Monday, August 31, 2009

80's Video for the Week

Sorry, sorry, sorry!

I know, I've been slacking. Depriving my dedicated followers of their 80's Metal dosage. Well, I've got one for you.

But first, please allow me to ramble.

In one or two prior posts, I've talked about music. I've spoken of The Stones, Faces, Ramones, and so on. I am an enormous fan of classic jazz, rock and roll, country and western, and bluegrass. I consider myself well rounded enough to talk Stooges with any punk out there, but also feel the earthy vibe of the Allmans. I realize that Johnny's are, for the most part, tremendous...as in Cash, Ramone, Thunders, Rotten, Paycheck, etc.

But when it comes to artists like the one I'm about to show you, I am torn.

Whitesnake is a ridiculous band name. When you see videos or pictures of them, or God forbid, see them in concert, you will laugh. On paper, they are your garden-variety hair metal band. And we all know that you cannot take a hair metal band seriously. When conversations arise of great, classic bands, Whitesnake is normally not mentioned. At least I don't mention them. Mainly because they are not a great, classic band...at least not in the same ranks as Zeppelin or The Kinks. And when I engage in conversations about music, music history, music genre's, and music artists, I tend to stray away from anything remotely 80's metal...with the exception of a Van Halen or an AC/DC remark.

But you know what? I like Whitesnake.

(Wow, what a fantastic t-shirt that would make...)

Sure, there's a good chance I like them because they're a Led Zeppelin clone. But still, I think they've got some catchy tunes. They never journeyed into different concepts and genre's like Zeppelin...they pretty much just stuck to basic rock and roll. They would actually fit into a category that I lovingly call, Big Dumb Rock. It's not small, and it's not smart. But it is rock, and I like it (no Stones quoting intended).

Now, why do I like Whitesnake? Good question. Maybe because it reminds me of drinking my face off in high school and making out with chicks in jean jackets. Or maybe because when I was in grade school, I used to rock out to Whitesnake in front of the mirror while playing a tennis racket. Or maybe because when I'm flipping through radio stations and catch a random Whitesnake tune playing in the midst of all the Boston, Styx, Jethro Tull classic rock-crap it makes me happy. It's fun. That's why I like it.

That's what music is missing more times than not. Fun. Every artist is so fucking serious...old or new. Hell, even Led Zeppelin was so serious. Not many happy-go-lucky songs from them. Don't get me wrong, I like serious. But I also like not serious.

And you know what? "Still of the Night" by Whitesnake is not serious. At least I hope it wasn't intended to be. I realize that the band did not set out to mock anything or make fun of themselves. They also didn't intend on tackling any world issues or branching out artistically. They intended to rock. That's it. And they did.

The video showcases Tawny Kitaen being hot, but crazy. It also just might hold the record for the most pelvic thrusts ever to appear in a single video. Spandex, leather, a fog machine, some licked fingers, and a copy-cat Jimmy Page interlude complete with violin bow-electric guitar playing. Genius.

Please watch this video, because it's fun.

Rock on, my friends.





Whitesnake - Still Of The Night
Uploaded by jpdc11. - See the latest featured music videos.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Good Things.

Man, on my way to work today I had a ton of inspiration. I could've written for hours upon hours.

But now, I just feel like staring at fire and thinking about things that I really like. Like this...

I love the smell of bacon. If you don't, you're a communist. It reminds me of my grandparents camper...that's what we had every morning for breakfast on the river. My Granny has probably eaten more bacon than the entire city of Denver combined. And she's 94.

I just heard a skateboard rolling down the sidewalk. The sound of four urethane wheels screaming down the street is the sound of freedom. When you are 15 and start questioning authority, normality, and conformity, skateboarding is a way to express your creativity and independence. When I hear wheels, I get cold chills because it brings back a time of total freedom...and total comradary. That is when me and my buddies grew up. And I miss it dearly.

How can someone not love to stare at fire? It is so relaxing and so spiritual. Right now, it's entertaining me, keeping me warm, and it just cooked my jalapeno cheeseburgers. Thank you fire. I wish I could return the favor, but I'm just some guy.

I have always loved sunrises and sunsets. Everyone does. But I didn't realize how Godly there were until I moved to Colorado and saw the sun shine on the peaks, or dip down behind them. They are filled with colors that Missouri has never seen. Don't worry, I still love ya Missouri.

The trout is an amazing creature that is one with the river. They don't lumber, they aren't clumsy, and they aren't dumb. They are very respectable creatures. It's almost as if the river has created the trout...and actually, I guess it has. Trout live in beautiful places, which is one of the reasons that I love them. And they compliment their surroundings. Trout are intelligent animals, particular and educated about what they eat. Every trout that I catch, I take just a moment to admire it's beauty...and then I thank it before I release it. Sometimes I win, sometimes they win. But in the end we all live.

I like to stare at the stars and try to comprehend just how far away they are. And then think about just how enormous the universe is. And then think about how tiny the earth is in comparison. And then just how minuscule that me, living in my little house is. And then I think that although I am such a speck, such a dot, that I am still significant. That is for a reason. So whatever it is that you believe in, keep believing in it...as long as it's good.

I am so happy that I have love. It is an incredible feeling that makes you want to smile everyday. A few years back, I was content with being single. I'm a spiritual sort, so I have love for many things. I could have honestly said that I had felt love. I'm a lucky guy to have a love and respect for the mountains, oceans and stars. I am incredibly thankful that I have the absolute best family that any of you could ever fathom. But not until I met my wife did I experience the strongest love of all. (Jeez, sounds like a Whitney Houston song. ) I'm a lucky bastard, that's all I'm sayin'.

You know, I've been getting annoyed at work lately and finding myself being a bit on the grumpy side. But none of it matters. It's all little shit. There are two rules in life...First rule is: Don't sweat the little shit. Second rule is: There ain't no second rule.



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Monday, August 24, 2009

insecure.

Part of me is very excited about this month of in-shapeness that is about to take place. I've got different friends encouraging me and rooting me on. Other friends are reaching out and offering professional advice and services. It's all very cool.

Another part of me is not looking forward to it at all. Mainly because it means doing a bunch of things that I don't like doing, like eating less and running more.

But I've made up my mind. It's going to happen and I'm going to succeed.

I will eat more balanced meals, but not more. I will be shooting for easier breaths at higher elevations. I will shed my inner tube and awaken dormant muscles.

There will be times when I grow miserable because I am running...I don't like running. I will have to fight off cravings for breakfast burritos and cheeseburgers. I will wake up in the morning unable to move.

But I have already committed to this.

Here's a good example of why this needs to happen...

Last Friday, I participated in the Eldorado State Park Clean Up. "Eldo" is the top climbing location in the state, and one of the top in the country. There were lots of "industry" people there, most of whom were in very good shape. These in-shape people were quite excited to be helping make their backyard playground a better place, and so was I. The clean up was not picking up candy wrappers and beer cans, it was hammering rocks into trail steps at 8000 feet. I could have helped the team out with the upper trail work, but I chose to stay close to the river and uproot noxious plants from the roadside. My insecurities got the best of me. I didn't want to expose the fact that I would have been terribly winded just walking up this trail, and probably would have needed medical attention if I would have tried moving boulders and attempting to "help" build a trail.

I usually don't let my insecurities get to me, and if they do, I usually don't post them for the world to read. But this was a classic example of me missing out on a potentially awesome experience, and my outofshapeness getting the best of me.

So hopefully during and after this experiment of training for nothing, I will not only physically be able to participate in activities my body will no longer groan at, my mind will be confident that my body is capable.

That's the hope, anyway.



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Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Trout Park Granny.

I come from a fairly large family. It's not Catholic-large, but still decent sized. On my dad's side, I've got six cousins, and on my mom's side, four. Then there are multiple second cousins, aunts, uncles, and so on. And there's Katie, my sister.

Out of all the grandchildren on both sides of my family, I am the only one who loves to camp and fish. And oddly enough, all four of my grandparents used to camp and fish together when we were kids. Sure, we would have "family" camping trips where all of my cousins on whichever side would go, normally against their will. But as much as my grandparents loved to go camping and fishing, I was the sole grandchild to inherit that gene.

So when my grandparents from my mom's side would pull their camper to the river and meet my grandparents from my dad's side with their camper, I was the only kid that ended up tagging along. And it was one of the best times of my life.

We started going when I just a baby, and I guess the first real memory that I have of it is when I was four or so. I suppose four is about the earliest age most anyone can recall having memories of anything. Anyway, the campers were pulled up side by side to each other, creating kind of a common area between them. There were clothes lines, propane stoves on picnic tables, coolers of Vess soda, and my Grandpa Warnecke's "hand cleaning station". This was a detergent bottle filled with water that hung upside down from a tree. Hanging next to it was a pantyhose stocking with a bar of soap in it. So you would open the bottle slightly so a little dribble of water would come out. Then wash your hands with the accompanying pantyhose soap, and wallah! Clean hands!

There were actually only two rivers that we would go camping at. You see, in Missouri we have what you call Trout Parks. They are State Parks and there are four in the state: Bennett Springs, Meremac Springs, Montauk, and Roaring River. They aren't urban ponds or man made rivers. They are beautiful, natural spring fed rivers surrounded by some amazing scenery, and complemented by nice campgrounds and stocked trout. For whatever reasons, my grandfolks preferred the latter two parks. And so did I. There were miles of river, filled with freshly stocked rainbow trout. It was a safe and easy place for me as a young'n to walk or ride my bike throughout the park. We would always see deer, raccoons, and every so often black bears would visit our camp. And it was a fantastic place to learn how to catch a fish.

To me, it was a utopia.

I would sleep in a storage loft above the fold-out table in whichever camper I felt like that particular evening. I would usually switch it up every other night, just to keep things fair. On a typical day of camping, my grandparents would wake up at 5ish in the morn, wake me up and make me eat coffee cake before we went to the river. This was by far my least favorite part of camping. Yes, I was excited to wake up to go fishing, but I hated coffee cake. But they made me eat it so I wouldn't get hungry on the river and start bitching. After choking down said breakfast, we would load up in the 1978 Pontiac Bonneville and drive from the campground to the river. Now, at Trout Parks you cannot fish until the park ranger blows an incredibly loud siren, or "whistle" as we called it. It was similar to a tornado siren. I remember getting so excited when the clock approached 6am. I would click the release button on my close faced Johnson fishing reel and get in my casting stance ready to heave. And as soon as we heard that "disaster horn", one thousand lines would go flying and one thousand lures would hit the water's surface simultaneously.

Usually, a trout was caught within the first three or four casts, and it would immediately go on the stringer. With any luck, four more trout would accessorize the stringer during the course of the day. If it was a really good day, you had to start releasing fish until the day started coming to an end, and then catch your last keeper at the very last minute to give you your daily limit of five trout. If you didn't have your five keepers by the time the "panic horn" blew, you were shit out of luck. Regardless of how many were caught and kept throughout the day by our camp, there was always a fine feast after fishing was over. With any luck though, it was fried fish and taters with a Vess Grape Soda, RC Cola, or Orange Whistle to wash it down with. To top the night off, there was usually a friendly, competitive game of Yatzee.

Twenty-five to thirty years later, my Grandpa Warnecke and Grandpa Todd have since passed on. And earlier this year I lost my Grandma Todd. She was 90 years old.

My Granny though, at 94, she keeps on trucking. And whether she knows it or not, she is an enormous part of why I'm who I am today. Yes, all of my grandparents took me camping and helped teach me how to fish, and I love each one of them dearly. Granny though, she spent a little more time and had a little more patience with me. She was usually the one that I would gravitate towards when we all went down to the river. When I would screw up a cast and get a rat's nest in my line, she would sit down on a park bench, untangle it, and give me her rod to fish with. And as soon as she was done untangling my line, I would get a rat's nest in her line. Whenever that happened, she would always call me a "turd bird"...which is a nice way of calling your six year old grandson a little shit.

As the rest of my grandparents grew "old" in their old age and traded in the camper for a walker, my Granny kept on running circles around everyone. And since she remained incredibly spry (and ornery) for her age, I was able to continue fishing with her more so than the rest of my grandparents.

Since the beginning of the Trout Park days, I have "graduated" to fly fishing, thanks to my dad. I now live in Colorado and am on the river most every day that I have off. But I still know where my love for the river started, and my grandparents had a ton to do with it...especially Granny.

I'm 35 now, and she's 94. I'm flying into St. Louis next month, and I'm going to take her to the Trout Park. I talked to her today and she's really looking forward to it...probably no more than I am, though. Hopefully we'll catch ten trout between the two of us, and fry them up with some taters.

If she does the cooking, I'll buy the Vess.

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update.

Well, I'm actually starting to exercise a little. So hopefully my body won't go into cardiac arrest come September 1st when I start torturing myself.

I still can't run due to my bum leg, but I should be able to ride my bike. I've been doing a lot of upper body exercises, so I should be pretty buff anytime now.

The diet part is going to be the most difficult. I love eating. Lots. We'll power through it though.

peace.

Monday, August 17, 2009

that guy.

While I was driving home yesterday I passed a guy in a huge, Dodge pickup with a giant Harley Davidson sticker on the back window. The gentleman driving had tattoos of flames, barbed wire, and assorted tribal mumbo jumbo on his driving arm (def: arm that you hang out the window while driving. always the left, unless you're in England.). He sported one of those mustaches that droops down your face...a Fu Man Chu or handlebar or something. To complete the ensemble, he chose wrap-around sunglasses and a sleeveless shirt.

Now, I've got no beef with this guy. Not my style, but obviously his...and that's cool.

It got me to thinking though.

This fellow is trying extremely hard to be "Biker Guy". Which is still fine by me. But he is relying on one particular subculture to create his entire identity.

I hate to judge, but I'm sure he watches all those "Garage" and "Chopper" shows on cable television to get the look and lingo down. Sure, he probably has a motorcycle...at least he'd better. If he doesn't, then he is what we call a poser.

I understand the desire to embrace a particular hobby or hang out with a particular group of people. It's about sharing a common interest with like-minded people. But it shouldn't take over your entire identity. This guy clearly wants to be "Biker Guy". He wants everyone to know without a doubt that he likes motorcycles. He hasn't always been "Biker Guy", so before this transformation, he thought to himself, "Now, what does a biker look like? What would a biker drive when not driving his motorcycle? How does a biker act, talk, and spend time when not with his motorcycle?"

Yes, I understand that all of this is prejudging. But someone that looks like they are dressed as a "Biker" for Halloween is wanting to be judged. They want people to think that they know all the specifications and performance ratings of every Harley Davidson motorcycle ever manufactured. They want us to think that they frequent strip clubs, roadhouses, and truck stops. They want everyone to think that they will punch you if you look at them or their motorcycle the wrong way.

Maybe these accusations are true. Maybe they're not. But this guy is relying solely on one specific subculture to advertise his identity. I understand wanting to express yourself and create your own identity and your own style. Hell, everyone does it. And I understand taking certain aspects of a subculture to incorporate them into your individual style. But what I don't understand is taking an entire style of a particular subculture and "transforming" yourself into that guy.

I'm outdoorsy. I like to do things outdoors and I work in the outdoor industry, therefore it's easy for me to talk to people that also enjoy and/or work in the outdoors. I like the clothes, plus I get pretty good deals on them, so I dress kind of outdoorsy. But I've seen people take the outdoorsy subculture and let it completely take over who they are.

I'm assuming that is what happened to "Biker Guy". He either let the biker subculture take him over, or he is a complete poser. I've seen that in the outdoor industry too. Some kid buys all the outdoor clothing, the highest end backpack, a $3000 mountain bike, and has never used any of it. It's one thing if you plan on learning the sport and the time just happened to be right to purchase the gear...it's another if you just buy it to be "Outdoorsy Guy".

But I suppose if "Biker Guy" can back it up, more power to him. What if he knows everything there is to know about motorcycles? What if he knows every stripper in Denver, and they love him because of his manly tribal tattoos and wrap-around sunglasses? What if he beats someone up everyday for looking at his giant sticker in the rear glass of his truck? Well then, who am I to judge?

It makes me think of a girl I used to know. She was a climber. She wore nothing but climbing clothes, talked about nothing but rock climbing, had dreadlocks, carried her chalk bag everywhere, and didn't like you unless you rock climbed. She scoffed at paddlers, hikers, and mountain bikers...unless they were paddling, hiking or mountain biking to some rocks to go climbing. And as ridiculous as this girl was, people didn't give her much shit because she was a fantastic climber. She could walk the walk.

But in my opinion, that's still letting a subculture take over your identity. It's not being well rounded, versatile, or open minded. You're becoming obsessed with a hobby and letting it determine who you are.

I knew this girl, and she was "Climber Chick". That's exactly what she wanted people to think. She embraced everything that was rock climbing and formed her identity around that. Truthfully, I can't even remember her name. All I remember her as is "Climber Chick". Kinda sad.

I guess people just feel like they have to have a label. But even if "Biker Guy" or "Climber Girl" achieve this self-proclaimed status, it just exposes the fact that they are a one dimensional person, probably without much confidence, personality, or originality.

But if you want to be that guy, that's cool...I got no beef with you.

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Saturday, August 15, 2009

80's Video for the Week

You know, this will put me in good mood before I go to bed. A wicked 80's video. And I think that I'm going to stray away from the metal, and lean more towards...whatever Loverboy is.

Yes, it's "Hot Girls in Love" by Loverboy. An abstract journey into the minds of the bandanna wearing, red leather-clad, keyboard heavy, party rockers of 1983. This video features a desert of gas pumps, the band rocking out on a stack of "Nitro" barrels, and the "Hot Girl in Love" driving an old car to nowhere throughout the video. Deep.

A fun song and a hilarious video. Enjoy.

random ramblin's

First off, I have to say that I'm serious about my last post. I'm actually really looking forward to it. Hopefully I'll get rid of my love handles, beer gut, and man boobs.

I do need to purchase a few things in order to make this experiment a little more comfortable, though. For instance, bike shorts. Not to hang out at the mall in, but to wear under my regular shorts. I obviously need the padded butt kind, otherwise it just doesn't make any sense. If I have those, I can ride my bike muuuch longer, since my ass and taint won't be in excruciating pain.

Also, I'll need gloves or something so I can do pull-ups on the I-beam in the basement. Freaking Rocky Balboa style. Or I may be able to cushion the hell out of it with duct tape or something.

Other than a hang board or some cheap used weights, I think I'm good.

I have to admit, I haven't done shit leading up to this event. Right now I'm sitting on the couch typing (obviously) and drinking beer. I fucked my leg up the other day, so I can't run. Even if that wouldn't have happened, I probably wouldn't have ran anyway. But I haven't done any sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups or anything. I've even been eating like shit. Fried rice today. That's healthy. I'll get to it...and when the calendar turns to September 1st, I'm busting my ass.

I got a dog today. His name is Cliff. He's a pretty good little dog...so far. I'm sure after he eats my flip flops I'll think differently. I'm curious to see how April and I raise a dog together. She is all about classes and training. And I suppose I'm more the trial and error type. I like puppies to be puppies, but I'm sure the training will be well worth our time and money. Especially if it saves me a pair of shoes.

I'm totally sick of people. When you work in retail, I think it gets to you more. Anyone can walk into my store, anyone. Crazies, assholes, douche bags, dipshits. And unfortunately when I get like this, it rubs off on everyone else. It just becomes difficult to act like I give a fuck about what anyone says or does. Sounds terrible, but I get tired of being nice all the time. So I just kind of distance myself for a little while instead of trying to power through it and act like I'm in a good mood, because I can't. I'm accused of being an asshole regardless, so I figure I might as well be the antisocial asshole rather than the smartass dickhead asshole. It's a fairly short-lived phase, so hopefully it will pass soon.

I'm going to go upstairs now. I need to coat my legs in Calamine Lotion, take some ibuprofen for my jacked up ankle, and watch Stripes. Then wake up on a Sunday so I can go to work and deal with dipshits. Hopefully the phase will end tomorrow.

Goodnight America.

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Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Training For Nothing

Ok, pay attention. What I am about say is going to make you first say, "Whatthefuckever, Matt". But please hear me out and hopefully you will understand why I am so excited about this.

Instead of prefacing this with "why's" and what not, I'm just going to blurt it out, and then we'll go from there.

I am going to take one month and see how ridiculously in shape I can become.

Smartly, of course. Not by the latest diets, or overworking and shocking my decrepit old body, but by exercising relentlessly and eating right.

Ok, now for the "why's".

Because I want to feel what it's like again to be "in shape". And by "in shape", I don't mean a jog here and some sit-up's there. I want to see just how addicted my body gets to exercise and eating healthy.

I absolutely love red meat. I love to drink beer, scotch, and vodka tonics. I love relaxing on the porch and watching Cardinals games. But...I also love to hike. I love paddling. And I love rock climbing. But these later activities have fallen off the radar. I need to find more balance.

I want to feel what it's like to be in "climbing shape" again. I don't want anything to hold me back if I choose to hike a 14er or start kayaking again.

Also, I'm old. But I don't want to feel old. If I ever have kids, I want to be able to play with them in the mountains and the rivers. And if I don't have kids, I still want to be able to play in the mountains and rivers with my wife, family, and friends.

And I have chosen to go all in.

This is quite unlike me, but I am tired of letting the more lethargic side of me take over. And I think this experiment will carry on after it is over. Hopefully it will instill some better habits so I am not constantly struggling with the up's and down's of being healthy. And perhaps it will help me overcome some of my stubbornness about how I currently live.

It will be a very interesting experiment. It is going to test my mental strength, my commitment, and my focus. It will prove to me that I can actually do instead of just discuss.

And it's going to be extremely difficult. It will be difficult because of all the former activities discussed above. And because during this time frame, I will be going to at least a couple of baseball games, possibly a beer fest, and some concerts. None of which promote healthy living. So it will obviously take some adjusting, which will help with this whole "balance" thing I'm going for.

The parameters:

* I do it my way. Because I do not like to exercise, I have to be creative. I have to trick my body into thinking it's having fun. I don't do gyms, or classes, or diets. I just don't. To me, they are miserable and expensive. Achieving this goal can be done without these things.

* The time frame is from September 1st to October 1st.

* There is not a weight goal, although I will weigh myself to measure progress. It's not about just losing weight, it's about getting in shape. Using muscles that have been forgotten. Replacing red meat, caffeine, and alcohol with vegetables, vitamins, and other things that are good. Whether I am successful or not is up to me. If I feel that I have done everything I can to accomplish this goal of becoming more fit in a safe, sane way, then I win. If I fall off the wagon, I'll be the first to admit that I suck.

* Just so you know, I am going to ease my way up to it. Get my body used to what is going to happen to it. I think that's better than gorging myself up to the moment of truth. So a jog here and some sit-up's there will be in the forecast until September 1st.

* I will document my progress. If I feel that I am doing well, please don't take it as narcissism.

* And finally, if anyone would like to join me, please feel free (not physically - mentally and electronically). I would definitely welcome and exchange the motivation and encouragement. Just don't tell me what to do and how to do it.

Hopefully the month of September will go well. It will be different, that's for sure. It's not every day that I decide to test myself in the form of a hopeful life change. And hopefully when September is over and I go back to having a t-bone every once in while and a couple more beers here and there, I will have some new healthy habits that my body craves that I can incorporate into the current way that I'm living.

That's balance, my friends.

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Monday, August 10, 2009

THE DEFINITION OF AWESOME

This, my friends, is what totally awesome means.


And it's on Craigslist if anyone feels so inclined to buy it for me. Only $3900!! Now that's a steal!

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Flying Monkey + Bullet Boys = Happy Earl

Ok, so couple years ago when I lived in K.C., April worked with a lady whose husband was a brewer. In fact, he owned his own brewery call Flying Monkey Brewery. It's tasty beer! Anyway, we found out that his brewery was really close to our apartment in Olathe and that he gave tours every second Saturday of the month. So, come the second Saturday of the particular month in which this story is being told, April and I decide to give this little beer factory a whirl and hopefully get a couple cold, tasty one's to kick off the weekend.

We finally find this modest little warehouse around 11am and walk up to the door ready to introduce ourselves as "The Girl Who Works With Your Wife and her boyfriend". I open the door to a surprisingly well furnished tasting room, see a guy with mullet-ish ponytail down his back, listening to very loud 80's rock, and slinging beers to everyone walking within a five foot radius of him. After April does the aforementioned intro, I comment, "You're listening to the Bullet Boys! Alright!". He follows by retorting, "Fuckin' A, Man! Not many people know the Bullet Boys! Wanna beer?"

Not many people are me...and yes, I would like a beer.

This fellow ends up being the owner of Flying Monkey Brewery. We obviously immediately make friends with him...given the swell taste in vintage 80's rock he prefers, and commence to sampling every beer on tap...several times.

Before we know it, every other customer has left, the doors are locked, we are blasting the sound system, and he is pouring us three beers at a time!

After some fantastic conversation, some loud, beer drinking music, and Jesus knows how many beers...it was 6pm. And time to go.

We exchange pleasantries, April and I "rock, paper, scissors-it" for who's driving, and off we go to Popeye's for some much needed grease to get a head start on curing our inevitable next-morning hangover.

Robert, owner of Flying Monkey...here's to you! A Weekly 80's Metal Video dedicated just to you. It's of course, Bullet Boys' "Smooth Up In Ya".

The video itself sucks. They're basically just playing in an abandoned warehouse with no chicks. With a name like "Smooth Up In Ya", you gotta have some chicks!

But a remarkable song nonetheless.

Enjoy, my friends.

Silver Lining, Light at the End, Look on the Bright Side, blah blah blah.

You know what? I talked to a buddy of mine tonight who just isn't haven't very good luck. I mean, the dude does everything he's supposed to do, and life just seems to take a shit on him every other day.

He's a devout Christian, plays life by the rules, and is one of the best guys I know. But it seems like shit is always happening to him. He's getting laid off, totally his car (sooo not his fault), getting screwed on student loans, family illnesses and deaths, etc, etc, etc. This has been going on for as long as I've known him. (dude, sorry if by chance you're reading this...it gets better though!)

As much as life is taking a dump on my buddy, he continues to do his thing. He still goes to church, still fixes whatever went wrong, and after a much needed venting session to me (which I am totally happy to oblige!) starts weeding out the bad and looking for the good. This guy's a character...and that's why we're still friends. Because I know of no one else who could be so scoured with terrible luck and continue to dig for the positive. Me? I would've drank myself into a liver-less way of living by now. But this dude keeps on chugging.

And then I start thinking.

I'm not a religious man. Spiritual? Quite. But my buddy's faith and his mindset keep him focused on the good. Sure, he gets pissed and down and discouraged. Everyone does. But he's the classic example of picking yourself up and dusting yourself off. Cliche' but true.

I continue to be amazed by the tenacity of this guy. He is hellbent to graduate college at 40 something, and as he puts it, "live like a grown up." And he still has a couple years to go.

Back to the religion part of my ramble. Dangerous territory, I know. I understand faith. I have faith. In what? That's a different ramble. But this guy's faith has essentially kept him going. Anyone...even a religious sort, could easily get discouraged by constant terrible luck and start to lose faith, ambition, and will. And I'm sure it chips away at him from time to time. But to keep after it, day in and day out, is very admirable to me. His faith and confidence in a higher being has given him more ambition and will than most anyone else that I know. And that's enlightening.

The cool thing is, things are going to turn around for him. He's going to fight through the adversity and win. Whether you believe in God, karma, or both, you just gotta keep on trucking.

Hmm, I like that. I might have that printed on a shirt.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Thank You, Perch.

Yesterday was Sunday, therefore it was the day that we have Sunday dinner. It's a tradition that we've borrowed from my cousins just recently, and is proving to be a nice finish to the weekend.

After a fine Mexican feast, I decided to take my 4 year old nephew, Alden to the neighborhood lake for a little fishing. He's been dying for me to take him for a while and it seemed like the perfect evening for it. So I loaded up my spinning rod and a couple fly rods and we headed to the water.

It didn't take long for the little bluegill in the pond to start inhaling the corn I had threaded on his hook, and on the second cast his bobber went down and we had a fish.

Now, I've seen Alden excited before. Like when the Transformers movie came out, or when he opened his Christmas present and discovered Santa had brought him a Bat Cave fully equipped with a trap door. But I have never seen him, or anyone for that matter, as excited as when he caught that first fish. He jumped up and down, clapped his hands, squealed like a little girl, and almost hyperventilated. This was genuine. And his excitement just kept escalating with every fish he reeled in. And he even wanted to take a break and watch me and his dad fish. And when we caught fish, he continued the elation.

It got me to thinking. I guess I started fishing around his age...3 or 4. I believe the first memory I have of fishing is when my dad took me to a little creek down the street from our house. It was cleverly called "the creek", and it held your garden variety of Midwest fish species. If I remember correctly, I believe that I dug up worms prior to the escapade, and red and white bobbers were used. But I remember catching a small mess (def: 5-8 fish)of bluegill and taking them home to fry up in the skillet. Bluegill, and bluegill related panfish have always been called perch where I'm from, which is very incorrect. Regardless, they served as a springboard for what I love doing more than anything...yes, fishing. That particular fishing hole was dubbed "The Laughing Spot" from that day on. And also from that day on, I was hooked...for lack of a better term.

I'm not sure why I love fishing so much. I'm not sure why Alden loves fishing so much. It's a tough activity to dissect. I've read books and magazine articles on why fishing is such a beloved pastime, and while the authors always seem to come up with a few good reasons, they can never really pinpoint why we love it so much. Obviously, there's the seclusion, the closeness with nature, the sport of angling, the art of angling, the science of angling. Or maybe it's a combination of all the above-mentioned along with the physical feeling you get when casting, reeling, hooking, and fighting a fish. I don't know if any fisherman knows exactly why they love it, they just do.

What started at "The Laughing Spot" has turned into a love for the sport, and the outdoors in general. I have fished in bass tournaments and guided fly fishing trips. I have fished lakes, creeks, oceans, rivers, and ponds. I have caught fish two inches long (with Alden Sunday night) and I have caught fish 40 inches long.

After seeing such genuine excitement and enthralment the other night from Alden, I can't help but hope that he gains the same love and appreciation for fishing that I did.

And it all started with a perch.

God bless the perch.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

i'll get to it.

I've had quite a bit on my mind lately. Interesting, thought provoking type things on my mind. But it seems like the only time that I find to write is at 7am, ten minutes before I have to leave for work.

Topics of discussion include a proper balance in life, offspring, fire, time, and art. These are listed for my own good more so than for reading entertainment.

I need to find an hour or two to write in depth about these things. A time when I don't feel guilty for "wasting time". Or a time when the Cardinals game isn't on.

By the way, did you catch the game last night? Ankiel with the go-ahead RBI in the 8th. I'm such a loser.