Step Inside My Mind

A-Bomb Radio now up and running!

2010-04-27T17:08:00.001-05:00

So I’ve had this idea in my head for some time now that I’d like to start my own podcast. I listened to others’ podcasts, I asked around to try and determine who would listen to mine, I did my research on the subject. And do you know what I found out? It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter who listens to my podcast. It doesn’t matter who reads my blog. It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks about what I say or write, though I hope that what I say and write would cause at least one person to think, laugh, question.

So, all that aside, I’d like you to at least listen to my podcast, over here at A-Bomb Radio. It’s like reading a rough draft, but then again, nothing is perfect the first time.

Times like these…

2010-04-11T02:34:00.002-05:00

I hate thinking about my past. I don’t dislike it, I don’t have a sense of non-appreciation about it, I hate it. Every time I think about my past, my mind fills with regrets, pain, hatred of self. I feel like I will go insane if I continue down this destructive path. But I can’t help it.

Why is it that the only memories I have are of bad things? Missed opportunities, bad decisions, even something as stupid as being too shy, or my timing being off. Or maybe I just sent the wrong signals, and maybe I was just an idiot for the decisions I made, or didn’t make, and maybe it’s just my fate to be a loser.

Maybe I’m just meant to be alone for the rest of my life.

====

(30 minutes later)

After thinking about it more, I think I've figured it out.

There is one common theme that runs through all the bad times in my memory: women. Women are the source of my problems.

If I believe a woman, I get hurt. If I don't believe her, I get hurt.

If I do what she says, I get hurt. If I don't do what she says, I get hurt.

If I make a move "too early", I get hurt. If I wait, I get hurt.

All my problems directly involve women.

Or maybe it is just me.

Maybe I pick the wrong women... no, that's not it, I never get to pick the woman I'm with.

Maybe it's my personality. I'm seen as a "good" guy, a "best friend" sort of guy, the kinda guy you take home to talk to your folks when you're really going out with the asshole. I'm the guy you talk to about your asshole boyfriend when he's an asshole.

The problem is, once these women grow up and realize that the "good guy", the "best friend", is actually worth being with, it's too late. The "good guy" has been burned way too many times by then, and has become bitter, self-loathing, hateful. I could actually see myself, approached by one of these women, telling her "oh, well, too late now". The big "fuck off". I wanted to give you a chance before, but you and your kind pushed me over the edge, and now I'm smoldering in the pit of "I don't give a fuck". I wasn't worth your time and attention before, and you sure as hell aren't worth my time and attention now.

I could start naming names, but there's still that tiny, minuscule, almost imperceptible amount of "good guy" left in me to say "you know who you are". You've always known. And, I hate you for it.

Thoughts and Words

2010-03-26T17:29:00.001-05:00

Recently, the New York Public Library hosted a tribute to the late George Carlin. Best known for his monologue on “Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say On Television”, I honestly believe Mr. Carlin was ahead of his time, much like Lenny Bruce, but without the accidental fatal OD.

Anyhow, I thought to myself, “Self” -– because that’s what I call myself when I’m around me -- “Self, give your audience the Seven Dirty Words. They deserve to know about Carlin and how he revolutionized comedy. Start with the Seven, then give them some more. Like Baseball vs. Football, that one always wins. Yeah, then move on to the bit about children. That’ll hook ‘em.”

So, here it is:

Click here for Seven Dirty Words

“Something else I'm getting tired of in this country is all this stupid talk I have to listen to about children. That's all you hear anymore, children: "Help the children, save the children, protect the children." You know what I say? Fuck the children! Fuck ‘em! Fuck kids; they're getting entirely too much attention.

And I know what some of you are thinking: "Jesus, he's not going to attack children, is he?" Yes he is! He's going to attack children. And remember, this is Mr. Conductor talking; I know what I'm talking about.

And I also know that all you boring single dads and working moms, who think you're such fucking heroes, aren't gonna like this, but somebody's gotta tell you for your own good: your children are overrated and overvalued, and you've turned them into little cult objects. You have a child fetish, and it's not healthy. And don't give me all that weak shit, "Well, I love my children." Fuck you! Everybody loves their children; it doesn't make you special.

John Wayne Gacy loved his children. Yes, he did. He kept ‘em all right out in the yard, near the garage. That's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is this constant, mindless yammering in the media, this neurotic fixation that suggests that somehow everything--everything--has to revolve around the lives of children. It's completely out of balance.

Listen, there are a couple of things about kids you have to remember. First of all, they're not all cute. In fact, if you look at 'em real close, most of them are rather unpleasant looking. And a lot of them don't smell too good either. The little ones in particular seem to have a kind of urine and sour-milk combination that I don't care for at all. Stay with me on this folks, the sooner you face it the better off you’re going to be.

Second premise: not all children are smart and clever. Got that? Kids are like any other group of people: a few winners, a whole lot of losers! This country is filled with loser kids who simply...aren't...going anywhere! And there's nothing you can do about it, folks. Nothing! You can't save them all. You can't do it. You gotta let 'em go; you gotta cut 'em loose; you gotta stop overprotecting them, because your making 'em too soft. Today's kids are way too soft.

For one thing, there's too much emphasis on safety and safety equipment: childproof medicine bottles, fireproof pajamas, child restraints, car seats. And helmets! Bicycle, baseball, skateboard, scooter helmets. Kids have to wear helmets now for everything but jerking off. Grown-ups have taken all the fun out of being a kid, just to save a few thousand lives. It’s pathetic.

What's happened is, these baby boomers, these soft, fruity baby boomers, have raised an entire generation of soft, fruity kids who aren't even allowed hazardous toys, for Chrissakes! Hazardous toys, shit! What ever happened to natural selection? Survival of the fittest? The kid who swallows too many marbles doesn't grow up to have kids of his own. Simple stuff. Nature knows best!

We’re saving entirely too many lives in this country – of all ages! Nature should be permitted to do its job weeding out and killing off the weak and sickly and ignorant people, without interference from airbags and batting helmets. We’re lowering the human gene pool! If these ideas bother you, just think of them as passive eugenics.

Here’s another example of overprotection for these kids, and you’ve seen this one on the news. Did you ever notice that every time some guy with an AK-47 strolls into the school yard and kills three or four of these fuckin’ kids and a couple of teachers, the next day the school is overrun with psychologists and psychiatrists and grief counselors and trauma therapists, trying to help the children cope?

Shit! When I was a kid, and some guy came to our school and killed three or four of us, we went right on with our arithmetic: “Thirty-five classmates minus four equals thirty-one.” We were tough! I say if a kid can handle the violence at home, he oughta be able to handle the violence at school.

Another bunch of ignorant bullshit about your children: school uniforms. Bad theory! The idea that if kids wear uniforms to school, it helps keep order. Hey! Don't these schools do enough damage makin' all these children think alike? Now they're gonna get 'em to look alike, too?

And it's not even a new idea; I first saw it in old newsreels from the 1930s, but it was hard to understand, because the narration was in German! But the uniforms looked beautiful. And the children did everything they were told and never questioned authority. Gee, I wonder why someone would want to put our children in uniforms. Can't imagine.

And one more item about children: this superstitious nonsense of blaming tobacco companies for kids who smoke. Listen! Kids don't smoke because a camel in sunglasses tells them to. They smoke for the same reasons adults do, because it's an enjoyable activity that relieves anxiety and depression.

And you'd be anxious and depressed too if you had to put up with pathetic, insecure, yuppie parents who enroll you in college before you've even figured out which side of the playpen smells the worst and then fill you with Ritalin to get you in a mood they approve of, and drag you all over town in search of empty, meaningless structure: Little League, Cub Scouts,
swimming, soccer, karate, piano, bagpipes, watercolors, witchcraft, glass blowing, and dildo practice. It's absurd.

They even have "play dates", for Christ’s sake! Playing is now done by appointment! Whatever happened to “You show me your wee-wee, and I’ll show you mine”? You never hear that anymore.

But it's true. A lot of these striving, anal parents are burning their kids out on structure. I think what every child needs and ought to have every day is two hours of daydreaming. Plain old daydreaming. Turn off the internet, the CD-ROMs, and the computer games and let them stare at a tree for a couple of hours. It’s good for them. And you know something? Every now and then they actually come up with one of their own ideas. You want to know how to help your kids? Leave them the fuck alone!”

A short debate

2010-03-19T17:17:00.002-05:00

A friend of mine recently posted this note on his Facebook page, under the title “I will happily help pay for your chemo. Please stop yelling.”:

I enjoy socialized roads, socialized police and fire protection, socialized food inspection, and many other benefits of living in a modern, first-world country. I'm not super-keen on a socialized military* or socialized trade agreements (or at least the scale and manner in which they are used), but I understand my some of my fellow citizens feel differently, and hey that's Ok in a democracy. I also think I'd enjoy having socialized medicine. My own direct benefits aside, I also benefit when my peers are healthier. It's a universal problem that would do well with a universal solution - like roads, police and fire, food inspection, defense, and trade negotiation.

Personally, I wish this was a healthcare reform bill - in fact, it is a health insurance reform bill, and like all bills in a democracy, a watered-down compromise. But it's a step in the right direction. I support more - I'd prefer a single-payer system - but I understand such radical changes require time.

And I totally respect your right to disagree. With reasoned arguments and a civil tone.

(*) The alternative to a socialized military - local strong men and militias - is far worse, most would agree. But we could scale back our national military by a factor of 10 and still have an effective force, at least for deterrence. Which is all I want a standing military for, anyway. Well, that and disaster response, I suppose.

Although I agree with Clint on a great many things, there are a few points on which our thoughts diverge.

For example, the idea of a single-payer health insurance system turns my stomach. Not to say that I am completely opposed to health insurance reform altogether; just in the manner in which the insurance is paid for.

Should health insurance be regulated? Yes, absolutely. Should the government have complete control over it? No. I understand that peace of mind, as well as peace of body, is paramount to every person alive. However, I have seen abuse of the single-payer system, e.g. welfare fraud. It sickens me to know that the money taken from my paycheck to pay into Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid is being used by people who won’t (not can’t) get a job to buy their drugs of choice, be it illicit or proper. But I digress.

A single-payer system is not the ultimate solution to the problem of health insurance costs. Regulation, oversight, auditing, and constant review are what I see as necessary to true health insurance reform.

And by the way, the local strong men and militia usually join the police force. They get off on the power.

Okay, I’m stepping off the soap box now.

Waking up is not so hard to do…

2010-03-08T12:25:00.001-06:00

So I woke up this morning, and I’m lying in bed, letting the local PBS station play it’s soothing wake-up call. I listen to it at night, helps me fall asleep.

The song finishes, and the announcer comes on, plugging the “Sonic ID” clips they play throughout the day, with sounds of nature, or of cars passing on the streets, or children playing, what have you.

He mentions that they would like more ideas for these to draw more attention to the station. Okay, that’s fine, it’s just going to get more people for pledge drives, anyway.

Then he mentions that PBS is expanding their variety within their programming, at which point he says, “For example, this afternoon on Fresh Aire, they are broadcasting an interview with a professional dominatrix.”

Okay, I’m awake now. What? Am I hearing things? Did you just say that they’ve interviewed a professional dominatrix? Wow. I’d have figured they’d leave that to the morning talk show on the alternative station.

About Last Night…

2010-02-26T11:55:00.001-06:00

I guess my cosmic timing was off.

I went to my dad’s house last night and worked on my printer, which set my schedule (if you can call it that) off. I couldn’t seem to get into the TV show I was watching, the printer work was frustrating me beyond belief, and I didn’t leave Dad’s until about 11:30. Well, that last part was the only “normal” thing.

Anyhow, I left Dad’s and headed home. Half a mile – 8 blocks – from home, I run out of gas. I thought to myself, “If this was a game of darts, I’d be on the inner ring, right next to the bull’s-eye.” I’ve run out before, 2 miles, 3 miles, 5 miles from home, but to run dry that close? Never happen again in a million years.

Finally, with help from Mom, I make it home. I usually post a birthday list on Facebook around midnight or so, but that didn’t get posted until 1. I then proceeded to stay up until nearly 4 (usually in bed asleep by 2:30). And then I woke up at 8 (see previous entries).

Well, I guess the cosmos is telling me something.

Breaking News

2010-02-26T09:22:00.001-06:00

Andrew Koenig, the actor famous for his role as "Richard “Boner” Stabone on the TV series “Growing Pains”, was found dead Thursday in a park in Vancouver, British Columbia. My deepest sympathies to Walter and Judith Koenig on their loss. Full story here.

Too Early To Get Up; Or, “I’m Not Taking THAT Call”

2010-02-26T09:15:00.001-06:00

I have no idea why I woke up this morning. Strike that, I know why. I’m up because I got not one, not two, but three phone calls this morning, all from the same number. But I didn’t answer. I took one look at my phone, saw that there were eight digits instead of the usual seven, ten, or eleven, and hit the “reject” button.

Normally, I could just roll over and go back to sleep once I had determined that I had not missed an important call, but not today. Instead, my brain was jerked from a period of recharging straight into the “on” mode. It didn’t matter that I’d only had about four hours of sleep. It didn’t help that my bedroom is on the south side of the house, either. Even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to return to peaceful slumber.

So starts yet another day in the life of yours truly. I hope your day started off better than mine.

Long Time, No See!

2010-02-23T03:12:00.003-06:00

So it’s been nearly 3 years since I last posted here. I’m sorry. I got all caught up in the “new media”: Twitter, MySpace, Facebook, you know, the things that everyone is using these days. Lately, though, I’ve felt the need to step away from that, to “step back inside my mind” if you will.

I’ve been listening to quite a number of podcasts, and I started thinking about doing my own. But then I thought, “What would I talk about?” Listening to news isn’t all that interesting unless you happen to live or know people in the area. I could just play music, but then I would have to be extremely careful about the music I choose, copyright laws, licensing issues, and it’s all just too much to handle. I even thought about just talking about whatever happened to pop into my head, but seriously, who would want to hear that?

Anyway, I’m going to try to keep up with my blogging more, update my life as my views change. I’m going to find that which makes me happiest and achieve it.

I’m still thinking about the podcast, though. For an idea, check out Radio Free Burrito from Wil Wheaton, or SModcast from Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier. I may never be as successful as they, but I can still try.

Memorial Day

2007-05-28T08:00:00.000-05:00

Memorial Day is a United States federal holiday that is observed on the last Monday of May. It was formerly known as Decoration Day. This holiday commemorates U.S. men and women who have died in military service to their country. It began first to honor Union soldiers who died during the American Civil War. After World War I, it expanded to include those who died in any war or military action.

Following the end of the Civil War, many communities set aside a day to mark the end of the war or as a memorial to those who had died. These observances eventually coalesced around Decoration Day, honoring the Union dead, and the several Confederate Memorial Days.

According to Professor David Blight of the Yale University History Department, the first memorial day was observed in 1865 by liberated slaves at the historic race track in Charleston. The site was a former Confederate prison camp as well as a mass grave for Union soldiers who had died while captive. A parade with thousands of freed blacks and Union soldiers was followed by patriotic singing and a picnic.

The official birthplace of Memorial Day is Waterloo, New York. The village was credited with being the birthplace because it observed the day on May 5, 1866, and each year thereafter, and because it is likely that the friendship of General John Murray, a distinguished citizen of Waterloo, and General John A. Logan, who led the call for the day to be observed each year and helped spread the event nationwide, was a key factor in its growth.
General Logan had been impressed by the way the South honored their dead with a special day and decided the Union needed a similar day. Reportedly, Logan said that it was most fitting; that the ancients, especially the Greeks, had honored their dead, particularly their heroes, by chaplets of laurel and flowers, and that he intended to issue an order designating a day for decorating the grave of every soldier in the land, and if he could he would have made it a holiday.

On May 5, 1868, in his capacity as commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, a veterans' organization, Logan issued a proclamation that "Decoration Day" be observed nationwide. It was observed for the first time on May 30 of the same year; the date was chosen because it was not the anniversary of a battle. The tombs of fallen Union soldiers were decorated in remembrance of this day.

Many of the states of the U.S. South refused to celebrate Decoration Day, due to lingering hostility towards the Union Army and also because there were very few veterans of the Union Army who lived in the South. Many Southern States did not recognize Memorial Day until after World War I since many veterans of World War I were from the south, although they continued to have a separate Confederate Memorial Day, with the date varying from state to state. A notable exception was Columbus, Mississippi, which in its 1866 Decoration Day commemorated both the Union and Confederate casualties buried in its cemetery.

The alternative name of "Memorial Day" was first used in 1882, but did not become more common until after World War II, and was not declared the official name by Federal law until 1967. On June 28, 1968, the United States Congress passed the Uniform Holidays Bill, which moved four holidays from their traditional dates to a specified Monday in order to create a convenient three-day weekend. The holidays included Washington's Birthday (which evolved into Presidents' Day), Columbus Day, Veterans Day, and Memorial Day. The change moved Memorial Day from its traditional May 30 date to the last Monday in May. The law took effect at the federal level in 1971. After some initial confusion and unwillingness to comply at the state level, all fifty states adopted the measure within a few years, although Veterans Day was eventually changed back to its traditional date.

"Ragged Old Flag"

by Johnny Cash

I walked through a county courthouse square
On a park bench, an old man was sittin' there.
I said, "Your old court house is kinda run down,
He said, "Naw, it'll do for our little town".
I said, "Your old flag pole is leaned a little bit,
And that's a ragged old flag you got hangin' on it".
He said, "Have a seat", and I sat down,
"Is this the first time you've been to our little town"
I said, "I think it is"; He said "I don't like to brag,
"but we're kinda proud of that Ragged Old Flag

"You see, we got a little hole in that flag there,
When Washington took it across the Delaware.
And it got powder burned the night Francis Scott Key
Sat watching it, writing "Say Can You See"
It got a rip in New Orleans,
With Packingham & Jackson tugging at its seams.
And it almost fell at the Alamo
Beside the Texas flag, but she waved on though.
She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville,
And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.
There was Robert E. Lee and Beauregard and Bragg,
And the south wind blew hard on that Ragged Old Flag

"On Flanders Field in World War I,
She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun,
She turned blood red in World War II
She hung limp, and low, a time or two,
She was in Korea, and Vietnam;
She went where she was sent by her Uncle Sam.
She waved from our ships upon the briny foam
And now they've about quit wavin' back here at home
In her own good land here she's been abused,
She's been burned, dishonored, denied an' refused,
And the government for which she stands
Has been scandalized throughout out the land.
And she's getting thread bare, and she's wearin' thin,
But she's in good shape, for the shape she's in.
Cause she's been through the fire before
And I believe she can take a whole lot more.

"So we raise her up every morning
And we bring her down slow every night,
We don't let her touch the ground,
And we fold her up right.
On second thought, I do like to brag
Cause I'm mighty proud of that Ragged Old Flag"

Differences...

2007-01-21T01:50:00.001-06:00

I'm not exactly sure how to put it, so I'm going to be a bit out-of-sorts here:

Heidi and I had just finished... being together... and we started talking about the differences between men and women. She mentioned the joke that Jeff Foxworthy uses, about men being like bottle rockets and women being diesel engines. I mentioned that I had never been as... stimulated... as I was with her. She and I discussed the issue for a few minutes, and then she asked if I was coming to bed. I asked if she was tired, and she replied "a little bit, but I also don't want to have an argument, which is where I see this heading". I didn't feel as though an argument was in the making, yet I kept that thought to myself, wished her good-night, told her I loved her, then shut off the light and closed the door.

Now, the query I posit is this:

Why do women always see the worst outcome for a given situation?

1968

2006-10-14T06:51:00.000-05:00

You Belong in 1968

You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too.

What Year Do You Belong In?

An Open Love Letter

2006-10-07T05:19:00.000-05:00

"We are each of us angels with only one wing. And we can only fly while embracing each other." - Lucian de Croszonza

To my love, Heidi:

When I wake up in the morning, the first thought in my head is of you. When I go to sleep at night, the last thought I have before drifting away is of you. You are the reason I want to wake up every day and go to work; and to come home at night. You are my light and my life. When I don't know where to turn, I turn to you, and you help and comfort me.

Sometimes, I look at you and you are crying. I know that sometimes it's me, that sometimes I have driven you to tears, and for this I deeply apologize. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to make you cry. I admit that I have problems in many aspects of my life, but I know you aren't one of my problems. You are the very best thing that could ever have happened to me. I think back to when we first met, and it fills my heart with happiness. I think about you when I'm having a rough day at work, and you calm me. When I see and hear how you act with the puppies, I can only imagine how you will raise our children one day.

I know that you love me, and I know that many times I don't appear to show how much I love you, but in all honesty, I feel that I can't because I am crippled by my love. I want to do so many things to show my love to you that I can't decide what to do. I keep thinking to myself, "That's not going to do much," so I stop trying to do anything. I know you're upset that there isn't much, if any, romance in our relationship right now, but I am trying.

I know this probably isn't the kind of love letter you were thinking about getting, but it's the best I can do for now. Later on, when our relationship has "blossomed" some more, I'll write you again and let you know how I feel.

With heartfelt love,

Tony

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." - Lennon/McCartney

Love what I do...

2006-07-22T08:55:00.000-05:00

I love what I do, but I hate my job. Anyone out there know what I'm talking about? I absolutely love the fact that I can get out of the building and go, but it's always being rushed, always being yelled at, never getting a sincere compliment that really makes me hate my job. I know, I know, "Get a new job", but that's almost impossible. By the time I get off work, I'm too tired to do much of anything else. Just ask Heidi. She'll tell you that I don't want to do anything when I get home. She'll tell you I don't really want to do anything on the weekends. She'll tell you our lives are not as good as they used to be.

Anyone got a job like that?

Random Spew

2006-04-30T08:05:00.000-05:00

So it's Sunday and I'm just sitting in front of the computer, thinking "What can I do until Heidi wakes up?" I've been playing around on the computer (read: surfing porn), watching TV, ocassionally getting up for a cigarette.

I've been hearing and reading about all these "boycotts" planned against Exxon, Shell, Citgo, etc., etc., etc.. I just want to say one thing: It will never work. No matter how much you think it will, it won't. People will still buy gas. They will still need gas.

And if you think the solution is for everyone to buy more fuel-efficient cars, let me ask you something: Where do you think those cars are made? The exact same factories that make the "gas-guzzler" cars. So you really aren't helping out in any way. Think also about the industries which rely on fuel consumption every day. I work at a place where I regularly fuel up, almost on a daily basis. It just burns my ass to think that someone else thinks they have the right to control what I do. Don't tell me to boycott gas stations. I depend on them. The nation depends on them.

In my opinion, if you want to buy gas from wherever it is, go buy gas from them. If you don't want to buy gas from them, don't. If you think we should all boycott the gas stations, shut the hell up and ride a damn bike.

Merry Christmas, My Friend

2005-12-24T21:16:00.000-06:00

I heard this poem the other day on my way to work, and I knew I had to find it. Maybe some of you have heard it or read it. It is so touching, I was almost in tears on the road.

Merry Christmas, My Friend
By James M. Schmidt, a Marine Lance Corporal
stationed in Washington, D.C., in 1986

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more.
My life is my God, my country, my Corps."

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.

And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.

But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.

Now along with that is a song equally touching, yet entertaining. The group is The Royal Guardsmen, and the song is Snoopy's Christmas:

The news it came out in the First World War
The bloody Red Baron was flying once more
The Allied Command ignored all of its men
And called on Snoopy to do it again

'Twas the night before Christmas and forty below
When Snoopy went up in search of his foe
He spied the Red Baron and fiercely they fought
With ice on his wings, Snoopy knew he was caught

Christmas bells those Christmas bells
Ring out from the land
Asking peace of all the world
And good will to man

The Baron had Snoopy dead in his sights
He reached for the trigger to pull it up tight
Why he didn't shoot, well, we'll never know
Or was it the bells from the village below

Christmas bells those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to man

The Baron made Snoopy fly to the Rhine
And forced him to land behind the enemy lines
Snoopy was certain that this was the end
When the Baron cried out "Merry Christmas, mein friend!"

The Baron then offered a holiday toast
And Snoopy our hero saluted his host
And then with a roar they were both on their way
Each knowing they'd meet on some other day

Christmas bells those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to man

Christmas bells those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to man

Merry Christmas, everybody! I'm going to Indiana over New Year's to be with family, but I'll be back on with some regularity next year!

Woohoo!

2005-09-15T21:20:00.000-05:00

Your Musical Tastes Match: Weird Al

See his whole playlist here (iTunes required)

What Celebrity Matches Your Taste in Music?

What in the world?

2005-09-10T14:44:00.000-05:00

This isn't just another random spew, but I do have a certain something stuck in my craw. I'm tired of people complaining about how badly the Bush administration screwed things up in handling the effects of hurricane Katrina. I'm saying it once, and once only: the federal administration acts at the request of the state administration in times of emergency.

Truth is, is doesn't matter. There are people out there who, more than a week after the hurricane has passed, still need help. Search and rescue missions are turning into recovery missions by the hour. Who knows how many people are still waiting for help? If you want to help, please contact your local Red Cross.

And one last thing: Kanye West, shame on you. Last week, NBC aired a special for the victims' relief effort. Going off the script, West said "George Bush hates black people". This isn't about race and politics. Get a clue.

The English Language

2005-08-08T14:40:00.000-05:00

Have you ever wondered why foreigners have trouble with the English language? Let's face it, English is a crazy language. There is no egg in the eggplant, no ham in the hamburger, and neither pine nor apple in the pineapple. English muffins were not invented in England, French fries were not invented in France.
We sometimes take English for granted, but if we examine its paradoxes, we find that quicksand takes you down slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
If writers write, how come fingers don't fing? If the plural of tooth is teeth, shouldn't the plural of phone booth be phone beeth? If the teacher taught, shouldn't the preacher have praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Why do people recite at a play, yet play at a recital? We park on driveways and drive on parkways.
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language where a house can burn up as it burns down, and in which you fill in a form by filling it out! English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which of course isn't a race at all. That is why when the stars are out they are visible, but when the lights are out they are invisible, and why it is that when I wind up my watch it starts, but when I wind up this observation, it ends.

What has happened???

2005-06-15T17:20:00.000-05:00

I'm shaking my head at the latest competition show to arrive on television. NBC has taken Fox's idea (actually Britain's idea) of having people perform cover songs to win the audience over. The twist NBC has put on it is to feature 5 bands instead of 24 individuals, only one band gets picked as a winner... and that those bands happen to be established bands who have had at least one hit in the past thirty years.

"Hit Me Baby One More Time" is a unique spin on "American Idol" and "Pop Idol", I will admit. It's good to see some of the bands performing some of my favorite songs. For example, Loverboy performed not only their hit single "Everybody's Working for the Weekend", but also performed Enrique Iglesias' "Hero" later in the first show. Arrested Development came out victorious, though.

In the second show, Vanilla Ice (yes, he's still called Vanilla Ice) performed his hit single "Ice Ice Baby", then returned to perform a cover of Destiny's Child's "Survivor". He won the show, beating out Haddaway, The Knack, The Motels, and Tommy Tutone.

However, instead of record contracts, when the performers win, $20,000 is donated to a charity of their choice, an even nicer twist.

Well, I guess it ain't all bad.

You Know You're From Indiana When...

2005-05-05T23:24:00.000-05:00

You drive for three hours and the scenery outside doesn't change.

There's three feet of snow on the ground and school is still in session.

You only go to the mall once a year 'cause it takes too long to get there.

While driving all you see is corn.

People still have Christmas decorations up at Easter.

You start saying to yourself "More than corn in Indiana my butt."

Anyone with a cell phone looks out of place.

Walking through Wal-Mart with two carts full of kids is normal.

Anyone with a tan is rich.

The hip hang-out place is McDonald's.

There really is more than corn in Indiana. There’s soybeans, too.

When you plan an orgy and a Euchre game breaks out.

A restaurant has an invisible wall in the non-smoking section and you believe it works.

Speeding consists of 2 miles over the speed limit.

You think you don't have to use a turn signal on your car because you don't use it on your tractor.

You build your dream house on a cornfield, and you considered it posh.

You warsh your clothes and you think George Warshington was the first president.

You're proud to be called a Hoosier, even if you don't know what one is.

You have no problem spelling or pronouncing "Terre Haute"

Detassling was your first job. Baling hay, your second.

You can stack hay, swim in the pond to clean off, and then have the strength to play a couple of games of hoops all in the same day.

You say things like "catty-wumpus" and "kitty-corner".

You own a dirtbike or a ATV.

You live in a city ... and there's a cornfield in your backyard.

High school basketball game draws a bigger crowd on the weekend nights than movie theaters.

You can see at least 2 basketball hoops from your yard.

You can name every one of Bob Knight's "exploits" over the last few years.

You shop at Marsh.

Damon Bailey was your childhood hero.

The biggest question of your youth was "IU or Purdue?"

Indianapolis is the "big city".

"Getting caught by a train" is a legitimate excuse for being late to school.

People at your high school chewed tobacco.

Everyone knows who the town cop is, where he lives, and whether he is at home or on duty.

You actually know what the CART vs IRL debate is about and have taken a side.

To you, a raccoon is simply a "coon".

The vehicle of choice in your area is not a car, but a pickup.

Someone you know is BIG John Mellencamp fan.

You've been to the Covered Bridge Festival.

To you, a tenderloin is not an expensive cut of beef, but a big, salty, breaded piece of pork served on a bun with pickles.

You call a green bell pepper a "mango".

Sometimes, you call the toilet the "commode" or the "stool".

In the fall, one of your favorite pranks was corning cars.

You know what FFA and 4H stand for.

You know what chip-and-seal is, and your high school was located on just such a road.

You go the county fair every night of it's week-long duration.

You can say "French Lick" without laughing out loud.

There's actually a college near you named "Ball State."

The last "g" is silent in any word ending in "ing."

You think the state Bird is Larry.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Indiana.

Get Your Own "You Know You're From" Meme Here

The Electric Guitar: An Instrument Of Chaos

2005-03-25T08:05:00.000-06:00

If, as just about everybody seems to know these days, the simple flap of a butterfly's wings in the rain forest of Brazil can ultimately be responsible for a tornado in Texas, you can't help wondering what havoc might eventually result from some madly over-enthusiastic electric guitarist at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City frantically thrashing his plectrum across the strings of a Gibson Les Paul when it's plugged into a Marshall 200-watt stack that's been cranked up to pain-inducing volume.

Or, to put it another way, once a guitarist has plugged his axe into a vast, anarchic configuration of pedals, shifters, signal processors, distortion boxes, echoplexes and the rest, he can all too easily find himself playing a note and having absolutely no idea what's going to be coming out at the other end. This is even more true should he decide to employ some "stagecraft" or "extended technique" and rub his guitar up and down the mic stand, or smash his guitar to smithereens on the speaker cabinets, or, just to take a for instance, set fire to the damn thing.

There seems to be something interesting going on here, some interesting parallels. What we're talking about is chaos theory; a profoundly new hip science, the significance of which is pretty much taken for granted in such diverse fields as mathematics, astronomy, particle physics, economics, even architecture and urban planning; yet its consequences for rock and roll guitar playing have so far remained largely unacknowledged. It's time to put that right.

And if by chance you think I’m just desperately trying to yoke together two quite unrelated disciplines, you should bear this in mind: if you asked a scholar of chaotics what it is he actually does all day, he would most likely tell you that he "observes the unstable aperiodic behavior that can be found in mathematically simple systems". Okay, well, surely mathematical systems don’t get much simpler than your basic rock and roll, and very few people on earth display more unstable aperiodic behavior than lead guitarists. Consider the life and works of Jeff Beck: declining to play at Woodstock, only having Rod Stewart sing on the B-side of his greatest hit, taking on the rhythm section of Vanilla Fudge as his band. Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

Moreover, what chaos theory does is link together the random and the ordered. It shows how a system that obeys fundamental laws can still be capable of disorder and complexity. There are those, of course, who think guitar playing should not be complex at all, that it should always remain simple and stick to the basics. (These people are generally not fans of Frank Zappa or Steve Vai.) But we’re talking about complexity of a slightly more specialized variety. This kind of complexity is defined as the study of "life at the edge of chaos", where systems are suspended between stability and total dissolution; which is as good a description of a Sonic Youth gig as I’ve ever come across.

What leads to complexity in systems (and here’s a term that even the most unscientific rocker will understand) is feedback. Whereas the old science would have said you only get out what you put in, chaotics tells us that the opposite is sometimes true too. What you’re getting out sometimes has a profound effect on what you put in. When some wall of horrible, squalling feedback starts coming out of the amps, getting hideously loud and out of control and making your ears feel as though they’re bleeding, this has a really profound non-linear effect on what the guitarist plays next. Sometimes it may even make him turn down the volume, although equally, guitarists being what they are, it’s just as likely to make him turn it up.

One distinguishing feature that scientists observe in chaotic systems is their "sensitive dependence on initial conditions". This means that very slight differences at the beginning of apparently similar systems will later result in enormous divergence as these systems develop independently. For instance, two guitarists may both start out playing a perfectly simple rock classic, say "Louie Louie". Initially both renditions will inevitably sound fairly similar, since there are only so many ways anybody can play that very basic song. However, after an hour or two of jamming, as the two guitarists start to get bored, to improvise or "express themselves", one guitarist’s version may have perhaps mutated into a kick-ass rendition of "Wild Thing", while the other could be playing Glenn Branca’s "Symphony Number 5". This, in a sense, is what the Grateful Dead based their whole career on.

Certain listeners to rock music, of course, just find guitar solos boring and repetitive, but chaos theory has some consolation for these people too. They can take comfort in knowing that what they’re observing in the solo is a kind of "self-similarity", and that this is precisely what we find in fractals, and everybody knows that fractals are totally cool.

Self-similarity is the way in which any subsystem of a fractal is structurally identical to the whole system. Blood vessels, for instance, can be thought of as fractals since they start out large but then divide into ever smaller and smaller capillaries, but all performing the same function. Within the overall shape, however elaborate, there lies a constant, predictable, repetitive pattern. This is note precisely the same thing as playing a single note over and over again on your guitar, but it’s probably near enough for the layman.

Students of chaos theory also speak fondly of "attractors", or even "strange attractors". Attractors are the states to which a complex system will finally settle. The pinball may bounce all over the table, rack up any number of points and replays, but sooner or later it’s eventually going to fall down the hole. In the same way, a guitarist, any guitarist, however "tasteful" or "restrained" or even "avant-garde" will eventually end his solo by playing lots and lots of notes as fast as he possibly can down by the sixteenth fret and then finish on a power chord. Yes, it may seem a little predictable but the fans seem to like it, and, let’s face it, you can’t fight the inevitable.

Strange attractors are a little different. In chaos theory they’re multi-dimensional objects existing in infinite space. Rock guitarists, however, are more likely to be strangely attracted to drugs, groupies, and the delights of commissioning an absurdly elaborate customized instrument lacquered with candy flake and inlaid with the bones of endangered species.

However, as the Russian researchers Boris Chirikov and Felix Izrailve have pointed out, there’s something rather paradoxical about strange attractors in that they only look strange to those outside the system. Once you’re part of the chaos they’re pretty much what you’d expect. So, for instance, nobody should be entirely surprised that Keith Richards is an avid book collector, that Eric Clapton dated Sheryl Crow, that Eddie Van Halen plays golf. What the heck, it’s rock and roll. Deal with it. You can’t fight the inevitable.

And inevitability may just be another name for entropy. Now, the Second Law of Thermodynamics places time in a central position in the universe. It sees the universe as a machine that’s running down, towards a state of maximum disorganization, and time, therefore, becomes an arrow that can only point one way. Complexity, however, suggests that the Second Law isn’t the whole story. Complexity suggests that not all systems move toward entropy and disorder, and this raises certain questions about the direction of time’s arrow. This may explain why Dick Dale can still have a career playing surf guitar, but only so long as his music appears in a film by Quentin Tarantino. Similarly Jimmy Page can have a top ten hit, but only when he’s been sampled by P. Diddy.

And finally we come to turbulence. Now, a lot of people may think of all rock music as inherently turbulent, but if so they’re being a little unscientific. Turbulence is defined as "a mess of disorder at all scales". It’s unstable; it dissipates energy and creates drag. You can see it anytime you turn on a faucet. If the flow is relatively gentle, the water pulsates a little but forms a regular moving column, which demonstrates "periodic motion". But turn the tap wide open, and the motion of the water becomes irregular and chaotic. It is demonstrating turbulence.

I think we’re no longer describing rock music here. What we’re really talking about is the weird and incomprehensible world of "free jazz", a genre in which a bunch of tubby old guys with beards, occasionally guitarists but mostly sax players, all play at once without having rehearsed or decided what key or time signature they’re in. And that’ a musical form that I suspect no scientist or chaos theorist is ever likely to explain to anyone’s satisfaction.

Hi! I'm Gregg Shorthand!

2005-03-20T15:37:00.000-06:00

You are 'Gregg shorthand'. Originally designed to enable people to write faster, it is also very useful for writing things which one does not want other people to read, inasmuch as almost no one knows shorthand any more.

You know how important it is to do things efficiently and on time. You also value your privacy, and (unlike some people) you do not pretend to be friends with just everyone; that would be ridiculous. When you do make friends, you take them seriously, and faithfully keep what they confide in you to yourself.

Unfortunately, the work which you do (which is very important, of course) sometimes keeps you away from social activities, and you are often lonely. Your problem is that Gregg shorthand has been obsolete for a long time.

What obsolete skill are you?

Cars, computers, and women

2005-03-18T23:13:00.000-06:00

Awesome computer! This covers two of my three interests: computers and cars.

The third? Women! In particular, my fiancee', Heidi. Here is our wedding page. She's the most beautiful woman in the world to me. She's caring, loving, beautiful, a great cook, and she accepts me for who I am instead of trying to change me. She has made me a better person in so many ways. I truly love her, and I am going to spend the rest of my life with her.

I've never felt this way about another woman in my entire life. I miss her when she's gone, I never want to be away from her, I love her beyond what I thought was possible.

She is the perfect woman for me.

New!

2005-03-09T19:25:00.000-06:00

New on the blog: I've got a search box at the bottom of the page, so now it's easier to find something I've said. If anything I've said or posted interests you, you can now search for it, as well as anything else that tickles your fancy, thanks to AdSense, brought to you by the folks at Google.

And the crowd says : Sellout!

No, I haven't sold out... I just find that it's a better way to generate revenue than to ask for your money outright... which I haven't done... and if I haven't asked, then how can I...

Aww, you're all full of shit!

Anyway, look for it, look for my words (other than the ones you're reading), look for your wildest dreams, all in the box at the bottom.