ran her finger around the mixing
bowl to get the last of the cookie dough. She then held her finger out to me.
“Wanna lick?”
You
HAVE to be kidding me. Maybe I was projecting, but the symbolism of the offer—particularly
from the specific offeree—seemed obvious. I was torn. Did I say no, as Jin
would’ve wanted, and not given any indication of my interest or did I just go
for the immediate gratification and let the cards fall where they may? The
answer was easy: I licked the cookie dough off McKenzie’s finger.
Hey,
a sister’s request is one thing, but this is a hot woman here, and I was
desperately in need of such a woman at that point in my life. McKenzie smiled,
but the moment passed without any further incident.
However,
it was difficult to concentrate fully on Don Giovanni, even though the music was
spectacular, of course. Projecting further, I couldn’t help but think what might
happen later that night when we got back to Jin’s apartment if McKenzie were
there, after Jin went to sleep …
It
turns out there was no screaming that night, good, bad or otherwise, because
McKenzie never came home. Maybe, realizing that it shouldn’t happen between us,
she took solace in the comfort of another’s arms. More likely, McKenzie never
gave the finger-licking affair anything more than a cursory thought.
Aside
from taking another in a long list of two-ships-passing-in-the-night memories
with me, I got something else from my second trip to Chicago in 1992—an
appreciation of Depeche Mode. I’d always made fun of Depeche Mode when Jin found
them in the Eighties, more because Jin liked them than not liking their music.
(You know, brothers and sisters …)
However,
while we hung out in her bedroom that weekend, Jin played Black Celebration on
her record player. When Fly on the Windscreen came on, I bolted upright. “THEY
do this song?! This is a GREAT song!” Jin about fainted dead away. What?! My
brother likes Depeche Mode?!
I
didn’t know it was Depeche Mode; all I knew is it was in one of my favorite
episodes of Miami Vice—the one guest starring Willie Nelson as the Texas Ranger.
Jin later made and sent me a tape, which gave me another memento of my February
1992 weekend in Chicago to go along with a program from Don Giovanni and a particular fondness
for sugar cookie dough.
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