You know, I like to think of myself as a pretty good writer, able to turn a decent phrase and evoke a mood when it suits me. But there are times when I run across something I wish I’d written, something that so perfectly crystallizes an idea, a moment in time, a cultural scene, that I can only doff my hat, hang my head, and think, “Damn, how does he do that?”
Case in point: John Scalzi’s fever dream du jour:

I’ve mentioned before that there’s a musician out there named Mike Scalzi (no relation) who is the leader of a band called Slough Feg, who play unreconstituted pre-hair band-era metal; really, you can taste the bong resin, see the black light Houses of the Holy poster and feel the conversion van plush carpet between your toes when you listen to these dudes.

 

[Listen to the latest Slough Feg album] and be transported to a land that time forgot: where Poison and Cinderella and Winger were all publicly executed for their crimes against humanity, where Vikings do roam the land, hoisting their mighty warhammers to battle the leather clad, GTO-driving survivors of the nuclear apocalypse, and where all the women look just like Julie Strain, and they’re totally hot for you in your Music from “The Elder” t-shirt, and they’ve got a friend who looks like Little Queen-era Ann Wilson that they want to bring over to your garage loft for a special, special time. You know, before you all have to go out and kill some orcs. With your swords. That eat souls.

 

Good times, good times.

Good times indeed… and a good trick of exactly capturing the sticky zeitgeist shared by all early-teenage boys circa 1982 or so, back when our hormone-addled imaginations were fueled by endless reruns of John Carpenter movies on HBO, nascent music videos, Heavy Metal magazine, Robert E. Howard reprints, cheap pin-up posters won at state-fair midway games, and rounds of D&D played in our best friend’s clammy basement bedroom, not to mention the occasional, furtive glimpse of our dad’s Playboy stash and way, way too much sugar delivered by direct Slurpee infusion. God, I do miss those days, sometimes…