This morning, while the gods forced me to listen to Quiet Riot as I shaved my beard in the shower room, I reflected that the ascending guitar arrangement behind the verse for “Bang your Head” is so similar to the arrangement from Def Leppard’s “Let it Go” that it could have been a complete fucking ripoff.  Indeed, as I thought more and listened to the brain-dead tones of the former composition, I realized the Def Leppard song was a far superior composition, and that, in fact, I like Def Leppard, especially their deep reflection on Saturnalian release, to which even a man of duty and discipline is entitled on occasion.

I rejoiced over discovering this important truth from my past. For it was Def Leppard that opened a Blizzard of Ozz show I once attended at the Bangor Auditorium in my youth, accompanied by Christopher Machias Trentonius Stroustah. I also rejoiced over glimpsing a woman in tight orange gym wear who seemed to me almost unreal, a phantom of perfect feminine form. Yet, as she turned the corner into the juice bar and I stole one more glance at her glorious departing angle, I realized that she was indeed real, and did rejoice over that truth as well. I reflected that each day brings wonder of this kind, and my past silicon valley campaigns for gold and renown often did not, and that I should consider this carefully in my deliberations on when to finally blow this fucking clambake.