How a Band Can Ruin Your Favorite Song (warning - explicit content)

My grandmother asked me what I would like for my 14th birthday. I wanted the newest CD from the Red Hot Chili Peppers - Blood Sugar Sex Magik. I hope she never saw the song titles and that she never heard any of the songs. Sir Psycho Sexy. Wow! While most people bought this album for the classic tracks 'Under the Bridge' and 'Give it Away,' I found a new favorite in 'Suck My Kiss.' This is still my favorite RHCP track. I would see them once live in concert.
25 July 1999. I was at Woodstock. The Red Hot Chili Peppers was the closing act to the 3-day festival. The following is an actual transcript from the intro to that favorite track of mine - 'Suck My Kiss.'
Spoken by Anthony Kiedis:
"You know, I guess this is, uh, sort of a traditional affair now, 30 years, 25 years, the original, all that. There's a lot of traditions that go around. You know some people like to play in the mud. Some people like to take their clothes off. Some people like to, uh, smoke pot when they come to Woodstock. Some people like to get blown in the bushes when they come to Woodstock. Some people come with their mom and dad when they come to Woodstock. And, there are a lot of traditions. The point I'm trying to make is there's tons of traditions and, uh, tonight, with a little bit of help from everybody, uh you know, in the immediate, upper area here, uh, I gotta ask a small favor so you can help me start a new tradition. Which is: during the course of the next song, if every girl, you know, within distance, who happens to be menstruating, with a tampon, could you please remove the tampon from your menstruating vagina and toss it onto the stage, during the next song. Thank you. I mean it."

All I Want for Christmas is...

 All I Want for Christmas is...

    When I was 6, we used to live in a small brown house on A Street. There was a vent on the floor of our living room that looked down into the basement. You could pull the top off and push the springs down on the bottom. I was almost brave enough to jump down and break both my legs. Instead, I used it as a trap door for my G.I. Joe and Star Wars action figures. I pushed that bottom screen down over and over, dropping Darth Vader and his men to their deaths.
    My mother was not happy with this. She was not only worried I would get hurt, she also didn't like the constant "BANG" of the vent. She sent me to my room.
    No problem - just another place to play. In my room I would set all of the figures up so they were all over the room. Luke Skywalker would be on the dresser, Storm Shadow on the head of the bed, Snake Eyes on my desk, Han Solo on my Muppets drum set. Once everyone is in position, I would shoot them down with a rubber band.
    "Take that Cobra Commander!"
    Yet again, my mother was not amused and the rubber bands were confiscated. She needed to give me a distraction and today was her lucky day - the Sears Christmas catalog arrived in the mail. She handed me the catalog and told me to pick out what I wanted for Christmas. Usually my brother and I would just circle what we wanted but this time I decided I was going to cut out the pictures of what I wanted to see under the tree that year.
    The toy section was always in the back. As far I was concerned, there was no need for the rest of the catalog. I jumped right to the back and looked for some new action figures to toss down the vent. Return of the Jedi came out earlier in the year so there was a whole new collection of characters to get. The Jabba the Hut dungeon was out and I had to have it!
    Something was different that day. I still don't know why, but I just didn't see the toys I wanted. I knew all those action figures on those pages but nothing stood out as a 'need' so I didn't cut them out.
    A little while later, my mom came in and said she made lunch. I ran out to the dining room and sat down to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She walked over to my desk to see what I wanted under the Christmas tree that year... a rifle and a model in lingerie.

Holding the Page (original)

Holding the Page

            The only object I have from my mother is a bookmarker.  It's about two inches long; the kind you clip between pages.  Brand new, it looked shiny and gold, but now the metal is giving way to rust.  At the top is the letter "P" for my mother's name, Patricia.  I actually hate to use it.  Not because I hate to think about her but because the bookmarker sticks out too much. When I bump it, the pages get ripped.  You can spot which books I've used it on with one glance of my bookshelf.  I stopped using bookmarkers to identify where I left off.  Instead, I would mark certain places of the book that I enjoyed or passages that gave me feeling.

            My mother encouraged reading in our house.  Each night before bed, we would turn off the TV and run up to find a book.  Like any kid, I went through the phases.  I was read to, I followed along, I picked up a few words and then I was off on my own.  We started with Dr. Seuss, Curious George, and the Berenstain Bears.  I then moved up to Encyclopedia Brown.  My mother took me to a book signing by Donald Sobol so I could get his latest novel, Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Mysterious Handprints, signed.  I made sure he signed my copy of his first novel as well.

            Each time I went to my parent's room to read, I would spot a new book on my mother's nightstand.  Most times, the author was the same – Stephen King.  I remember walking in at the age of ten and seeing his latest novel.  The cover was black.  In giant red letters was the author's name.  The Tommyknockers, read below in white, just above a picture of an eerie green light.  I picked up the book and saw this gold bookmarker protruding from the pages.  I asked my mom what the book was about.  She told me it was a scary story that I was too young to read.  I was still curious so I flipped through the pages.  I was lost.  I may have been too young to read something so scary, and my vocabulary was not what it needed to be to even begin to read this novel.

            I began to have a fascination with her bookmarker.  Each time she read a book from the library, there is was holding pages together, waiting to make its way to the end of the story.  My only bookmarkers were whatever free slips of paper the library was giving out by the counter.  When my mom would finish a book, she would leave the bookmarker on the nightstand where I would find it and use it until she was into her next tale of horror.  Sometimes she would let me keep it through a whole book of my own.  Seeing this gold 'P' stand out from the large novels she read did not compare to the look of using it on my one hundred page kid's books.

            Each month my school would hand out fliers for book orders.  I would always pick out around ten.  My mom would pick out two.  I was at the end of the 5^th grade.  Summer was about to begin so my mom ordered something for me to read until my graduation into the 6^th grade – middle school.  Looking over the flier, I spotted a familiar name.  I was excited because the flier was telling me I was old enough to read Stephen King.  He had written a book for his own children and this was my chance to read what my mom was reading.  We ordered The Eyes of the Dragon.

            June 9, 1989.  It was two months shy of my twelfth birthday.  I awoke to the sounds of my mother getting ready to run errands.  I asked if I could go along and she said no.  I had to stay home with my brother and his friend.  It was raining.  On her drive to town, my mom's car hydroplaned into a guardrail. She was not wearing a seatbelt and was ejected from the car.  She died instantly.  As word spread around town, people came to look for my brother and me.  We had been at a neighbor's house, unaware of what happened.  As time passed, my dad began to pack up her things.  My cousins and aunts took what they wanted.  My brother kept pictures.  Everything else was thrown out of placed in boxes in the attic.

            When I was bored or lonely, I would spend time in the attic.  I would look through boxes and find whatever long, lost family treasures were inside.  One box was really heavy so I had to drag it out to the center of the floor.  I lifted the cover and saw that is was filled with paperback books.  On the first page of each book, my mother had written her name and the date.  I went through each book, reading her name over and over and forming a stack beside me.  The last book was Stephen King's Pet Sematary.  I picked it up and saw that gold bookmarker underneath.  I put the rest of the books back in the box, took the bookmarker and book to my room, sat on my bed, and began to read.

The Perfect Book-marker (revision of Holding the Page)

The Perfect Book-marker

            When I was bored or lonely, I would spend time in the attic.  I would look through boxes and find whatever long, lost family treasures were inside.  I found my dad's high school wrestling trophies.  I found a box of his cassette tapes, all music that I listen to.  One box was too heavy to lift so I had to drag it out to the center of the floor.  I lifted the cover and saw that it was filled with forgotten paperback books, like V.C. Andrews' Flowers in the Attic.  On the first page of each book, my mother had written her name and the date.  I leafed through each book, forming a stack beside me.  The last book was Stephen King's Pet Sematary.  I picked it up and saw a gold bookmarker underneath.  I put the rest of the books back in the box, took the bookmarker and book to my room, sat on my bed, and began to read.

            I saved this bookmaker; it's hard to find a good one worth keeping.  This one is about two inches long; the kind you clip between pages.  Brand new, it looked shiny and gold, but now the metal is giving way to rust.  The letter "P" sticks out from the book when it is used.  Like all bookmarkers, it has its problems.  Each time I bump it, pages get ripped.  You can spot which books I've used it on with one glance of my bookshelf.  I stopped clipping it to the pages; now I just slide it between the pages like any other bookmarker.

            My mother encouraged reading in our house.  Each night before bed, we would turn off the TV and run up to find a book.  Like any kid, I went through the phases.  I was read to, I followed along, I picked up a few words and then I was off on my own.  We started with Dr. Seuss, Curious George, and the Berenstain Bears.  I then moved up to Encyclopedia Brown.  My mother took me to a book signing by Donald Sobol so I could get his latest novel, Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Mysterious Handprints, signed.  I made sure he signed my copy of his first novel as well.

            Each time I went to my parent's room to read, I would spot a new book on my mother's nightstand.  Most times, the author was the same – Stephen King.  I remember walking in at the age of ten and seeing his latest novel.  The cover was black.  In giant red letters was the author's name.  The Tommyknockers, was below it in white, just above a picture of an eerie green light.  I picked up the book and saw this gold bookmarker protruding from the pages.  I asked my mom what the book was about.  She told me it was a scary story that I was too young to read.  I was still curious so I flipped through the pages.  I was lost.  I may have been too young to read something so scary, and my vocabulary was not what it needed to be to even begin to read this novel.

            I began to have a fascination with her bookmarker.  Each time she read a book from the library, there it was, holding pages together, waiting to make its way to the end of the story.  My only bookmarkers were whatever free slips of paper the library was giving out by the counter.  I tried using baseball cards and movie ticket stubs.  But I wanted something real, something I couldn't just find and stick in a book.  When my mom would finish a book, she would leave the bookmarker on the nightstand where I would find it and use it until she was into her next tale of horror.  Sometimes she would let me keep it through a whole book of my own.  Seeing her bookmarker stand out from the large novels she read did not compare to the look of using it on my one hundred page kid's books.  It would stick out of her novels just enough to be seen, engulfed in the pages.  But in my books, the bookmarker felt bigger than the book.  I felt like I should have finished reading each one after a day and never needed to save my place.

            Each month my school would hand out fliers for book orders.  I would always pick out around ten.  My mom would pick out two.  I was at the end of the 5^th grade.  Summer was about to begin so my mom ordered something for me to read until my graduation into the 6^th grade – middle school.  Looking over the flier, I spotted a familiar name.  I was excited because the flier was telling me I was old enough to read Stephen King.  He had written a book, The Eyes of the Dragon, for his own children.  This was my chance to read what my mom was reading.  This was my first Stephen King book.

            Now I needed a bookmarker.  I went to the local bookstore.  Near the counter they had a small rotating rack of bookmarkers.  I went with a normal one with a picture of a penguin and a tassel at the end.  I used this to read my first real novel.

            After reading The Eyes of the Dragon, Stephen King became my favorite author.  Starting with his most popular works, I then went back to read each novel in the order they were published.  I joined his book club so I could have all of his novels in hardback as well as paperback.  As part of joining the club, I received a bookmarker with a skull at the top.  I tried to use it but it was too thick; it would leave indentations in the pages.  I have moved on to better writers, as well as better bookmarkers, but he will be the author who began my transition from teen books to actual novels.

            June 9, 1989.  It was two months shy of my twelfth birthday.  I awoke to the sounds of my mother getting ready to run errands.  I asked if I could go along and she said no.  I had to stay home with my brother and his friend.  It was raining.  On her drive to town, my mom's car hydroplaned into a guardrail. She was not wearing a seatbelt and was ejected from the car.  Patricia Ann Blythe died instantly.  As word spread around town, people searched for my brother and me, thinking we had been with her in the accident.  We were at a neighbor's house, unaware of what happened.

            As time passed, my dad began to pack away her things.  My cousins and aunts took the clothes and jewelry.  My brother kept pictures.  I could never find what I wanted to remember her by.  Eventually, everything else was thrown out or placed in boxes in the attic.

My Superpower

My Superpower

            What kid doesn't want to be a superhero?  At the age of six, I learned of my very own superpower.  No, I couldn't fly or see through walls. I didn't have super speed or super strength.  I had a special power.  I just needed to decide whether to use this power for good or evil.

            The Topps Company released a set of trading cards in 1983 to cash-in on the success of the latest Superman film and steal the allowance of kids the world over.  I was a kid, but without an allowance.  Superman was my favorite superhero for two reasons: he had the letter 'S' on his chest (my first initial) and he wore blue (my favorite color).  Sure it was cool that he flew around and saved the world, but I didn't understand half of the dialogue from the comics.  I didn't even get to see Superman III at the movie theater.  It didn't matter.  I knew one thing: I wanted those cards and I would use whatever powers I had to get them.

            Every time we made the trip to the local grocery store, I would sneak away from mom and find my way to the trading cards near the express lane.  This was a small town in a time when parents didn't have to watch over their kids, so my mom would leave me be and knew where to find me when she was ready to leave.  I would stand there, looking over the boxes of cards.  There were white boxes with baseball cards.  There were black boxes with Star Wars cards.   In a blue box with red and white stripes I would find Superman cards.  I would spot them and then move over to the comic books.  It was there that I would wait and plan my attack.  I had to find a way to convince my mother that I deserved these cards.

            "I've been good all day," I could tell her. Or, "I cleaned my room today," could be another persuasive technique.  Either one I choose, I was bound to lose.

            "You don't need them," she would tell me. Or "You should keep your room clean everyday," was another popular response.

            I would pout; she wouldn't give in and we would go home.

            One day, my mother was in a hurry and decided that instead of letting us go in the grocery store with her, she had us wait in the car.  It was pretty hot out.  I had the car door open, my feet dangling over the seat, too short to touch the ground.  The tar of the parking lot was bubbling in the heat.  I jumped down to pop these black bubbles, leaving a sticky substance on my shoe.  My brother was laying in the backseat.  He looked up to see what I was doing out of the car.

            "Mom said we had to stay in the car," he said.

            I told him I knew that but I wasn't going anywhere.  I told him he could get out and pop the bubbles with me.  He climbed out of the backseat and walked to me.  We stood about the same height.  He was almost two years younger, but we still looked like twins.  He jumped up and down a few times then ran back into the car.  I was starting to realize my power.  I told him to come back out and play.  He did.

            A few minutes passed.  I started to think about those cards.  I knew I would get in trouble if I went inside and left my brother alone in the car.  In my young mind, the only way to get around this was to have my brother go in and I would stay in the car.

            "Go inside and get a few packs of cards," I told him. "I'll give you some of them if you get them for me," I said, knowing that the only cards I would dare give away would be the doubles.  He wasn't sure what to do.  I was his older brother.  I was someone he could trust.  He thought about it for as long as his 4 yr-old mind would allow.

            "Just run in, get a few packs and come back.  You'll be back before mom is done."  I was the devil on his shoulder and I could see that I was winning.  He knew it wasn't quite right, but he wanted to impress his big brother.  My powers were growing stronger now.  I tried one more time.

            "Real quick, in and out."

            He got out of the car, went into the grocery store and then he was gone.  Just seconds later he returned to the car.  He got in, shut the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out 4 packs of cards.

            "How did you get them?" I asked.

            "I just grabbed them and put them in my pocket," he timidly said, perhaps unsure of what he just did.

            "Did anyone see you?"

            "One girl looked at me but I walked away."

            Our mother was now walking toward the car.  I took the cards and slid them in the seat.  The whole ride home I had one thought – I hope I got a card of Superman.

            We pulled into the driveway and took the groceries inside.  I went back out to the car to get my hidden treasure.  I pulled the 4 packs out, opened them and looked over each one carefully.  I arranged them in numerical order and walked into the house to my bedroom.  The first thing I saw was my mother.  She was picking up my laundry off the floor.  I had the cards in my hand and I didn't know what to do.  Without thinking, I walked in and crawled under my bed.  I slept on the bottom of a bunk bed that sat about two feet off the floor.  I usually kept a few of my favorite toys under there since it was my favorite hiding place.  Lying with my back on the floor, I could look up at see the bottom of the mattress.  Holding the mattress in place were a few wood beams.  The frame of the bed formed a sort of ledge where I kept my secret treasures.  I placed the stack of cards here, got out from under the bed and walked to the living room to watch TV.  My mom followed, only she had something in her hand – my Superman cards.  She asked where I had gotten them.  I was already a thief; I didn't want to be a liar.  I told her how I talked my brother into getting them at the grocery store.  An understatement would be to say that she was furious.  My powers were useless against her.  She took the cards and sent me to my room.  My punishment was to wait there until my dad got home, when I would face a bigger challenge. If only I had the power to look into the future!  I would have been able to see that today I can get all 99 cards and 22 stickers, from the Superman III trading card set, for just $30.00 – a small price to avoid a sore bottom.

In response to 'Let It Snow' from

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris