South Miami was a veritable hotbed of glam or hair metal, the genre that we all laugh at—at the risk, however, of not really getting the deeper message of what these heterosexual men in drag had to offer. But I remember feeling the Zen of Rock then (and I admittedly still feel it now) when a young and horse-mouthed Steven Tyler (long before American Idol came calling) wagged his tail and emphatically wailed, practically imploring me to Dream on!—each utterance of the phrase climbing higher and higher on his sub-human octave scale.
