Blog blog bliggity blog...and now I can't stop.

I never "got" blogging before. I don't know why. I didn't get American Idol either. When I tried blogging before it was a gimmick to try to be funny under an alias. Then I started real blog, a blog about me, and now I can't stop. I love me. I want everyone to see me love me. That's not really it. I guess I am just at a point in life where I need a forum.

People often talk about how the times we live in are special, or how we are living in the worst times ever. Times are getting tough out there for real these days. But we need perspective, and we need to make the most of our individual economies and lives despite or in spite of what the media might be telling you. The following is a rant I wrote 3 years ago. I think it still has value.

I am an expecting father. The joys of bringing a child into the world are for me very real. It is a thing I have anticipated my entire life leading back to when I was a small child pretending to be the daddy of my assortment of stuffed animals. But this is a cruel and dangerous world we are living in. Sometimes people use this fear of our modern times as the excuse to not have children at all. They say that things are so wrong in society that it’s not right to bring a child into this ball of endless suffering. Well I don’t cater to that notion at all. I maintain that the state of the earth is as desperate and wonderful as it has ever been and that it is merely our attitude toward the changing landscape of history that brings us our greatest fears and in turn, allows us to enjoy the birthright of all maturing generations—becoming the parents, the teachers, the care givers of those who will inherit our planet after we have gone. It’s our chance at immortality, and we are fools not to take it.

The world we live in is truly scary at times. We’re at war, nobody trusts their leaders, the cities are decaying, drug use is rampant, crime and murder are everyday statistics, and we have bizarre occurances such as school shootings and terrorist attacks to keep us all holed up in our bedrooms forever hiding. Sometimes it seems that the situation has reached the final crest, the ultimate breaking point where everything we have built will come crashing down upon a rocky shore, shattering the remains of our civilization beyond repair. Armageddon time. Clamour for your shelters and stockpile your resources.
I think mankind has a fixation on the end of the world. We actually secretly harbor a desire to live in the aftermath, just so we don’t have to do that next task that’s been plauging our minds for the past fortnight. I remember the evening of September 11th 2001, we were all glued to our TV’s and you could smell the testosterone in the air. It was heavy popcorn eating time, an event to take our minds off the mundane realities of our own pathetic lives in a manner that hollywood is still unable to deliver. Just look at how much we all got jacked up about the turn of the century. There was a general aire of disappointment on Jan one double zero. It was as if our entire society was abruptly stopped from jacking off by the sound of our collective wife coming home early. So what do I do with all this bottled water? 9-11, as tragic as it was, was our orgasm, a sad orgasm where we turn over and start thinking of how we’re going to get back to life as usual. How to make a quick escape. I digress.

When we think our lives have become inescapably cruel and bitter we need to remind ourselves of how bad it is for other people in the world and how tough times have been in the past. The great depression is something we can read about but few of us can truly understand. When people try to say life is worse now than ever, they miss the point that history continually illustrates. Lets look at the world I was born into. It was August of 1972. We were immeshed in an unpopular war, thousands of people were dying. Our government was corrupt, and an administration was about to collapse for the first and only time in our nations history. There was a fuel crisis, lines at the pumps, gas prices were rising precipitously. Our cities were starting to take on a post—apocalyptic hue with graffitti and trash everywhere. The level of decay was shocking at the time and stayed that way up until the 90’s. Drugs were everywhere and there were long haired freaks all around.

The freaks were nothing to worry about, and many of them are in positions of power now, so I feel the same will occur with todays rap kids and the so-called goth kids. On top of everything we were still in the middle of the cold war. I grew up in a landscape where I was made to believe the Russians could come and blow us all to kingdom come at a moments notice. But here I still am, and despite the desperate condition of society, I had what can be considered to be a happy childhood.

If there is anything to worry about in raising a child in today’s society is the loss of what I call the fun factor. The fun factor encompasses the things that are constantly being taken away from us in our growing need to feel safe and to not offend. It is political correctness, and the dumbing down of our educational system that contribute to the loss. When I was a kid I could still enjoy Halloween while wearing a devil mask and getting free candy from anyone in the neighborhood with a light on. Back then it was not only common but expected that some freak would dress up as a monster and try to scare the shit out of any passing children. Now we have religious groups trying to keep us from exploring our darkside and of course we get a few reports of some sick bastard sticking razor blades in apples and we try to put Halloween in the malls. We try to make it an event—like a lock-in, but we miss out on the thrill of strange candy and the adventure of getting strange candy from strangers. It was fun and our parents always checked our bags.

Everyone now wears a helmet. If you’re in the tour du france wear a helmet but if your a kid, why bother, there are plenty of other things out there that can kill you. That’s part of the fun—not being safe, consequences, and a Darwinian approach to life. Some people never learn and some people die stupid deaths, but don’t take that fun from the rest of us.
My favorite memories from childhood are those with my father when he was dragging us around to bars, and letting us shoot tin cans, and letting us drive at age 11 because he had too much to drink. You can’t protect people from living life to the fullest. If the ride isn’t fun why take it? If the thrill isn’t real, why live it?

In my town the powers that be just banned smoking in bars. What’s the point of that? It’s just another example of trying to coddle the society as a whole. Fuck coddling. Take risks. Get cancer. Fuck it, have fun and be a good person. I’m afraid that my son will never know Americans like that in his time. True visionaries like the late Good Doctor Hunter Thompson who rode on the edge for half a century and more. It is sad.

We also have corporations that make us feel like drones. Pawns. Cogs in their machinery, but they try to beautify it with all their little slogans of teamwork and such BS as can be seen in the movie office space. Cube workers aren’t much different spiritually than those working in the concrete jungles of the factories in the last century. An ass fuck is an ass fuck no matter how good the benefits are.

But just like I don’t believe the times are any worse than they ever have been, I don’t really think the fun factor is going away either. There are always new ways to say “fuck it” to the world. There will always be those who do what they want to do and damn the consequences. For good or ill I believe humanity will keep marching on in much the same way as it has for since we beat the crap out of the Neaderthals. The settings, the characters, and the props will change, but it will always be one human being trying to fuck with the guy working next to him. And there is joy in the future of practical jokes. Bring on the babies.

Fatherhood is wonderful, but now I have to actually be a dad.

I love babies. I love to hold them and snuggle. It's the great reward of being a dad in our generation, we GET to be fully active in our children's lives. We don't just take a sudden interest after they are potty trained, or after breeching, as it was done in the old days. Raising children is fun, and it's relatively easy, I mean there are obvious challenges, but the selfless love you have for your child and the fact that it is a part of our nature make the difficulties seem not as difficult. Parenting teaches patience. It is a joyous experience that I recommend to any human.

My best advice to new parents who are unsure of everything, scared and terrified of all the new equipment in their home as a result of baby showers and family donations, (believe me the stuff piles up and you have no clue as to how you will use it all) just take a deep breath, have fun, enjoy the love and keep the kid alive. It's easy. Babies are simple. Keep em alive and love em. My next suggestion is important as well. Get out of the house. Go out to dinner, see a movie, go camping, DO STUFF. Feed them, change them, let them sleep, but live your lives. Babies are content in their car seats, take them with you everywhere. Besides sleepless nights, newborns are relatively easy. (pray your baby doesn't have colic. I don't know what to do then) Too many new parents hole up in their homes thinking they now have to be super protective, but they might not realize that the true difficulties of being a parent are still in their future.

At first your baby is sweet and innocent, but soon, very soon they grow into fully fledged human beings with wants and needs and motivations of their own. They start to misbehave, fight with other kids, act rude in public, and run around restaurants dumping salt on the table and shouting at the other patrons. Oh it is still fun. Your kids are still adorable to you. Heck they are still adorable to most folk. There are plenty of parents and grandparents out there who will feel your pain and actually enjoy your child interrupting their meal. At this point parenting becomes more than just keeping them alive, now you have to actually instruct them, discipline them, be a hardass, make them mad for not letting them play with knives. This is where I am now. My son is three, and now I , the free spirit that I like to be, have to be stern with my child and tell him no sometimes. I have to protect him from his own bad ideas, and I have to be the asshole who dresses him when he doesn't want to be dressed. Here is a video I took this morning to illustrate. Please ignore the mess, I have no excuse for that.

I find myself more and more telling Kirk to be nice. I have to make him apologize to strangers after he points at them and says, "I don't like she." Now usually you can get a kid to behave by compromising, and making up games. I let him run from me at Target as long as he stays in the aisles and doesn't wander under the racks where I can't find him. I tell him that the carpet is lava, and he has to stay on the tile. It usually works. Lately he has gone beyond exploring his boundaries as they say, and has started to push beyond what you can actually let him get away with. "No you can't play with the hammer." We used to be able to say, "would you like mommy to give you a bath, or daddy?" But now he understands plan C. "Nobody gives me a bath." And then true parenting begins. You have to make necessary things happen with as little drama as possible, but drama happens, and after a while you get used to it. When he's crying after I did the unimaginable thing of taking off his jammies, I can listen to him cry for a long time without too much concern. I know he'll forgive me in time.

The great thing is now Kirk is becoming quite social. He loves gathering with the neighbor kids in the alley and playing. Most of the kids are bigger and I have to be there constantly, but it's good to see him interact and enjoy it. I often pretend I'm not there and just magically show up when needed. The other day he was invited by the five year old across the alley into his yard where they have a full playground and a contained ball pit style trampoline. He had a blast. He ran around, went down the slide, and even had an older girl holding his hand and helping him out. She is 5. This yard is popular so there were at least 15 kids in there, complete chaos. I just sat outside talking to another dad who was also pretending to be invisible. Suddenly Kirk came to the fence calling "daddy".
I said, "What's up buddy?"
He replied, "That kid hit me."
"What were you doing?", I asked.
"Hitting him."
"well", I said, "You can't hit kids or they might hit you back. You have to be a good representative of our family when you're in somebody elses yard. Play nice."
"Okay", he said and ran off.
Later he came back saying the kid hit him again. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, "Not hitting."
I asked him if he wanted to go home, but he wanted to play, so I basically let him know that I was outside of the fence and I couldn't control what went on. I told him to be nice and he ran off. It was like he was in a dance club, and I was outside, I couldn't control if someone pushed him on the dance floor, he needed to deal with it himself. I give him a lot of rope, but I won't tolerate him being mean himself. He had a grand time. Most of those kids are really good kids. Most. Some are strays, but we can deal with that topic later.

That's all I have to say for now. I imagine the teenage years are even more fun. Bye!

My plea to all of you and yours.

Okay the self promotion machine needs to kick into high gear. My band Mercurial Rage has a new record coming out on the 7th of June. We need to get our local radio station to play our music. I don't know why they wouldn't but things are weird there sometimes, they completely ignored us with our last release even though they play songs from many of the bands that support us. I must have done something to the program director when I was drunk, or maybe he's friends with Zahn. Anyway, I need your help. If you go here you can request they play Moonlight, Give it Up, or Situation by Mercurial Rage. Do this from all your different email accounts including and especially your spam and porn accounts. We're looking for a grass roots movement. They can ignore us, but they can not ignore the wishes of the multitudes. Thank you.

1990

Okay, so I'm old. I manage a coffee shop near the local university and I employ college youths. This fall the kids who were born the year I graduated high school will be coming to college. If I hire one of them I will be twice their age. My coworkers and I used to be friends, but now I'm simply old man Hill. The boss. Somebody's dad. Not cool at all. A dad in a band. How lame is that? Don't get me wrong, I love my life. I cherish it. I would rather be who I am now than the 18 year old I used to be. That kid was crazy.

Anyway, the following story is something I wrote a couple of years ago to take me back to that carefree summer between high school and college when Depeche Mode's Violator was brand new, and my own Personal Jesus was the thrill of being young and looking for love.

His name was Mack. It was a strong name and one that I had never encountered in real life before. In action movies sure, but never in real life, and that added to his mystique. I was 17 and I was full of confusion and a desire for adventure. I had grown up in a small city and I was ready to break out and become the next whatever next was cool to me at the time. It was the end of high school and I had met a guy who was two years older and who didn’t care about convention at all. His main goal was getting laid, and to tell the truth that was on the top of my list as well. It is no small wonder I hitched my load to his wagon that peculiar May in 1990.
Mack was conceited. Mack was a sexist. Mack was a spindly little man without much muscle, but Mack had charisma, and he had passion, but more importantly he had his father’s 1990 Ford Mustang convertible. We would cruise in that glorious machine at 80 miles an hour through the curvy residential hilltop community where the rich people lived, listening to Depeche Mode at top volume without a care in the world. And then we’d have to go home. I still had school, I still worked in the deli of the grocery store. Mack would tear off and I’d watch him from the driveway of my parents house and marvel at him.
One day after graduation I was at the mall buying a Doors CD and I ran into Mack. He was wearing a suit and tie and he looked quite conservative. It wasn’t the usual knee length jeans and Cure t-shirt I was used to. He was embarassed but he kept up his charachter. He said, “I’m looking for jobs, and everybody knows that when looking for jobs you have to put on the best appearances.” I said, “Fuck that, you look like somebody at my father’s office.” He gave a slight grimmace and replied calmly, “You’re too young, you’ll understand in time.” He knew right where to slay me. I shut up after that. I was always looking to be more mature than I was. It’s ironic, because now at age 33 I have to try hard to act as mature as I am.
We got together that day and he decided that his suit would help us get chicks. He told me quite seriously, “you know if we’re going to play lumberjack, you’re going to have to hold up your end of the saw?” I was certain I could and off we went.
Before we could go to the downtown area and pick up chicks we’d have to go to Mack’s house to get me better attired. So there we were looking through his closet trying to find the right clothes that looked cool and fit me. The problem then was the same as all throughout my life, I’m a big guy, and cool clothes never seem to fit me. We did find some things however, some amulets, a nifty vest, and we were satisfied that I would hold my own. We were about to leave on our escapade when Mack’s father came home. His presence alone burst the mytique of Mack’s bubble.
“James,” his father called. “James could you please be at my office at 4:30 to pick me up?”
Mack told his father that he’d be there and then his father, without even noticing me at all started to berate his son on his lack of entusiasm in looking for jobs. He was stern and reproachful about his future saying, “if you want a car as cool as mine you’ll have to work much harder than you are.”
Mack listened quietly and uttered only positive responses. When we finally got out of there I asked, “James? What was that all about?”
“Shut up and get in.” Is all he said.
We drove around and got high and it was a good time but we never found any chicks that day. We did pick up his father at 4:30 and his father drove us home. In his father’s presence Mack was only a shadow, and I had lost the novelty of his friendship. I guess I could have hung out with him more but, as I said in the beginning, Mack was conceited, he was a sexist, he was a spindly little man without much muscle, and besides his name wasn’t even really Mack. Within the month I had fallen in love with a girl and there was no more time to drive with reckless abandon through residential streets listening to Depeche Mode at top volume, but I sure do miss it now.

The Future?

So one of the great things about being a parent is you get to play with toys. Sometimes when Kirk and I are in the toy aisle I'll be begging him to beg me for a particular item, just because I want to play with it. I keep telling him, "We can't properly play crash the lowrider into the fire truck without a police car." I'm getting tired of pretending some old lego car is a police car.

Anyway this also applies to books. I have truly enjoyed visiting some of the lost treasures of my youth. I love reading Dr. Suess, and there are a lot of great new childrens books out there. One author in particular, Jarreett J. Krosozka, is very popular in our house. His books include Bubble Bath Pirates, and the ever rocking Punk Farm series. Punk Farm is a rock band consisting of four farm animals. They seem to have a pretty big following. I'm always reading too far between the lines in childrens literature. Punk Farm for example have a pig for a guitar player and a sheep for a lead singer and I'm always telling Kirk that those two seem like arrogant jerks to me. They always ride in the front seat of the tour van while the goat bass player who does all the work by the way, always rides in back. Pig and Sheep are always complaining, while Goat takes everything in stride. It's a common band dynamic I suppose. Kirk ignores me when I go on about things like this, and still says Pig is his favorite.

When I was growing up I liked the Berenstain Bears. Now there are lots of books and movies taking place in the Berenstain Bear world. So I got to thinking. If the world is populated by Bears, what happened to the humans? Now I've noticed other animals in their world, such as dogs, horses, bee's, fish. These are all earth animals, so I am certain they live here on earth and it's not an alien world with bear like creatures. I figure it has to be earth approximately 20 to 50 million years into the future. It has to be far enough in the future for bears to evolve into sentient creatures and to develop a high tech civilization. Far enough for our own human society to be buried deep into the fossil record. Then I wonder, since the Berenstain Bears drive cars that appear to be internal combustion propelled, is the oil they use for fuel the remnants of us? Do their gas stations show little silhouettes of sapiens on the signs? Of course it might be some kind of mutation, and the bear world we see is just a reservation for bear culture say 100 years from now, and all their technology is borrowed from us. Anyway it makes one think. Or maybe just me.

Mercurial Rage interview

Hello all. My band Mercurial Rage was written up in Score Magazine. It's a fun and informative article which I think you should check out. The new album, er record, (I'm old I always want to call everything an album or a record), our CD will be released on June 7th. You can buy it from our label mplsltd, CD Baby, or just download it digitally from Itunes, or steal it from the Russians. I don't mind which avenue you pursue, but please check it out. You can hear a good sampling of our material from our myspace page. I don't mean to be all self promotions guy...well, actually yes I do. I've worked hard on this project and I want to share it with as many folks as possible. Thank you.

Omnibus Old Days-My Perspective (silky tie guy and other stories)

So back in good old 1994 Jonny and I were rocking hard in a band called Deep Shag. My wife, oops, she was my girlfriend then, Belsum and I lived in the apartment upstairs from him and his wife. They had cable before we did, so I often went down there just to watch MTV, back when it was still fun to watch MTV. The State was one of the shows playing then. "I'm gonna dip my balls in it." Kurt Cobain suicide news was on the forefront and we felt we were in the midst of the next great rock revolution. Jon wrote songs in his closet. I wrote basslines in that closet with him. Every week or two we would climb into my 1966 Mercury Park Lane (awesomely wonderful car that) and drive into the suburbs to visit Doug Drealer, where we would buy marijuana. Those were good times.
We got high a lot. Sometimes after listening to too much Cypress Hill, we would try to deliver full on pot lyrics to the band. Thankfully Lisa wouldn't have it. One time I tried to drink myself sober with tequila. A feat I attained accidentally a few months prior. It didn't work again. We were watching Star Trek next generation, and I got so fucked up and delirious that I asked Belsum to stab me with a fork. "Goddamnit I'm a Klingon! Stab me!"
Anyway Deep Shag was starting to play a lot of gigs and everywhere we went there was this guy not dressed in the grunge kit you saw often then, nor in the mod outfits still popular in the day, but he wore salesman slacks, a button down white shirt and he had on a silky tie. We named him silky tie guy. He was one of those folks who instead of being in a band decided he wanted to manage bands, but was still young and inexperienced. He was actually sweet but we couldn't help making fun of him. One time Jon and I were in the main room bar singing, "No more silky tie guy, silky tie guy sucks" over and over. But the thing is silky tie guy and us were all just young stupid kids trying to make our way into the music biz.
The best story is when I received a phone message where some kid was trying to say he was from the "trademark commission". The call stated basically that Deep Shag was a copywrited name and that we needed to stop using it immediately. Stoners that we were Jon and I have never even seen a turnip truck. We saw the scam immediately. As it turned out there was a band billed as Deep Shag set to play the main room of First Avenue for some new band thing or something. We knew that we didn't book the show and we were curious. After we got the message we put two and two together. (actually Jon and I were freaking out and hiding behind the couch waiting for government thugs to come crashing in the windows at any time--pot) But Lisa took control and confronted the other Deep Shag. As it turns out she met one of them at a party and told him about her band, he was so drunk that he thought he thought of the name himself. Then when they realized there was another Deep Shag in town they decided to pretend they were the government. Does any of this make sense? Anyhow Lisa Made them change their name and she got us tickets to their show. Oh God. They were a bad cover band. The drummer was the singer. EWW! Yay Lisa Parker!

Fashionistas

So I fell asleep with wet hair. This is how I looked in the morning. I figured some people take great pains for a look this stellar, so I rode with it, and I got a lot of good laughter and compliments all day. Anyway I may have passed my superb sense of style down to the next generation. I tried to get Kirk to change himself and this is the ensemble he came up with. It's a stylish pull up diaper "helmet" with sweat pants on the arms. Very chic to the 2 year old crowd. And now just to em-bare-ass him, (are puns okay in blogging? I'm new).

Lunar 9 on myspace

Hello dear readers. As you may or might not know, Jonny of the Hatesexy blog among various other entities, and I used to be in a supremely awesome powerpop band in the 1990's. I can say that modestly because despite our abilities to rock and our popular appeal we were never able to put out a release. I am currently working on putting all our archives on myspace. The band is called Lunar 9 and you can get to it from my links over there on the right. After all these years I believe we deserve a second glance. Please visit and become our friends and let us know what you think.

-chill

lazy lawn care

It's been a late spring. Last year I picked lilacs for mothers day and this year they aren't yet in bloom. Of course for lazy folk like me late spring means I can put off mowing longer too. I like that. Of course I'm lazy year round so I stop mowing in the fall (er, or like late summer) way before everyone else in the neighborhood. Which means as soon as the snow melts my yard is already in dire need of a mow. Well I finally broke down and mowed today. Here is what it looked like before. Notice Kirk is drowning in the grass and weeds that make up my yard.
I am sometimes ashamed that I have the stupidest lawn on my block. Even the crazy crack head across the street is better at yardwork than me. Of course he gets all strung out and can be found planting things at 3 in the morning. Usually with no shirt on. Oh I can tell stories about that guy. And later I will.
Anyway Kirk loves "helping" me mow. Heh, just wait a few years and he'll hate it I'm sure. When he has to do it all the time.
After mowing we drew on the sidewalk for awhile. This is one of Kirk's new favorite things. Of course I have to do all the drawing. He wanted me to draw him and me and our house "with lightsabers". It was his request. If you are nerdy enough you will notice my lightsaber is red. Ha! Go Zahn! Anyway it was a good evening all in all.

Growing up 70's. (The first in a series)

*Disclaimer*
First of all the problem with having an honest, open blog is that my mother will eventually find it, and she isn't going to be too happy with some of the things I have to say about my childhood. She looks at child rearing through grandma eyes and is somewhat hurt and in denial when my brother and I tell some of the stories that are to follow. I just want to say to my mother and father both that I love you, and I'm not scarred from my childhood at all. I had a wonderful time in the 70's and these stories are meant to be taken in a spirit of fun and fond memory. Although I am somewhat scarred by my excessive drinking, which being genetic, is all your fault.

I not only grew up in the 70's, but I grew up in the 70's in South Dakota. Things were different then. Since it was in South Dakota it was even more old school than say growing up in Minnesota or California. I would say just being in South Dakota made it seem more like a 50's childhood. The 50's with disco. Kids back then ran around the neighborhoods with free rein, and almost entirely without supervision. Once and a while some old lady would chase you off her yard with a broom, but that was about it. Teenagers would build pipe bombs in their garages and no one thought it was strange or anti-social at all. It was all just the normal part of growing up. There was always an office bottle to be found in the desk drawer at my fathers work and I recall many an evening playing with my dad's stapler as my parents and my father's coworkers and their wives drank booze, and laughed and smoked in the next room. Good times.

It was the summer of 1977, I had just turned 5. My parents took me to see Star Wars on my birthday. My favorite present was this big collared lime green button down shirt. I had been eyeing it at the JC Penney for quite some time. My birthday parties usually consisted of my parents inviting a bunch of their friends over for cocktails and lots and lots of cigarettes, and they would give me presents. It was awesome. I never cared that I didn't have little kid parties, I didn't know any better, and besides I was a precocious little runt who liked to give the adults a hard time. I suppose I was all manner of adorable. My dad had a young co-worker named John, a fellow salesman, who neglected to bring a present. So my dad trained me to call him Damn Fool which I did, for years. Damn Fool gave me a dollar, and I thought that was pretty cool. After opening all the presents my brother and I went outside to play as the adults continued to drink and smoke.

After a time outside doing kid things my mother called down to us from the apartment balcony and gave us 2 dollars and told us to go fetch more smokes. She said, "Get me a pack of Nows, and get your father a pack of Marlboros. You can spend the change on candy." Yay! Oh boy candy. Back then for 2 dollars you could get a couple packs of smokes and have plenty left over for Lollies and Fun Dip. So we scampered off a few blocks to the gas station. My older brother was 7 so he got to carry the money. We made it to the store and put the money on the counter. The stoners behind the counter (basically the same folks in gas station stores today) were listening to the radio. It was the year of Saturday Night Fever, so you couldn't go anywhere without hearing the Bee Gees. Good Times. Anyway money on counter my brother asks for a pack of Nows and a pack of Marbles. The stoners burst into laughter. "Marbles! That's cute kid." And then he gave us our smokes and our change. Which we then greedily divided and went candy shopping.

I loved growing up 70's. No helmets, heck no seat belts! We didn't even know our car had seat belts. One time my dad was fixing something on our 1968 Poniac, and he removed the backseat for some reason. We could see seat belts lying there all dusty from non use. My brother and I begged him to let us keep them out when he put the seat back in. It would be something new to play with, but he wouldn't have it. It just wasn't done. Oh and there were ashtrays on every door, so my brother and I each had our own. Mine was full of rocks and other various treasures I had picked up along the way. One time my grandma rode with us in the back seat and she used my ashtray as an ashtray, and I got all pissed off and cried about it, and my old man yelled at me, but a 70's smoking grandma was still a grandma, she cleaned it up for me and threw her smokes out of the window instead.

A couple of months ago my wife and I took our 2.5 year old son to the doctor because people were telling us he sometimes looks cross eyed. I didn't really see it much, but hey I'm a parent, we got the kid checked out. The doctor told us not to worry and that his eyes seem off sometimes because of his oddly shaped head. His head is slightly flat in the back on one side. It comes from the new method of making your babies sleep on their backs to prevent SIDS or what was once called cribdeath. Apparently the flat head is quite common these days. She told us that it would correct itself by the time he is 5 or so. In the 70's we were put to sleep on our tummies and we didn't get flat heads, and some say we all learned to sit up and crawl faster than kids today too, because we were forced to try to get off our bellies. Nowadays we set up special routines called "tummy time" to get the kids to learn to sit up. The problem is some kids hate tummy time. It got me thinking. So I called my mom and told her that the doctor told us his eye problem was due to him not having enough 70's in his life. I then went on to say that as treatment we let him ride shotgun on the way home from the doctors office with no seatbelt as we chain smoked with all the windows rolled up. Should just about do the trick. She didn't think I was very funny.

That's it for now y'all. Stay tuned for more fun stories about growing up 70's.

Mercurial Rage

I have to promote my current projects. Mercurial Rage has a new CD coming out on June 7th, 2008 under the local label MPLSLTD. Here is a video from our last release. I'm the dashing young gent in the red tie in the party scene. In the live performance scene I am the guy with the mutton chops. The 19th century dandy playing the bass. Chester Arthur would be proud, except I always get the impression that I'm in a waiters outfit.

I am a real person-I think

Hi. I have never made a blog before. Well that isn't entirely true. I have set up some blogs, but they were always under assumed identities. Every other time I have tried this I was just playing a game, trying to create a character, or pranking my friends. I decided maybe it's time to start being me. I've never tried that before. It might be fun. 

My name is Chris Hill. I am in a band called Mercurial Rage where I perform under the pseudonym Christopher Church. I am running a write in campaign for President of the United States as the candidate for the Space Party. More on that later. I guess I'm looking for ways to say things without actually having it be me who says them. Which is odd since in my everyday life I say the most offensive things all the time. I've always got my foot in my mouth. Maybe that's why I hide behind the characters I create. Or maybe I'm slightly crazy. Or maybe I'm just trying to be creative. It's probably all of the above. Hopefully I can use this forum to sort out all the frell, fracking up my brain. Did I mention that I am a geek?