All My Best Childhood Memories Involve Solvent Abuse



At the age of twelve I developed a rabid interest in models of the scale variety. It was a simpler time, a time when all one needed to know was that Monogram was good, Revell was shite and Testors wasn’t kidding around with their “use only in well-ventilated areas” warning. Now don’t mistake me for some glue casualty; it was never intentional, I just wasn’t much for reading warning labels. “Try it out and worry about the consequences later” was — like any other young man with hopes of someday sprouting hair on his chest — my modus operandi for most everything encountered on my daily travels. But this glue, man, was a different ball of wax entirely from the likes of putting Lego in the mouth or, say, developing a fake burp routine. It was wild.

I clearly remember the first time I experienced a glue-borne altered state, which is perhaps indicative of why I’m still around to tell the tale thereof: a half-assembled ’69 Chevelle in front of me on the table, suddenly so close yet so far away. Ears ringing. Suddenly, I have the urge to run around the house screaming, but in a good way, so I indulge myself. Good times.

Unfortunately I made the mistake of mentioning this to my mother, who promptly opened every window in the house and while I found her reaction to be rash (not to mention a total buzzkill), in retrospect, it was befitting of a community already dealing with the fallout of glue-centered recreation.

We lived in an area that required one to traverse a ferry in order to return to the promised land and it so happened that one of the deckhands on said ferry was a bit of a glue enthusiast. He died. His partner in crime wasn’t so lucky and merely ended up with a form of brain damage that has left him wandering the earth looking like a nightmarish circa-1972 Neil Young. At the time everyone blamed it on “acid” or “drugs” or some other bogeyman buzzword, but it was good ole Testors.

Lately, certain people would have you believe glue is a gateway drug to gas, hairspray, and pretty much every other airborne solvent out there. But don’t believe them. Glue is the Cadillac of solvents, the Hummer of huffing, the Chevette of…uh, nevermind.

I lost my train of thought.


2 Responses to “All My Best Childhood Memories Involve Solvent Abuse”

  1. Far too funny…. and far too well written.

  2. I usually don’t post in Blogs but your blog forced me to, amazing work.. beautiful …

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