Back in college, I had this album, among others, and a boombox. (Yeah, that's what we called them back then.) I remember we were having a little strike party after that play about superheroes. Amy, you remember the one, with the discussion of how if Superman and Lois Lane ever hooked up, the force of their union would kill her, with y'know, Supersperm and all. You really wanted to listen to this album, particularly "Fascination Street," but I was all hyped about the shuffle option on the boombox. I eventually gave in and switched it to track 7 and we all danced.
Amy, you once told me that their album Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me was so me. I never was really sure what that meant, but it is something that helps endear the album to me even more. Maybe it's the dark humor and the love of the lightning and everything else that makes that particular album such a strange and wonderful thing.
I also remember another strike party, one before I stopped drinking, where I had a quintuple tequila and proceded to have a strip-off against Zach, which, of course, he won. You were so happy that I'd brought The Head on the Door, because you wanted to listen to "Kyoto Song." Amy and Patricia listened to "Happy Boy" by some other artist I don't remember, but it was all fun.
There are so many more memories that the Cure bring to mind. These are just the ones I'm having right now. People might dismiss the Cure as goth pop that kids listen to when they want to be all emo, but I remember the music as something that bound and binds us together in so many ways. So my thanks to Robert Smith and the whole group for saving these memories from the ravages of time and Zoloft.