Yes, it's back to reality. After three days in Nashville being pampered like a celebrity, it's back to the grind.
In case you didn't get one of mine or April's updates, we won a free trip to the CMT Awards in Nashville. I know, I know--The CMTs suck! That is correct--but only if you watch them on TV. If you win a free trip to see them live and are a VIP at the pre and post parties, then it most certainly does not suck. It's not anything that I would ever spend my own money on, so it was a fantastic experience that will most likely never, ever happen again.
I thought tons about music, culture, and heritage while I visited Nashville. It was my first time there, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Is it going to be like Branson? I loathe Branson. Is it more like Vegas? I hope not. So I kept an open mind and just approached it like a dog with his head out the window. I tried to bury all of those preconceived notions, all of those prejudgements.
I witnessed a cornucopia of people, from your fat, old, touristy, RV folk with their white socks and shoes and freshly purchased hats from the corner gift shop...to punks with Mohawks, wallet chains and tattoos on their hands and necks. That type of diversity generally isn't found in Branson. I listened to different styles of Country music. Sure, there was your Rascal Flatts, Toby Keith, and the like. But we also heard musicians still playing the bars for tips alone, vying for someone to discover them. Some, embarrassingly talentless...others so good it was almost sad that they weren't headlining the CMTs. These were the acts that filtered across downtown Nashville during Country Music Appreciation Week. So that, along with the CMTs and Bonnaroo Music Fest being held on the same week in Tennessee, provided a pretty cool vibe in the air.
The CMTs are basically an MTV'd version of Pop-Country music, accessorized with pseudo-stars that in one way or another have something to do with the Pop-Country scene. Pop-Country to me is defined by overly produced, catchy tunes concentrating on a lead vocalist. This person is generally surrounded by studio musicians who would much rather express their talents on another stage, but are able to wipe away their tears at night with dollar bills.
Pop-Country covers quite a few bases, as far as listeners go. For people that like to party in a Nickleback sort of way, you've got your Jason Aldean--who is quite possibly the love child of Montgomery and Gentry. He's in your face and enjoys rapping Country-style. Chicks seem to really dig him for the most part.
True Americans prefer the vocal stylings of Toby Keith, mainly because he loves America and likes singing about it. Don't tread on Toby, because he's also a bit of an outlaw and might throw down with you. From what I hear, his chain of restaurants serves a horrible cheeseburger. Jimmy Buffet would be disappointed.
And of course there's Rascal Flatts. Two guys who act like they're playing guitars on either side of the main Rascal, who does in fact resemble an ugly, flightless bird.
I can make fun. But the thing is, there actually is a talent factor there for all of them. Shit, they wouldn't be on stage if they weren't talented. I may not like their voices or their lyrics or their music, or Justin Bieber...but someone does--lots of someones. The music is fine-tuned and mistake-free. The vocals are typically the same. Maybe twangy, maybe too rehearsed--but ultimately very talented. And it's not just music, it's entertainment. And they do entertain. I caught myself starting to roll my eyes during some of the performances and had to remind myself, "Just go with it. It's fun.".
When someone asks me if I like Country music, I normally give some sort of reply about liking some Country..."real" Country. You know, Willie, Johnny, Hank. Real artists with real talent.
But if you think that record producers and the "industry" didn't get a hold of any of these guys, then you're wrong. Jesus, just look at Elvis. Although these "true" artists have more or less blazed trails in Country music, they have had their fair share of over-production and pop tendencies. Listen to the "Highwaymen" albums. It's the Country super-group of Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash recorded in the mid-eighties and early-nineties. My opinion: Horrendous. The idea is beautiful, but the end product is a disappointment, to say the least.
So, although Nashville is Pop-Country Central, there is at least some solice in knowing that it pretty much always has been. These faces on CMT that we see today are essentially the same faces we saw on The Johnny Cash Show and Hee Haw. The music may have been a little different then, but the fact that they're doing what their doing to make themselves and their producers money remains the same.
Toby Keith and Hank Williams are different. But they're kind of the same, too...as much as it pains me to say it. It's all music, it's all entertainment, it's all art...of different degrees to different audiences.
The heritage, the culture, and the purity of Country music is what makes it such a broad medium. Don't like Branson? Go to Nashville. Don't like Nashville? Go to Austin.
It's like that with every genre. Rock? Well, is it Classic, Alternative, Roots, Rockabilly, Heavy Metal, Thrash, Electronica, Americana, Punk, Progressive, Golden Oldies, or Pop? Same thing.
So when the next person asks me if I like Country music, I'll answer, "Yea, some." And then go into my Willie, Hank, & Johnny bit.
.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Journey, Supper With Cliff, and Rain.
My first thought of the evening:
Journey is a ridiculous band. Here is the inarguable proof:
Now that you've seen that, there will be no debate.
But the thing about Journey is, although they're ridiculous in a certain sense, they represent something fun. Anything that ridiculous has to be fun.
I have my examples, as I'm sure most everyone reading this does. If you're around or about my age, then you might remember the makeout tunes, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully". Makeout probably isn't the proper term...how about couple skate tunes. Yes, these were the songs all the couples or couple-hopefuls waited to hear at Skate Corral, Skateland, or Skate Port (please insert your local childhood roller skating rink's name here, ie: Skateville, Skatopia, Roller Action Central, or Crazy Lonnie's Skate Shack). "Faithfully" was generally the song that couples skated to, as a way to show their undying love for one another in the form of roller skating together. The couples that really loved one another usually didn't fuck around with holding hands side by side--they faced each other while one of the two skated backwards. If they were extra in love, they would switch skating backwards--guy, then girl. It was truly phenomenal. And no doubt the single moment of the entire week that these two couple skaters could not fucking wait for.
Of course these two Steve Perry-crooned rock ballads were not the first time we had heard of Journey. If you're ten years older than me, then you may have seen Journey on a world tour with the likes of Styx, Van Halen, Cheap Trick, or Ted Nugent. But my first memorable experience of Journey was the classic movie, Caddyshack. Perhaps the funniest moment in cinematic history, when Rodney Dangerfield's character, Al Czervick is in a one-uping conversation with that Italian caddy, D'Annunzio and in rebuttal to Tony's "So what?" Al replies, "So what? So let's dance!" He then cranks up the radio on his high-speed golf bag to "Any Way You Want It" by none other than Journey. Everyone on the golf course dances.
Around the same time as Caddyshack, Journey showed up on my favorite naughty cartoon movie, "Heavy Metal". And although Journey is a far cry from heavy metal, it totally worked in the film. Aliens, animated boobs, and Journey--what a great movie.
Wait, the Journey examples continue.
When I was in my twenties (which I have extremely vague memories...) my good friend Vinnie and I, after a hard day at work would load up in his 1964 Chevy Impala, turn on "Be Good To Yourself" by our friends Journey, and go to the Red Lobster for popcorn shrimp and fruity cocktails. We were being good to ourselves. It was kind of like being on the beach...with Steve Perry.
There were many goofy Journey songs that my friends and I sang along to, generally in an inebriated state. "Lights", "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'", and "Feeling That Way/Any Time"--that one song that's kinda two songs.
When I proposed to my wife, I did the whole down on one knee bit. I even put a tie on. When she said yes, with joyful tears in her eyes, beside herself at the fact that she was going to be my wife, I quickly pressed play on the iPod, where I had loaded and ready to go "Any Way You Want It". I did the Rodney Dangerfield dance in celebration. Yes, she still married me.
Speaking of...at our reception, in which we had a very strict playlist--or no-play list, I should say, the last song of the night (unbeknownst to us) was "Don't Stop Believing". We jumped on stage--just the two of us--and rocked the hell out of that song.
These are a few examples of where Journey has it's place. If you're a serious music critic-type, which I sometimes am guilty of pretending to be, then Journey is 100% laughable. But that's just it--they make me laugh, they make me smile, they're fun. I mean, just envisioning Steve Perry singing is enough to make you spew Cheerios out your nose. Steve Perry actually makes Chris Robinson look less birdish.
I've always semi-defended Journey by saying, "They're so bad, they're good." And I guess I mean that to a point. They represented safe, overly produced, corny radio rock in the late 70s and early 80s. Those of us who pride ourselves on appreciating "good" music snuff Journey. We listen to different music--punk, roots, reggae, Americana. We don't sit around listening to Journey on headphones, or debating with our friends which Neil Schon solo is the best. Journey is ridiculous.
Yes, they are. But I still like them.
With that stated, I have to watch myself when criticizing my wife or sister or whoever's choice in listening enjoyment. Whenever fucking Rascal Flatts comes on the radio, I have to deal with it. Because even though you and I know it sucks, I like Journey. So I can't say anything. That part's tougher than actually admitting I like Journey.
Second thought of the evening:
When my wife is out of town and it's just me and my good friend Cliff, I enjoy cooking for us. The other night I thawed out a couple sirloin steaks that we get from the family butcher back in Nebraska. Two steaks come wrapped in butcher paper, so I obviously nuked both of them on defrost. Even though I was only hungry for one, I looked into Cliff's deep brown eyes and my heart sank. He's a damn dog. All he ever eats is dog food and table scraps. This dog is one of my best friends--he never bitches about anything, he's always elated to see me, he loves to go fishing and camping, and he always listens when I've got something on my mind. Also, he's probably only going to live another 15 years at most. Dogs get jipped that way. Then add the fact that he's a carnivore.
Needless to say, I fired up two perfectly rare steaks on the grill that evening. One for me, one for Cliff. Jesus, was that dog happy. He looked at me as to say, "Holy shit, man. Thank you. Thank you so much. That was amazing. You're my best friend. Best friend always."
So obviously last night I barbecued some chicken thighs--once again to perfection-- to share with my carnivorous friend. He wanted those chicken bones, but choking is uncool, so I shredding the meat off the bone for him. He was still appreciative.
Tonight...bacon cheeseburgers. Two for me, two for Cliff. Right now Cliff's asleep and I'm fat. But it's cool, we took a jog earlier.
Third thought of the evening:
I live in Colorado nowadays. We don't get rain, or thunderstorms, or tornadoes too often. Back in Missouri, we did. A lot. But now that I'm residing in a drier climate, I miss those things. Sure, I don't miss the death and destruction of tornadoes, probably 'cause I never lost my house or died due to one. But I do miss the feeling.
The smell of rain. The flash of lightning followed by the delayed roar of thunder. The adrenaline you get during a bad storm. The amazement of how powerful and non-caring a storm can be.
It's raining right now a little bit. I immediately shut off all noise in the house so I could listen to the raindrops on the metal roof of my sunroom. It's weird, the things you miss. Of course, Missouri is under water right now, so I imagine I'd be a little pissed if I were getting rained on there...again.
Journey, supper with Cliff, and rain. That's what I've got going on tonight.
.
Journey is a ridiculous band. Here is the inarguable proof:
Now that you've seen that, there will be no debate.
But the thing about Journey is, although they're ridiculous in a certain sense, they represent something fun. Anything that ridiculous has to be fun.
I have my examples, as I'm sure most everyone reading this does. If you're around or about my age, then you might remember the makeout tunes, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully". Makeout probably isn't the proper term...how about couple skate tunes. Yes, these were the songs all the couples or couple-hopefuls waited to hear at Skate Corral, Skateland, or Skate Port (please insert your local childhood roller skating rink's name here, ie: Skateville, Skatopia, Roller Action Central, or Crazy Lonnie's Skate Shack). "Faithfully" was generally the song that couples skated to, as a way to show their undying love for one another in the form of roller skating together. The couples that really loved one another usually didn't fuck around with holding hands side by side--they faced each other while one of the two skated backwards. If they were extra in love, they would switch skating backwards--guy, then girl. It was truly phenomenal. And no doubt the single moment of the entire week that these two couple skaters could not fucking wait for.
Of course these two Steve Perry-crooned rock ballads were not the first time we had heard of Journey. If you're ten years older than me, then you may have seen Journey on a world tour with the likes of Styx, Van Halen, Cheap Trick, or Ted Nugent. But my first memorable experience of Journey was the classic movie, Caddyshack. Perhaps the funniest moment in cinematic history, when Rodney Dangerfield's character, Al Czervick is in a one-uping conversation with that Italian caddy, D'Annunzio and in rebuttal to Tony's "So what?" Al replies, "So what? So let's dance!" He then cranks up the radio on his high-speed golf bag to "Any Way You Want It" by none other than Journey. Everyone on the golf course dances.
Around the same time as Caddyshack, Journey showed up on my favorite naughty cartoon movie, "Heavy Metal". And although Journey is a far cry from heavy metal, it totally worked in the film. Aliens, animated boobs, and Journey--what a great movie.
Wait, the Journey examples continue.
When I was in my twenties (which I have extremely vague memories...) my good friend Vinnie and I, after a hard day at work would load up in his 1964 Chevy Impala, turn on "Be Good To Yourself" by our friends Journey, and go to the Red Lobster for popcorn shrimp and fruity cocktails. We were being good to ourselves. It was kind of like being on the beach...with Steve Perry.
There were many goofy Journey songs that my friends and I sang along to, generally in an inebriated state. "Lights", "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'", and "Feeling That Way/Any Time"--that one song that's kinda two songs.
When I proposed to my wife, I did the whole down on one knee bit. I even put a tie on. When she said yes, with joyful tears in her eyes, beside herself at the fact that she was going to be my wife, I quickly pressed play on the iPod, where I had loaded and ready to go "Any Way You Want It". I did the Rodney Dangerfield dance in celebration. Yes, she still married me.
Speaking of...at our reception, in which we had a very strict playlist--or no-play list, I should say, the last song of the night (unbeknownst to us) was "Don't Stop Believing". We jumped on stage--just the two of us--and rocked the hell out of that song.
These are a few examples of where Journey has it's place. If you're a serious music critic-type, which I sometimes am guilty of pretending to be, then Journey is 100% laughable. But that's just it--they make me laugh, they make me smile, they're fun. I mean, just envisioning Steve Perry singing is enough to make you spew Cheerios out your nose. Steve Perry actually makes Chris Robinson look less birdish.
I've always semi-defended Journey by saying, "They're so bad, they're good." And I guess I mean that to a point. They represented safe, overly produced, corny radio rock in the late 70s and early 80s. Those of us who pride ourselves on appreciating "good" music snuff Journey. We listen to different music--punk, roots, reggae, Americana. We don't sit around listening to Journey on headphones, or debating with our friends which Neil Schon solo is the best. Journey is ridiculous.
Yes, they are. But I still like them.
With that stated, I have to watch myself when criticizing my wife or sister or whoever's choice in listening enjoyment. Whenever fucking Rascal Flatts comes on the radio, I have to deal with it. Because even though you and I know it sucks, I like Journey. So I can't say anything. That part's tougher than actually admitting I like Journey.
Second thought of the evening:
When my wife is out of town and it's just me and my good friend Cliff, I enjoy cooking for us. The other night I thawed out a couple sirloin steaks that we get from the family butcher back in Nebraska. Two steaks come wrapped in butcher paper, so I obviously nuked both of them on defrost. Even though I was only hungry for one, I looked into Cliff's deep brown eyes and my heart sank. He's a damn dog. All he ever eats is dog food and table scraps. This dog is one of my best friends--he never bitches about anything, he's always elated to see me, he loves to go fishing and camping, and he always listens when I've got something on my mind. Also, he's probably only going to live another 15 years at most. Dogs get jipped that way. Then add the fact that he's a carnivore.
Needless to say, I fired up two perfectly rare steaks on the grill that evening. One for me, one for Cliff. Jesus, was that dog happy. He looked at me as to say, "Holy shit, man. Thank you. Thank you so much. That was amazing. You're my best friend. Best friend always."
So obviously last night I barbecued some chicken thighs--once again to perfection-- to share with my carnivorous friend. He wanted those chicken bones, but choking is uncool, so I shredding the meat off the bone for him. He was still appreciative.
Tonight...bacon cheeseburgers. Two for me, two for Cliff. Right now Cliff's asleep and I'm fat. But it's cool, we took a jog earlier.
Third thought of the evening:
I live in Colorado nowadays. We don't get rain, or thunderstorms, or tornadoes too often. Back in Missouri, we did. A lot. But now that I'm residing in a drier climate, I miss those things. Sure, I don't miss the death and destruction of tornadoes, probably 'cause I never lost my house or died due to one. But I do miss the feeling.
The smell of rain. The flash of lightning followed by the delayed roar of thunder. The adrenaline you get during a bad storm. The amazement of how powerful and non-caring a storm can be.
It's raining right now a little bit. I immediately shut off all noise in the house so I could listen to the raindrops on the metal roof of my sunroom. It's weird, the things you miss. Of course, Missouri is under water right now, so I imagine I'd be a little pissed if I were getting rained on there...again.
Journey, supper with Cliff, and rain. That's what I've got going on tonight.
.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Rant and Joy.
Man, what an awful day. Life would be so much more enjoyable if I didn't have to spend the majority of it away from the things that make me feel alive inside.
I tell ya, I've tried. I've tried to incorporate my passions into a nine-to-fiver. But until you can completely call all the shots in whatever financial endeavor you're immersed in, everyday jobs just flat-out suck. At least in this disgruntled bitch's experience.
As I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and take deep breaths to control the fits of anger caused by people I don't necessarily care for, I take a moment of escape and envision a stress-free life where I am neck-deep in all the things I love. The outdoors, the good times, the people I choose to spend my time with. It's all stress-free. I envision this, and it annoys me that it seems so feasible--so realistic. How can I escape these annoyances? The thousands of people per week that I deal with--many of whom I do not care for and hope to never cross paths with again. The low pay accompanied with low reward. The co-workers that I see more often than I see my family and friends.
We shouldn't have to live like this.
Sure, it's bitching. It's griping. It's ranting and venting. But the cold reality of this whole 'everyday job' thing is that it's what I spend the majority of my life doing and I don't like it. Work is not my second home...it's my first home. I spend more time at my place of business than I do at my own house. "Geez Matt, we all do!" you might say. Some of you might spend 60+ hours a week at the office. I don't care. If you're cool with that situation...if you're content, nice. You shouldn't be, but nice. Enjoy that two weeks off a year.
I'll keep working on it. I'll keep working on a solution to eliminate the nine-to-fiver...no matter how romantic the job might sound. The idea of jobs and the reality of jobs are two entirely different things. For those of you who understand and appreciate my rant, cool. For those who don't, I admire your contentedness.
For everyone else, please enjoy this video of AC/DC not working a nine-to-fiver. It's worth every bit of the ten minutes...
Sorry for being a dick.
I tell ya, I've tried. I've tried to incorporate my passions into a nine-to-fiver. But until you can completely call all the shots in whatever financial endeavor you're immersed in, everyday jobs just flat-out suck. At least in this disgruntled bitch's experience.
As I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and take deep breaths to control the fits of anger caused by people I don't necessarily care for, I take a moment of escape and envision a stress-free life where I am neck-deep in all the things I love. The outdoors, the good times, the people I choose to spend my time with. It's all stress-free. I envision this, and it annoys me that it seems so feasible--so realistic. How can I escape these annoyances? The thousands of people per week that I deal with--many of whom I do not care for and hope to never cross paths with again. The low pay accompanied with low reward. The co-workers that I see more often than I see my family and friends.
We shouldn't have to live like this.
Sure, it's bitching. It's griping. It's ranting and venting. But the cold reality of this whole 'everyday job' thing is that it's what I spend the majority of my life doing and I don't like it. Work is not my second home...it's my first home. I spend more time at my place of business than I do at my own house. "Geez Matt, we all do!" you might say. Some of you might spend 60+ hours a week at the office. I don't care. If you're cool with that situation...if you're content, nice. You shouldn't be, but nice. Enjoy that two weeks off a year.
I'll keep working on it. I'll keep working on a solution to eliminate the nine-to-fiver...no matter how romantic the job might sound. The idea of jobs and the reality of jobs are two entirely different things. For those of you who understand and appreciate my rant, cool. For those who don't, I admire your contentedness.
For everyone else, please enjoy this video of AC/DC not working a nine-to-fiver. It's worth every bit of the ten minutes...
Sorry for being a dick.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sunday Ramble.
Does anyone else feel pressured to fit as much enjoyment into their short lives as I do? It's not a philosophical type of question--not meant to be deep or anything. It's just how I think.
In the grand scheme of things, we as humans live somewhat short lives. We're going to die. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Who knows? And I don't care how religious, how spiritual, how all-knowing you think you may be--you don't know where we're going to end up. No one does. Do we get a second chance at life? Hard to say. Really, really hard to say.
So, without turning that corner to the deep end, I'd like to keep this conversation in the ballpark of "here and now", not "afterlife" or any of that stuff. Although that can be an interesting conversation...
The hard, morbid truth is that I could keel over in three seconds. What, with all the stress of a low paying, rarely rewarding, overly stressful job accompanied by food and drink that the FDA generally frowns upon--there's probably a decent chance of it. Or, I could live to be a frikkin' hundred. But you can't count on a hundred. That's just being foolish. So, we have to take advantage of this short time while on this Earth we know. And that ain't easy--especially for me.
I am not one to, nor have I ever been one to, have the majority of my life scaled out. From a young age I have jumped from one thing to another, trying to solidify and streamline my interests and create a smart and simple recipe for making a living. It has not worked...at all. I've never had a clear vision of what it is that I want to do for a living. So, that in itself makes it tough to incorporate all the extracurricular activities that I'd like to accomplish by life's end.
There are so many directions that you can go. It's tough to figure out which one to take.
There's obviously the side of me that has tried to incorporate passions and employment. It's been very bittersweet. It tends to dampen your interests a bit, when you have to do it. If I have to do something, then it fails to be a passion or interest. I'll do those on my own watch. But on the other side of the coin, it has opened up some fun doors as far as networks, knowledge, and experiences. It's time to move on, though.
Then there's the side of me that thinks going back to school might be the best answer. I'm more willing to learn now, I could use the credentials, and it would help secure a more permanent career. Once I've graduated and am on cruise control, let's say being a teacher, then I'm locked in with an okay salary and benefits--plus I've got my summers off to ramble. That's one train of thought.
And the side that I'm always battling is the side that wants to find a way to split. I'm not talking leaving my wife or anything. Just downsizing and leaving. Getting rid of the house, the car, the anchors. Responsibly freeing up time, while keeping a modest travel fund, and roaming the world until I run out of money or ambition.
Thing is, my jobs have never dictated what I do or who I am. I've had so many that I don't even remember half of them. I'm not a "DOCTOR" or an "ASTRONAUT". I'm just some dude named Matt who tries to make an honest living doing whatever so I can swing some living on the side.
I'd like to be able to swing a little more living, though.
.
In the grand scheme of things, we as humans live somewhat short lives. We're going to die. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Who knows? And I don't care how religious, how spiritual, how all-knowing you think you may be--you don't know where we're going to end up. No one does. Do we get a second chance at life? Hard to say. Really, really hard to say.
So, without turning that corner to the deep end, I'd like to keep this conversation in the ballpark of "here and now", not "afterlife" or any of that stuff. Although that can be an interesting conversation...
The hard, morbid truth is that I could keel over in three seconds. What, with all the stress of a low paying, rarely rewarding, overly stressful job accompanied by food and drink that the FDA generally frowns upon--there's probably a decent chance of it. Or, I could live to be a frikkin' hundred. But you can't count on a hundred. That's just being foolish. So, we have to take advantage of this short time while on this Earth we know. And that ain't easy--especially for me.
I am not one to, nor have I ever been one to, have the majority of my life scaled out. From a young age I have jumped from one thing to another, trying to solidify and streamline my interests and create a smart and simple recipe for making a living. It has not worked...at all. I've never had a clear vision of what it is that I want to do for a living. So, that in itself makes it tough to incorporate all the extracurricular activities that I'd like to accomplish by life's end.
There are so many directions that you can go. It's tough to figure out which one to take.
There's obviously the side of me that has tried to incorporate passions and employment. It's been very bittersweet. It tends to dampen your interests a bit, when you have to do it. If I have to do something, then it fails to be a passion or interest. I'll do those on my own watch. But on the other side of the coin, it has opened up some fun doors as far as networks, knowledge, and experiences. It's time to move on, though.
Then there's the side of me that thinks going back to school might be the best answer. I'm more willing to learn now, I could use the credentials, and it would help secure a more permanent career. Once I've graduated and am on cruise control, let's say being a teacher, then I'm locked in with an okay salary and benefits--plus I've got my summers off to ramble. That's one train of thought.
And the side that I'm always battling is the side that wants to find a way to split. I'm not talking leaving my wife or anything. Just downsizing and leaving. Getting rid of the house, the car, the anchors. Responsibly freeing up time, while keeping a modest travel fund, and roaming the world until I run out of money or ambition.
Thing is, my jobs have never dictated what I do or who I am. I've had so many that I don't even remember half of them. I'm not a "DOCTOR" or an "ASTRONAUT". I'm just some dude named Matt who tries to make an honest living doing whatever so I can swing some living on the side.
I'd like to be able to swing a little more living, though.
.
Monday, April 4, 2011
squirrels and bunnies.
Anthony Bourdain has the type of life that people like me would kill a human for. Traveling, writing, filming, eating, and drinking. Throw in fishing and it's my picture-perfect existence.
If you're not familiar with Anthony, he has a show on the Travel Channel called "No Reservations". It's based on his travels around the world, sampling real, local culture and cuisine. No touristy crap. No Samantha Brown, Rachel Ray, or Guy Fiero crap. It's all fairly real, really raw, and rarely disappointing.
While normally filming in exotic overseas locales, his latest episode really leaped out at me and I just had to DVR it. It was entitled "Ozarks". My first thought was, "Hmm, wonder if it's Missouri or Arkansas?" My second thought was, "Why the hell would he go to either?"
I'm from the Ozarks. And this particular episode was eerily familiar. Sure, they really sought out the hillbilly stereotypes, and it sort of got on my nerves. That is, until I realized that it's sort of difficult to get away from them.
First thing they did on the show was skin and cook squirrel. I've eaten squirrel. Thought everyone did. That's how I was raised...Grandpa, though second generation German whose family settled just South of St. Louis, would always go hunting. Yes, he would go deer hunting and turkey hunting, but what I remember him hunting for most often was squirrel. My very-German Grandfather was quite far from being a hillbilly, but that's how he was raised--hunting and gathering what you can and feasting. There wasn't a Taco Bell down the street from his one bedroom house. There wasn't a HyVee nearby. So hunting whitetail deer, gathering morel mushrooms, catching trout, planting a rich, beautiful garden...and eating squirrels was how he did it.
My Granny, who was also extremely German--but definitely had a "Granny, from The Beverley Hillbillies" quality to her--was the one that always cleaned and cooked the squirrel. Years after my Grandpa passed away, Granny saw a squirrel get hit by a car in front of her house. She walks out to the street, assess the situation, scoops up the dead squirrel, cleans it, cooks it, and eats it. Admittedly nostalgic and missing my Grandpa, this was a meal she hadn't had since his passing. Still, though...it's roadkill. So when I playfully take a jab at her for eating roadkill, while fully knowing that it was actually a sweet gesture and tribute to her years with Grandpa, she replies to me like she always did, "Nothing wrong with it! They only ran over the head!"
God, I miss those two.
But aside from this particular Grandpa of mine, most everyone else in the family hunted squirrel. I don't really recall eating it all that often--it was probably hunted more for sport or extermination.
Sucker gigging and raccoon hunting was also featured in this "No Reservations" episode. I don't gig fish, but I have eaten sucker...which in my opinion is properly named, because they suck. Not a big fan. I have never, and will never hunt for raccoon. But I know my dad used to as a kid. So, it probably wasn't too difficult to find these Ozarkian stereotypes.
I was brought up in the third largest city in Missouri, so you had a pretty broad spectrum of people types. We definitely had farmers and country folks, but not too many spooky, "Deliverance-type" hillbillies. I have certainly seen them though, and Anthony Bourdain was dangerously close to them. No offense, Arkansas, but the closer you get to your border, the less teeth and more tattoos you see.
Anthony Bourdain was in the Ozarks because of Daniel Woodrell, author of "Winter's Bone". Supposed to be a great book and equally as entertaining movie, and I'm sure it is.
But not as entertaining as "Hillbilly Hare" starring Bugs Bunny.
Enjoy.
.
.
If you're not familiar with Anthony, he has a show on the Travel Channel called "No Reservations". It's based on his travels around the world, sampling real, local culture and cuisine. No touristy crap. No Samantha Brown, Rachel Ray, or Guy Fiero crap. It's all fairly real, really raw, and rarely disappointing.
While normally filming in exotic overseas locales, his latest episode really leaped out at me and I just had to DVR it. It was entitled "Ozarks". My first thought was, "Hmm, wonder if it's Missouri or Arkansas?" My second thought was, "Why the hell would he go to either?"
I'm from the Ozarks. And this particular episode was eerily familiar. Sure, they really sought out the hillbilly stereotypes, and it sort of got on my nerves. That is, until I realized that it's sort of difficult to get away from them.
First thing they did on the show was skin and cook squirrel. I've eaten squirrel. Thought everyone did. That's how I was raised...Grandpa, though second generation German whose family settled just South of St. Louis, would always go hunting. Yes, he would go deer hunting and turkey hunting, but what I remember him hunting for most often was squirrel. My very-German Grandfather was quite far from being a hillbilly, but that's how he was raised--hunting and gathering what you can and feasting. There wasn't a Taco Bell down the street from his one bedroom house. There wasn't a HyVee nearby. So hunting whitetail deer, gathering morel mushrooms, catching trout, planting a rich, beautiful garden...and eating squirrels was how he did it.
My Granny, who was also extremely German--but definitely had a "Granny, from The Beverley Hillbillies" quality to her--was the one that always cleaned and cooked the squirrel. Years after my Grandpa passed away, Granny saw a squirrel get hit by a car in front of her house. She walks out to the street, assess the situation, scoops up the dead squirrel, cleans it, cooks it, and eats it. Admittedly nostalgic and missing my Grandpa, this was a meal she hadn't had since his passing. Still, though...it's roadkill. So when I playfully take a jab at her for eating roadkill, while fully knowing that it was actually a sweet gesture and tribute to her years with Grandpa, she replies to me like she always did, "Nothing wrong with it! They only ran over the head!"
God, I miss those two.
But aside from this particular Grandpa of mine, most everyone else in the family hunted squirrel. I don't really recall eating it all that often--it was probably hunted more for sport or extermination.
Sucker gigging and raccoon hunting was also featured in this "No Reservations" episode. I don't gig fish, but I have eaten sucker...which in my opinion is properly named, because they suck. Not a big fan. I have never, and will never hunt for raccoon. But I know my dad used to as a kid. So, it probably wasn't too difficult to find these Ozarkian stereotypes.
I was brought up in the third largest city in Missouri, so you had a pretty broad spectrum of people types. We definitely had farmers and country folks, but not too many spooky, "Deliverance-type" hillbillies. I have certainly seen them though, and Anthony Bourdain was dangerously close to them. No offense, Arkansas, but the closer you get to your border, the less teeth and more tattoos you see.
Anthony Bourdain was in the Ozarks because of Daniel Woodrell, author of "Winter's Bone". Supposed to be a great book and equally as entertaining movie, and I'm sure it is.
But not as entertaining as "Hillbilly Hare" starring Bugs Bunny.
Enjoy.
.
.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
something I'm actually too young for.
I was just dicking around online, looking up old concerts on YouTube, and found some great clips of Van Halen performing at the US Festival in 1983. I got to digging into the other performances and was blown away by the line-up!
I took this straight from Wikipedia...
Saturday, May 28 (New Wave Day)
Divinyls
INXS
Wall of Voodoo - Stan Ridgway's last appearance with Wall of Voodoo
Oingo Boingo
The English Beat
Missing Persons
A Flock of Seagulls
Stray Cats
Men at Work
The Clash - Mick Jones' last appearance with The Clash.
Sunday, May 29 (Heavy Metal Day)
Van Halen
Quiet Riot
Motley Crue
Ozzy Osbourne
Judas Priest
Triumph
Scorpions
Monday, May 30 (Rock Day)
Los Lobos (on a side stage only)
Little Steven & The Disciples of Soul
Berlin (band)
Quarterflash
U2
Missing Persons
The Pretenders
Joe Walsh
Stevie Nicks
David Bowie
Saturday June 4th (Country Day)
Thrasher Brothers
Ricky Skaggs
Hank Williams, Jr.
Emmylou Harris & The Hot Band
Alabama
Waylon Jennings
Riders in the Sky
Willie Nelson
Granted, some bands blow. But look at the ones that don't, especially for back in '83. Stray Cats, Bowie, The Clash, The Halen, Ozzy, Waylon, Willie, Joe Walsh, U2.
Dang.
.
I took this straight from Wikipedia...
Saturday, May 28 (New Wave Day)
Divinyls
INXS
Wall of Voodoo - Stan Ridgway's last appearance with Wall of Voodoo
Oingo Boingo
The English Beat
Missing Persons
A Flock of Seagulls
Stray Cats
Men at Work
The Clash - Mick Jones' last appearance with The Clash.
Sunday, May 29 (Heavy Metal Day)
Van Halen
Quiet Riot
Motley Crue
Ozzy Osbourne
Judas Priest
Triumph
Scorpions
Monday, May 30 (Rock Day)
Los Lobos (on a side stage only)
Little Steven & The Disciples of Soul
Berlin (band)
Quarterflash
U2
Missing Persons
The Pretenders
Joe Walsh
Stevie Nicks
David Bowie
Saturday June 4th (Country Day)
Thrasher Brothers
Ricky Skaggs
Hank Williams, Jr.
Emmylou Harris & The Hot Band
Alabama
Waylon Jennings
Riders in the Sky
Willie Nelson
Granted, some bands blow. But look at the ones that don't, especially for back in '83. Stray Cats, Bowie, The Clash, The Halen, Ozzy, Waylon, Willie, Joe Walsh, U2.
Dang.
.
Tuesday Ramble Y'all.
Something that I can't decide if I like or not is people who are really into something. I mean, reeaaally into it. Self proclaimed connoisseur, so to speak. I appreciate taking your interests to professional-type levels. But part of me gets extremely annoyed by the narcissism and over-the-top opinions.
For instance, I like to BBQ. I can smoke a mean turkey and have accomplished the art of properly preparing baby back ribs. It's not rocket science, you just have to know a few key things, a little trial and error, and your golden. Sure, there's a lot more to it. Rubs, sauces, temps, rotation, oxygen, wood, whatnot. But in my opinion, you don't have to overthink it.
Now, I have not been around true BBQ snobs. Competition guys who speak in a different language, scoff at weekend grillers, and debate about correct methods. I'm positive they're out there, though, and this is the type of person that annoys me.
I have been around fly fishermen and craft beer folk. The same rings true. You've got the clique, the subculture, the club. Guys who have nothing better to do than talk shop, put down others to make themselves feel superior, and basically just suck. This is the point where really getting into something crosses that line from having a genuine interest, learning the activity, getting very good at that activity, but not letting that activity consume your every thought---to being a cocky, opinionated, totally self-proclaimed "expert" asshole.
So with that said, I am going to continue BBQing, fly fishing, and enjoying different beers. But I will not be joining any fraternities on these subjects. I will remain knowledgeable, confident, open minded, and unbias. I've had BBQ at local specialty BBQ joints that has flat out sucked. I've spoken with fly anglers who can talk shop all day, but can't fish. I've tasted Heineken. So just because you're into something--reeeaaally into something--doesn't mean you're worth a shit at it.
Intermission.
I've been thinking about food quite a bit lately.
Out here in Colorado, we're bombarded with organic this, and natural that. It gets a little ridiculous, but it does make sense. Why wouldn't I eat the natural grass fed cow instead of the chemical-hormone fueled cow? I don't know much about farming, but I do understand that organic farming is much more difficult to maintain. And in the end, as the farmer, you don't get as much bang for your buck. You have to deal with smaller livestock and higher prices. With produce, it takes more work to grow, you have to charge more for that additional work, and the produce basically tastes the same as the pesticide-laced one sitting next to it for $.89/lb cheaper.
Then there's the whole hunting thing. Is it more humane to kill a deer and eat it than to purchase an 8-pack of chicken thighs? Probably so.
It's a tough decision. I want to care more, but I also don't want to have to think about every single thing I'm eating and where it came from. Shit, I ate Popeye's chicken today. I shutter thinking about where that came from. But it's Popeye's and it's good. A cage-free, free range, naturally fed bird this certainly was not. But it's weird, creepy tasting fast food that's convenient and hooks you somehow.
I love eating well, but I don't do it near enough. Takes a lot of time and effort. But I feel amazing afterwards. Funny thing is, I don't necessarily crave these good, healthy meals. What I do crave, from time to time, is a fucking Bean Burrito from Taco Bell. A Big Mac, McNuggets, a Triple Stack. I don't get it. I feel terrible after eating anything fast food, yet there's something addicting about it. I can get a flour tortilla, fill it with refrieds, and a little cheese, but it tastes nothing like a Taco Bell Bean Burrito. There's got to be some weird, addictive chemical or something that they put in there. Fast food tastes good at the time you're craving it, but makes you fat and feeling terrible. Yet we still go.
I try and find a balance. That's actually what I look for in most every aspect of life. A good balance when it comes to food is tough, but I think an open mind and a decent variety will suffice. That way, I get my organic, all natural, free range, grass fed shit--and I get my Bean Burrito. Mixing it up, moderation, eating mostly real food...I think that's the way to do it.
Second Intermission.
I think the reason that the two above subjects came up was because it was triggered during conversations about fishing.
I've been wanting to eat fish lately. Along with shitty fast food, luckily I've also been craving wild, healthy fish. But in the fishing biz, catch and take is frowned upon. It's all catch and release, which I've practiced fairly religiously my entire life. Hell, I haven't kept a trout in 20some years.
When I go back home to Missouri and we get into the crappie or the white bass, that's when we harvest and that's when we eat fish. But I want fish now. I want to eat a fat, healthy rainbow trout that has never seen a farm-fed fish pellet in its life. I want to eat an all natural fish that has eaten nothing but all natural food itself, like crawdads, baitfish, mysis shrimp, or insects. Brightly colored fillets--not those dull, grey fillets from hatchery fish.
I'm going to go ahead and do that. It sounds delicious. Fuck the fly snobs--I've released enough fish to stock a lake--a lake that the doughball casters will just trespass onto and catch and keep all the fish illegally anyway.
Good talk.
.
For instance, I like to BBQ. I can smoke a mean turkey and have accomplished the art of properly preparing baby back ribs. It's not rocket science, you just have to know a few key things, a little trial and error, and your golden. Sure, there's a lot more to it. Rubs, sauces, temps, rotation, oxygen, wood, whatnot. But in my opinion, you don't have to overthink it.
Now, I have not been around true BBQ snobs. Competition guys who speak in a different language, scoff at weekend grillers, and debate about correct methods. I'm positive they're out there, though, and this is the type of person that annoys me.
I have been around fly fishermen and craft beer folk. The same rings true. You've got the clique, the subculture, the club. Guys who have nothing better to do than talk shop, put down others to make themselves feel superior, and basically just suck. This is the point where really getting into something crosses that line from having a genuine interest, learning the activity, getting very good at that activity, but not letting that activity consume your every thought---to being a cocky, opinionated, totally self-proclaimed "expert" asshole.
So with that said, I am going to continue BBQing, fly fishing, and enjoying different beers. But I will not be joining any fraternities on these subjects. I will remain knowledgeable, confident, open minded, and unbias. I've had BBQ at local specialty BBQ joints that has flat out sucked. I've spoken with fly anglers who can talk shop all day, but can't fish. I've tasted Heineken. So just because you're into something--reeeaaally into something--doesn't mean you're worth a shit at it.
Intermission.
I've been thinking about food quite a bit lately.
Out here in Colorado, we're bombarded with organic this, and natural that. It gets a little ridiculous, but it does make sense. Why wouldn't I eat the natural grass fed cow instead of the chemical-hormone fueled cow? I don't know much about farming, but I do understand that organic farming is much more difficult to maintain. And in the end, as the farmer, you don't get as much bang for your buck. You have to deal with smaller livestock and higher prices. With produce, it takes more work to grow, you have to charge more for that additional work, and the produce basically tastes the same as the pesticide-laced one sitting next to it for $.89/lb cheaper.
Then there's the whole hunting thing. Is it more humane to kill a deer and eat it than to purchase an 8-pack of chicken thighs? Probably so.
It's a tough decision. I want to care more, but I also don't want to have to think about every single thing I'm eating and where it came from. Shit, I ate Popeye's chicken today. I shutter thinking about where that came from. But it's Popeye's and it's good. A cage-free, free range, naturally fed bird this certainly was not. But it's weird, creepy tasting fast food that's convenient and hooks you somehow.
I love eating well, but I don't do it near enough. Takes a lot of time and effort. But I feel amazing afterwards. Funny thing is, I don't necessarily crave these good, healthy meals. What I do crave, from time to time, is a fucking Bean Burrito from Taco Bell. A Big Mac, McNuggets, a Triple Stack. I don't get it. I feel terrible after eating anything fast food, yet there's something addicting about it. I can get a flour tortilla, fill it with refrieds, and a little cheese, but it tastes nothing like a Taco Bell Bean Burrito. There's got to be some weird, addictive chemical or something that they put in there. Fast food tastes good at the time you're craving it, but makes you fat and feeling terrible. Yet we still go.
I try and find a balance. That's actually what I look for in most every aspect of life. A good balance when it comes to food is tough, but I think an open mind and a decent variety will suffice. That way, I get my organic, all natural, free range, grass fed shit--and I get my Bean Burrito. Mixing it up, moderation, eating mostly real food...I think that's the way to do it.
Second Intermission.
I think the reason that the two above subjects came up was because it was triggered during conversations about fishing.
I've been wanting to eat fish lately. Along with shitty fast food, luckily I've also been craving wild, healthy fish. But in the fishing biz, catch and take is frowned upon. It's all catch and release, which I've practiced fairly religiously my entire life. Hell, I haven't kept a trout in 20some years.
When I go back home to Missouri and we get into the crappie or the white bass, that's when we harvest and that's when we eat fish. But I want fish now. I want to eat a fat, healthy rainbow trout that has never seen a farm-fed fish pellet in its life. I want to eat an all natural fish that has eaten nothing but all natural food itself, like crawdads, baitfish, mysis shrimp, or insects. Brightly colored fillets--not those dull, grey fillets from hatchery fish.
I'm going to go ahead and do that. It sounds delicious. Fuck the fly snobs--I've released enough fish to stock a lake--a lake that the doughball casters will just trespass onto and catch and keep all the fish illegally anyway.
Good talk.
.
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