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Two sweaty kids fumbling eagerly with zippers in the front seat.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Mar. 31, 2004

Driving back from lunch Mister and I heard “Rock Candy” a song by Montrose from the late Jurassic period. Sammy Hagar pounding out vocals like a lumberjack at a Sthil competition.

What ever happened to muscle metal like that? I mean stuff that makes you think of Detroit and sweaty steel workers? And sex. Yes, lots and lots of sex.

I personally love Hagar and have been known to pop in the cartoon movie Heavy Metal just to hear him belt out the title song. I have heard a few songs in the past few decades that get my blood pumping like some good old-fashioned rock, and bless Kid Rock’s greasy little heart for trying to revive the whole genre.

I was very involved in my church youth group growing up. I was the youngest in a large group and learned about many forms of rock at the knee and through the tutelage of the older kids who were bound and determined that I would grow up cool… and if they couldn’t do that, at least my musical tastes wouldn’t get me beat up out behind the cafeteria.

I remember hearing Meatloaf’s “Paradise By The Dashboard Light” off the album Bat Out Of Hell when I was a tender thirteen years of age. It was during the summer, a rainy Wednesday night after the church service. I was hanging out with my sister’s friends in the parking lot when Keith B. started up his Maverick and popped in Meatloaf.

The sweet sultry voice of Meatloaf’s duet partner changing from pleading to demanding and the imagery of two sweaty kids fumbling eagerly with zippers in the front seat of a car was too real. I saw it all behind my lids when I closed my eyes.

My brain was already forming lurid tales of flesh because of my choice of reading material and because I saw that movie The Last American Virgin. I cried, oh, how I cried feeling so vulnerable with the lead character when all he wanted was to find a connection.

With the heartbeat shaking rock as my constant background I felt moved to pound my feeble little fist in the air and sing along, loudly and off key.

The older kids introduced me to Motley Crue (before they were wearing pink and more makeup than Cher), Ozzy Ozbourne, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Ronnie James Dio, Led Zeppelin and countless more hard rock bands over the years.

I can remember Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” being the first simulated orgasm I had ever heard… and in stereo no less. My little hormones were raging and there I was listening to Robert Plant mind fuck the American public through my headphones… while I was on a bus going on a mission trip. Surely, I thought, I was going to hell. The excitement alone should have caused lightening to strike me deaf, dumb, blind or just dead.

Stryper came along and rocked the Christian boat… hard. Soldiers Under Command and To Hell With The Devil riled up that church group to a feverish pitch. I rocked out with them too. Silently wishing that I was listening to Dokken or Winger (Don’t be hatin) while my friends all sang in their high-pitched teenage voices… “To heeeeeelllllllll wiiith the Debil!” Rock on…. truly… rock on.

We were at a lock in one weekend and I had my trusty little tape player complete with headphones with the little foamy stuff flaking off. I had my little cache of tapes to share with the group but one I was holding out for my special little treat. I wanted to listen to this tape while everyone else was singing wistfully along with Stryper’s “Honestly”… “Call on me and I'll be there for youuuuuuuu / I'm a friend who always will be truuuuuuuuuuuuuue / And I love you can't you seeeeeeeee…”

I snuck out my little tape that was so worn out it rattled. I placed it in my cassette player and pushed play. Immediately I was draped in a gossamer gown, struggling to break free of my confines while my love danced upon the dining room table while Milton Berle showed up in drag. I sang under my breath and did little sit/dance type movements to the beat of “Round and Round” by Ratt.

”I knew right from the beginning
That you would end up winnin'
I knew right from the start
You'd put an arrow through my heart

Round and Round!”

I looked up to find all of my friends staring at me.

Apparently I had been getting so into it that I didn’t notice I was banging my head a bit and breathing heavily, not unlike a wildebeest with a severe upper respiratory infection.


Ratt, I blame you for getting beat up behind the cafeteria.

Not you Mr. Manilow. You still rock the hizzouse!


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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