It's the bastard's (aka the bastard-day-boy) birthday. He let the age-cat out of the bag, that's his business, I'm just here to tell a story.
I guesss it's been 20 years since I saw my first concert, arena style, the monster's of rock at Giant's Stadium. The morning of the bastard and I couldn't sleep and ended up watching the Cliff 'Em All video, though Metallica was not headlining they were the featured attraction for us. A thunderstorm was blowing through the old-tri-state that particular cock's crow and we were concerned that they would play under such circumstances, hours later they went on, after an excruciating set by Kingdonm Come. The weather cleared up and they walked out on stage, Metallica, still in their glory before they shat themselves, even though there was a harbinger of things to come during this very performance. The bastard and I made with five rows of people to the stage at a time when floor seating meant, no seats, just floor. They ripped into Creeping Death, and the crowd around us erupted into a violent swirl. Now, I was still a little guy at this point, I hadn't reached my current height, and wasn't as close to filled out as I was even three or four years later, (after the chemo but that's another story), so I imediately began to shit myself. The bastard, was the strapping sort back in those days, burly enough to ride the tide of mayhem that came are way. I grabbed on to his trusty denim vest and rode the next 45 minutes out part frightened to my very core and lovin' it (that's for you thrilla). The point is the bastard could have very well been a bastard that day and joined the fray leaving me to go it alone, but he didn't, he did his duty and kept me from being stomped, looking back occasionally to make sure there wasn't just a hand attached to his vest, all the while illegally recording the event with a two bit hand recorder in his vest pocket.
I bring it up because I could tell you the story of the scar on my face, or how he hit me in the nose with a baseball bat (in fairness it was accidental, or what it was like dealing with him as a roommate for 18 years or so. A lot can be said about him in a number of different ways and probabaly in different languages, but today I'll just say that he's not heavy, he's my brother.
Happy Birthday, Bro'ham.