The 1970s

by Vanessa Vartabedian

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Oh, the 70s. A magical era when we were introduced to white people in afros, dorky roller-skates, and Ron Jeremy's mustache. Vanessa Vartabedian takes us on a lyrical journey to a simpler time, when free love reigned and bushy pubic hair roamed free.

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The 1970’s propelled train-wrecked heroine addicts into pop-culture ideology.

Sid and Nancy redefined the “all American” couple at the Chelsea Hotel. Rod Stewart swallowed a gallon of sperm. Disco ruled and Elvis died, bloated and alone on his throne. The new wave created a love affair between Devo’s plastic hair and Grace Jones’ bumper, baby.

I think they had it right in the 70’s. Don’t strive for the unattainable. Don’ t look for perfection, spiritual or otherwise. Do drugs. Drink to forget your problems. Wear bright blue satin pants with Rainbow suspenders and glitter! Roller-skate to the tune of broken-hearted Afro queens and kings disillusioned in bliss in rhythm. Just as long as you’re aware you’re doing it, look for love in all the wrong places, tell inappropriate jokes now labeled “hate crimes”. Show your tits, your cellulite, your tooth decay in public. Spit in the streets, sleep with drag queens, go underground, behind bushes. The middle of the road can’t see you from there. Listen to soundtracks from Broadway musicals and snort cocaine and sleep very, very late. Take summers in the dunes of the Cape and be romantic. Red red wine, sand in your crack, and salt water pussy. Get so tired your mind is quieted only by the awesome sight of sunrise over the Atlantic. Scream in pain and ecstasy. Love yourself through your aloneness – and let someone see it.

Yeah. People screamed then and it meant something. The 70’s were totally underrated in my opinion. Shame now was innocent exploration then. Taking risks then we term “psychotic behavior” now. Hitchhiking and talking with strangers late, late into the night. Rick James on LP and The Grateful Dead, live. They co-exist in contradiction - beautifully. I love. I love. But now, with so much more reservation, pain. Then, when it was passion and disappointment, and renewal and passion, and love. And love was love, without expectations and the hybrid version of current day perfection. The 70’s – then. Now – perfection, passion, and pain. The war ended, but somehow it still feels the same.

I still have my roller-skates, and the music in my head, and all my memories. They live before me now in my present state of being aware, and here and there, and letting go. Nostalgia holds me hostage, according to my distant internet guru, who never intended to be on the internet, or a guru, but like us all, despite his best intentions, the new age has taken over the new wave.

I am directed, now, to test my truth, my psyche, question my perception of reality. But when I didn’t have to, it seems, I knew what was most real.

The 70’s. They were totally underrated.

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Vanessa Vartabedian is a filmmaker, writer and peformer living in Boston. She was only five in the mid-70's and has 39 children by 38 different fathers. There is no truth to the rumor that her Lamaze chant was "Cha. Cha. Ching."