THE GREAT GADFLY:

Sit Down, Waldo

Yeah, I know - in a couple of weeks, I'll be whining up a storm again with the workplace blues. The truth of it all is that the best things in life are the things we don't have today, so like whatever.

I watched a special on MTV last night about the rise and fall of "Headbanger's Ball", which, for those of you blissfully unaware, was a show on MTV devoted to all things spandex and peroxide, cranked to 11. I think it's the most Dave Mustaine I've ever ingested into my soul in one sitting. I loved the whole tone of righteous indignation of 'Banger's Ball regulars over the eventual cancellation of the show in the mid-'90s, once grunge came in and pooped all over the hair party. "We just wanted to rule, man - but THEY wouldn't let us rule! Is it so much to ask, to simply rule? Ask Don Dokken or Ronnie James Dio - ruling is an essential birthright, and they fekkin'....they de-ruled us, man! Doth the mere act of ruling be a CRIME? I beseech thee!" It was sad. But it showed footage of Kurt Cobain wordlessly offering Riki Rachtman a disposable razor before a mid-90s Video Music Awards ceremony, so that was cool. Pretty much said it all, actually.

Oh, but who am I fooling? I'll admit it. I miss hair metal. I miss Cinderella. I miss Vixen. I miss Lita Ford and Kip Winger. You're sexin' me! Quit sexin' me! Stop it! Now! I miss Ozzy in a flouncey purple silk blouse with frosty tipped, teased hair and Tammy Faye eyeliner. I'm man enough to say it - I miss Jon Bon Jovi in acid wash denim, flying across the stage on cables, livin' on a prayer. Someone, please - Talk Dirty To Me. Poison. Pretty Poison. Not to be outdone by Lita, even Joan Jett got in on the act, even if she hated herself for loving it. Breakin' tha law, breakin' tha law. I set two extra places at the table for Beavis and Butthead, for Bill and Ted, for Wayne and Garth. Who's afraid of The Great Kat? I am, Martha. I am. Hell, I'd even smile on a Body Count reunion, if Ice-T could take a minute and break away from his actor duties on "Law & Order: SUV", or whatever show it is he currently graces. At the end of the day, Jerry Orbach notwithstanding, it's all about the RAWK.

Oh, but again, I'm blowing smoke up the hot pink spandex of yesterday's pop culture zeitgeist. Who am I trying to kid? When AquaNet rock was big in the '80s, I was listening to Grace Jones and the purple paisley love god, back when he was loving the sexy and dressing like a drag king on acid. I was listening to Warren Zevon, for Christ's sake.

Oh, to have been a zoned-out stoner in an Iron Maiden parking lot, fluffing my perm-and-bleached mullet and sporting a Krokus t-shirt with the sleeves cut off down the sides, raising my plastic tumbler of Everclear and hooting wildly whenever I saw a pick-up truck pass by my rusty yellow Le Car. Oh, to have a sister named Rhonda with mile-high mall-bangs, pink feather earrings and an array of terry-cloth tube-tops (with snags) and lavender french-cut t-shirts with midriffs cut into beaded tatters. She'd have an unnatural Oompa-Loompa bottle-tan, with complimenting peach nail polish. Rhonda would have been the catfight queen of the junior high. She would have owned a white cowboy hat and a fringed purse - her goin'-out accessories. Rhonda's motto would have been "that fuckin' bogus shit can suck my left one - that skanky bitch ain't the boss of me. WHOOOOOO!!!!" No wine coolers for us, thanks.

Leave it to me to have my "It's A Wonderful Life" moment a month after Christmas.

Party on.