666, A Stream of Consciousness Post

This is post number 666. Too bad 666 has lost its impact, since the revelation in May 2005 that the number of the beast is really 616. So much for that Iron Maiden song. 666 sounds much better, if you ask me. It has punch. 616 sounds like an area code ... hang on a minute ... yup, that's in Michigan. I knew there was something odd about Michigan. Michigan has been hiding something, and now I know what it is.

Anyway, heavy metal reminds of all of those hot summer days spent cruising the streets of southern Ontario with my metal-head cousin in his souped-up Duster or Dart. Occasionally, there would be beer close at hand, sometimes too close. Far less often, some interested girls might happen by only to lose interest very quickly. That, I blamed on a number of things: my cousin's weak attempt at a moustache, which made his upper lip look soiled; the blaring heavy metal, which made it impossible to have a conversation (or at least his failure to get the ballad queued up in time - those monster ballads are there for a reason); and his belief that the car could do all of the talking for him. He would just pull over and say "hey," hoping that would be enough.

I learned a lot about heavy metal that summer, and while I can still sing along to a goodly number of soothing heavy metal anthems -- you can sign me up for AC/DC karaoke any day -- I did not gain any appreciation for the art form. I think it's the screeching high pitched vocals more than anything. I was never fond of the Eddie Van Halen school of self-indulgent guitar solos, but I am not afraid of a little heavy guitar.

I like Led Zeppelin, as I have already mentioned here, and some punk, later Ministry, Nine Inch Nails, some selections from Tool, even. But, those posers in big hair with a voices like castratos do nothing for me at all. Don't even get me started on the likes of Twisted Sister or Warrant or ...