"Borderline" is my first Madonna memory. And, boy, did being introduced to Madonna open up the floodgates. Mind you, this was before I got to know Madonna with an intelligent adult mindset. As a kid, she just rocked. (Or, popped, I guess...)
She was from Michigan (hadn't realized that she's not so fond of Michigan yet), she was the epitome of diva glam (didn't realize this was personality flaw yet) and I suddenly realized how I wanted to dress for the rest of my life (and that I would definitely need to up my stock of rubber bracelets. Five per arm would no longer cut it.)
Madonna made me, secretly, want to be worshipped. I remember having a pad of purple paper that was shaped like a heart. I used up the whole darned thing practicing my autograph. After I'd sign a dozen or so, I'd toss them around the room. No, I wasn't an intentional mess-maker. In my imagination, I was on a marble hotel balcony in Paris, throwing this small token to my adoring fans below. It was the least I could do. They had spent the entire previous night outside in the rain, chanting my name.
Yes, thank you Madonna. This was the influence you had on the 1980's tween set.
I remember watching the "Borderline" video and listening to the cassette that we recorded off the radio (via black tape recorder, held up right next to the speaker) over and over again with my older sister. She had created a "Borderline" dance, you see, and I was desperate to learn it.
The dance basically consisted of drawing a sweeping invisible line (a "borderline", if you will) on the floor with your index finger every time Madge sang the lyric "borderline". As you may recall, "borderline" gets repeated several times in row toward the end of the song, in keeping with the classic fade-out that earmarks all 70's and 80's music. You couldn't miss one dance move! If she chants "borderline" five times, one after another, you bend over and you draw that line five times... and just as quickly. Left index finger sweeping right, right index finger sweeping left, throw in a twirl if you can squeeze one in between beats. Yes, it may not have been the most attractive dance, but it was ours (and, not to mention, a great aerobic workout too!)
I perfected the dance with such precision that I thought I was transforming into Madonna. I decided to test the theory on a washing machine repairman that came to the house one day. I was terribly shy, so I stayed two rooms away. But, I popped that cassette in and went to town drawing lines in the carpet with my index fingers. He was there for quite awhile, so I had to rewind the tape quite a few times, but it didn't stop the dance in me. I was dancing, I was sweating, I was Madonna. (It was probably also the best cardiovascular workout of my entire lifetime. Past or future.) When he finally packed up his toolbox and walked past the living room to leave, I was convinced he couldn't wait to go home and tell his daughter, "You'll never guess whose washer I fixed today!!!" When, in reality, he probably just went back to the shop and complained, "That job seemed like took forever. The lady's kid was blasting some crap music across the house. It's bad enough I have to hear that garbage at home!"
It took until an early-90's viewing of Truth or Dare to realize, "Oh. Madonna's not that nice, is she? Who wants to be like that?!" Then I proceeded to watch the flick over and over again. And, then Evita.
Oh well. At least Madonna had finally been shelved to being strictly entertainment and not a way of life.
Parents, don't let your children grow up to be fame whores.
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