Ramble On

The year was 1997 (maybe 1996). It was a cold winter Friday and Terri and I and a few others were making our way to St. FX in my Honda Civic hatchback and a friend's Acadian to visit. That is to say we were going to binge drink for a few days in a different county. The weather was calling for snow, but nonetheless, we decided to take the "back way" - through the Musquodoboit Valley - because it was purported to be faster. In retrospect this was a terrible idea - we were fishtailing before we were through Meagher's Grant and it hadn't even started to snow yet. So it came as no surprise when, despite our creeping pace, my car ended up in a deep ditch somewhere between Eastville and Westville, foiled by the thick wet snow, the steady climb and my questionable tires and driving ability. We were one spindly tree trunk away from an icy dip in a brook, but we were not hurt and the car was fine and the passengers were still giddy (at first).

So the Acadian pulled off the road (he had CAA) and we all waited for the tow truck to arrive. Since we were out of cell range (this was 1996-97 remember), the call for help was made from some strangers' home a few miles up the road. We were really in the middle of nowhere. So we sat. We turned off the headlights because we were tired of helpful passers-by pulling over to ask if we were okay. There was much smoking and gossiping and boredom and frustration - and my stressed, knotted stomach. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, two tow trucks showed up (the other had been called by one of the helpful passers-by) and following a brief argument we were rescued and continued on our merry way to St. FX where we successfully binge drank and vomited and embarrassed ourselves for two days.

But when I think back to the whole experience, what I mainly remember was the soundtrack - the newly released Red Hot Chili Peppers' One Hot Minute. Warped. Aeroplane. My Friends. I think we listened to it front to back at least twice while draining the battery in the ditch. I'm not sure how I felt about it then - probably indifferent, but I listened because I paid for it dammit - but I most certainly hate it now. I associate it with sitting in that ditch, stressed and frustrated and cheap and so wanting to be warm and drunk and indoors. It was bland white funk and emotionless balladry and angry abrasive unmusical noise (supposedly to represent their anger and sadness re: the River Phoenix OD) - yet it was praised by Spin and Rolling Stone, who were my musical compass at the time. So I guess I was let down on three fronts - four if you count my driving, five if you count the insensitive smoking peanut gallery in the backseat.

And that my friends, is why I dislike the RHCP.

This post is nowhere near as poignant as it was in my mind when I started, lol.