Cum on Feel the Noize - Quiet Riot
I lived in Dallas for two and half years. We moved into one of the first dozen houses in a subdivision that would ultimately hold more than five hundred. Our new house was surrounded by bulldozed mud fields spattered with half finished wood and drywall framed houses. It was a fun place to ride a dirt bike, but the emptiness of the place accelerated the onset of that stage of adolescent nihilism that was inevitable in me and the other out of state transplants that populated the neighborhood. I learned exactly what was meant by “load bearing wall” by knocking them down and watching entire framed houses collapse into themselves.
My family were members of a pentecostal sect, and every Sunday and Wednesday we drove forty minutes into the country to attend the church that our previous pastor had picked for us when we found out we were leaving Florida. Movie theaters and rock music were forbidden, so the awesome racket that I heard coming out of headphones on the school bus was near but maddeningly out of reach. I remember hearing snatches of this song in particular and wondering if I would always be listening from the outside.
If a wizard caught me off guard and offered me a trip to any concert ever, I might choose Quiet Riot playing Dallas in 1983. It would probably be a crap concert, but I don’t think I would regret it.
the guru or described as randy for eternity
For most of the first two years that he knew me, my father-in-law pretended not to be able to remember my name. Of course, I was obligated to return the favor and that is how he picked up the nickname, “Randy.”
