Girlhood dashed to pieces, also, my father was condemned to a tanning booth

When I was nine years old, I watched MTV for the first time. A music video came on for a song which, with the fear of sounding cliche, changed parts of my life.

This was the music video.



Yeah, it's kinda lame now. But--The image of John Frusciante (I could write an entire post about that man. Seriously? Seriously.) surrounded by clouds and wearing that weird outfit has stuck with me my entire life from that point on. I was entranced--this song was the first non-pop/boyband song that I had liked. I loved it. It was the first piece of music that 'spoke' to me on any real level. (I was nine. Work with me here.)

My nine year old self had never heard of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. (A lot of people hadn't until this song/album came out in '91. Yes, I am that young.) I wanted the CD, I wanted to know everything about this band.

My parents were not pleased. See, this is a band that not only made beautiful music like 'Under the Bridge', but also made songs like 'Sir Psycho Sexy', the lyrics of which have such gems as "....Creamy Beaver/Hotter than a fever/I'm-a-giving/'Cause she's the receiver...." Not appropriate for a nine year old. I didn't care, didn't understand what the hell they were even talking about. They were also famous for wandering around on stage wearing only tube socks on their genitals. (Causing my father to later, and forevermore, refer to them as 'Those socks-on-cocks boys you like so much', which is hilarious in it's own right.)

I soldiered on. Listened to what I could on the radio, made bootlegged copies of the album on tape. When I was 13 I went to see them in concert for the first time. (John wasn't the guitarist then. I don't know why I need to share this with everyone.) (I have seen them several times, thankyouverymuch.)

I was, for well over 10 years, a die hard Chili Peppers fan. I know, still, to this day the words to EVERY SONG they have. I'm serious. (No one said I was cool.) My knowledge doesn't end there, but it matters not. What matters is that I loved, loved, loved this band, and their music shaped my adolescence and young adulthood in great ways. It was the soundtrack to my coming of age, in a sense.

As I wander further into my 20's, they have fallen out of favor. The new stuff? Not so great. Haven't really loved anything since '99, when Californication came out. Even that album had it's failings, in my opinion.

Anyway, the sun stopped rising and setting for the Chili Peppers. I still listen to the old stuff, still sing along and embrace the warm feelings I get from the music, but gone are the glory days.

So when T mentioned a magazine article today that said Anthony Keidis had a seven month old son, I paused.

"What?" Something his major couldn't happen without my notice! How could Anthony Keidis impregnate someone and become a father without my noticing?

It seems that it could and did happen when I stopped paying attention to current pop culture trends and news.

It seems it happened when I grew out of my Chili Peppers decade.

It just goes to show....gone is my childhood. Gone is the era of my listening to bootlegged songs about graphic sex (and not understanding it), sung by a strung out (sometimes, depends on the album) junkie and his 'band of brothers' on a Walkman while sitting in my bedroom. Gone are the days where I would stay up all night to listen to an album over and over again, amazed at what I was hearing.

I don't think this was as eloquent as I intended.

(But for real? Everyone needs to find, and listen to, at least 6 times, the song "Ramparts" by John Frusciante. It's on the album To Record Only Water For Ten Days, and is just over a minute long. Go. Listen. Amazing.)

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Before my dad went on dialysis, he was treating his kidney failure with diet and, to his chagrin, exercise. When that stopped being totally effective, and the uraemic acid began to build up in his system (causing serious itching), they treated him with "Light Therapy"--basically a 12 second tanning bed.

The first time this treatment was implemented, it worked great. Dad felt awesome, no more itching.

After about a month, the itching began again. In earnest.

Dad went back to the dermatologist for a second treatment.

Now, let me pause here. We're not talking about the conventional go-lie-down tanning bed, were talking the get-naked-and-stand-in-this-booth-while-shot-with-light-from-all-sides tanning booth. On steroids.

Anyway, appointment for second treatment in hand, my dad heads off to the doctor.

He strips naked, dons the weird glasses, and steps into the booth.

This is where everything goes wrong.

The tanning tech, rather than blasting my dad for 12 seconds with high UV light, blasts him for 30 seconds.

And literally fries my father.

His ENTIRE 80 year old body is sunburned. EVERY PART.

Just when he is starting to potentially heal, he went on a road trip. In a car with no air conditioning. And was promptly stuck in traffic, in unseasonably hot weather, for hours. And obtained a heinous case of 'drivers arm'.

I arrived for a visit the next day. My father was literally SNOWING dead skin. He itched, he hurt, he was swollen, he was peeling. And he was PISSED.

So pissed he refused my attempts to put lotion on his lobster body. I threatened to vacuum him to make the 'snow' stop. Finally I plunged my hands in cold water, lubed up with aloe vera, and attacked.

Oh, there was yelling. Swearing. The proverbial stomping of feet and gnashing of teeth. Then? Silence.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief, leaned back in his chair, and luxuriated in the moment.

Then he hit me on the top of the head and swore some more.

Damn, I miss that guy.