Slash

Just ran out to pick up stuff, stock up so to speak, for recovery time.

Stuff like bags of kitty litter, Poland Spring water, things I don't want Carol to have to muscle around when I am semi-helpless.

Ozzy's Boneyard booming on the radio (I have really been listening to that a lot lately - perhaps a defense against surgery) when Slash's birthday was announced. The man is 59 today. I began to lapse into my "holy shit time is zipping right along" reverie when the DJ followed up the birthday announcement to say that Slash will not be celebrating today because his step-daughter died over the weekend. 

Her name is Lucy-Bleu Knight. She was 25.

Guns N' Roses released Appetite For Destruction on July 21, 1987 - two days before Slash's 22nd birthday. I inhaled that album. Ate it, snorted it, wore the fucking thing out. It fueled my hatred of the job I had at that time - along with the commute I fucking hated - 1 and 1/2 hours each way. 

Hunter S. Thompson said: "Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel. I have always needed Fuel. I am a serious consumer. On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio." 

That is exactly what that album was to me. Exactly. It fired me up, it inspired me and made me feel brave and defiant, it gave me the guts to deal with asshole leasing reps, it kept me from moving to Australia, and it was perfect for driving 20 miles over the speed limit on the highway. 

On hot summmer nights leaving work I would take off in a cloud of dust, stop at a local liquor store to purchase supplies, take my shirt off in the parking lot, and crank Appetite until the speakers were on the verge of exploding while ecstatically drinking beer and Ginger brandy on the ride home.

I was a sight to see, baby.

So Slash was just about 22 when the album was released, I was 33. Now Slash has a step-daughter who has died at the age of 25, he is 59, and I am 70.

I'm not really going anywhere with this. I guess I'm thinking that life is a bumpy ride, man. Ups and downs. And it seems like life breaks you down more often than it lifts you up. I mean you are more likely to deal with death than you are to win the fucking lottery.

Go kiss somebody. Have a good thought. Lighten up on yourself. Have some fucking fun - guilt-free. Listen to some music, have a drink, drive fast, and try to not give a shit once in a while.

That's all I got.