Breaking the seal

Breaking the seal can have so many implications. Most college kids or beer drinkers probably know it as that first piss you take after you have been drinking for a while. And breaking the seal does not mean a good thing. It means the first of many trips to the bathroom to relieve your bladder of the onslaught of beer you're dumping on it. What some may not know is the reason why this happens. When we drink beer, we drink one after another. Your body does what it does with it and dumps it into your bladder. You don't feel the need to pee until you have overextended and stretched your bladder. When you finally DO break the seal, you don't empty your bladder all the way, thereby causing it to fill up quicker than usual.

I first broke the seal at 14 years old. Me, Ray, and a bunch of friends who were Base Brats sat at Ray's house one summers day while parents were off working with a case of Michelob and a 5th of Bacardi Rum. We sat and drank and played games, acting like we were adults, the oldest of us 16? It got to the point that the Bacardi numbed my mouth so much, I could take a sip of it and drink down a whole Michelob, which I was having a hard time drinking because of the carbonation. I am unsure how much I drank out of all of it, but I do remember being outside and stumbling around. I had to go home for dinner not too long later and have no idea how my mom didn't smell it on me. After dinner I promptly went into the bathroom and threw up my pizza and salad. I cleaned up what I thought was good, but forgot the underside of the rim. My mom asked who got sick, but my brother and I just denied it. I didn't wanna fess up to it obviously because that would bring questions as to why.

From that point on we drank as often as we could. It was the "cool" thing to do. From the jar of moonshine in Ray's dads liquor cabinet, to the cases of beer Mike stole from his dads Christmas party that we hid in the snow (frozen Budweiser is NOT good). I feel bad for the parents when they went to make a drink from the bottles we kept refilling with water! Of course, that only worked with the clear booze, so never really had whiskey. Mostly rum, vodka and beer. Beer was an easy commodity it seemed. Someone always had an older brother or sister, fake ID, or even a store that would sell to you just because you had the money. Get it and go before anyone asked questions. It seemed that it was a goal for most of us to see when and where we were gonna party and who was gonna get shitfaced. I remember my friend Matt got a case of Michelob from someone one night and we drove around. I drank all 24 beers in about 4 hours. The old me would brag about that and high five. My friend Brian and I our Senior Year would treat ourselves on payday weekends. We would buy a 6 pack of Corona as our good beer to get a buzz with and then drink a 12 pack of Schaefer each. So, 18 beers each. If it wasn't a payday weekend, then usually just the Schaefer was had. I continued this tradition of drinking to get fucked up for a long time after. So much so, it was a hindrance to my life, and I never paid any attention to it. I ruined parties, birthdays, holidays, you name it, I did it. Whether it was talking shit, throwing up, passing out, whatever. I actually set a womans hair on fire at a party once, just because.

I recognized and admitted to being an alcoholic a few years back. But the problems started way, way back. I was a new Marine and living in California. I got a DUI 2 days before Xmas at 20 years old. 4 months later I got busted walking home with beer, still at 20 years old. I got sent to alcohol classes, where I was to attend AA meetings. All I had to do was show up and listen. Pretty scary stories going on. I also had to sit through group therapy and classes every week. Because I used to work for the Major who assigned me the classes and he just wanted me to have info as I was, "An impressionable young Marine, trying to find my way", I only had to go to 3 months worth of classes vice 12. During that 3 months, I learned to dislike group sessions. We were allowed to speak to a higher ranking Marine in any manner we liked and call her by her first name. We were supposed to be open and honest about everything so we could cleanse the soul. I asked her one day if she drank, and she refused to answer. She told us all rules applied to everyone in the room, yet she refused to answer me. I really disliked this and thought it was unfair. I was told that anyone who thinks about a drink is an alcoholic, even if they have never had a drink. What sense does that make? I know, I screwed up and it was meant to help, but it seemed to be some good mixed in with a lot of BS to me. Especially since I was 20 and knew everything anyways.

And the military didn't help matters much. Just about every boss I had was a drunk. They promoted the base Club System by sponsoring Bosses Night or Right Arm night, where you take your boss or right hand and go for drinks. Of course, everyone was welcome. Go to dinner at someones house? Beers. Go to a going away picnic for someone? Beers. And what used to BURN the guys I worked with that were single? I was underage, living in base housing and could have all the beer and liquor I wanted, yet they were living in the barracks and weren't allowed any alcohol at ALL in the barracks. None. Zero. Nada. Their arguments weren't pointed at me, but I got some dirty looks from time to time.

After California, it didn't stop, it just got worse. I partied all the time in NC. It's a wonder I remained married. I guess I felt like I was missing out on the party life. Same thing in Washington State, yet we usually got together with other families. One birthday I drank a bottle of Mezcal and ate the worm. I don't remember eating the worm, but I guess I promptly threw up right after. I awoke the next morning on my couch. My wife was none too pleased as it was a Sunday and at midnight she thought she was in labor and couldn't wake me up. Good thing my daughter waited until Monday to come out. What a fucking jerk. I look at it now as I write and want to punch myself in the face. But that didn't stop it. I was the senior man on a color guard. We were requested to present the National Colors to the Maxio Facial Surgeons Convention in Seattle. I had done all the phone calls to set it up. The gentleman assured me they had stands to hold the flag once I marched it onto the stage. Once I got onstage, I realized the stand was way too small to handle our flags. Right up in front I heard one of the surgeons say, "I knew we should have had the Army do it...." I was pissed off to the max now, on top of embarrassed. When I got out of the room, the gentleman who was taking care of us set us up in the bar with an open tab. Jack and Cokes please, one every 5 minutes. And so it started. Once their speaker was done, we were invited to drink and eat upstairs at the buffet and open bar. We drank the bar out of Jack Daniels, AND, one of the bartenders was a former Marine in the unit I was in. So, the drinks were strong. I ended up in the passengers seat of the van somehow, after picking a couple of fights I guess, and threw up all over the door and my uniform. Real classy. Another stellar moment. And still there's more.

I went to Japan without my family. They went to SOMD while I went to Camp Kinser, Okinawa, Japan. I actually maintained better over there. I was assigned so many billets and stayed pretty busy getting ready for DI school, I didn't drink too crazy. Not hair and fire crazy anyways. In fact, I stayed in my room and drank 98% of the time. The other times were with my friend Malcolm for a pint of Guiness on a Sunday afternoon, or the requisite Bosses night, etc. Miller Lite was only 2 dollars a 6 pack, so that was usually my beer of choice.

I don't really want to go on with the stories anymore. I am sitting here thinking about the harm I have done to myself and to friends and family. I know what I have done. I pretend I have it under control. Just because I acknowledged it. But I know it's in me. The seal was broken a long time ago. I am not sure I want it resealed. To forget your past condemns you to repeat it, or something to that effect.

Pain

In my head.

In my back

In my knees.

In my feet.

Not enough Calgon in the world.

Old Art

Today I decided to post up some old art from High School. (Click the pic for the full version.)

This was an India Ink Project for art class. Got the idea from a picture that was already made for the band.




These are mini flyers for the band I wrote about before. Toby Morse drew the picture originally and I printed them out in printing class. Took a pen, did some touching up, viola!



This was an album cover of a band and I liked the picture. I drew it with an ink pen and red marker. I don't know where the trees shadow is....




Pushead is an artist who did a lot of skateboard graphics. He did artwork for Metallica and some other bands as well. This was one of his skulls I drew with a number 2 pencil.



I believe Toby drew part of this. Punks n skins I call it!




I made a screen of this in printing class. I told all my friends to bring in white tee shirts and made a lot of shirts. I think I put it on jean jacket. This is a piece of card stock.




Last but not least, this is a plexiglass etching done in printing class. We took a piece of plexiglass, reversed your picture, cut it out with an exacto knife and then scratched the glass. Once the glass was scratched you run ink over it to fill the grooves.

As you can tell, I liked the Circle Jerks!

Just thought I would share these and maybe spark a few memories for the 3 of you reading!

Sleep, please.

As the years have gone by, it seems sleep wants to avoid me more and more. It's partly my fault and not. Right now, it's because I am overweight. before it was allergies. I can lose weight, but losing allergies was not gonna happen. there were things to help, but they always are there. Thankfully, Montana has shown me that the climate is conducive to my breathing.

It really started back in 2001 or so. I never really snored before, but noticed that my sleeping wasn't as restful as it used to be. The wife also noticed, probably more so than me, because my snoring was keeping her up nights. So, I went to the doctor on Parris Island and they suggested a sleep study. I had to drive to an Army base in Georgia to do it.

For those of you who don't know what a sleep study is, they make you the most uncomfortable you can be by sticking diodes on your feet, legs, stomach, chest and head. These are supposed to monitor your bodily functions while you "sleep". You are in a strange bed, in a strange room without your sheets, pillow, a camera on you with a microphone to record you. No pressure! Talk about performance anxiety, and all you're required to do is sleep. It takes about an hour to stick these things into your skin and then tape them on. I have done this 3 times. The first time I did it, they lost the results. No one on Parris Island could get the Army to find them anywhere. We were getting ready to move, so I waited. I did another sleep study in Winston Salem, NC and the results said there was no sleep problem, yet I was still unrested and snoring worse. My doctor sent me to an allergist.

Now, to determine if you have allergies or not, they have to actually put the things you may be allergic to on your skin. They prick you with a little pin that is infected with what they test you for and watch how your skin reacts. Nice, right? Turns out I was allergic to Pine, Maple, Mold, Dust, Chicken, and Pecans. Those of you who remember me as a kid, I was always throwing snot bombs from my nose and they never seemed to stop. Well, now I know why! Did you know that mold grows in your grass, and when you mow the lawn, you throw it all over into the air you are breathing? I didn't. Dust? Where isn't their dust? Pine and Maple trees are extremely abundant on the East Coast, especially in the Carolina's. Pine, anyways. Chicken I knew about, but only if I handle it raw and don't wash my hands right away after. Pecans, meh. So, I was told not to vacuum the floors and kick up dust, leave that to someone else (YES!). I was told I shouldn't mow the lawn (WOOHOO!). I had to go to the allergist twice a week for shots that were supposed to help fight off my allergies. Also was given Allegra to take. Life got a little better, but not much. As time wore on, and my body started hurting more and more, and eventually my back blew out, I gained weight.

I admit that at first I wasn't watching my diet. I was depressed about everything going on with my body and didn't have time to concentrate on a diet. Those of you that knew me as a kid remember a guy that was 135 pounds, soaking wet. When I joined the Marines, I put on 40 pounds in 2 years. Then I started working out. I hovered around my maximum weight for a lot of years, which was 198. Depending on which day you weighed me, I could be off 5 pounds, but maintained that weight for a long time. But, I weigh almost 80 pounds heavier than that now. I have tried to maintain a decent diet, eating oatmeal and fruit every breakfast, something small at lunch, and smaller portions at dinner, almost always skipping seconds except on vegetables. Key word being "almost". Sometimes you ALWAYS have to have a little more. Any dietitian will tell you that you can't change everything all at once and cut out everything bad or you will be tempted to cheat more often and worse.

When the weather was nice here, I was walking to and from work every day, just under 3 miles one way. It was working pretty well. People were telling me I looked thinner in the face, seemed to slim a little in the waist, etc. And, I was feeling better with some cardio. But, with temps in the teens and sub zero here in Cut Bank, I am not gonna subject myself to those conditions. There is a civic center with limited equipment. And by limited I mean one treadmill, one elliptical trainer, and a small room of weights. The $63 a month they want to charge a month is NOT worth putting my name on a waiting list to walk on a treadmill or use an elliptical. I have weights at home, but was told not to lift free weights with my back the way it is. I have, but only light weight so as not to hurt myself.

Well, back in late October, I went to the VA hospital in Helena. Did another sleep study and this time they LOST THE RESULTS AGAIN! But, going off of the notes the tech took, they diagnosed me with sleep apnea. What that means is I stop breathing during my sleep. Everyone does it, but I do it for longer periods of time and have a horrible snoring problem. While I was having the sleep study done, they hooked me up and let me sleep with all their little diodes on. The tech told me that if they felt the need to, they would hook me onto a CPAP breathing machine. Basically a forced air machine, administering the air via a face mask that looks like a cup an athlete would wear. They shut the lights off at 11 and I fell asleep some time after. I was awakened by tech and told they were hooking me up to the CPAP. I asked what time it was. he told me he wasn't supposed to tell me. I only wondered how long I had been asleep before they thought I needed the machine. He explained that some folks would worry about the time and count the clock, thereby messing up their sleep. Like all the shit hooked on me, to include a wind tunnel connected to my mouth and nose wasn't gonna screw with my sleep. He ended up telling me that it was just after midnight. So roughly an hour or so and they decided I needed help.

Wake up time was 6 am, but they said I slipped into REM sleep and were not allowed to wake me up. They woke me up at 7 am and the tech was rushing me around like someone was coming in behind me to crawl into the bed during the day. He just wanted off work. So, I cleaned up and got as much of the goop from the tape off of me with the industrial government soap provided. They made me standby to get fitted for a mask. I was getting the CPAP.

^^^^^CPAP^^^^^ (Mine is a little different, but pretty damn close to this one)

So, now I am trying to sleep with that contraption on my head. it's not going too well. The mask ends up leaking. If I tighten it, it hurts my face. I have woken up in the middle of the night and thrown it on the floor, only to be awakened by an elbow to the ribs, or to a hand feeling my face to check if the mask is on me. I feel bad for causing my wife to lose sleep, but I really am trying. We'll see how it goes.

"In your dreams tonight...."

The words on the title are from a song by the band Agent Orange. Off and on through the years, and usually spurred on by someone else, I have looked at dreams as a way of my brain telling me something is wrong, or better yet, something is right with what I am doing in life. And sometimes, dreams are just plain fun and I just wake up and go WTF?!?

Truthfully, I usually don't remember my dreams, I don't sleep very well at night, thus causing me to wake up in the mornings and not even care about anything but making it OUT of bed and into the shower. But recently I have had the assist of a breathing machine at night and that seems to be helping me rest a LITTLE better, but not completely good. One thing I have noticed though, is that I have been remembering my dreams a little better. And recently, one of my daily horoscopes said to put a pen and paper by my bed and when I wake up to write about my dream. I know, dreams, horoscopes, WTF am I doing, right? Well, I just think this stuff is interesting sometime. I won't be on a 1-900 number anytime soon to find out if Madame Chloe' thinks I should bet the farm on the Saints to win the Super Bowl. I just chose this dream on this day to try and interpret.

So, my dream from last night: I was in SOMD where I grew up. We were staying in a flea bag motel, my wife and me and 3 youngest kids. My oldest was not in this dream. I was out walking around and walked into a room with a HUGE bed in it with about 20 to 30 hispanic girls all sleeping on it. There was only one awake, and she was sitting by the door. She looked at me and I looked at her. I raised my hands and started to back out, saying, "No problemo." She smiled and repeated my words, and I walked out. Erica came up to me in a rush, frantic. She told me the kids had been taken away by the police because she had left them in a furniture store to watch tv while she went to another store right next door to it. She said we need money, fast. i then walked into a bar hoping to find money or someone to borrow it from. Sitting at the bar were folks I work with here in Montana. In front of every barstool, on the bar, was a pile of change, all silver coins. I walked through the bar and came out empty handed. I told Erica that we needed to find the cop and just get our kids back. They are 17, 13 and 12 for Pete's sake, and it was far from neglect.

We find the police officer, and it was Phillip Seymor Hoffman who was the cop! And he had small, petite little hands, like the guy on the BK commercial on TV during football yesterday. We started talking and he wouldn't look me in the eye. I reached out to grab his hand because we hadn't shaken hands yet, and I noticed how little they were. I grabbed it and got angry. I commenced to squeezing his hand so tight, he released the kids back to us with no problems. There was more to the dream, like I remember some guy was trying to blackmail Erica and I, and we turned the tables on him and got out of it. That's all I seem to remember.

So, I went to a website called Dream Moods. On this site they have key words that you can look up and see what it MAY mean to you in your dream. Here are the things I came up with from my dream.

Actor/Actress

To see an actor or actress in your dream, represents your pursuit for pleasure. Your admiration of a particular celebrity may lead to a desire to have some of their physical or personality traits. Consider also who this actor/actress is and what characteristics you associate with him or her. These may be the same characteristics that you need to acknowledge or incorporate into yourself. The dream may also be a pun on his or her name.

To see a particular actor or actress in your dream, look at the role they are playing. Even though you may not know them on a personal level, how you perceive them or the characters they play can provide understanding in how it relates to you.

I was thinking all morning to myself, "Why Phillip Seymor Hoffman? What is it about him that brought HIM into my head? What character had he played that I saw that made me think of him?" The closest thing I could think of, by me dominating him with physical force and treating him poorly was his roll in Boogie Nights. His character was self conscious and wanted to fit in so badly he went and did things to try and make people like him. I can see my young self in this character. Wanting so badly to hang out with the "cool kids", and never really knowing myself inside. I always had my own personality, I just never recognized it until later in life. As far as the pursuit of pleasure, DEFINITELY! I have been thinking of purchasing some personal items that will enhance my physical pleasures and this seems to definitely be a part of the dream. I don't think I want to be a balding and overweight guy, although I do fit part of that description....

Bribery
To dream that you are being bribed, suggests that you are easily influenced. Perhaps you are letting others persuade you into doing something you don't really want to. Gather your strength and stand up for yourself.
To dream that you are bribing someone, indicates that you expect too much of others. You may be too demanding. In particular, if you dream that you are bribing a policeman, then you believe that you are above the law or rules. You think you can get away with being dishonest and deceitful.

In certain things in life, I believe I am easily influenced. I have tried weight loss medicines, work out supplements, and a few other things that have usually been failures. The only way to lose weight is to set your mind to it and work out. No miracle pill will help. I know that, but, sometimes get caught in the glamour of it, much to the dismay of my wife. Bribing the person back in my dream means I am expecting too much of others? i am trying to think of someone I expect too much from? Maybe because we are dealing with my 20 yo son and trying to help him find a path in life, or my 17 yo High School Senior who we are pressuring to get his GPA up so he can get into the school he wants and ALSO get scholarship money.

Bully
To dream that you are a bully, indicates your tendency to dominate a conversation, relationship or situation.� You have difficulties in recognizing your weaknesses and asking for help when you need it.

Lately I have been getting more and more aggravated when I am interrupted in a conversation. I am having a hard time keeping my train of thought sometimes and being interrupted derails my thought process. This has been especially apparent to Erica, where we have butt heads about almost daily. I recognize my weaknesses all too much. I believe I am a hurtful person and don't deserve the wonderful things I have in front of me, yet I DO have a problem asking for help. I usually feel like I can do something all by myself and don't need anyone elses help. I will fail and fail and fail usually before I ask for help, and sometimes it gets to the point of being in trouble of some sort.

Woman
To see a woman in your dream, represents nurturance, passivity, caring nature, and love. It refers to your own female aspects or may also represent your mother. Alternatively, it may indicate temptation and guilt. If you know the woman, then it may symbolize the concerns and feelings you have about her.To see a group of women talking in your dream, refers to some gossip.

Since I saw a group of women sleeping in this dream, I can only assume that what I have noticed, living in a small town, is that everyone seems to know everyone elses business, good and bad. No good deed goes unpunished and no bad deed goes unnoticed. Somebody always has an opinion about something, and I have found myself caught up in it all too much in the short time I have been here in Montana.

Children
To see children in your dream, signify an aspect of yourself and your childlike qualities. You may be retreating back to a childlike state where you are longing for the past and the chance to satisfy repressed desires and unfulfilled hopes. Perhaps there is something that you need to see grow and nurtured.�Take some time off and cater to the inner child within. Alternatively, the dream may be highlighting you innocence, purity, simplicity, and carefree attitude. To save a child, signifies your attempts to save a part of yourself from being destroyed. If you dream that you are separated from your children, then it symbolizes failure in some personal endeavor or a setback in some ideal you had.

The part I italicized and made red is the topic of a WHOLE other blog...I am not gonna touch it right now. It's nothing bad to do with my present state of being, but more along the lines of things from my youth. Saving my kids as an attempt to save a part of myself? Failure in an endeavor? The only thing I can think this might relate to is our current situation with where we live. It is not all it was promised to be, nor is it what we expected it to be. In my own way, i am trying to deal with things and make them easier for all concerned. It could also signify my failure at achieving certain goals and ambitions in the military. Physical disabilities ruined all of my chances for advancement and I was lucky to have retired.

Wife
To see your wife in your dream, signifies discord and unresolved issues. Pay attention to how you feel in the dream as it may highlight feelings that you are not expressing in your waking life.

I have told my wife this on several occasions and I will write it here: I don't deserve her and her forgiving nature to me. I don't know what marriage has unresolved issues, but if you see a couple like that, lemme know so i can talk to them!

Bar
To dream that you are at a bar, signifies your desire to escape from the stresses of your daily life and retreat into a light-hearted environment where pleasure abounds. Alternatively, you are seeking for acceptance in some aspect of your daily life.

I am turning 40 this year, and for my birthday my wife wants to give me a trip to Long Beach, California with my friend Mike. I am really looking forward to this trip and think it will be a GREAT time. I often daydream of being on a motorcycle and just riding from town to town, seeing the sites and meeting new people. At work, I am one of two guys that work there that are NOT oil field workers and constantly think I have to prove myself to them in some way or fashion. Usually it's with my sharp tongue and wit and remind them I have already retired from a career and am not some snot nosed punk off the streets.

Hotel
To see a hotel in your dream, signifies a new state of mind or a shift in personal identity. You are undergoing some sort of transition and need to move away from your old habits and old way of thinking. You need to temporarily escape from your daily life.

I covered this in my explanation above.

I could go on and on and on with this, picking out minute details of the dream and looking them up to see what is said. And I didn't go to any other websites to see what they may have to say about my dreams and their interpretations. I think it would just confuse me and make me think that dreams really have no meaning. But I believe they do have meaning. I think that once we fall asleep, our brain tells us that something is wrong, or right, with what's going on in your life at the moment. Or, reassuring you that a decision you made years ago, or a decision you are about to make, is the right or wrong one. You just have to listen to it.

"This is the voice of you know who..........."

Fight for your blood

http://www.shredordie.com/videos/6cdebf7ede/mike-vallely-mike-v-hockey-stick-incident-2010

Apparently in November, professional skater and singer for the band Revolution Mother, Mike Vallely, or Mike V. as most refer to him as, got into a fight with a man AND a woman over a hockey stick the team captain for the hockey team the Ducks had meant for Mike's daughter. The stick went over the glass, the wrong person got it, and then it was ON! Just watch the video.

Now, put yourself in Mike V's shoes. What would you have done? Would you have cracked the guy in the face with the stick and then commenced to fighting him while his wife beat on you? Some of the skaters who have posted online are all about what Mike V did being right. And to a point, I think he was right, but in other ways I think he is wrong.

Mike has a TV show called Drive on Fuel TV. In this show he has gone around the world and shown what skate scenes are like in other countries and how one person in an area can make a huge impact on someplace. He has highlighted school teachers, cops, parents and often times just skaters wanting to make a difference. The show has a positive vibe all the time and is definitely a feel good show. He has a monologue in every episode that sometimes feels like poetry. Good things come to those who help is what I get from the show.

Then you have the Mike V who has been in numerous brawls, skate related and not. He has gotten in many fights with the crew from Vive la Bam and destroyed shit in the name of entertainment. A lot of these videos have been all over the web, and some even showcased in a DVD called "Mike V's Greatest Hits". He has been known to fly off the handle and snap in a half a heartbeat if something seems amiss and he doesn't like it. It's almost Jekyll and Hyde-like.

So, in the case of the misgiven hockey stick, what did Mike actually accomplish? I believe he jumped in and stood up for his daughter and what he thought was rightfully hers, which I would hope any father would do. But for what? A hockey stick? Did he really need to snap to violence so quickly? And what message did he send his daughter? That snap violence is the answer? Maybe the guy was drunk. Watching the video, it was obvious to me that Mikes wife was waving at Neidemeier and the stick was meant for their daughter. Only Mike and the guy and anyone around know what was said. But from what I saw, as soon as Mike grabbed the stick and there was any resistance, the tug of war he claimed looked like a stick shove in the face to me. Then it got uglier.

I am not a person who does not believe in violence. I think that sometimes violence, as a last resort, can get you what you want accomplished. If it were my kid, I would have fought for the stick for her too, but maybe in a different way. I am always watching out for people out to wrong my kids. It has happened in the past and it has been dealt with. Sometimes harsh words were exchanged, and sometimes my kids started it, but they were dealt with after. But never have I had to go to blows with someone over a disagreement, especially when it came to something as trivial as a stick. If Mike was such a great friend of the organization, he could have gotten her many sticks, and in person. Might not have been as cool as in front of a stadium of people, but wasn't she holding their Stanley Cup over her head in the video?

Exposing a small child to violence is not the best decision, in my opinion. Sure, they are going to see it every day on tv and the world around them, but dad shouldn't be the main source of punching. Daddy's little girl needs the man who loves the world and everyone in it. It's behind closed doors you strangle the shit out of those wanting to harm them or take from them!

In my opinion....

Big boys don't cry

Today was the day. Our oldest son moved out. His own place. His own stuff. His own life. Granted, he tried it once before when he went off to school, but this time it's for real, living off of his own money, making his own way.

This all came about a few weeks ago. Right after the new year we had a sit down with him and asked him what he wanted to do with his life. He is 20 and has tried college, talked about the Coast Guard, but nothing seems to have worked out for him. So we sat him down and told him that he was going to start paying us $75 a week rent to stay here. This would give him the opportunity to experience what it's like to have to pay out and use his money for something other than the fun things he had like GameFly, Netflix, X-Box Live, and ordering stuff off of the internet constantly. We wanted to teach him a life lesson while he worked it out what he wanted to do to move forward in life.

About a week and a half ago his mother got a text saying, "Mom, I am comfortable where I am right now, making the money I am making working at the grocery store, and I want to get my own place." Well, mom's reaction was no. Her belief was that he should stay with us, save money for a car, be around people who love him, the list was endless. I was indifferent. I thought that it could be a good thing, but also didn't want to let go. I suppose no parent really ever does. I never had to live on my own. I joined the Marine Corps not too long after graduating High School and just stayed at mom and dads place until I left for boot camp. I never experienced what some of my friends had, eating Kraft mac and cheese every night for dinner, Ramen noodles for lunch, scraping together what they could when they could. I had it lucky. I was given a house to stay in, extra money in my pay check for food for my family, and a guaranteed paycheck on the 1st and 15th of every month. So, I could not relay any life experience about this to my son. For the first time, I had no idea which way to go for advice for my son.

I spoke to my friend, Shane. He had left home at 17 and had lived on his own until he had joined the Marines. See, Andrew's mom was trying to convince him that the service might be good for him. He could learn a trade, have a place to live, steady pay, etc. All the things that took care of us for so many years. I told Shane what was going on and he relayed his story to me. He moved out and was living on his own in a small apartment, going to VoTech college during the day and working at Target at night. After a while, the reality of things caught up to him; he wasn't making it on his own. He was NOT going to go crawling back to mom and dad to tell them they were right and he couldn't make it on his own, so he joined the Marines. When I told Erica about this, it swayed her a little I think, because she really thinks his best choice is to sign up and get a trade.

So, we sat down with him and asked him what his plan was. He had already searched the paper and found a few places to look at. He asked around at work and was told which places always had the cops out front, and which places were quiet, nice, respectable places to be. Turns out the place to be is at the end of the block that we live on. Right on the corner of main street and 1st Ave, the street where welive. We were going to charge him $300 a month to live here, eat what he wanted, wireless internet, an X-Box, PS3, laundry service from mom and dad (mostly mom), and all the other amenities. The Bunkhouse, where he now stays, charges $400 a month, all utilities included, wireless internet and cable. All the same things he could have here, minus laundry service and food purchasing. His mother just got back from the grocery store with him. His goal was to spend $30, and when they rang it up it was $47. Reality had already started to set in she said, when he commented to her, "Wow, I only wanted to spend $30...."

I believe in my heart that this will be a good life lesson for him. Even though he is only down the street, he will learn to budget (hopefully), keep his room clean (hopefully), and learn what it takes to be on his own. After 20 years of guidance, all we can do now is sit back and watch, hoping that everything we have taught him was what he needed.

Good luck, son. You're only down the street, but it feels like a world away. I love you.

No windows.....

Almost every job I have ever had, I have had no windows. I am not talking about computers, I am talking about the panes of glass that let the sunshine in. Or the gloom of a cloudy day. Or the haziness of a foggy day. I think you get the picture by now.

My first job, that wasn't an under the table dishwashing position, was frying chicken for Roy Rogers. Not the actual singer himself, but the food chain that was popular on the east coast. Some still exist along the Jersey turnpike, at least they did back in 2006 when I drove up through there. I only worked on weekends, and the frying room was in the back of the store (I don't wanna call a grease trap a restaurant). The room was longer than it was wider. I had a deep sink, a stainless steel table, and three fryers. The only window in that room was the one on the microwave that cooked the biscuits and potatoes. My illumination was fluorescent lights, about 6 of them.

My next job was at a Subway. I was a Sandwich Artist! I didn't have to go to any art school or anything, but was taught the fine intricacies of how to properly cut the bread, what went on the sandwhich in which order, and how to wrap it up special so nothing fell out. This place had a window for the customers to look through and point out the items they wanted for their sandwich, and also two huge bay windows out front, but the way the counter was set up, I couldn't look out the window. On a slow moment I could catch a quick glimpse of the parking lot and see if it was raining or not. And again, the illumination was fluorescent.

Moving along to Nicolettis! Nicolettis is a long standing tradition for people of SOMD. As kids, it was the place to go after school dances for some pizza, a sub, or one of the many other items we had, including a salad bar. As an adult, we meet up there when we are back home and order our old favorites and reminisce about the good ol days. My initial job there was as a dish washer/busboy. So, as you can probably imagine, no windows. Just me, stainless steel tables and sinks, and a pile of bus bins and washing trays. I would get to run out and bus a table and look out into the outside world for a few moments, but most of my day was spent scraping off plates of uneaten food and loading them onto the washing trays. One of the perks of the job was bussing a table with a half full pitcher of beer! I would have my drink glass back there and fill it up and go. No need to worry about the boss because he NEVER came into the dishwashing area. Who worries about us? There was once again fluorescent lights, but there were only two very small ones, and it was always dark and gloomy in the dishwashing area.

When I joined the Marine Corps, I thought to myself, "This is it! No more windowless jobs! I am gonna see the country and the world, and it will be spectacular!" Never was I more wrong, ever in my life! Of course boot camp, we spent a lot of time outside, but my first duty station was spent working in a warehouse that had all the windows boarded up! 3 years of this and I thought, "Ok, new place coming, gotta have some windows." Wrong. Cinder block building in a cage. Next duty station, the building engineers put the windows at the top of 12 foot walls, so that did no good. Okinawa, Japan. Another warehouse. Parris Island was a breath of fresh air, literally! I was outside so much, it almost made up for all those years of walls. Then off to NC again, back to cinderblock walls and, you guessed it, just like everywhere else, fluorescent lights...... My current job has taken me to, once again, 4 windowless walls and fluorescent lights.

Some of you may be saying, "Well, easy fix! Get off your ass and walk outside!" It is an easy fix. And I try to do it as much as possible. But, just like most people, I have always had bosses, and they wonder, "Where did Crandall get off to? Is he screwing off somewhere? Is he taking ANOTHER dump? Why is he never at his desk? When in all actuality, I am always at my desk, getting the life drained from me by fluorescent lighting.

I typed in the words 'No Windows' into Google to see what I could find. Maybe a song written about it, maybe someone who felt the same and had already blogged about it. Nope. The overwhelming response had to do with the Microsoft Corporation and their Windows program. But on page 3 or 4, something weird came up. There was a link to a video claiming that one of the planes that flew into the World Trade Center in 2001 had no windows on it. Really? No windows, and what looked like a bomb strapped to the bottom of it. Another theory was that it had the shape of a military plane and was just painted to look like a commercial plane, but someone forgot the windows. I found this a little disturbing.

I would hate to think that someone in our Government would have conspired to make this whole mess of 9/11 up, just for the sake of starting a war and going after oil, or whatever else someone can come up with as to why we are in the situation we are in right now in the world. If someone did paint up a military plane to look like a commercial jetliner, where did the plane go that was supposed to be flying that day, and more importantly, where are the passengers, pilots and flight attendants? Are they being held prisoner in a warehouse somewhere? Or in a cinderblock building, with no windows, and the only thing for lighting is fluorescent bulbs, slowly killing them by sucking the life out of them?

Get in the pit....

Growing up 40 minutes south of Washington, DC had its advantages. One being the ability to go see some amazing bands play. And there were many, many DC bands to be seen. Government Issue, Soul Side, King Face, and one of my favorites, Scream. In fact, Scream was the headliner at the first hardcore show I ever went to in DC.

It was December 23rd. I was spending the night at Russell's house. We drove up with Eric. Having grown up in a small town, DC always seemed so busy and crazy to me, with everything on top of each other and constant detours due to the roads being dug up around every corner. I had gone up there as a kid on school field trips to museums, to see plays, etc, but never had been there at night.

We got up there about an hour before the show so we could walk around and meet up with the many friends who were going there for the show too. We drove around and found a parking spot, not an easy feat to do in most city's, unless you're willing to pay for a parking area, and us being poor punk kids, we looked for a free spot. We needed our money for gas, entry fee and t-shirts! So, we ran into our friends and walked the streets for a few to check it out. What sites to see! Pimps in fur coats, hookers in short leather skirts with fur coats on. These were the high end call girls. You also had the ones with the stockings with holes, smoking cigarettes and shivering because they didn't have the nice furs the other girls did. Homeless people roamed around with their bags and shopping carts, looking for the next place to sleep for the night, always asking for a quarter. Why is it that a quarter dollar is so important for people who are homeless? I suppose it's easier than trying to lug around pennies and dimes, plus, you're a quarter of the way to a whole dollar. Remember when a dollar meant something to you as a kid? It seemed like it was a fortune. Maybe to a homeless person, they always have that feeling?

Anyways, time was getting close and we made our way to the 9:30 club. At the time, the 9:30 was a small venue. It had hanging speakers so as not to take up any room on the floor, plus the stacks of speakers on the stage. We waited in line, bull shitting with our friends, looking at the merchandise for sale, that we would pick up on the way out. No point in buying something you have to hold all night while you're trying to enjoy the bands and dance! Since we were all under 21, we all got big X's on our hands to indicate to the bartender not to serve us. We walked through the door and I was amazed. I had never been a REAL place that shows/concerts were held. We had our own shows locally, but they were at different places and those places weren't created just for concerts. I was in awe of the size of the speakers hanging, the stacks of amplifiers, how smoky the room was even with the few people that were in there yet. It was what I had dreamed it would be and more.

We all hung out, about 12 to 15 of us from SOMD. We talked about the normal stuff, skating, girls, new music that had come out, the show we were about to see, pointing out people that were in the bands that were playing that night. One thing that stands out in my memory was one of my friends, I will call him T so as not to cause any embarrassment if he reads this, had heard that the bass player from Scream had been a male prostitute at one point in his life, and he was nervous that he was gonna come after him! Seek his young, sexy body out I guess....too funny.

There were two opening bands, but I don't remember who they were. I do remember that as those two bands played, there weren't that many people there to watch. I learned through the years that that is usually how it is. Some lesser name local bands are opening and their friends usually make up the majority of the crowd during their sets, and as the time for the headlining band to start approaches, the place gets more and more packed. Well, this night was no exception. What seemed like an ok sized room turned into a room packed shoulder to shoulder full of people by the time Scream was ready to come on. I am unsure what capacity for the club was, but I am sure we reached it and then some. We were on top of one another, and where the crowd moved, you moved.

It was time for Scream to play. At the sound of the first note, the swaying crowd turned into an alive monster. People started moving up and down, side to side, and eventually into a whirlpool of a circle pit. You were either in it, or pressed against the wall on the outskirts or up against the stage. Most people on the wall were on full alert, watching for an errant slam dancer to get shoved out of the crowd their way, and being ready to push them right back into the pit. I found myself there a few times, trying to catch my breath, or nursing a sore rib from catching an elbow. We had circle pits at the shows we held in our town, but nothing compared to this. This was an alive, breathing and moving thing, taking all comers, chewing them up and spitting them out.

I decided to work my way up to the stage and watch from the ground floor point of view. I fought my way around the pit a few times, and finally snuck in behind one or two people right up front in the middle. One happened to be my old friend Joe. We managed to get our ribs right up against the stage and had our hands up, yelling along with the songs and cheering in between. Next thing I know, Joe has his hands placed firmly on the stage and he is climbing up. I wondered to myself, "What in the HELL is he doing?" Joe got on the stage and I was sure someone, a bouncer or a member of the band, was gonna shove him right off. But no, he turned around a nd dove right on top of everyone in the crowd! And what was amazing to me was they caught him as if they were expecting him! I watched them pass him around for a bit, then he disappeared. I looked for a few seconds and finally saw him back in the pit, dancing away. I wanted to try this but was full of doubt and fear. Would I be the one a bouncer grabs up and pummels for getting onstage? Would I bump into a band member and screw him up and get a guitar on the head? I was unsure of the "etiquette" of stage diving and didn't wanna fuck it up. Finally, I got my nerve up and climbed up on the stage. No bouncer, no bass player winking at me, no singer beating me with the mike, just me balanced on the edge, looking at the band. I turned around and watched for what seemed like forever, the swirling of bodies going around and around. I worked up all my nerve and jumped like superman onto the mass of moving people! Not realizing how little space I actually had, I kicked one of the over hanging speakers with my heel as I lunged forward and down. I can remember thinking as I fell in slow motion, "Please catch me, please catch me......" And they did! I was on top of the monster, hands passing me back and forth, moving from one side to the next, until an opening of people appeared. Down I went, but luckily I caught myself before I splatted on the sweaty, dirty floor. And to my amazement, there were at least 5 or 6 people helping me up! I wasn't gonna get trampled after all! i turned and looked up at the swinging speaker, willing it not to fall on us, not wanting to be responsible for people getting crushed. But, I wasn't the first person to kick it, and surely wasn't the last. I spent the remainder of the show doing as many stage dives as possible, running around and dancing, having the time of my life.

The show wrapped up and we made our way to the merchandise table. I bought a Scream shirt with a skeleton playing the bongos. It was in support of their latest record, "Banging the Drum". Those words actually glowed in the dark. My son still has it in his drawer as a night shirt, seeing as it probably wouldn't fit around my arm now. As we walked out, I remember walking into the cold December night and FREEZING! I had sweated so much, my clothes were drenched as if someone had sprayed me down with a fire hose. We got back to Russell's house and I passed out cold from exhaustion.

The next day, being Christmas Eve, I had to be home pretty early. So, I go home, sporting my new shirt and dry clothes. My wet stuff were in a bag. I dumped them in the laundry when I got home. My mom grabbed the laundry a little later and yelled, "JIMMY! COME HERE!" I walked in and she was holding my drenched clothes and wondered how they had gotten that way? Seeing as how I wasn't supposed to be going to DC at night, especially without my folks, I told her we had had a local show and they got that way from dancing. She then accused me of having jumped into a pool! In the middle of December. I told her, "Well mom, I did some diving last night, but it wasn't into a pool......."

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

I received a phone call at work on Monday. See, I work for a couple who own their own business. They are old friends of mine. When the wife isn't here, I get to answer the phone and field all the calls. This call was a gentleman who was searching for work and wondered if we were hiring. In the almost 10 months I have been here, we have never been in a "hiring" mode. We just tell the individual to come out and fill out an application. I could tell from the guys voice that he was black. I don't like using African-American. This country is overly PC. If you were to categorize me, I would probably be an Italian, Nova Scotian, Scottish, Irish American. I really don't know, or care too much about it to worry. But, anyways, I told him like everyone else to come fill out an application.

My office is on the other side of the building from the main office where my bosses desks are, so I really don't get to see when most people are coming and going. This gentleman showed up to fill out his application. Apparently he is either from Louisiana, or at least lived there, as his phone number came across on the caller ID as LA. I left for lunch at noon and his car was here and had LA tags on it. You don't have to be a detective I suppose, right? Well, when he showed up, one of my co-workers came in to inform me we had, "a black guy here filling out an application." I wasn't too surprised by this, as truthfully, here in Cut Bank, Montana, there really aren't too many folks who aren't white or Indian. What did surprise me was his next comment. "He had a mouth full of gold teeth! Maybe we should send him in to Cash for Gold and see how much we can get?!" Wow. That was all I could think. Wow.

Nothing more was said to me that day about it. The next morning I spoke to my boss on the phone, as he left town for the day and I wanted to ask him a few things. I asked him what he thought of the new applicant. He was excited, because he was a certified welder and could be of great benefit to this company in the long run. But also could be of benefit sooner than later since we are about to undertake building a pump truck here in the building. His welding skills will definitely be an asset. But then the conversation turned to what one of the elder gentleman had said to my boss. He asked if he was really serious that he was possibly going to hire, "One of those people". He also threatened to quit if he was hired, to which my boss replied, "Good riddance to you then. I am looking out for what is best for my company."

I have been thinking about this for 2 days now, contemplating writing about it. It never really dawned on me until this morning that all of this happened on the day we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr's birthday. It used to make me laugh when I lived in the south that there were still Good Ol' Boys who felt the south was gonna rise again! People still believe this nonsense, in this day and age. Hell, the south doesn't need to rise again with the thinking of some folks in the north it seems. I have not been known as the most tolerant of people I suppose. Some may find me writing about this as funny, but I look at it as sad and scary.

Most of you may know I am a retired Marine. I spent over 20 years serving this country and the people who live in it, no matter what my beliefs or theirs are. Right now, there are people from all backgrounds in harms way, all in the name of, well, I don't even know what it's all about over there anymore. The mission has changed so many times, I've lost count. But one thing that I learned over the years as a Marine, is that no matter the color of your skin, we all bleed the same color.

"A nation or civilization that continues to produce soft-minded men purchases its own spiritual death on the installment plan."
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Wild in the Streets!

As I mentioned before, I became involved with a punk/skating scene in glorious SOMD. We had ramps at various friends houses, but skated anywhere we could until it was too dark, too cold, or we were run off. And sometimes that didn't even stop us! We had fun finding new places to try out the new tricks we saw on videos or in Thrasher Magazine. Little did I know it, but our group of friends were so close knit we would become the envy of others later on. More on that later.

Along with the skating came the music. There were many different bands to listen to from all around the world. Punk / Hardcore was relatively young at this time, but it was a way for the generation at that time to have their voices heard about what was going on in their countries and governments. Some were just fun bands in it to have a good time. Some did both. In the 60's the music was the same way, but in the late 70's and early 80's, the songs were louder and more violent. They weren't writing about a war that was going on, but about how screwed up they thought the government was and how they saw the country around them after the war. For me to try and list them all would be crazy, but a few bands that seemed to always be on the boom box were The Descendents, Bad Brains, Suicidal Tendencies, Token Entry, Dead Kennedy's, Angry Samoans, MDC, Social Distortion, Minor Threat, Youth of Today, Youth Brigade, Circle Jerks, the list goes on. These and many others were heard blaring as loud as possible from radios next to or on the deck of our ramps. But more importantly, in my eyes, were the bands that were created locally.

Unless I am mistaken, the first of these bands was The Roadside Petz. The band consisted of Todd Morse and Rusty Pistachio on vocals, Johnny Brian on guitar, Tina Downey on bass and Wayne Williams on drums. These guys gave us someone local to follow and were a voice for our area. Going to see them play was my first introduction to slam dancing, or moshing, as it is called today. At first look, it seems as if slamming (as we affectionately called it) was a violent mixture of throwing elbows, knees and kicks. Actually, it was usually just a circle pit of kids bumping into one another, helping each other up when we fell. We did bump into one another, and occassionally someone did get an elbow or a kick, but that wasn't what it was about. It was about getting out the angst that was built up inside of us. The Petz paved the way for other bands like The Burndoggers, The Plastic Toys and Unworthy Cause (a band I played guitar in).

Playing guitar was something I got involved with in 8th grade. The school offered it as an elective for half a year. We were taught to read music, learned notes and chords, etc. My parents bought me a Harmony guitar from Sears that came with a small amp, chord to connect the two and that was about it. I fiddled with it for a while but never really touched it again until my friend Toby asked if I wanted to try and play guitar in his Rap/Thrash conglomeration called The Thrappin Crew. It was him and Mike Alderson and they rapped about skating mostly, but it was fun. the Beastie Boys had just come out with Licensed to Ill, and we also listened to LL Cool J, Rob Bass, Rund DMC and a few others. So, I decided to give it a shot. I showed up at Toby's house one night with my guitar and amplifier. His older brother Todd was gonna teach me some stuff. He introduced me to power chords, and that was it. I was trying to play everything I could just using two fingers. And even though I only did one show with Thrappin Crew at the local college, without any practices (it was horrible!), the bug had bitten me. I wanted to be in a band.

I grabbed some of my skate friends, Joe and Mark Wiehl, and we all started from scratch. Mark had never played drums before, but he bought a kit and it came naturally. Joe was to be our singer. All we needed was a bass player. We asked our friend Shawna if she wanted to play, and Joe gave her his Dead Kennedy's record Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables so she could learn the song Forward to Death. Well, Shawn Batts came over and we decided Shawn would play with us. The fucked up part was we never told Shawna, and when she found out, Joe found his record thrown in his front yard from a drive by! To this day I feel horrible about not telling her. We had been friends for a while and still are to this day, luckily! As time went on though, we almost wished we had stuck with Shawna. Shawn's parents were pretty strict about his schooling, and he wasn't allowed to do anything on weeknights that didn't involve school or school related sports. And we rarely got to see him on weekends either. This took its toll on practices. We would practice as a three piece, and when Shawn could make practice, we would show him what he needed to play. We would practice in the downstairs of the Wiehl residence, but his folks quickly grew tired of it and said we had to share the wealth elsewhere with our music. So, we moved to my house some nights.

Practice at my place was interesting, to say the least. We had nowhere inside to set up, so we asked my dad if we could use his shed outside. He said sure, just don't mess with anything he had set up. My dad, at the time, was making boats. Not huge boats, but small sailboats and dinghy's for people to drag behind their big boats. So, that limited our practice space to a spot right next to the door of the shed. The shed was not wired for power, and all we had was an extension chord run from the house. In order to plug in my amp and Joe's microphone, we had to unplug the lights in the shed. there was a small window on the door that offered some light, but we were essentially practicing in the dark! We would set up, talk for a bit, figure out which song we were gonna play, unplug the lights, plug in the amps and go for it. Completely crazy.....but such a great memory.

Joe took up guitar right after we broke up. he has played in numerous bands in Las Vegas. He de-friended me for some reason on Facebook so I don't know what he is up to now. His brother Mark still dabbles in drums from what I hear, and they actually played together in a few bands between living in Florida and California. Mark doesn't keep in touch with many folks, including me, but I get updates about him occasionally from his girl, Amy. Shawn is on my list of FB friends, but we don't talk much. Life moves on, and sometimes things, and people, get dropped along the way.

First day

Well, here is my first attempt at some sort of a journal or diary of some sort, I guess. But I suppose if you went by the traditional sense of those words, it would be a private thing for me to reflect on. But, being a "blog", I guess it's for others to share in as well. And who the hell am I to assume you want to read what I have to say? I guess that's why we have that little X surrounded by red in the upper right corner. Don't like it, don't read.

I was trying to think of something to write about for my first entry, and my wit about me today is lacking (as if I am full of it otherwise.....). I suppose I can write about my life and how I got to where I am today.

I grew up in SOMD (Southern Maryland). Started off as a Navy Brat. Dad was a sailor and mom taught Jazzercise. I would have considered myself a normal kid in a small town I guess, as I didn't seem to have much direction and / or motivation to become or do anything with my life. I started listening to Punk music at around 12/13 and riding a skateboard. After that, things were a whole lot more fun in life. I had such a tight knit group of friends and we lived every day to skate, listen to music, and skate some more.

It took a little while for the punk kids to accept me. Because I also listened to heavy metal and 80's music, I was considered a "poseur" or "poser". This seemed like a little bit of a rite of passage thing, to see if I was really serious about skating and punk rock. I hung with it and was eventually accepted. Some kids couldn't take the hazing and name calling and just crawled back to what was comfortable and acceptable in societies eyes. And it wasn't all the punks that acted that way. Just the ones who seemed to have a problem with outsiders. I guess every "clique" has that problem. What's funny to me now, looking back, is the punk kids frowned on the cliques, like the jocks and preppies, but that's exactly what we were. I even found myself caught up in the name calling too, once I was accepted, but recognized and remembered how it made me feel and tried to do it as little as possible. Nobody's perfect.

More later.