What About The Voice Of Geddy Lee?

I’ve always been receptive towards new music, but like any other music fanatic, there was a time in which my record collection was probably just as weak as the people I ridicule today. Ok, maybe not that bad, but I did have my share of duds while growing up. After all, I’m the guy that got pissed at Heather A. for putting a few saltine crackers on 38 Special’s “Wild Eyed Southern Boys” as it played on my turntable at my very first “the parents are away” party. Now I understand she was doing me a favor in her drunken comedy gesture. Thank you Heather. Too bad I couldn’t return the favor later on by telling you “speed kills.” She’s one of those chicks that came from a well-to-do family, got caught up in meth, and now looks 10 years older than me. She even came close to losing her kids after she left them outside in subzero weather while she did whatever mothers do under the influence of methamphetamines.
I stole at least four albums from her older brother: Ozzy Osborne’s “Diary Of A Madman,” Van Halen’s “Fair Warning,” Rush’s “All The World’s A Stage” and Billy Squier’s “Don’t Say No.” I was doing pretty good up until Billy Squier. And I don’t know what the fuck was with me and stealing back then. I nicked several albums from Woolsworth (do you know how hard it was to steal albums?), cassettes from K-Mart, and a shitload of cassettes from unlocked cars parked in the hospital parking lot. I would go to the orthodontist and then check for unlocked vehicles on the way back to school. I picked up Lindsey Buckingham’s “Law & Order,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Live,” and Tom Petty’s “Hard Promises” this way. Not once did I get busted.
I touched my first vagina to the sounds of Rush’s “All The World’s A Stage” 8-track. Even then I was an overachiever: using a format that essentially has no real ending seemed like the perfect soundtrack to exploring the warmth of womanhood. Never mind the actual songs were nowhere near sexual, sans the seven minute version of “In The End.” But whatever: forethought and sensitivity were never really an issue with the girl that once made a beeline towards my willy, backstage in the middle school auditorium. Besides, she seemed impressed that I could recite “I can see what you mean/It just takes me longer” alongside Geddy Lee. The man with the squeaky voice was my first finger bang companion.

But getting back to the kleptomania, I really have no idea what possessed me to steal music. It wasn’t like there was other examples of my material thievery either. I probably stole nothing more in value that some Bazooka Joe bubble gum up until that point. Music made me do crazy thing. Like cash in all of my savings bonds to a ton of albums down at the mall. There was something so powerful about having enough cash to actually secure an entire weekend worth of quality listening material. “Quality” being very subjective to the age and time. It’s obvious that “Hold On Loosely” held a special place in my heart for a brief period in my life. Perhaps if I wasn’t so cynical, it might still hold a place of fondness with me today. For the record: I’ve never stopped loving that live Rush album.