Dangerous Leanings

9 minutes

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Thu, 28 May 2020 20:11:00 +0000

9 minutes. I watched, and I still can't understand how you sustain applied violence like that for 9 minutes, without a complete disconnect from normalcy.

9 minutes. Begging, pleading, unable to struggle, and in complete control of 4 officers. I don't give an actual fuck if he was a criminal or not...if he's not an active threat, deadly force is not fucking authorized.

9 minutes. How long is that? I will probably finish writing this post in less time. That's a goddamn eternity in which any reasonable officer had 540 opportunites to take a second and back off to a less violent position. There were 3 officers on him, by the way. One applying pressure over his abdomen. Over his diaphragm, which happens to be a thing we use to fucking breathe. There's a reverse angle a lot of people haven't seen yet, a photo taken from the other side of the street.

9 entire minutes. That's longer than people pay attention, and time to run the commercial break. Modern producers will add a recap after that length of time on any HGTV show. They cannot redecorate this man's death.

9 whole goddamn minutes. To pin a neck for that long, you have to be a fucking sociopath. I grew up with cops, have cop clients, have cop friends. None of them think this was excusable. Hell, my neighbor when I was a kid was a cop who did in fact choke a man to death. That suspect never stopped trying to stab him with the knife, until he was out. The two incidents are apples and platypuses.

9 entire fucking minutes. That was a fucking execution. Note how this one stands out...nobody has brought forth any dirt on him, nobody has printed a story that he was resisting, or overweight, or had underlying conditions. That's because we all saw it for what it was. We all see it for what it is.

We need to remember this for more than 9 fucking minutes. The time for action, for reform, for creating a better path forward is not 9 minutes from now.

It IS now.

The Wrong Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 15 Jan 2020 20:35:00 +0000

I've told some of my old military stories, but only the funny ones. There are more in the repertoire, to be certain. There are also some that just weren't that fun to live through, which I've put off talking about to...well, to anyone really.

I realized on a long think recently that I should probably unbox some of these stories. I can't just tell the funny truths, I have to tell the hard ones as well. I have come to a point where I realize that my son, in idolizing uniformed “good guys”, could take a path he just isn't suited for. You see, there is a very strange, very fucked up paradox I have lived through...yes, the good guys can be good guys, while working in a very fucked up and not good system that doesn't just allow bad apples, it amplifies their effect, their ability, and often their audacity. I really have no idea how to explain this to him correctly at this stage of the game.

Even though the tone of this story, and some others, is negative, I have to say that I'm still proud of my having served, and proud of those serving...but that isn't a blanket forgiveness for assholes. Part of my reason for going down this road is to try to figure out how to tell culture stories without painting with too broad a brush. Still, I'm starting with this story; it is likely my roughest. It was the coffin nail, I think. This was the time when I learned that in a rank-structure system, doing the right thing is truly, frighteningly difficult at times. I was never as quick to do said right thing while in uniform.

My first three years of service were the reason I didn't re-up. My last year in was enjoyable, for a multitude of reasons, really. I matured a bit, which helped immensely. The lying sack of shit I had for a direct supervisor was sent elsewhere, which changed the shop culture a great deal. I had gained enough rank that I really only answered to one superior at a time, instead of being the dumping ground for every E-5 and up's bad day. But there was one more factor that made life uncomfortable in that shop. Many of the other members of the team righteously hated me. This is the story of why.

The topic of today's story is racism, that abhorrent condition that just won't fucking go away, no matter how stupid its practice. I despise it. That's not just a cool thing to say, a correctism, it's an active feeling I have, born from the echoes of my past, concern for my friends, and the fact that in any way I've ever looked at it, it's just a fucking unnatural, nurtured, created hate.

I've discussed racism with Little Danger, and it disgusts me that he even has to be aware it's a thing. He has as much understanding of how someone can hate others as I have of the mathematics of quantum physics. I never want him to witness that kind of hatred, and yet, he lives on planet Earth. It'll happen.

Well, that's far too much preamble, so here we go.

It was my first year in the Air Force. I was still making a lot of really dumb choices, and failing to be self-sufficient. I was a really young 18.

I had a friend in the squadron that had arrived a bit after me; she and I had gone through basic at the same time, and tech school in the same place and time as well. It was natural for us to continue chatting and being friendly. She was also a hot redhead, which drew the attention of a good number of other airmen. Well, there was a day that I learned that not all of that attention was positive.

I was in a car with three other guys from my shop, heading to the chow hall for lunch. The topic of women arose, as often it did. My friend was mentioned, amongst the general discussion of various ladies' potential as a sexual partner. Someone said a thing.

To this day, I don't have a clear memory of who said it. I have a strong suspicion based on further experience, but no honest memory to rely on. If I had, my life at that time would have been much, much easier.

I was in the back seat, as was Airman B. Airman K was in the passenger seat, Airman H driving. And dammit, I don't know who, but someone referred to her as a “N-word-loving bitch”, with a heavy implication that her willingness to date someone other than a white man made her unsuitable to be touched. I was shocked, not just because it was said, but that laughter was the response. I got quiet, turned a bit red, and made my way through lunch. I don't remember anything else about that day, which makes sense given that the rest was normal.

Fast forward a week, and said friend was being friendly with these guys, and there they were, all laughing as if nothing had been said. As if nobody had condemned her for absolutely nothing that made any sense to me. I tried to do the right thing, weighing my options and actions, but not understanding yet that we do not operate in a vacuum, nor do our best intentions.

I told her what was said, letting her know that none of the aforementioned boys wanted to be her friend. That much had been made clear. I still feel like I should have done so, because I think she needed to know that she was being talked about as subhuman. But I really wish I remembered which one had actually said it, because life, through no fault of my own (on this item, at least), was about to take a fairly dramatic left turn, not just for me, but for Airman B as well.

Airman B took leave for a vacation, blissfully visiting family. Airman friend-of-mine, despite her thanking me and promising she wouldn't say anything so as not to get me in trouble with people I had to work with, went to our 1^st Sergeant. I don't think I disagree with that choice now, but at the time...well, it was the last day I would think of her as a friend, which was more to do with what followed.

The First Shirt hated racism every bit as much as I do, but had a whole hell of a lot more first hand experience with it than I. I was a skinny white boy, and he was not. He also had absolute authority to investigate and punish whatever the hell he wanted to. I did not.

Imagine my surprise at being ordered to his office. Now, I had some reason to be concerned about that, as I was never the perfect airman, but I couldn't think of any dumbass thing I'd done recently, so cue nervous walk to the “principal's office”.

He grilled me. I got a lecture about proper conduct, and a dressing down I couldn't understand. Then he asked me who said it, and he quoted the exact phrase that I'd only shared with my friend, so I definitely clued in to why I was in the room. I was honest though, and told him I didn't know who said it, just wanted to pass along that things weren't as friendly as she thought.

So the First Sergeant threatened me with prosecution. He told me he'd put me under an Article 15 as if I had said it. I made the point that if I had said it, or condoned it, I wouldn't have told her about it. He was unimpressed and undeterred by that minor point of logic. Against his anger, it could not stand.

My memory did not improve after several more minutes of haranguing and threats. So, in a masterful stroke of investigatory genius, the First Sergeant brought Airman H and Airman K into the room with me.

He told them what I'd said to her, right in front of me. The temperature in the room rose, and I felt the taste of fear I had become accustomed to in school days, sensing an impending ass-beating from a bully. And so a discussion ensued, wherein everyone denied saying anything. The First Sergeant kept up the heat, telling us that we would all burn if we couldn't tell him who said it.

So Airman K and Airman H said it had to be Airman B. But he wasn't there to say otherwise. I was pretty sure one of them was lying, but again, I just didn't remember. I tried to stay silent; surely the word of two was enough.

It wasn't. I was informed in no uncertain terms that if I didn't sign the statement that the First was writing, that I would be prosecuted as well. That I would be labeled racist and drummed out of the service, even though I was the one who did the right fucking thing. It struck me that he didn't want the truth, he just wanted an ass to nail to a wall. I will likely never hate anyone as hard as I did the First Sergeant at that moment. I matured a mile in a minute, and not all in the right way. I resolved to always just keep my fucking mouth shut.

I signed the goddamn statement.

Writing that still hurts. It wasn't who I wanted to be, and it damn well wasn't the lesson that the Shirt should have taught. My honesty wasn't good enough for him, and so I sacrificed it on the altar of self preservation. I've never forgiven that First Sergeant, and I'm fairly certain I still haven't forgiven me.

People wonder how good people can do nothing. It is often a conditioned response. Threatened with loss of livelihood, or even jail, people can be forced into some pretty shady corners.

I'm pretty sure that now, in the same boat, I would have come out swinging and demanded a lawyer advocate before saying a goddamn word more. But at 18, with the consequences so very large, I just didn't see a way forward.

Airman B lost a stripe on his return, damned by three of his fellows. I was ordered by my direct supervisor not to speak to him, so I couldn't even offer a fucking apology, much less an explanation. In our last days on that base together, he would tell me he forgave me, and understood the shitty position I'd been put in. But he also told me that he had wanted to kill me in those first few months, and was glad that he hadn't. Well, that makes two of us.

This was one of maybe a dozen tales of bullshittery I got to live through in my military tenure. There was the time I almost lost a hand to incompetence and fuckery, the second time I clashed with that same First Sergeant, a time I lost a stripe of my own due to that aforementioned lying sack I worked for. I'll tell these tales at some point, I'm sure, but I think we've yanked enough skeletons out of this closet for the day.

Five Things I Think, July 15th

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Mon, 15 Jul 2019 15:46:00 +0000

Occasionally, that muse walks up and smacks me in the back of the head. Having thus been thwacked again today, it comes time to disgorge a wall of words to the blog.

1) Little Danger turned 9 this week. For almost a decade, I've been privileged to walk around under the mantle of Dad. I can't imagine how the days have gone by so quickly, yet there they are, stretched out behind us. Fortunately, there are some days stretched out ahead as well. And today doesn't look half bad, either.
There are days when he can prattle on and batter my frontal lobe into submission under a verbal assault of statements about absolutely nothing. There are days when this tapdances on my last nerve. Then I think about the fact that teenage years are just around the corner and I'm going to be starved for more than a 3 word sentence. Maybe I'll just enjoy the logorrhea.

2) I've recently been recruited to become an assistant coach for Little Danger's football team. Whereas I am a fan of the game, and a fan of the kid, I have dived ahead into this adventure. I do have to postpone a bucket trip, but the boy is worth it.
The challenge, of course, is that I didn't play football at a competitive level at any point. The good news is that I've been digging through some videos about the fundamentals, and it translates to body mechanics that are similar to the fight choreo I've been teaching for over a couple decades. Making that transition should be achievable.
This also gives me an opportunity to do a bit of conditioning on my own dad bod while I'm at it. This is going to be a wild ride, well out of my comfort zone. I look forward to it. (I am also looking forward to the boy resuming his pancake stacks and sacks a plenty. Oh, yes.)

3) I started playing a new game with a new group, every other week. This one is Wrath and Glory, the newest RPG in the Warhammer 40k setting. It's an interesting, if currently rough, game. The rulebook is a bit disjointed and has been handed off to a new company for a second print and continued development. Nothing with 40k licensing is ever really easy, it seems.
The game itself follows a Deathwatch kill team, and we are ridiculously overpowered. Our first session featured us happening to a group of Orks, unleashing a torrent of ammunition as nonstop and brain numbing as a a politician's twitter account. Gratuitous is the word, I think.
Laughter and fun were had. No drama yet, but there is already some foreshadowing about insurmountable odds. Well, that's why you send Space Marines.

4) I think I had a great nature encounter with Little Danger. I walked out of the barn in midday, and had to stop in my tracks. There, just across our bridge, stood a denizen of the great outdoors, just half hidden by the trees. I ran, quietly, back inside. I grabbed the boy and we stealthed our way out, taking a seat in the grass.
"Whose butt is that?" I asked, pointing. An odd question, you might think, but 1) butts are hilarious to 9 year olds and 2) that's the part we could see.
"A deer!" he replied. And we watched as she took a step back, revealing her forward half, and stared at us for about 2 minutes before walking off into the tall grass. I do like the country livin'.

5) I've been deeply examining the amount of scar tissue and baggage I walk around with. Often, I wear it lightly. At other times, it feels like a battleship chained to the psyche. In any case, I think it's time to take the proverbial scalpel to some of it...some of these things feel like they belong to somebody else, that person I used to be. They probably do.

Five Things I Think, June 3rd

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Mon, 03 Jun 2019 16:49:00 +0000

Thinkin'. Writin'. Sometimes procrastinatin'.

1) I think sometimes things line up, and you get a Big Weekend. I just had one of those, filled with lots of experiences of differing type and flavor. I loved it.
     We worked some tornado clean-up, watched Little Danger's baseball game, and had a gaming day of Dark Heresy (40k). There was a bit of swimming pool and general relaxation thrown in there as well. Reinforcing the lesson for LD of "work hard, play hard, relax like a cat."

2) I think it's refreshing to see communities come together when shit goes down. I further wish we could come together more often when shit isn't hitting the fan, but I will take what I can get.
     Memorial Day brought a supercell to the north Dayton area, which proceeded to pronounce a hearty "fuck you" with a host of tornadoes. The biggest of these was a confirmed F-4. We drove right out of the southern edge of this bad boy about 5 minutes ahead of it. Little Danger asked how we would get away from a tornado if one happened...well, it turns out the answer was "what we're doing."
     There has been no shortage of volunteers working up that way, from folks grilling and working the food bank to folks bumrushing damage areas to work clean up. Saturday, Wifefish, Little Danger, and I joined a group in one of those neighborhoods. I grabbed the chainsaw and we toted the work gloves, water, and even some donuts and coffee to hand out.
     I can't say we had fun, exactly, but we worked hard for a morning. We impacted only five homes or so, but if you extrapolate the number of people doing what we did...well, there's a reason they say many hands make light work. It was rewarding as hell, and if you ever get the chance to be part of disaster relief, do it. Just do it. We aren't working in there for days on end, but if everyone gives a few hours, or a few days, the insurmountable eventually becomes recovery.
I asked LD how he felt about his morning's work, and we explored that for a bit. "We filled somebody's bucket", he said. I love how he gets it.

Also, that giant kid walking right there next to me? He's about to turn 9.

3) I think I am quite happy to see webshows like Critical Role and Shield of Tomorrow becoming so popular. These gaming sessions on display show that particular magic of shared storytelling that brings adventure and hilarity and even drama to a game table. People love these shows because they get to share in the fun.
Sunday, we played another installment in a Dark Heresy game we've had going for about a decade now. That may seem a long time, but our games were quite infrequent in the early days. Our GM has a way of making things smooth when we come up with crazy shit to do, and a way of storytelling that immerses a player in the story. Legends were continued, rugs were jerked from underfoot, confusion reigned, and hilarity ensued. I've said it before, and I'll say it again...a day spent at the gaming table with good friends and good food is a day well spent.

4) I think my yard is out of control. The mower went down, and the repair guys have had it for 2 weeks now. We have a lot of yard to mow, and I really miss my zero turn with the 60 inch wide cutting deck. I never thought I would twitch and wish for a chance to mow. Adulthood is fucking weird.

5) I still love living in the country. The spring has gifted us with some giant morels, some tree frogs and salamanders, a gazillion lightning bugs, and a planting day wherein we put 197 trees in the ground. Most of them are growing, though I do have to get out to that field and cut back some grass around them so they can have good light and such. It is the season for fires and friends and bug spray, and I look forward to it.

Well, that's what I'm thinking today...Happy Monday!

Five Things I Think, Nov 30

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Fri, 30 Nov 2018 15:18:00 +0000

Well, dear readers, it seems maybe I have some more thoughts rattling around in this head of mine. Here they come.

1) I think I am avoiding the scale this week, like so many of us. I dove headfirst into Turkey Day, and the Friendsgiving that followed. Since Wifefish makes one of the best turkey wine-lemon-herb rubs known to mankind, I enjoyed it liberally. And often. Then the gaming charcuterie just put the coffin nail in me. Roll me out the door, boys, I'm ready to get at 'er.

2) I think that sometimes, the only solution to your woes is a run of antibiotics. I recently suffered my way through a head cold that decided it wanted to become a sinus infection of epic proportions. My nose was producing so much mucus I thought about putting a seashell on it and calling it a snail. Today, I'm 3 days into said antibiotics, and it's funny how you can feel reunited with oxygen freely entering your lungs without gasping like a landed carp. I am enjoying life after emigrating back out of East Snotmucustan.

3) I think this is going to be a very, very challenging year professionally. The changes to the tax laws have produced an absolutely fucking stupid overhaul to the forms which does absolutely fucking nothing except make it a talking point that some dipshit can point to and call "simpler" because of the way the first fucking page looks.
It invalidates the mental map in my head...for years I have been able to quickly scan the first two pages of a return and spot anything irregular at a literal glance. Now, just so some chucklefuck can crow into a microphone that it is the size of a postcard, I will have to scan 6 additional schedules. So your Schedule C (small business) used to flow right onto your return...now it takes a useless fucking detour into a new schedule before it gets there. Simpler, my ass.
What this means for me this year is a whole lot of new stress and late nights as I plow through the learning curve and re-map some neurons to memorize the new "simpler" forms. I have never actually kept a bottle of scotch in the office, but I am considering it for this year.

4) I think I'm geekily excited to start family RPG night. Little Danger has chosen the Star Wars RPG, and wants to play a smuggler who becomes a rebel spy. I have had a lifetime of rewarding adventures around a game table with good friends, and I am happy to continue this for him. Also, Star Wars is inherently cool, so...
via GIPHY

I plan to set our campaign in the Legends universe (where the books and such were before the Disney takeover), a few days after the destruction of the first Death Star. There's a lot of room to play in a galaxy far, far away. And since the old expanded universe was shot down by the new movies with a proton torpedo in its exhaust port, I have a huge, ready-made pile of stories I can farm for plots. It will be interesting to see how he leaves his mark on the galaxy. I bet when all is said and done, that Little Danger shoots first.

5) I think the absolute most annoying thing about Continuing Education in my profession, and probably in a lot of others, is the goddamn bullshit test questions. More specifically, the answers. 2 wrong answers, 1 right answer, and 1 almost right answer. The almost right answer is the specific bullshit that annoys.
I think that we either know the answer or don't, and I personally cannot fucking stand it when I have to carefully parse through each option just to make sure that what I am selecting as the right answer is in fact the right answer. I know the shit, or I don't know it, and trying to trick me into answering wrong is not effective testing. I have hated this shit since I was 8 years old. I will likely hate it when I am 78.

A few more expletives this time around, it seems. Well, that's what happens when I come across things that grind my gears. I hope your day/week/month/holiday season is freaking excellent.

Five Things I Think, Nov 21

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 21 Nov 2018 15:47:00 +0000

I have, of course, become a most infrequent writer. Here are my thoughts today.

I think I am one proud papa. In the last post, I discussed Little Danger's football season as it started. Well, here we are at the finish. He played almost every down this year, on both the offensive and defensive sides of the ball. Tight End on O-Line, and DE/DT at various times on defense, depending on whether they wanted him in the backfield or neutralizing a blocker. There's pride point one...

A quick aside is necessary, I feel. Pride has become a lazy word in modern English. We use it for several feelings, several types of pride. Personal accomplishment, hubris, joy in another's accomplishments...I wish to point out that I am in category 3 here. This is that kind of pride that we should have in great measure, that feeling you get for someone else when they achieve, learn, and influence.

By my unofficial count, he finished the season with only 2 games with no sacks. In those two, he helped cause sacks by being double, even triple teamed. He's a goddamn wrecking ball to the opponent backfield. Same with pancakes on the offensive side, I think he had just one game without putting a player on the turf. I lost count on tackles, and tackles for loss. He had 2 receptions on 2 point conversions. He played his heart out most of the time, in short. There's pride point two...

The team pulled off two last minute miracle wins in the playoffs, which I may detail at another time. They were truly crazy plays, and I avoided cardiac arrest narrowly. They went to the Super Bowl, and though they did not win said Super Bowl, they fought their way into the history books for their league. They lost in double overtime, the first time in this league that a game had finished in 2ndOT. Double. Goddamn. Overtime. I mean, if you're gonna lose, that's the way to do it. They went down swinging, to mix sports metaphors. That would be pride point three...

While Little Danger was appropriately wrecked emotionally after the game, it faded to a feeling of, if not happiness, then pride (category 1) in his team and his play by the end of the day. “We made history”, he said. Many parents were disappointed but honestly, for me, I couldn't even be upset...it was a hell of a game, and I watched my boy make some amazing key plays...a couple huge blocks to open holes, a moment where he parted the two double teaming him like Moses and the Red Sea, and a massive TD saving tackle in the first OT period that got him so amped he jumped into one of his coaches arm's like Baby coming out of the corner. And yes, I had the time of my life watching.

It was a hell of a season, and now we have a break of about a minute and a half before basketball games start. Raising a jock is not for the weak.
I think it is quite strange living in 2018 (for another month or so). The level of importance people ascribe to the weirdest, most petty shit reaffirms in my mind that even though we have evolved and developed, our biology just hasn't caught up to the “first world” social strata. We need to think of things, due to biological imperatives, in survival mode, and it makes a lot of otherwise OK human beings do some really questionable shit as they become territorial over some of the stupidest things. For a robust example, see modern politics or anything blown up into social media drama in the last ten minutes.
I think Fleetwood Mac is fucking amazing. We had the opportunity to see them in concert recently, and we carpe'd that diem like your very own Dangerboy at a beer buffet. Little Danger lit up like a Christmas Tree, and enjoyed the crap out of it. Wifefish got to cross a thing off her bucket list, always a happy thing. I soaked it in and squealed like a group of adolescent girls sitting on a pile of squeaky toys in a 70s car chase.

As a drummer, watching Mick Fleetwood behind that drum set is a special treat. The absolute, sheer, childlike joy he takes in making music is a gift I hope he never stops giving. I smiled every time he made Drum Face. And I am still smiling long after, and reflecting on the way I make music. And damn, but he has fun. The obligatory drum solo was interactive and hilarious, as he asked the audience why you should never leave a drummer alone on stage...because “He will unleash the hoooouuuuuuunnnnddddssss!!!” Dude then went on a drum rampage with their current hand percussionist. Tasty, tasty stuff.

The new lineup is pretty good, too. Yeah, I could go all sentimental about the lack of Lindsey, but let's face it: Fleetwood Mac is an ode to what people who get on each other's nerves can create together...great music, yes, but also great drama.

I think Ford motor company can kiss my ass. We have a Ford Focus that has problems with its car alarm. At any random time, if locked, it may decide it wants to sing us the song of its people. 4 trips to the service department have not fixed this problem.

We had to go to arbitration over this thing. I prepared heavily, discussing the case with my very favorite attorney, and had my case ready to lay out. Their position looked like it had been written by an intern, and we were pleased to show up to a situation where it appeared the arbitrator was tired of their shit before we even began.

The ruling is a fun read, at least for one who went toe to toe vs big company lawyer and won. It basically says in legalese, "Well, your points are interesting but ultimately full of shit." I find it pretty goddamn annoying that they decided to fight us on this, rather than just fix the goddamn car. So now, thanks to the lemon law, they must repurchase the vehicle, plus all interest and incidental charges.

We will, of course, not be buying another fucking Ford. This annoys me; my first vehicle was a badass Ford van. My next vehicle will be anything but a fucking Ford, as their attempt to let us twist in the wind with a schizophrenic car alarm left far more than a bad taste in my mouth.
I think it's crazy that we are already staring down the barrel of holiday season. One thing I will say for a football schedule, it makes the days fly. I'm girding my loins to get my shopping done, and loosening my belt in anticipation of the ridiculous amounts of badass food in my future.

And that's what I think.

The Nature of Pride, vol 1

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Mon, 27 Aug 2018 15:58:00 +0000

In case you don't know, Little Danger has decided his goal in life is to be a Pro Football Player. Once upon a time this was cute, like when he watched the OSU Buckeyes championship game while very young, and decided he wanted to be a "Buckleguy".

As time has gone on, it appears this is a true calling. He loves the foosballs. Loves it. Can't get enough. The boy asked Santa for a tackle dummy. Santa brought him a blocking pad too. If this is his dream, well, I guess my face will have some cleat marks as I work to lift him to it.

Fortunately for him, the kid has talent. This is year 2 of playing wee football, and he is tearing it up. This post, in case you need a warning label, is not just humor but bragging. I am about to engage in that most parental of things, bragging on the kid.

I am in love with how much Little Danger cares. I've been watching him at practice, helping the other kids who don't get it yet (they are combined 1st and 2nd graders, and he helps the younger ones.) I've watched when a teammate falls down, or feels like they can't make the long run to the tree across the field and back. He is right there, helping them up, running with one arm on a teammate's back, pushing them without giving them shit. Convincing a kid that just doesn't want to run to go ahead and sprint the last 20 yards. He may be future team captain material, and I didn't teach him how to do that, at least not directly.

The summer saw him at multiple football camps, because Wifefish believes as I do that we CAN spoil a kid, but not with stuff. We are spoiling him with experiences and love, and that's just the way it's going to be. He worked skill drills with NFL players, Buckeye players, and UD players before he showed up to his first practice.

The boys put down a good, solid game 1 last week. The O-line, on which Little Danger features as tight end, allowed zero sacks. At the bantam level, that's pretty impressive. Watching 1st and 2nd graders play football should often be set to Yakity Sax, and yet they managed a solid game. The boys served up pancakes like they were the griddle chefs at IHOP, and treated the opposing defense like Gandalf treated the Balrog on the bridge.

via GIPHY

It was exciting, to say the least.

Saturday, we attended game 2 of the season. This was an away game against a historically tough opponent. This opponent's system has produced more than one NFL player. Little Danger was, of course, psyched and ready to rock.

I have to admit, his first half was not his best play. He missed three blocks that he should have made, for losses on each. Maybe he wasn't awake, maybe he wasn't focused, but where he had been a goddamn human wall the previous week, tying up two players at a time, he had become a turnstile. And I don't mean he got beat by the opposing DE, I mean he just one handed it and turned his body the wrong way and watched the guy go by, like he was bullfighting instead of blocking. Wifefish and I both commented that he needed to wake up.

I don't know what the coaches said to him at halftime. Little Danger tells me he decided to show them what they wanted. His second half, he lit up like a radioactive Christmas tree. He started serving up the pancakes and holding the line. No one would go past him for the rest of the game. He fired off a key lead block for a massive gain up the left side.

Where he really lit it off, though, was at defensive tackle. Suddenly, his beast was out of the cage. It was time for Little Danger to give out some free hugs.

via GIPHY

He blasted through the line, and I remember saying "Oh my dear word." Which might strike many of you as odd, but you must recall that parents are not allowed our full range of expression at kid's games, so I couldn't scream out "FUCK YEAH!!!!" as I might ordinarily do. Hot on the QB's heels, he was there for the hand off to the running back and, well, let's just say he escorted that young man to the ground for his appointment with the turf.

Thus began a spree of tackles for loss. Three sacks joined his 4 pancakes, and a couple more tackles for loss sprinkled on top. Coaches were high fiving him. Hell, one coach ran over and high fived ME, and parents around us started sharing in the frivolity.

"Watch number 5!" the opposing coaches yelled. I said "Now here's where they start double teaming him." Indeed, that's exactly what they did. One of the parents mentioned that I must be disappointed by this, as LD wouldn't be scoring any more sacks.

"Nope," I said, "This means somebody else gets to make a play." Evidently I was waxing prophetic, as the two kids driving my boy backwards left a hole for one of his teammates to go render their QB horizontal. "They can double team him all day," I continued, "That just makes him happy."

So, a hard fought defensive battle came to a close, and the boys scored their second win, just 6-0.
"What did you feed him today?" The coach asked. A banana and a granola bar.

He feeds himself on his dreams, though. I am proud of him. Not just because he has talent, and not in any way for me, excepting perhaps the elation of that pride. I am proud that he overcame a rough start and found his motivation. I am proud that he still gets team play, and is perfectly happy to make a hole for someone else to make a play...he beams when he high fives you for doing something good.

This of course, makes me beam the light of the Proud Pappa forth unto the world as well. So, forgive me if I just can't shut up about him. It's just the nature of pride.

Five Things I Think, Nov. 30

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Thu, 30 Nov 2017 19:05:00 +0000

With only a tiny preamble, let's think.

1) I think that I hate being sick. This is a no-brainer, really, but true nonetheless. I am the stereotypical wimpstick male when ill. I lament the weakness of my virus-violated frame while staring at a water glass not 7 inches out of my reach for minutes on end before finally breaking the magnified inertia to reach out, via Herculean effort, and grasp the object of my desire to slake a building fever thirst.
I fell ill on Sunday, and it is this weird cold that started about dead center of the bronchitis spots, where usually colds have to migrate to over a couple of painful weeks. A fever arrived in short order after, and it was a will-sapping shiver fest of a fever indeed. Until I looked at my thermometer and realized it only read 100.8. Betrayed by reality.
To be fair, this one was (and lingers a bit for an is today) kind of brutal to me. I broke out in a sweat I haven't encountered since the last time I tried to lie to my Mom so many years ago. Under a pile of blankets, feeling so cold it was as if the emptiness of the void were calling through my extremities, I woke from a fitful sleep to find...well, I thought I'd pissed the bed, actually. Fortunately for my dignity and the laundry I hadn't; I was merely experiencing the joy of quite literally dripping with sweat.
This is not the way to find the wet spot. Nor to make one. Fever is done, but man it would be nice to feel like I'd slept this week. On the plus side, I finished Punisher on Netflix at about 4am a couple days back.

2) I think I've been a ball of stress lately, which may have helped #1 up there happen. Selling an old house is a pain in the armpit.
The previous house was built in 1920, and as such, has a few dated features. We are on buyer #2, as the previous attempt fell apart like an overstuffed burrito supreme on the first bite, and was just as sloppy. They had a friend of the family do their home inspection, and their first time realtor just gave us the whole list of things that weren't just totally perfect and said "fix this stuff." That's...that's not how this works, gang.
Current buyer is asking for modernization updates out the wazoo, and waiting on estimates is only slightly less stressful than being tied to a bamboo cage while a live weasel slowly chews off an ear. I would love to not lose money selling a perfectly wonderful domicile to someone who wants to buy it. I would also not like to tote mortgage and utilities on a house I don't live in over the winter.
Still, I am glad we moved before marketing it. Beats the heck out of living in a hotel between closings like the bro and sis in law had to. They are made of sterner stuff perhaps than I.

3) I think the holidays approach, like the Death Star to Yavin 4. It seems that gift shopping has snuck up on me again, and it's time to find a day to get out there and launch torpedoes at the exhaust port of Christmas yet to come. I might also be ready for a certain movie release coming up. Maybe.

4) I think I enjoy a good movie. I've seen two very different films recently: the new Thor movie and Murder on the Orient Express. I enjoyed both for very different reasons. I have heard people poopoo and boohoo them, and that's fine for them. I liked 'em. So there.
It was, however, hard to get Little Danger to go to bed after Ragnarok, as he was running around the house with his foam Mjolnir blasting bad guys like crazy. I may have smiled. I may have thought about grabbing my Tony Stark shirt and blasting with him, but I was le tired.

5) I think my wallet is in trouble. Games Workshop has come back around to Necromunda, releasing new figures and weapons and an updated version of the game and...damn them. Damn them all.
So, Little Danger and I will spend some time I am sure going over the new stuff and playing games and I have to paint more and...well, I don't know if this is good or bad or both yet.

Time will tell if there are more adventures in the Underhive of Hive Primus for LD and I and friends...and if his dice still love him so very, very much. (He routinely slaughters my gangs despite my experience and his...interesting tactical choices.)

Well, there's my thinkin', amongst my coughin' and wheezin'. What do you think?

Asking Why

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Fri, 17 Nov 2017 16:48:00 +0000

The most important lesson Dad ever taught me was this: “Always ask why.”

Of course, I wasn't supposed to ask Mom that question when she told me to sit the hell down for dinner, but it was intellectual armor. Pardon me while I strap on a good ol'-fashioned Dangerboy Rant.

In today's 24 hour news cycle of being bombarded by everything from everywhere, the question of Why has protected me from a great deal of the ills commensurate with such a barrage of bullshit. Why do they want me to be afraid of so much stuff? So I will watch their show breathlessly, read their words, and support them through supporting their advertisers.

This is, of course, only my opinion. It is the answer I have deduced from the input. It is a way of understanding why friends who are otherwise intelligent human beings seem reduced to expletive spitting troglodytes when a hot button issue comes up.

It's an opinion that bears thought. If you are informed politely, you'll watch the thing, note the thing, and move on. But if you are inflamed and provoked by buzzwords darting about like goddamn hatedarts of doom, then you will watch the thing, talk about the thing, share the thing, watch more about the thing, and start ignoring the competing thing. It's human nature. It's the way our animal brain evolved for survival, and it's sketchy at best in the modern world.

Needless to say, I am passing the lesson of Why on to Little Danger. I am adding another layer, however. “Always challenge your own opinion.” Just because I think I am right, even if I am thoroughly convinced, doesn't mean that I am right (and certainly not righteous), and my opinion could use a hearty work out.

It is a lost skill to be able to hold both sides of a debate (or, heaven forfend, the myriad shades of nuance available to a complex issue) in one's brainpan without blowing grey matter right out one's earholes. Social media, I find, makes this worse. The algorithms of what you like may well create an echo chamber from which one can't escape. Couple that with clickbait farmers that write articles screeching from both ends of the spectrum and then publish opposing views meant to be spread virally, spewing crap like a diarrhea laden goose held up to wind generator, and you have a perfect recipe for programming human minds to conflate “commonly seen but bullshit” with “truth.”

Frankly, it drives me fucking crazy.

Common does not equal true. Commonly spoken of does not equal common in occurrence. Outrageous is an outlier that triggers outrage.

I am beyond happy to live out in the country now. The level of bullshit has dropped, despite the level of bulls being more abundant out in farmland. I do not, in fact, need to feel outrage all the time, no matter what shrill bloggers and pundits would have us believe.

At home, the most violent thing we've been exposed to is the abduction of a mole by a hawk. I understand there is bad shit happening in the world, but I vehemently disagree that I have to be outraged to change it. I happen to think that reasonable thought, understanding why, and challenging my beliefs to make sure I can think reasonably about how things really are will take me much, much farther than blindly following the leader of the outrage lemmings.

I cordially invite you to join my revolution. For one week, hell even one day, think about every article before you click “share” and ask WHY. Check to see if there is a VERY similarly worded article in direct opposition available...you will have avoided being that sucker born every minute. Fact check. Hell, go full bore like I have, and start hiding every one of the articles with a picture of a political face, and start liking every status on social media that is actually written by a friend of yours, telling their friends what they are up to in their life. You know, be social, and ignore the shrill “news”.

What you may find is that by doing so, your stress level starts to drop. You may find you don't miss the outrage at all. Of course, I'm just one dude on the internet, sharing his frustration. That's my Why.

Five Things I Think, Nov 10

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Fri, 10 Nov 2017 17:44:00 +0000

Needless to say, it's been something akin to the life span of a tortoise since I've written here. It may be that parts of my brain have been working at that tortoise's pace, and it may be that I have perceived myself to be busy. It may also be that I choked on too much to say, and misplaced the eloquence with which to say it. I hit a few personal bumps and decided privacy was temporarily important to my process.

Well, at least temporarily, I'm back. So let's think.

I think I had fun being a sportsball Dad this football season. Little Danger spent his first season playing mostly defensive end, with a bit of offensive line thrown in as well. He did well. He didn't score a ton of tackles, but he caused quite a few. He's in their backfield constantly, but he needs to work on hitting lower and wrapping up. A few times a game he would bounce off somebody's pads like a deranged bumper car. It's to be forgiven, though, because we all have to learn basics of whatever it is we do. It doesn't come overnight.

I ask him, “Where's your office?” He replies “In the backfield.” He was back there disrupting plays, pressuring the QB like a loan shark asking for the vig, which is what he should be doing in that position. I'm proud of him. I'm even more proud that he learned basics and teamwork. DE is not a star player position, and he understood that he was working for and with the team. That's all a parent can ask for in a season.
I think I am going to seriously enjoy living in the country. It's been just over a month, and whereas this joint is a bit of work to keep up with, there are some things missing. I haven't heard sirens in a month. There have been zero Jerry Springer episodes on the front lawn. There has been no trash thrown into my yard by passers-by. I have not had to yell at the neighbor's shitbrick kids, because the current neighbors seem to have much better behaved young 'uns. No bumpin' subs. No cops called on the neighbors, in fact one of our neighbors is in law enforcement.

There is a sound of dogs barking, but those are German Shepherds at a breeder, not pit bulls scattered about the 'hood. There are about a gazillion tree frogs peeping, some bats squeaking, and birds with their various calls. There is deer shit in my meadow. It's a very, very different way of life. It appears I am in love with it.
I think that this year is about transition. Between dealing with the loss of my father in law, learning aspects of the business he was unable to teach me before that happened, moving to a new house, friends having kids, and just normal life changes, the year feels like a slow-turning maelstrom. For the most part this has brought peace. In some areas, it has brought fear, if I'm being honest. I hadn't actually quantified it as such until now, but the word is accurate.

Fear is natural, (and let's not forget it is the fucking mindkiller) but this is an odd fear born of circumstance, one that I am striving to overcome both logically and through action. It is the fear of not being good enough, of not being adequate. A fear of making mistakes, though I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I must make them and learn from them. This is the price of transition, a series of new learning curves. I think this bears more thinking, and then a bit of doing.
I think I'm about to get more carpentry experience in the next couple of months than I've had in my lifetime. Building Pyrate Pub 3.0 is going to be a task, gang. I am not sure how many times I will flatten a thumb or screw up a piece of lumber, but I am certain it is a non-zero integer. I intend to build in stages, getting basic structure up and then moving into embellishments as time and materials permit. Eventually, I plan on going full Disney on this sumbitch, complete with theatre style lighting and such.
But I'm going to start small, with a simple bar and back bar, though they will be Man 'O War in proportion. This will be fun. (Except, of course, for the frustration and knuckle busting and bleeding and cursing and...well, at least it's a pirate pub, salty language will be perfectly in theme.)
I think I might get a salt lick, or some cracked corn. We have deer track, and deer poop, in the back fields. Since we have no crops to be molested by deer, we may well put out the invitation for them to start hanging out on our land a bit.

It's all about the nature out in the sticks. I've handled some salamanders, rescued a few errant tree frogs from the pool skimmer, and enjoyed the birds and yes, even the bees. We have bats in the barn. We also have a 5 and a half foot long black rat snake that I have facetiously named Barncat, as he or she (I haven't Steve Irwin'd it) is surely putting a dent in the potential mouse population. It's a plethora of critters, and I love it.

We will see if I still love it in the spring when the wasps start nesting, and those little hate missiles are buzzing about in the barn. (Spoiler alert: I have cans with pictures of their dead bodies on it.)

Well, that's what I think gang. What do you think?

Five Things I Think, May 27th

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 27 May 2015 16:10:00 +0000

It's been a little while since we've done any serious thinking together. For that matter, it's been a while since we've done any non-serious thinking, too. Let's knock the dust off the ol' thinkbox and forge ahead, shall we?

1) I think we had a great visit with my parents. Mom's down to 88 lbs again, and just finished an ICU stay for breathing issues. She's down, but not out. Little Danger managed to have her giggling by the end of the visit, something I hadn't heard in a while. He's powerful like that.

For his part, it was educational and awesome. Whereas his favorite part of the trip was seeing Grandma and Grandpa, a truly rare treat thanks to the distance and my mom's health, the location afforded him some awesome wildlife encounters too. Lots of zebra swallowtails, two bald eagles, a small herd of deer, even a wild turkey were spotted.

We stayed at Pere Marquette Lodge, which was also pretty darn cool if I do say so myself. And I just did.

Racist moment of the trip: running into a group of VERY stereotypical Japanese tourists on the trail at Pere Marquette park, gathered around a box turtle and snapping away with the cameras like it was Gamera. I cannot be held responsible for my reaction if you're going to perfectly embody the stereotype.

2) I think kids do really say the darnedest things. During the aforementioned visit, my dad dropped one of his expletive laden sentences, as he is wont to do. I am the son of a sailor, after all, and a riverman at that. My mom dug her elbow into his ribs, telling him to watch his language.

“It's OK, “ I said, “he knows those are adult words, and he has his own special word. His word is 'Fooey', and that's the one he gets to use.”

My parents nodded sagely. Little Danger walked in, and very seriously said “You know what else would be a good word? SEX.”

I facepalmed. Dad laughed. Mom immediately dug into me, “What are you teaching this child? What are you teaching my grandson?” I slowly turned a shade of candy apple red only previously seen on a '78 Corvette. Mom kept giving me the business, a mirthful yet malicious gleam in her eye.

Little Danger then interrupted her. “You know what else would be a good word? SEVEN.” We all paused for a moment, realizing that sex and six are, in fact, different words. The relief radiating from me was palpable, and Little Danger couldn't figure out why we are all laughing suddenly. Mom didn't even pause.

“Well don't YOU people have dirty minds,” she exclaimed. We laughed until tears came.

3) I think I inherited some of my dad's skill with big boats. The fam got a new houseboat, measuring at 86 and a half feet in length. Some people get condos, they got a big damn houseboat. Somebody had to bring it from the previous owner's slip and stick it into the 89 and a half foot slip into which it will be berthed. That someone got to be me.

There was some trepidation, but I am happy to report I slid that sucker in there with no injuries, no damage, no consternation on the first try. It's a tight fit, but it worked out. I couldn't help myself, and did allow one “Like a BOSS!” afterward. I'm looking forward to spending some time on board this summer to celebrate with 16 oz libations and general laziness, once we get her cleaned and washed and all the rest.

4) I think I'm a proud papa. Little Danger has experienced a heck of a couple of weeks. Allow me to gush for a moment, or perhaps longer.

He ran his first race, a 1 mile “fun run” at the Air Force Base, all on his own. The kid has a stride that devours ground...at 4 (granted, almost 5) his running step covers almost the same distance as his mom's. His first mile finish was in just over 10 ½ minutes.

He went with us to a festival, again with the drumming and living in a tent for 6 days. I am proud to report, with beaming pride, that he drummed with me, danced with the gang, made friends aplenty, helped an injured rabbit, jumped into a cold stream, threw rocks in said cold stream, and helped me tend the big fire by “woodchucking”.

He swam through a sea of awesome experiences, all the while managing to get every bit as dirty as a little boy should. He never once mentioned TV or video games.

I find nearly every thing I do more enjoyable sharing it with him. Nearly. He's still a Captain, after all.

5) I think I had a great festival myself. I was asked to put the red suspenders back on and do some firetending. Whereas I didn't work a whole lot of hours, I had a good time when I did. There's something about getting my hands into some big chimney logs and having fun burning things that just tickles me

My muscles are sore, and that's a combination of drum, dance, and log hauling that leaves my spirit happy. I also never fail to enjoy time out I nature, despite the presence of mosquitoes. The incredible itching right foot is very upset about the presence of mosquitoes.

That's the update this time around. I have more thoughts, but those are for next time...

Up From the Ashes

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Tue, 28 Apr 2015 15:39:00 +0000

It's been, as happens occasionally, a while since I've posted. This hiatus was brought about for good reason, however. I bought a business, and went through my first tax season on my own.

All in all, I'm pleased. The learning curve was steep this time around, despite being involved in the tax industry for 17 years. Nothing equals doing it yourself, it seems.

The final tally for the year was 612 clients served, a 1.8% error rate, and enough income to get all the bills paid for the year, which hasn't happened for us in a long time. I believe it's been 3 years since all the wolves at the door got satisfaction. I'm not pleased with the error rate, though all of the issues were fixable, and fixed. I want to get that down as close to zero as possible.

Tax prep is a crazy beast...10 weeks of fast, furious, long hours and then POOF. Normal, or even shortened, work days. I'm proud of what I accomplished this year, and looking forward to doing better next season.

It's time now to get into some thinking again, and some humor here. It's time to clear a long, long list of to-do items, including cleaning a house that looks like it's been raided by a Mongolian Horde. It's time to breathe a bit easier, now that we have feathers again instead of flames.

For all of you who supported us, rooted for us, I offer a sincere thank you from the bottom of my heart. We're back.

The Bucket List

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 29 Oct 2014 21:05:00 +0000

Well, here it is, in all its splendor. Such as it is. I’ll be including a few notes as we go along, and updating the list as it changes and completes. Strap in, here we go!

As the list is finished, each entry will get a big ol’ DONE. If something is accomplished, but not as fully as it could be, I’ll give it a lower case entry of done, signifying accomplishment but room to improve upon the experience. Those that get the DONE stamp will end up getting a blog entry of their own.

14/100 is the current score.

1) Degree.

This was important enough to be #1 on the list when I was far younger. As I’ve explained elsewhere, it just doesn’t grab me anymore. I’ve had a lot of fun and success and strife and learning, and the paper just doesn’t mean as much as I thought it would. 40 year old me isn’t 25 year old me, so this one will end up being replaced at some point.

2) Drum with Babatunde done (as close as could be)

Didn’t get to drum with, but did get to drum for him, and with some other phenomenal drummers. Expect a blog entry on this at some point.

3) Publicly speak/teach

This is another that will be modified. It already has, actually. When I was younger, alternative religions really needed some advocate voices, and I longed to be one. Now, that cause has done well enough with only minor input from me. I’ve helped teach theatre for high schoolers, and I’ve taught drum workshops, and maybe that’s enough to mark this one with the DONE stamp…or maybe the slot needs to go to something else.

4) Fly a Plane

5) Have a 6 digit career

6) Have Children DONE

Stopped at one, for various reasons, not least of which that Little Danger is the best kid in the entire world. Yes, I’m biased.

7) Provide for that child.

Obviously, this one may never be done. It might just be an ongoing way of life. Providing for him comes in so many ways, and he’ll have to tell me when the done stamp is ready.

8) Master my drums

“Master” is perhaps too lofty a term. I’m damn good with the djembe, but my technique is weak on conga and doumbek, and I’d like to get better.

9) Finish fig painting

I have a collection of Necromunda figures; each and every gang produced by Games Workshop. I zen out when I paint. It relaxes me. I intend to finish painting all of them.

10) Have Poetry Published

Kind of self-explanatory. I have written, and occasionally still do, some fairly OK poetry, if I say so myself. I’d love to be published, and not by myelf.

11) Portray Javert done

I haven’t done the full show of Les Miserables, but I have performed an excerpt. There’s still time to upgrade this one to full caps-lock glory, and I look forward to it.

12) Catch an 8 lb rainbow trout

Ever since that Bennett Springs trip, I’ve longed to square off with a nice pan-sized fish and pull it out of the water to grace my plate.

13) Watch a sunset at Sanibel Island with Wifefish DONE

14) Visit my nephew in Colorado

Wifefish loves Colorado, I’ve got family there. Seems a natural fit.

15) Ride a Horse DONE

16) Own a large parcel of land DONE

At some point, I intend to have some acreage with a nice barn and woods.((Just picked up a beautiful civil war era house on 16 acres with a 4k sq ft barn. It's a good day.))

17) Physically touch totem animal(s).

This would include all of those that have entered my life. Tiger being most important to me, I’ll probably save the done stamp for that eventuality.

18) Earn at least a mid level in some martial art

Even though I’m getting older, I still would like to cross this one off the list. It’s always been a matter of time and discipline, and the time, I think, is drawing near.

19) Ministry license

Easy to do nowadays, and I did long ago formally train for such.

20) Fence again

I used to fence. I wasn’t too bad, but I didn’t do it for very long. I’d like to get back on strip.

21) Learn Rapier/Main Gauche DONE

In the course of getting pretty heavy into combat choreography in my youth, I learned the style.

22) Visit Ireland

I wanna go.

23) Brew Mead

“It’s made from honey!” I’d like to make some batches of my own.

24) Learn Reiki

Some think it bunk, some think it a healing method. I have enough belief in unexplained sciences to give it a go.

25) Enrolled Agent

Given the career, I may as well go through the hoops to be certified to bust the IRS in the chops.

26) Contact Hedy

Even though she’s part of my history, the concept of celebrity has gotten less and less important to me as time goes on. Connecting with a gradeschool friend I haven’t seen since 5^th grade could be cool, but I think I wrote this one on the list in youthful ignorance. Slot may change.

27) Own a House DONE

I’m on the second one.

28) Writing Published DONE

Brew News articles for the win.

29) Visit West Africa

The land of the djembe, I should love to visit and hear traditional rhythms in traditional settings.

30) Be in Salem at Halloween

I just think this would be an awesome experience.

31) Swim with Whales done?

I’ve gone whale watching, I’ve been in the water (and danced with) dolphins…is it done?

32) See Alaska

As all of these travel things might be labeled, I wanna go.

33) See Hawaii

Yep, wanna go.

34) Melee Sparring DONE

I had intended to do some foam fighting, learn some weapons techniques. I had no idea how much further I would go than this simple goal.

35) Amtgard DONE

I had intended to begin attending a foam fighting game, as well. Instead, we ended up creating Triumph, and making our own entry into the fantasy worlds of LARP. I’m pretty proud of it.

36) Drum with Michael BashawDONE

Hell of an artist, and glad I got to play with him.

37) Know my grandchildren

This one is a longevity goal, true. Guess I’ll have to keep my body in some semblance of temple-hood to get there.

38) Drum with Mamady Keita DONE

More than once, I might add.

39) SCUBA certification

I love to be in the water, and this is another of my “when I have money” items that I should have attended to a long time ago.

40) Plan and achieve retirement income

Given my current career choices, it would be pretty sad if I don’t get this one done.

41) Attend a BIG LARP

I would so enjoy going to a humongous game, something like Bicolline in Canada or even Mythodea in Europe, where there are true line battles of hundreds of people.

42) Choreograph or portray Cyrano de Bergerac

The ultimate swordsman. Wouldn’t it be fun to choreograph those fights?

43) See Scotland DONE

Och Aye Wanna Go, Laddy!

44) Own my own company DONE

This one gets an oak leaf cluster as well. Two so far.

45) Portray Jekyll/Hyde done

In the musical of the same name. Again, I’ve excerpted, but haven’t done the full musical.

46) Hike in the Grand Canyon

Yes, it’s a big hole in the ground. It’s older than mankind, and I think it needs my footprints in it.

47) Build a decently sized poker bankroll

I, like so many, enjoyed the meteoric rise in popularity of Texas Hold ‘Em. I would like to continue playing. The bankroll is the poker money, kept separate from other money…and I’d like to grow it.

48) Taste all the single malt brands

“All” is again difficult, but a list has been assembled that I shall conquer.

49) Play a high dollar poker tourney

Pursuant to #47, once I have it, I want to risk it.

50) Conquer “The Classics” reading list

A hat tip goes to Hercules and the Umpire here. I have a pretty impressive list of things to read which, once finished, will be added to again and again. It’ll get more than one Done stamp.

51) Sail on a tallship

Aye, ta get in the riggin’. Ta fire the cannon an’ work the wheel. It calls ta me, it does.

52) Drum on the rim of Ngorongoro

A place of epic beauty, and I want to stand and look out over it and slap some goatskin.

53) 1 million hits on the blog

This would be a fun one, too, I think.

54) Multi-day riverboat cruise

I’d love to get onboard a paddlewheeler with the family and enjoy the river.

55) Visit all the National Parks in the US

Yep, all of ‘em. I intend to get Little Danger a completed Park Passport.

56) Build the Perfect Pyrate Pub

I have a great one, but in true pirate fashion, I want more. More room to display breweriana and pirate/nautical goodies.

57) Highlander Trophy Room

You remember that scene in Highlander, where he has all the cool things from his personal history? Yeah, I want a room like that. Swords and costumes and armor and tidibits and some fucking-A old Scotch.

58) 100 push ups, and keep it

If George Takei can do it, why can’t I? This is a yardstick for being in shape, thus the “keep it” portion.

59) Watch a sunset at Sanibel Island with Little Danger

It was so good the first time, I need an excuse to do it again.

60) Preplist

OK, I’m not weird. Wait, that’s a lie. OK, I’m not a crazy prepper, but I have a basic list that would be kind of cool to have on hand, and would learn good skills if I checked it off. So why not be a little crazy?

61) CCW

My state has concealed carry. I should go ahead and do the training and get the permit.

62) Complete costumes: Commisar, Pyrate, Pioneer, Wild West, Zarkov

I like having cool costumes for specific needs. The Pioneer outfit, as an example, would be necessary for working at the cabin during events. These are the 4 I want to do up right.

63) Obtain an authentic piece of Pyrate paraphernalia for the pub

You know, a cannon or belaying pin or something actually from the period, or better, a shipwreck.

64) See New Zealand

Want. To. Go.

65) Take Little Danger whale watching

I enjoyed it, and I want to share it with him.

66) Create, and then regularly perform, a weapons “dance” workout (kata)

I hate normal workouts. Thus, combining things I love would be a good idea. I want to splice some yoga and sword choreo into a daily routine.

67) Ride in a warbird

I still have that pilot dream. I’d love to take a ride in a piece of history. Be it a P-51 or a B-17, there are some awesome planes that still take to the air.

68) Go on a “throw a dart” adventure

Pull out a map, throw a dart, and go there. Easy and crazy.

69) Ride in a hot air balloon

I’ll wait until Little Danger is old enough to do this as a family, and then it’s soooo on.

70) Romantic dinner with Wifefish on the Riverwalk

I visit a lot of places on business. I spent an evening O Solo Mio listening to Mariachi stroll and play, while eating a very, very good steak. There was one person missing, and I intend to replay that scene correctly at some point in my life.

71) Attend a Pirate Festival

Because YARRRRR., that’s why.

72) Go on a charter cruise

I think it would be pretty cool to live like the uber rich for a bit, and charter a yacht for a few days of Caribbean or Mediterranean goodness.

73) Attend Bledsoe’s Fort Colonial Fair

I’ve got some roots in this location, and thus it’s a place I want to rendezvous, once my gear is ready.

74) Host a sushi party, and be the chef

I love sushi. I love parties. I love making food. I love eating food. Doesn’t this seem perfect for me?

75) Get debt free

A mortgage doesn’t count, due to tax break. I want to keep that debt.

76) Get Protectorate up

I’ve been working on another LARP, something creative and futuristic as opposed to high fantasy. I intend to get it live.

77) Go on a zipline

Wheeeeeee!

78) Family dinner at Ponce Inlet

Sharing a piece of childhood with my family.

79) Take Little Danger for a day at Discovery Cove

Wifefish and I enjoyed the place so very much, and I think Little Danger would as well.

80) Attend a Whiskyfest

I wanna go! And my liver will hate me!

81) Pacific Island/on water bungalow trip

You’ve seen the pictures, so you know why I wanna go.

82) Snorkel in the Crystal River

Wanna go. Manatees. Clear water.

83) Busk (drum with a hat out)

I wonder if anyone would put money in that hat?

84) Eat at a Michelin Star restaurant

Since I happen to love food so very much, I want to discover for myself what the fuss is about.

85) Drum at Starwood festival

They have a hell of a drum circle, I’m told.

86) Snorkel Hanauma Bay

#33 got an add-on when I saw the pictures. This would be a great one.

87) Breakfast at sunrise on the beach, sunset dinner on beach same day

I loves me some beach.

88) Have a Crazy Vegas Trip

Whereas I’ve been to Vegas many times, I would love to do a true “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” trip of too many shows, too much good food, and too much booze.

89) Wild West trip

Deadwood or Tombstone or some other tourist attraction piece of history.

90) Go whitewater rafting

I was too chicken, until the in-laws went. If they can do it, I certainly should.

91) Marathon gaming weekend

I want to take a 3 day weekend, a select group of gamers, and a few games and go absolutely crazy immersive fun for a weekend, stopping only for good food and fun breaks and occasional sleep.

92) Make a charity donation/contribution

Either with time or money, I’d like to make a true difference to someone(s) in need.

93) The Top Shelf of Badassdom

A monetary goal, I’d like to have 10 or so bottles of the REALLY good stuff. Unique, expensive, as long as it’s good.

94) Attend either ComicCon or Dragoncon

Those are the big ones, with the cool people and the neat panels and events. Iwannago.

95) Earthship or similar dreamhome

Wifefish and I want to put together a nice house, but use as much environmentally intelligent technology as we can. Having a house that makes best use of water and power and such would be pretty sweet.

96) Visit Great Barrier Reef

Iwannago!

97) England backpack trip

Want. To. Go.

98) Canoe Green/Yampa rivers

Wifefish wants to share some childhood with me, too.

99) See the Aurora Borealis

Gotta go North for this one. Parka, anyone?

100) Spaceflight.

If tourist space flights become at any point anywhere near affordable, then Dangerboy is going to earn his fucking astronaut wings.

There it is, the hot 100. It’s true, I may come up with more ideas and desires. Slot 101 and beyond is easy to add, after all. Wish me luck! More importantly, wish me fun!

Bucket List Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Tue, 21 Oct 2014 17:36:00 +0000

Welcome back!

I have mentioned recently that I’m working on my “bucket list”. When I first started said list, it was merely called 100 goals, and it was a “key to success” that coach Lou Holtz spoke about. I haven’t quite gotten the list to 100 yet, having 8 slots open at current.

In addition to that list, I now keep a second. It’s my “reverse bucket list”, and I encourage you to keep one as well. This is a list of things that I probably wouldn’t have put on the first list, either for not having thought of it or having done it already when I started “list prime”, but after having done, would not trade the experience for love of gold.

You may, in fact, already have a 100 item list completed (or more!), if you’ll just think and reflect. What awesome things have you done?

Let me give you an example. I would likely have never put on my list “Watch someone get married by Elvis”. I just wouldn’t have thought of that, maybe wouldn’t have gone out of my way to do it. My wife’s uncle got hitched in Vegas some time ago, and I just happened to be in town at a convention. It was not to be missed, period.

From the limo ride with the in-laws to the 20 minute ceremony performed by His Kingness (two songs!), to the names-in-lights at the chapel, to the reception at the Haufbrauhaus, it was a day full of awesome memories. I even enjoyed walking in the desert heat from the reception to the convention at MGM Grand, stepping onto the floor with 2 minutes to spare from start time. The day had a glow about it, an epicness that makes smiling easy.

That is entry 38 on my Reverse Bucket List.

It bears mentioning that my RBL is not in any order beyond the crazy order in which I remembered things, and I have no desire to organize it. You might wish to list chronologically, perhaps. Me, I’ll take scattered, just like my mind on any given day without coffee.

As for my initial list, it’s been tweaked a few times. Pro Tip: You’re going to change and develop as you get older, and it’s perfectly OK to look at the list and replace something you just don’t see as important anymore.

I’ll give you an example. #1 on my list, written over 16 years ago, is “Degree”. I intended at the time to get a 4 year degree. Now that I’m 40, have Little Danger, and tuition has skyrocketed, this one is just nowhere near important to me anymore. At some point in the near future (right after I fill the 8 empty slots), I’ll evaluate that goal and replace it with something else.

It’s important to note that such a change isn’t a disappointment; the goal simply doesn’t fit me anymore. I’ve read and studied and learned a great many disparate topics, and will continue to do so. Do I need a 6 digit sheet of paper to think myself intelligent? Nope. Now that I own a business, do I need that sheet of paper to advance? Nope. Due to the expense and other negatives, it becomes something in the way of the other 99. So, it gets scrapped.

Here’s a second example. #6 on the list is “have children”, which if you’ve paid attention here you know was a big effing deal for Wifefish and I. For numerous reasons, not least of which is that Little Danger is like the perfect kid ever, we’ve stopped at 1. So this one gets checked off, but with a caveat following.

In complete rambling news, I’ve been productive as I’ve been writing…there are now only 7 slots open. I promise to post the 100 list once completed, and start telling some stories.

Buckets!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 01 Oct 2014 18:49:00 +0000

I am currently putting the finishing touches on my list of 100 goals, aka the bucket list. I’m also keeping a “reverse bucket list”, or a list of things that would have gone on the list had I thought of them before doing them, because they have a cool factor of “oh, yes.”

Where appropriate, I intend to share the stories here. There are one or two that just aren’t going to be committed to posterity. Suffice to say they were fun.

In hearing or reading the word “bucket” more times than a Kardashian checks make up, I was reminded of a story from my youth.

It bears mentioning that I was a geek in my youth. Big surprise, I know. I was gangly, had little physical prowess, was constantly nose-in-a-book or eyes-agape-at-a-pretty-girl, and had been in more fights than Mike Tyson. My win/loss record was, however, roughly the opposite of his. At zero and all, unfortunately, with 1 draw, my pre-senior year fight stats were pathetic at best.

My dad, wonderful man that he is and was, made many an attempt to put some muscle on my frame, but unsuccessfully. I have to admit in retrospect that he lectured me in rants that left my butt sore from sitting in the chair through the entire monologues. He could go on for hours on the topic of my failings, a perhaps universal danger of fatherhood.

Granted, Dad has some room to talk on this topic. He’d been a first class ass-kicker since his teen years, having been fed the same bully soup I’d been eating regularly at school. He decided to take the path of most resistance, bulking up and going apeshit on all comers. At the age of 50, he was still able to bend a 16 penny nail in half with bare hands, and tricep pull an entire 350 pound stack on a universal machine. Dad’s a fucking gorilla.

Still, he just didn’t get the fact that I’d far rather swim through eight chapters on paleontology than squeeze out 3 sets of benchpress reps. Sadly, I’m still in that same boat, though I’ve found some discipline to keep a bit of exercise in my daily routine.

Thus it was that, fresh from an undeserved ass-whomping after school, I found myself at the kitchen table enduring a vociferous, decibel and profanity laden soliloquy on the finer points of making a bully sorry via fisticuffs and dirty fighting techniques. At what would likely have been the midpoint of the speech, the following was said.

“Son, you just have to have a pair of balls when a motherfucker wants to fight, and I’ve got balls as big as buckets!” He continued to assail my eardrums.

Mom hid her mouth, eyes alight, got up from the table, and walked into the basement.

Dad continued an f-bomb delivery worthy of a Stratofortress.

Mom came back upstairs, silently, and placed a 5 gallon bucket in front of Dad on the table, and pointedly looked at his crotch. She shook her head in mock sadness and walked away.

With an authoritative *clunk*

The lecture came to a screeching halt.

To this day, mom and I can reduce each other to laughter ending in tears with just one word: “buckets.”

Unlucky 13

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Thu, 11 Sep 2014 14:26:00 +0000

It’s been 13 years. Yes, I still remember. No, I won’t forget.

More than that, though, I won’t forgive. But the people I’m not forgiving may surprise you. At the time, I supported, and still do, a military reprisal. It was inevitable, and it was necessary. It was the other ominous shit that, even then, gave me the fucking willies.

I will not forgive those who knee jerked, and made disproportionate war effective for our enemies. In a blind fear, we threw billions of dollars down a hole, and we’re still doing it. We walk around, cocky, knowing that ‘merica! is number one…but we danced to their tune, and we’re still doing it.

I do not forgive the creation of the exceptionally ominous Department of Homeland Security. Words like “Homeland”, “Fatherland”, and “Motherland” are rhetorically charged devices that smolder in the minds and hearts of the masses, and I worried about it then. I see no reason today to stop worrying.

I do not forgive the creation of the TSA, a ridiculous adventure in security theatre that has kept exactly zero travelers safer in the past 13 years. They confiscate belt buckles and knives and jars of jam, and tell themselves they're effective. Kudos, boys, you’re doing a bang up job.

I do not forgive the creation of the snoop state that Snowden exposed, nor those in power who wished to silence and now wish to punish. We shredded the 4^th amendment looking for the needles in the haystack.

I do not forgive the furtive movement to arm police with ever increasing military hardware in fear of terrorists. Those toys are getting used against citizens, not foreign, nor even domestic, terrorists. Mission creep is a very, very real thing.

The thing I hate most about those vile men that poked the eagle with a stick is quite simple, really. They won.

In Remembrance,

Dangerboy

Five Things I Think, Sep 9

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 10 Sep 2014 18:03:00 +0000

It’s time again…let’s put on our thinking caps and enjoy, shall we?

1) I think I never get enough time at the lake. I had waaaaay too much fun this trip, made more enjoyable by good friends, my awesome Little Danger and Wifefish, good food, and good booze.

I also picked up a pair of these bad boys: http://www.darkfingloves.com/ For those who are too lazy to click, let suffice the description of a pair of webbed gloves. Coupled with a short pair of foot fins, I zipped around the lake like an otter on meth. The gloves are slender enough that you can still open a can of Samuel Adams with ease, put it in a coozie, and slurp away to your heart’s content. You can even do it 12 times in a row. If, by chance, you felt the need to do so.

2) I think I’m pleased as punch about the new career. It’s official now, Wifefish and I bought out the business. We are officially business owners. That’s both exhilarating and a bit frightening, but mostly the first one.

I’ve been involved in the tax industry for years and years and years, but now I get to put all that knowledge and all my curiosity to work for clients of my very own. I’ll be transitioning to a full time be-my-own-boss in January, and I’m looking forward to it like a beaver on the way to a tree farm.

3) I think I’m enjoying the living history aspect of Pioneer Village. Yes, we’ve made more progress on the cabin from 1797, but beyond that I’ve been learning some new skills.

I got to work in the Smithy last time around, as did Little Danger. I just worked the bellows for the blacksmith as he made some nails and such, but still, I got to learn something I didn’t know. I’ll be making a point to get in there and learn every chance I get, because let’s face it…hot steel is awesome.

Granted, our last foray out there for a museum event was as muggy as Satan’s jock strap, and a wasp used my neck as a bull’s eye for a loaded butt bombing run. I may have made a noise akin to a mule having a surprise prostate exam. Ah, the life of a pioneer has hardships, my friends.

4) I think I truly understand the nature of ambivalence. I’m at a point again with the Game where I am tired of it. Events are awesome, I see great things, participate in wonderful theatre, get exercise, and just generally have fun.

Between events, though, I get to deal with crap. Complaints. Bitching. Requests for special attention that would require me taking time away from career and family to sit down with players and mediate whatever dispute may be on their minds. At least one person just stirring the shit pot trying to get a rise out of someone else, using me to do it.

I’m not amused. I find myself again looking at the calendar and wondering if running this thing is worth all the crap I put up with. Game day, the answer is yes. Today, the answer is no.

5) I think it’s time for another kid brag. Little Danger got bumped out of his swim class…not for being bad, but because they wanted him to swim in the next age bracket. Good swimmer, that one, and he’s just done the width of the pool with no flotation device.

I am truly in love with the way parenthood makes little milestones extraordinary. You may recall my thoughts on bad dads some time ago, wherein I said my job is to lift him up, to raise him above me. This is one such milestone…I didn’t learn to swim until high school. He’s already able to tow me around in a rescue swim.

You see, last lake trip, I noticed he was moving around pretty darn well, so I decided about 5 boat lengths away from the pontoon to just stop and ask him to take me back to the boat. We were both wearing jackets, because lake=85 feet deep, but he managed to haul me back in toot de suite in a nearly perfect rescue swim.

Wifefish and I make it a habit not to tell him he can’t do things.

Well, those are my thoughts for today...some good, some bad, all mine. What do YOU think?

Be SEATED!

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Tue, 01 Jul 2014 19:22:00 +0000

I’m going in the wayback machine for today’s post. As many of you know, I’m a fan of live theatre. Huge fan, in fact. And willing participant.

I’m proud to be able to share that joy with Little Danger, who, at the age of 3, has managed to watch Hamlet in its entirety. He was well behaved and quiet, asking in a whisper occasionally “Why he sad?” or things like that. He’s also enjoyed 4 viewings of Jesus Christ Superstar, because Wifefish is AWESOME and kicked ass as Mary Magdelene. He was similarly spectacular at each show, saving his singing for the car ride home. (He does a fairly good rendition of “What’s the Buzz.”)

Today, I read an interesting and somewhat frightful article regarding the decline of the American Audience in theatre. Between Shia Lebouf getting booted for being a butthead and various cellphone infractions galore on Broadway, it appears that audiences just can’t be bothered to politely pay attention. It’s like theatre has caught a bad case of the assholes, which is a rash that can inhabit the house.

I was part of such an audience once, and it was not fun. But oh, was it memorable.

In 1990, (I know, way back machine) I was a junior in high school. Our English class would occasionally take trips to the Repertory Theatre of St Louis, aka “The Rep”, to take in a play. Thus it was that we went to see Fences, a fairly impressive production.

As luck would have it, this production had a guest star. I (and my classmates, of course) had a front row seat for a hell of a performance by none other than Avery Brooks, who had been playing Hawk on television, and would of course go on to play Captain Sisko on Deep Space Nine.

If you’ve seen the interview he did with Shatner, and you’ve wondered what made Avery Brooks go insane, wonder no more. It was the audience that day that cracked his sanity; I’m sure of it. The experience lay in his mind like ticking time bomb, triggering an aneurism in later years as I imagine he recalled the scene over and over until only the piano could save him.

The play itself was good, the actors quite talented. The set was AMAZEBALLS, including a kitchen just inside the door of the house façade that had running water. Talk about your practicals! A working kitchen faucet!

I’ll assume you’re not familiar with the play itself, so here’s your synopsis. I’ll wait for you to come back.

Back? Awesome. As you can see, that was some heavy subject matter for a high school class, but really, just a great show. Unfortunately, the day we attended was also a day in which the hosting college had sent many of their own students for extra credit. To say they misbehaved would be an understatement of epic proportions. It’s like saying Hulk has anger issues.

I was largely focused on the stage, and missed a great deal of the inappropriate stuff. In discussions on the bus ride home, others recalled a plethora of audience problems. Candy wrapper opening, mumbling, discussing, snoring. (Granted, that last one I’d nearly been guilty of my own self in a production of Henry IV in that very house. My teacher forgave me for it, saying it bored her, too.)

But I remember clearly the fight between father and son, Avery’s character Troy going after Cory with a baseball bat in some very convincing combat choreagraphy, and how the audience wasn’t, as I was, horrified at the prospect. Instead they howled with glee. Someone in the back yelled “get that motherfucker.” Candy was thrown on the stage. Reflect on that for a moment. Someone attending an institute of higher learning decided that part of their extra credit included throwing candy at a live cast in one of the premier theatres of the city. Acute case of the assholes.

At show’s end, it was obvious that the cast was as happy as a seal at a polar bear reunion. The curtain call was terse, short, and perfunctory. Each actor wore a frown, scowl, or other dour demeanor, clearly pissed off at having wasted a damn good performance on such an unappreciative bunch. (It bears mentioning that not one single member of our class had participated in any of these shenanigans.)

"Who raised these kids?"

Most of the cast left the stage, whilst most of the audience started to get up and go their merry way. Avery stood center stage and just watched. After what could only be called a dramatic pause, he spoke. He used what was then the “Hawk voice” and would become the “Sisko’s pissed basso profundi.” Two words, bouncing off the sound clouds as if spoken through a loudspeaker.

“BE. SEATED.”

It garnered an amazing response. Everyone sat their ass down, responding to the commanding tone as if he’d been holding the nickel-plated .357 he held every week on our TVs. Playing a hitman can command a bit of respect.

After a scant few moments to let everyone sit, he began his lecture. Worthy of a professor of theatre, he launched on a diatribe that had even those of us who’d done nothing wrong slinking down in our seats. He wielded shame like a bludgeon, at one point walking stage right, plucking a twizzler off the floor, and bellowing “THIS has no PLACE in the THEATRE.” It sounded something like this:

The audience that left was a vastly different audience than had arrived. The lecture seemed to penetrate most, and there was precious little shit talking as the students filed out. There was a great deal of silence.

It was a performance every bit as memorable as the production he’d just participated in, if not more so. It was a message most in the room absolutely needed to hear. And maybe, just maybe, it’s one I’d like to see him deliver anytime an audience gets a case of the assholes.

Five Things I Think, June 19

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Thu, 19 Jun 2014 19:26:00 +0000

1) I think the progress we’re making on the 1797 cabin is fantastic. A base log has been replaced, a sill log pulled and replaced with stone (to protect the overall structure), and most of the roofing supports sourced. It was hard and heavy work, and I was still pretty sore at bedtime Monday night. We might get this job done by our goal time frame of 1 year from start, which, for a guy as good at home improvement as Congress is at customer satisfaction, is one heck of an accomplishment.

2) I think I had a pretty cool Father’s Day. Little Danger got to see many DeLoreans, including a Back To The Future repro that was quite amazing, and they even set the time machine to his birthday. Too awesome, even though I didn’t get to take part in that adventure due to point #1 there…I was working with a crew of fantastic people while Wifefish possibly shouted “Great Scott!”

There was a surprise encounter with a B-17 on my way home from cabin work, and I collected Wifefish and Little Danger to tour said Fortress. It reminded me of a similar trip my Dad arranged for me, to the local municipal airport way back when, some 33 years ago. Recursive parenting awesomeness for the win.

We finished the day with a trip to a local brewhouse for some fantastic food at a reasonable price, some really good beer, and a complimentary pint glass inscribed with the date, which was another surprise. Suffice to say, the day did its level best to outdo my expectations in just about every way. It succeeded.

3) I think I’m tired of the news. Seriously, soul-suckingly tired. I remember when the news was given to us with a bit of gravity, a bit of respect, and a care for the facts. Now it’s all sensational.

A radio station I am not going to listen to anymore tipped me over the edge this morning, dropping a tag of a sentence fragment just before discussing the “Iraq situation”.

A deepened male voice, echoed up just like a monster truck commercial, announced “Turmoil in the Middle East!” as if I was supposed to buy a ticket for a seat, but only need the edge, this Sunday Sunday Sunday. I put in a CD. I’m tired of being shouted at, cajoled, marketed to, and annoyed. I just want to know what’s going on. Journalism may, in fact, be wheezing like a smoker on the stairs.

4) I think it’s ironic that my most productive day this week was a vacation day from The Job. I handled two clients in the morning for the new career, then went to the house and fixed a ceiling fan, vacuumed the floors, put away laundry, trimmed the fenceline, and even played a little pitch n’ catch with Little Danger in the front room. I was like some sort of goddamned superdomesticman. Behold, my feather duster of power, and the pruning shears of justice!

Then I went forth with the men-in-law and visited two taprooms at local craft breweries, and sampled many, many beers. I’m in love with the craft beer revolution. This, too, proved productive, as we managed to make some great connections with fellow beer enthusiasts, and we settled on a creative and awesome way for me to display the growlers I’m collecting in the Pyrate Pub.

5) I think I’m cautiously optimistic about the quality of JJ’s new Star Wars movie, but that ultimately I don’t care if it’s good or not. Bottom line is this: I will be able to take my son to an opening night of Star Wars in the theatre, something I never thought would happen. It could be a steaming pile of monkey shit, and I’d sit diligently through two hours of solid lens-flare to experience it with Little Danger.

But if Jar Jar shows up, I’m going after JJ with a vintage 1977 Millenium Falcon and bludgeoning him with it until he looks like he’s gone 3 rounds with a rancor. I’ll show up at his doorstep like a Gamorrean with a grudge. It’d be all Darth Danger up in his mansion. Just sayin’.

So, gang...what do you Think today?

Five Things I Think, June 13

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Fri, 13 Jun 2014 14:30:00 +0000

1) I think it’s nuts that June has arrived already. This year is attempting to zip past like it’s trying to prevent bad things happening to Marty McFly. It seems just yesterday that I was at the end of tax season, and now here I am looking at Midsummer.

Hey, calendar, knock off these shenanigans! I have things to do! (Things. Like the mountain of laundry, the mountain of LARP laundry, the cleaning of the bar, the fixing of the ceiling fan light, the bathroom grout, the...well, you get the picture.)

2) I think I’m having fun with writing, even though you haven’t seen it here. I’ve been picked up by a local publication, writing humorous beer articles. The Venn diagram is one perfect circle between their needs and my interests. It’s a happy thing.

It’s also a paid gig, which is pretty cool as well. I’m trading words for shiny rocks, and whereas I will not be getting rich on this project, it will pay for the beer I research and, in turn, write about.

3) I think Little Danger is a fucking rock star. He’s about to turn 4, and it’s been a great ride so far. I am in awe of how often he smiles, how much he cares, and the way we share the world together. Rock. Star.

I had the fun and awesome experience of drumming with him again recently, and this time he strapped on his little drum and stood next to me for a good half hour as we pounded out some rhythms. Watching him dance around with a ton of friends was also especially endearing, and a level of magical silliness I’ve not witnessed in 21 years of drumming at that location. Of course, I’m biased. And I feel not one ounce of shame about it. (Though that sentence fragment did get a twitch out of my inner grammar police. As did that one.)

4) I think hitting 40 has not been in any way as “bad” as some had led me to expect. I feel like I’m hitting my stride. I work out more than I ever have before; I still lead the pack on hikes and battles (when fighting with foam). I just don’t feel the need for a mid-life crisis at all. I’m thinking about penciling it in for my 52^nd birthday.

Given that this year Wifefish, the Kushies, and I have started restoring a cabin built in 1797, I have a completely different perspective on age than once I did. When you’re working on lumber that was stacked together almost 220 years ago, 40 seems downright juvenile. Although it is refreshing to realize that modern life expectancy makes me quite likely to hit a century. I have a goal, people. Now get off my lawn!

It's a fixer upper.

5) I think, as I reflect further on point 4 there, that history can be completely awesome. In researching the time period of the cabin’s construction, I found some amazing provenance, a journal written by a man who traveled with the cabin’s original owner. I know the exact date the first log was laid, the experiences they had getting to that point, and even what they hunted for that first morning. (Bear. Motherfucking black bears hunted by chopping down their tree and shooting them when they hit the ground, hopefully before they mauled your face off. Pioneer living was not for the weak.)

I also discovered some roots in my family that I hadn’t been able to find previously, and traced my line back to those same gentlemen. It turns out I have direct ties to the battle of Point Pleasant, and to the American Revolution. I’ve a long ago cousin who was a bona fide, grade A badass. It’s made me look at my skill set and think about adding some of those primitive living skills I’ve always thought about, but never bothered to work on. It’s started with cabin-building, now I’m going to look at some true woodscraft to enjoy with Little Danger as he grows. Why not?

I hope you, dear reader, have a great day. So…what do you think?

Five Things I Think, March 12

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 12 Mar 2014 18:20:00 +0000

1) I think, and I have had this thought before, that it’s been too long since I’ve written. There are so many things going on for me right now, both good and bad, and I’ve been remiss in putting them to words.

This is the year that I’ve begun to transition from one career to another, and this seems to be treating me well thus far. I enjoy the work, I like the boss (me), and it’s not bad money.

This is the year that I’ve been watching Little Danger grow by leaps and bounds, physically and mentally. He’s a beacon, a light that calls me home with a beaming smile and a “cuddle me jus’ a little bit.”

This is the year that The Company has started on a comeback trail, but has done a poor job in implementation. I’ve fielded some pretty terrible tech support calls in which we are the screw-up, not the client, and I have come to hate waiting on programmers to fix the problem. See item 1 above…I like having the ability to fix my own screw ups or fail on my own merits, as opposed to reliance on the fruits of another’s labor. Especially when that fruit is not as sweet as once it may have been.

This is the year that Wifefish and I have started fighting our way out of our corner, relying on each other to tag-team our problems as if we were the freakin’ Road Warriors. (For the record, I’m Hawk.) Granted, neither one of us is wearing a Mohawk just now, but we are giving the massive suplex of doom to our problems…together.

This is the year that we have a regular weekly game running with some friends, playing Dark Heresy every Tuesday. I’ve so long wanted to have a weekly game, and now that I have one going, I’m pleased as punch, especially given that football season is over, and there’s no weekly Monday Night Football to be had. Tuesday Night kill heretics in the name of the Emperor is every bit as fun for me.

This is the year that I make some changes, and they seem to be for the better.

2) I think Little Danger makes me giggle sometimes. Last week, as we were gaming, he went to the kitchen pantry for a snack. The mind of a 3 year old is a strange thing.

Pepper the crazy terrier was accompanying him, and he kept pushing her away, saying “No, I no need help!” Of course, Pepper has the comprehension capacity of a sweet potato, and so kept merrily attempting to play with him. More pushing ensued, and Wifefish corrected him, saying he couldn’t push her away like that, it would only add more energy to her play.

So the boy looks thoughtful for a moment, grabs a dog biscuit from said pantry and hands it to the dog, who merrily takes off for a solitary dining experience in her kennel in the front room. Little Danger then triumphantly perused the pantry for a snack as we, the supposed adults, laughed uproariously and I beamed at his problem-solving skills.

Way to go, Little Danger.

3) I think the Snowplow Saga has drained me. I’ll have to post the whole story, but suffice to say that being backed over by a city vehicle, driven by one who was completely at fault, left me without the minivan. We now have a brand spankin’ new Ford Escape, which I am moderately happy about. We now have a ridiculous car payment, which has left me feeling about like I’ve just traipsed through a lumberjack camp dressed as a mighty pine tree. I’m not suffering from buyer’s remorse, though, but a case of wanting to beat the everlovin’ apefuck out of the douchecanoe who, through his overwhelming dumbfuckery, took away the van that had been fully paid off. Alas, such is not to be.

4) I think that while my son is in every way awesome, and in fact more awesome than anyone on the planet, there is one foible he possesses that is both maddeningly frustrating and deeply hilarious. Note, if you are a something-in-law to me, STOP READING NOW.

Wifefish and I have given Little Danger another nickname, one which he has earned. Due to his amazing ability to sense from anywhere in the house, whether awake or asleep, if there is any sort of marital affection in the works and further due to his uncanny power to interrupt any such activity at the most inopportune time, we have gifted him with the moniker Captain Cockblock. (Note that it's a secret name, one we dare not let him hear until he's 20.) It’s his special supervillain power.

The Captain threatens the safety of Metropolis...

(note to the in-laws. I did tell you to stop reading. This uncomfortable feeling you have right now? Totally your fault.)

Why, just this very morning, he proved his ability. Sadly, his “spidey sexy sense” doesn’t know humor from reality. I strolled into the bedroom fresh from the shower, and jokingly said to Wifefish, waving my hands at my chest as if some freakish takeoff on Vanna White displaying freshly-purchased vowels, “Would you like any of this before I put it away?”

Approximately 8.7 microseconds later, a voice rose up the stairwell, in its best ore rotundo glorificus, “MOOOOOOMMMM! Need help making Star Wars go!” Needless to say, Wifefish and I shared a moment of euphoric laughter as I got dressed.

5) I think I’m tired of winter. I know, I know, huge revelation there. It’s like being tired of politics or Bieber. I’m just ready for a little warmth, a little green, and less shivering and gas bills. OH LOADY THE GAS BILLS!

This winter came in every bit as brutally as the no-stripe wooly worms suggested this year, and decided to muck up the joint like the rudest house guest ever. Not only did it put its feet on our couch, but it wiped its nethers on grandma’s drapes and used the doilies for a snotrag. Rude bastard.

Worse, it’s keeping me from an awesome project that I can’t wait to dive into. More on that another time, though.

I hope you, dear reader, have a great day. So…what do you think?

The Nature of Goodbye

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Mon, 02 Dec 2013 22:06:00 +0000

I have to say goodbye to an old friend tomorrow.

Our dog, Oberon, a German Shepherd of proud bearing and dazzling intellect, has been suffering from a degenerative spinal column issue. His back legs just don’t work anymore, and he’s lost control of when he poops.

He was selected from a litter by dint of gnawing, oh so adorably, on Wifefish’s shoe lace. “I’m picking the crazy one,” she said. Yep.

He and I had a rocky relationship at first. His puppyhood was a sloppy affair, and the source of a few heated discussions between Wifefish and I. It was a poopyhood, really. The sentence “You don’t have poop in your bloodstream, so you don’t get an opinion” was once, perhaps foolishly, uttered by me, back in the days when his puppyness had not allowed him the understanding that his poo was not for dancing in, nor eating, nor for dancing in and eating and then scratching his daddy to hell and back with tiny puppy claws.

Still, he was adorable, and thus he survived. Wifefish is patient, and thus I survived.

Once he learned not to scratch me, frolic in his own excrement, or bite the hand that feeds, he became a damn fine dog. I maintain this despite his never learning not to use my nether regions as a springboard for leaving the couch.

I have a veritable plethora of fond memories of him. My wife’s dog, he became mine as well. The love of a dog is a wonderful thing, a pleasure to receive.

I remember his first trip with us, no bigger than a football. I remember as he topped 70 lbs and still thought he was football sized, trying to ride in my lap in the car. It doesn’t work so well, it turns out.

I remember how he would look at me, and then just do exactly what I expected of him. My favorite example was when we brought Little Danger home, and Oberon whuffled and sniffed him, looked at Wifefish and I, and accepted him as part of the family. He would place himself between Little Danger and any doorway, keeping him corralled and any possible threats to the baby on the wrong side of his teeth.

There’s so much more to say about him…about his time in our family, his fierce love and vicious cuddling. I could write for days just about the way he would always take treats gently, so as not to put too much teeth on your hand as he gobbled up whatever edible awesomeness one might offer him.

Last night, I pulled Little Danger aside for a serious talk. I asked if he remembered saying goodbye to our cat Kelton, when he passed. He nodded yes. I told him “Time’s coming, this week, when we’re going to have to say goodbye to Oberon too. He’s not going to come home, son.”

“Why not?”

“Well, we’re going to take him to the vet, and because his legs can’t be fixed, and his insides aren’t working, we’re going to let him go. He’s going to be put to sleep so he doesn’t have to wait for the rest of his body to quit. It hurts him.”

“I have idea”, he said. “Maybe Oberon go sleep, and wake up, and not be old anymore.”

“Son,” I said, through fresh tears (manly fresh fucking tears, mind you), “you’ve just seized upon the heart of the matter. That’s the belief system of just about every worldly religion summed up right there.”

“Where he go?” And thus, I got to describe Heaven, and the Summerland, and a brief overview of reincarnation before booping him on his nose and letting him know we’d discuss it in more detail as he got older, but I was just broad brushing it for now.

“OK,” he said. And you know what? It will be. Yes, I’m going to miss the old man, and there’ll be a dog-shaped hole in Wifefish’s heart as well as my own for a while, but it’s truly time to say goodbye. And yes, there will be more manly tears this week. But I will shed them with no shame, knowing they are a tribute to a member of the family both furry and awesome.

Tonight, we're helping out a friend by testing her edits to Hamlet, which she's directing at a local theatre. I think it fitting that Oberon gets to listen to Shakespeare on his last night with us, and I may take a moment to read from Midsummer as well, because I'm a goddamn sap and the goodbye is more for us than him. He will know that his pack will be OK, and that his pain is over, and he will know that he is loved, in whatever canine way he comprehends it.

Through the house give gathering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.

Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;
And the blots of Nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,
Shall upon their children be.
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait;
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweet peace;
And the owner of it blest
Ever shall in safety rest.
Trip away; make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.

Five Things I Think, Oct 7th

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Mon, 07 Oct 2013 21:03:00 +0000

1) I think I’m sore in places that I didn’t even know I had places. Last week was a freakish sprint to get the Haunted Trail up and running, which was made more difficult by some rain that decided to scratch one of my build days.

Thus did I spend Friday in a mad dash with a 7pm deadline to light, build, and dress 9 scenes. I managed, but the toll on my body was palpable. I had sweat so much that I ended up suffering a salt-crust induced acne episode worthy of adolescence. Dropping that much moisture and salt also left me in terrible need of hydration, and thus did I find myself chain chugging Gatorade and water that night, then finally capping the night with an IPA and a shower.

Saturday I dragged and trudged through, and then wore myself out again in the night’s scaring. Sunday was equally tough, as we Cleaned All The Things at the house, and I realized that I had a head cold attempting to conquer my sinus cavity in the name of East Snotmucusstan.

Suffice to say my Monday feels like a hangover, and I expect Ken Jeong to show up any minute.

2) I think that despite the challenges, I had fun putting the Haunt up, as I always do. It’s fun to scare the bejeezus out of people, and I get to hang out with the usual crew of disturbed individuals.

This year, I already have a new favorite scare. I asked the mom of a group of tween girls if it was OK that I hide by the SUV in which she awaited them. She beamed at me and asked, “Do you want to hide in the back?” Oh, hell yes.

And so, when the girls climbed in to their waiting ride, I popped up from the back and got one final, and very enjoyable, screech of terror. Safe in the parking lot? Nope.

3) I think, and I never get tired of saying it, that I really love this kid. Last weekend was an autumn festival at the farm for which Wifefish works. I took Little Danger to said festival, and got him into line for his mommy to facepaint him. He of course chose Cap’n ‘Merica. I resisted the urge to say “Fuck Yeah.”

Captain America, Recursive.

During Operation: Clean All The Things, he spent his afternoon with me on the bathroom floor, cleaning grout off the new-lain tile that Wifefish had placed. He’s a great helper, that one.

And the heart-melting kicker…driving him home from a friend’s birthday party Saturday night (post-haunt), a slowed up version of “Jump Around” came on the radio.

I wish I had not been driving, because I could then show you the video of him raising the roof in the back seat, singing “I get down and jumping around! Jumping around! Jumping jump jump jump jump around!” He continued singing it during Sunday’s cleaning spree. EFFING ADORABLE.

4) I think We The People should just fire everyone in DC. Congress, President, all of ‘em. This shutdown-Obamacare-too much war for too long-I could keep going but I won’t crap is just…old. I’m tired of it to a point of physical fatigue at times. Someone mentions a political item and I just sigh, because I know the conversation is a lost cause. Only half of us think one half of them are doing their jobs, so get rid of ‘em all, and start over.

5) I think I really only had four things to think today. #1 up there took its toll on me, therefore I am going to have another sports drink or three while I watch Monday Night Football. (Speaking of which, what a weird game day yesterday! Rams did well, Dallas-Denver game was ridiculous, Bengals beat the Patriots…lots of WTF!) So there.

So, gang…what do YOU think?

Five Things I Think, Aug 15

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Thu, 15 Aug 2013 15:35:00 +0000

1) I think I’m no fan of the effects of stress on the human body. The tail end of last week was a metaphorical shit sandwich served with a side of fuckyou fries and an extra large cup of “go broke motherfucker.”

Our washing machine kicked the bucket, or at least became nonfunctional enough that we can’t use it. Wifefish and I, both stressed to the gills, had one of our incredibly rare but always fiery Heated Discussions ™, and once the smoke cleared we realized we’d not gotten one inch closer to paying all the people that need paid.

Thus do I feel like a truck hit me. I could use a massage of the therapeutic kind, one of those that really digs the knots out, as opposed to those available at certain truck stops around the country. Not that I know anything about those.

On the plus side, I was able to work out some aggression by destroying the massive concrete sink that was doing nothing but taking up space in the laundry room via 10 pound sledgehammer. I refer to it as “percussive therapy.” It is hooked to nothing, and can be hooked to nothing in the foreseeable future, but was just sitting, canceling approximately 18 cubic feet of space in said laundry area. It won’t do that again.

2) I think it’s important never to take yourself so seriously that you’re not willing to hide behind ottomans with your 3 year old son portraying Iron Man to his Captain America. He kept yelling at me to “Get the bad guys!” and throwing his shield to me so I could take my turn hiding from their bullets. I guess he forgot that as Iron Man, I’m armored to the hilt and thus bulletproof. Or maybe he just wants to protect me as much as I do him.

This is an artist's rendering of how cool Little Danger and I are in real life. That's him on the left.

Either way, it was an absolute blast catching that foam shield tossed my way, beating down imaginary bad guys, and tossing it back to him so he could get the bad guys on his side of the room. Take that, Hydra.

3) I think it’s fun to send lead downrange. Wifefish and I hooked up with a good friend on Saturday and shot a few guns. Little Danger thus got his first instructions on the difference between toy and real, and why real guns are never to be used as toys, and always to be used safely. And not by him until he’s old enough, just like driving a car.

He was quite impressed with the gravity of the situation, staying with mommy or daddy while the other went to the firing line, and not complaining even one little bit. He did take a few shots at the target from said safety position with a bright green water gun, though.

For Wifefish’s part, she did pretty well as a first time shooter, putting some .22 rifle shots dead center…by which I mean 5 in the red center ring out of 13, and all 13 on the target. Not bad at all.

For my part, I managed to put in a good showing despite some time away from the range.

4) I think I’m building up to some true rants. I’m waffling between fatigue from the news and a desire for activism of late. I just get sickened by all the idiotic BS we the people put up with, and maybe it’s time for me to start getting it off my chest, instead of sticking my head in the sand. I know that may turn some folk off, so if I go that route I’ll try to keep it entertaining. If I do choose to engage in activism, I will not be supporting side A or side B, that’s for sure. I’m a 3^rd party guy, through and through, and I yearn for a party strong enough to challenge the status quo…because, as Dr Horrible once said, the status isn’t quo.

Man, if only I had a freeze ray.

5) I think you should read this article. I find this reporter to be diligent and credible; what appears as occasional bias is in fact well-researched and documented. It’s not hard to see his personal feelings on the subject, but I’m going to give him a pass on this one, because cops killing innocents by accident (and dogs on purpose) is bound to piss someone off.

Now that you’ve read that, I’m going to let you know that I agree with every common sense proposal he makes in that article. I’ve met both kinds of cops: the protect-and-serve community cops and the tough-as-nails us vs them jackholes. I prefer the former, in nearly every situation.

It is inexcusable that we incarcerate such a high number of people for non-violent, and in some cases non-victim, crimes. Hell, I don’t mind tossing a thief in jail, but the fact that you and I have to pay for three hots and a cot for a guy who likes to doob it up a bit is kind of ridiculous. The fact that SWAT teams are busting in doors for recreational users, not even dealers but just pot smokers, is patently reprehensible.

Maybe it’s time for a change or two.

So, gang…what do YOU think? Oh, look, there's a comment button for you to share your thoughts...click it!

Beer, Beer, Beer vol 4

noreply@blogger.com (Danger Boy) — Wed, 14 Aug 2013 18:46:00 +0000

Good day to you! It is time, my friends, to take another stroll through the alcoholic haze together. Today, we’re going to be taking a trip over the pond to jolly old England. We’re also going to depart from the grain and hop, and move solidly into Johnny Appleseed’s territory. Today’s offering is Strongbow hard cider.

Let me start with a one word description: yummy. I know that’s got all the sophistication of an episode of Honey Boo Boo, but bear with me here.

For me, a glass of Strongbow takes me into a nostalgic trip in the avenues of my mind to Headington, and the Royal Standard Pub. This is the first place I ever had Strongbow, unchilled and on draught.

We visited the Royal Standard, just a short jaunt from a house with a fucking shark sticking out of its roof, on the first day of our trip. A good dry cider, it turns out, is a fantastic way to tell your jetlag to “buggar off”.

source

No, really, a fucking SHARK.

The cutest little bartender greeted me when I sidled up to the bar, a lovely brunette who schooled me on the methods of tipping at British pubs…one doesn’t tip money, one offers to buy the barman or barmaid a half-pint of their own. When I asked for her suggestion for a warm summer day, she pointed to the Strongbow tap. She poured my cider and with an overly bright smile said “Here you go, guvnah!”

Despite Wifefish’s presence not 11 feet from me, I fell in love for a moment. Then I sipped my cider, and it happened again. I bought the barmaid a half-pint in lieu of a dozen roses.

Fortunately for me, Wifefish has a forgiving soul, so she forgave me my trespasses and chalked it up to jetlag, and jokingly told me I was free to date the dispenser of my drunk-nectar. The family laughed it up at my expense, which really was just fine by me…I had a full pint of crisp apple goodness in a glass.

It may well be nostalgia that gives my taste buds so much to say about Strongbow; the fine folks at Beer Advocate score this one with a paltry 14, due to the use of artificial flavors. I was surprised to discover this, actually. For my part, I find the flavor crisp, a bit dry, and just sweet enough. It’s my favorite cider thus far, and let me tell you I’m a samplin’ sumbitch. Toss something new and boozy in front of me, and I will try it, within reason. (If you serve me something called a “sweaty crotchfruit”, I will push it back to you unsipped.)

Here in the States, the ‘Bow is available both in pint cans and lower capacity bottles. Why anyone wouldn’t opt for the full pint is beyond me, but some cretins prefer bottles just because they’re bottles, and whereas they are far better for hand to hand combat once you’re deep in your cups, I’ll take the can every single time. I urge you to do the same!

Strongbow Cider: give it a try, and Bottoms Up!