Short Summer Post #793
Word of the day:
To be jealous of someone who has acheived greater enlightenment than you.
Thought for the day:
"Hey, God ... 'With great power comes great responsibility', right? So what comes with ultimate power? Jus' sayin', is all."
Hair metal song of the day
Intro: This is deeply cheesy '80s goodness. If this video was an antique print it'd be tinted orange instead of sepia.
Is it sad that I look at this video and think "That was such an innocent time"?
It's on my mind, as it usually is in August. When I was fifteen or sixteen, I met a guy named Chris--but he should have been named "Vance". He looked a bit like a washed-out Travolta-as-Barbarino. We met on a small island where our parents were camping. Being both desperately horny teen boys, we tended to hang around the same three girls--Kelcey, Elise, ... and I forget the third one's name. Kelcey and Elise were older than we were, and I think they regarded us the way you might look at a yappy terrier humping your shoe, and for much the same reasons.
The term "wingman" hadn't come into common usage, and wasn't really appropriate. "Wingman" implies flight, and our flight feathers weren't really in yet. It was more that we supported each other in actually getting out and talking to girls (which is of course the important first step on a journey that will hopefully end in someone's bed, ideally a rather crowded single or queen-size). So perhaps the proper term is "prop".
When we got home, I hung out with Chris a couple of times. He introduced me to Ratt, and to a number of other players. So how we wound up going to my first concert, which was Dire Straits, is something of a mystery to me.
We were friends for a summer, the way it is when one of you's cooler than the other but there's no-one else around.
And that's it. After the concert I don't think I ever saw him again. Sometimes I wonder where he got to.
But I owe him thanks for helping me realize that one didn't have to be a mackinaw-wearing, chain-smoking, boot-stomping metalhead to enjoy metal. And also for helping me, a painfully awkward, generally unhappy Catholic kid, realize that listening to metal would not actually cause horns to sprout from your forehead.
So Chris, wherever you are, this one's for us: