party at the end of the world
I think I was 13 when I hosted an “end of the world” party with Jack Daniels drinks to celebrate summer vacation. I swear I don’t remember how we got the Tennessee Whiskey. Of course, I soaked my anxiety and brought a mixed drink of depression and teenage hormones to the party. I stirred alcohol straight into my ability to regulate my emotions. Then I shook it.
What felt like one sip amounted to one slip, right off the side of a flimsy ping pong table that I thought would hold.
Now isn’t that a metaphor for our entire relationship….
But it wasn’t a bottle that busted on the way down; it was my teeth. The blood wasn’t brown liquor.
I walked with help back to my house because the booze and state of shock blurred my vision and ability to think. This wasn’t exactly the middle of the night, but neither of my parents would be happy to learn I needed a ride to the emergency room.
When we walked in, dad couldn’t remember my birth date, so I bled all over the ER floor to tell them when I was born, and that I’d like some gauze please and thank you. The guilt and shame cause me enough pain, and then the shock and adrenaline wore off. When a nurse returned with gauze, after what felt like hours, he said someone had moved the gauze from its place. Another metaphor, for my entire life. I went home the next morning with braces holding my broken teeth to bruised gums, and a pain pill prescription. It worked so well on my teenage body that I could punch my leg without feeling it. I loved it.
Most importantly, collect the good memories. Overwrite the bad.
Randomwhere
I turned 14 in 1992, at the height of fame for Guns ‘N’ Roses. “Appetite for Destruction” was the first cassette tape my parents bought me. None of us knew who Mr. Brownstone was, but mom and dad weren’t reading the lyrics.
“Use Your Illusion I and II” made me skeptical of a marketing trick. Metallica pulled a boxed set out of their merchandising hat, too. It was worth my disposable income, or so I thought at that time (and I don’t live in a van down by the river either). But I was still skeptical of a money grab. Not that I mind the idea of an artist making money. The job is to sell out, to this day, I will give my money to any creative project of a certain singing, wine-making student of BJJ.
Oh, but back then both Guns’ CDs blew me away. Cue the BIG feelings. I swear, dear reader of my self-analysis, I thought “14 Years” was about ME.
“It’s been 14 years of silence, it’s been 14 years of pain, it’s been 14 years that are gone forever, and I’ll never have again.”
Imagine the chest-born guttural growls that moved through my vocal cords on my 14th birthday in 1992. I felt like a mid-life crisis, and that freaked me out even more because that would line up with death at 27.
“It’s been 14 years of silence, it’s been 14 years of pain, it’s been 14 years that are gone forever, and I’ll never have again.”
That song and the raw emotion on the entire “Use Your Illusion” project resonated deeply within me. I was blown away by the ability of almost anyone to purge themselves through music. Even when you’re just screaming in the shower. Cue Nirvana.
