Ad Dad

Saturday in the ER

2011-11-20T01:03:00.001-08:00

I took my son to a birthday party at a bowling alley. The kids were doing their bad bowling with the bumpers up, and I threw a couple balls myself. We were just waiting for the party to get started. Kirk was having fun bowling and just being a kid. I talked briefly to a couple of the other parents, but I had my eye on the bar. It didn’t seem to be open yet, but I was wondering how soon I could get myself one of those Millers Lites.

I was considering leaving for a while. I could sneak out and do some shopping or something and come back after all the cake was eaten. But it was a Saturday afternoon, and I was a bit hungover, and in no hurry to do much of anything. There was a college football game on one of the TVs and I had just started to get into that. The Gophers were playing a team with an N. That was as much as I knew. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the other team, they were the enemy, and they were winning. So there I was, a dad at a birthday party, in a bowling alley, watching college football and cringing every time the N team made another first down, when suddenly my little boy came running up to me crying.

As a parent this happens all the time. Kids come running up crying. Usually it amounts to nothing. Sometimes it takes a boo boo kiss, or just a little holding. He was pointing at his butt and I figured he had fallen after throwing the bowling ball badly. I was at a low level of concern, because this seemed like a quick fix, until he turned around and showed me the real problem.

There was a 5-inch piece of wood, a splinter hanging from his bottom. It was poking into his pants. I didn’t know what to think. I simply pulled on it and it came out in my hands. I looked at it, and I realized things might be bad. I figured he had scooted on the floor and a piece of wood had splintered and stabbed his bottom, but I couldn’t se how badly it had poked him. I was sure it had broken the skin a little, but I needed to check it out more. I rushed him to the men’s room, stood him on the sink, and pulled his pants down. I saw underneath the stall that a dude was pooping in there. Kirk was screaming. I was trying to calm him while I pulled down his underwear and looked at his butt. I saw immediately that there was about 4 inches of splintered wood buried deep into the flesh of his buttock.

The pooper flushed and walked past us. Kirk was screaming as I tried to get a hold of the splinter, thinking I could pull it out. The decision came upon me suddenly. It was time to go to the hospital. Quickly.

I grabbed him in my arms and rushed back to the party. People there were in shock as I said, “We’re going to the hospital, now!”

I had to take off my bowling shoes and put my street shoes back on. I yanked Kirks bowling shoes off and grabbed his coat and shoes and went straight to the car. I wondered where to put him. With a big stick in his butt it seemed cruel to make him sit in his car seat, but I could see no other way. I strapped him in and we were off.

The hospital was close thankfully. I knew where it was. He had been born there. Kirk was crying and he said, “This was supposed to be fun.”
“I know buddy, I’m sorry.” I told him. And I was trying to make him feel at ease by telling him the doctors would have the right tools and medicines to get the splinter out and take away the pain. I was trying to calm him with reason, as I was completely freaked out. I blew through some stop signs, I sped and disregarded the law in the safest way I could to get him there as quickly as possible.

“I can’t take this.” He screamed over and over. I found out later that he was using his arms and legs to keep his butt off the seat. He was becoming exhausted from the effort.

I parked and carried him in. He was still in his stocking feet. I admitted him and thankfully we were put in a room fairly quickly. I had forgotten my phone that morning, because I had left it to charge, so I used the hospital phones to try to get a hold of his mother who was napping with our daughter.

The events of the day were crazy, fast, and surreal, and so much happened that would have been awesome to document with pictures and video, or even sharing on social media, but there I was without my phone, as if I were stranded in the 20th century with no way to document the experience. I felt naked. And alone.

Soon he was on his tummy with a topical pain-killer on the wound watching cartoons as the doctors figured out a way to got the thing out. The official procedure was called “removal of a foreign body.” There was a giant stick in his butt. It needed removing.

I finally got a hold of his mother, and she was at home, helpless, and in a panic as well. His two year old sister upon hearing that he had an owie in his butt said he needed butt medicine. This made us all laugh. Even Kirk.

The doctor wasn’t sure it would be easy to get out just by pulling it. She was afraid they would have to make incisions, so it was decided to put him under full sedation, so they could get the job done right. This was in essence, surgery.

So they had to prep him and put in a IV for the anesthesia. I had to lay on the bed with him and spoon him to keep him calm as they did this. I have to say the one good thing for me in all of this were the snuggles. I got a lot of good hugs from my boy during all of the trauma.

He loved the part where they drove his bed from the first ER room to the surgery room. It was a bit of fun that I was happy to help him get excited about. How often do you get to drive your bed? He loved it, and was having fun.

Once in the surgical room it became very real, and chaotic. There was the doctor and the nurse, and the triage nurse, the anesthesiologist, and his nurse, and a student observer. I had to sign scores of release forms. Once he was out, they made me go to a waiting room where I called his mother. I was worried. It was a simple thing, but it seemed very serious.

Thankfully it was done in minutes. There were no problems. It came out in two pieces fairly easy. No stitches necessary. I smiled at him but he was fully drugged and groggy. He barely could tell it was me. I said to him, “buddy, it’s all over. You did great. They don’t need to put you in a Darth Vader suit after all.”

Then we had to wait for a while until all the drugs worked their way through. He started to panic and cry. He was disorientated. He begged to go home. So I held him. It was difficult to hold him because I didn’t want to mess with the new bandages, and he was hooked to several different machines. He was in a hospital gown with 5 cords attached to his chest, an arm cuff, and one of those finger things that measures oxygen.

As I held him he got nauseous and threw up. They gave him more drugs in his IV for that and then we waited. After a while they tried to see if he could stand and walk, but he stumbled into things like his daddy after a night of bourbon. So we waited longer.

As he gained lucidity he grew inpatient with all of the chords attached to him. I explained what they were all for as best I could and showed him what they were showing on the monitors. He asked what the blue one on the monitor meant. I told him I thought it was to measure his breathing. The reading was 100. He then started to breath faster. We could see the line moving a little but it still read 100. He asked me if the number would ever change. So I told him to hold his breath. He did, and the number dropped to 99, then 98. Then I freaked out and told him to breathe normally. It went back to 100. We both laughed at our little game, but I felt bad that I was screwing around with his biometrics so soon after he just had anesthesia.

Then the doctor came in with a whole bunch of cheap plastic toys from China. He loved them. I have to mention here that while we were in the first triage room, when I took off his pants, I found a lego man in his pocket. It was Will Turner from Pirates of the Caribbean, which he had brought with him to the party. I gave it to him and he held it through the entire procedure. It was his totem object.

Finally we were able to unhook him and put his clothes back on. It was dark out and it had snowed a lot by the time we got outside. It was our first snow of the season. I had to carry him, since he still had no shoes. We stopped at White Castle at his request on the way home so he could enjoy some “deliciously awesome chicken rings.”

Suddenly he was back to his old self. His mom hugged the crap out of him when we finally showed up, and his sister didn’t pay any attention at all. It was normal. It was strange to have it all be so suddenly normal after such a weird day.

When Kirk is asked why he was scooting his butt on the floor at the bowling alley he says, “I was just being a kid.” This is true. Whew. I am tired. What a day.

Boom Box

2011-05-17T07:53:00.001-07:00

I miss the boom box. It was never the same after the advent and proliferation of CD’s. Boom boxes worked best with FM radio and cassettes. Cassettes were the shit really. A completely useful technology. Cassettes never skipped while you worked out, walked, or held them. Ipods didn’t replace CD’s. We still use CD’s sometimes to put our music onto our ipods. Ipods replaced cassettes. Ipods became the ultimate mix tape. And actually a little soul was taken out with the advent of the playlist. Sometimes the two minute song you planned to be at the end of your mixtape was perfect even though it got cut off anyway. CD’s can’t brag at replacing cassettes though. CD’s have merely become vessels of memory. And not the most efficient ones either. Once terabytes of memory are transferred via a thumbdrive CD’s will go the way of the 8-track.
Boom boxes boomed. Ghetto blasters! To be worn on the shoulder as to get the music evenly distributed directly into your earhole. Countless decibels of noise pollution to be heard by every one within a city block. Some square marketing professional in a suit would hear it and listen obsequiously (must never make eye contact with people on the street) and he would head into a record store on his way home. He would enter the dark shop filled with rock posters, t-shirts, bottons, stickers, magazines, and depending on your location and current laws even pot paraphenilia. The square wouldn’t be frightened in this non suit wearing smoky environment. This would have been like in the early 80’s. He would have been to plenty of record stores before. He would most likely light a smoke and start browsing the racks. He would be searching mainly in vinyl. He might consider a cassette if the walkman was invented yet. But our square is looking for the song he heard on the street during his morning commute. He finds Funky Town easily enough on a point of sale end cap near the front of the store. “My kids are going to love this.” He muses. Then he remembers he couldn’t find that little dealy bob that goes on the turntable so you can play 45’s. He buys one of those too. He pays in cash. Cash he got from writing a check for over the amount at the liquor store the previous evening. Robot tellers weren’t in use in his time.
Nowadays we don’t go into record stores anymore. We would just download Funky Town. I’m downloading it now.

Agency Life-so far

2011-02-22T22:52:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to one of my favorite art directors, Meagan Tosch. She alone (out of many) graduated with me, and she too has just begun her career. The following is an email I intended to write to her, but soon realized was too long. Enjoy!

Poop! Two days down. Your career has officially begun. I'm actually jealous because my job is still temporary. Though it has been amazing here, there are starting to be things about it that have reduced my level of extreme elation. Don't get me wrong, I am supremely fortunate to have landed this gig. I am getting a crash course in agency life, which include the perks, and the pitfalls.

I worked 21 hours this weekend editing video. Sure I spent some time playing Xbox, and I did drink a bunch of whiskey, but the fact of the matter is that I was away from my family all weekend. (Except for the two hours where they visited me. Kirk played lego Batman and Ronnie loved jumping into the giant bean bags) But I was mostly away. This is time I won't get paid for. Which is fine. A deadline is a deadline, and you do what you have to. That is true agency experience.

When we finally showed our work on Monday morning people seemed to like it. It was great. We at least met and possibly exceeded expectations. Still we were continually hassled to get it into a presentable form for the client. We did that. Then the client came back with suggestions. Ha! You know what's coming next. They want more of the boring bullshit that sucks and a little less of the awesome creative stuff that is well, awesome. But its not that bad, the fixes are pretty easy and shouldn't take too long, and at least they didn't piss all over our entire concept. Right?

Still the quick fixes are fine if we have time to work on them, but we keep getting new junk to do on other things, and people are wondering what is taking so long on some of the previous projects we had been working on. The CD laughed when I talked to him about it over a beer. He laughed because he loves the fact that we as interns are truly getting the feel of agency life because that was the goal all along.

I did voice over work today. I sat in a room with the other copywriters and read lines to be put on a flash animation presentation to the client's vendors. It was cool. But while I was in the edit room with them they started to bitch about things. Three weeks ago these were the two people I interviewed with. These are the two people who I was frightened of, and now I am just one of the boys who gets to be in on the gossip. I loved it. I loved it because it was real life experience the type you can't get in school.

This email is too long. It should be a blog post. Sorry. I just need a sounding board to get this stuff out. I absolutely love this job. It's amazing, but I'm starting to see how working in advertising is a job, and not just the fantasy I had while in school. I knew it would be like this, but I now know how it really feels. There are times when I have no work to do and I'm looking for an assignment so I don't seem like a lazy douche intern, and then the next second I will be inundated with work which will make me have to miss my bus and have no chance to have supper with my family. And it's way worse for the designer. Everyone wants to drop work on his lap so he can do flash animation, make a powerpoint look good, or just photoshop products in different colors. Production slave. At least he's useful. I don't know how to use most programs, so I feel like I don't have as much to offer.

Anyway. This career in my experience is totally fun, awesome, and worth all the time we put into getting here. But it is still a job. I would love to stay where I am because I don't have the energy to go looking for another gig, and I think this agency has a lot going for it. Looking for work sucks. Still I have to keep on top of my game. I have to keep networking and showing my portfolio anywhere I can.

I'm sure we will have lots and lots and lots of these experiences to share in the ensuing decades as we build our careers. Lets stay in touch. Who knows, maybe we will work together again sometime. Lets do it somewhere fun though. My family would love to spend time in England.

Love,

CHill

Lazy Blogger/I got a job in advertising

2011-02-11T20:33:00.000-08:00

I have been bad. When I quit my cube job to become a stay at home dad I was under the strange delusion that I would have so much more time to document my life in blog form. I soon discovered that being at home did not mean I would have lots of extra time to do my own thing. The primary role of the stay at home dad is...well, being a dad. Those kids demanded a lot of my time. It was fun. We had great times. Lots of visits to parks, and trips to gymnastics, bike rides to the bowling alley. We had a ball. Throughout it all I still had to go to school, and actually try to get my career off the ground. Time ticked away, and my blog suffered.

Now it has been more than a year since I began that phase of my life, and I am beginning a new one. School for me is over. My portfolio is ready to show. Kirk is in Kindergarten, and we have just put Ronnie back into daycare. This all has been part of the plan all along. As for my career, the intention was that at this point I would either get a job in advertising or go back to temping until I found a job in advertising.

The best part is that I got a job in advertising! And thank god for that. I was fretting about it. I was out showing my book to whoever would look at it, visiting various agencies, meeting with every contact I have ever come across in the past two years trying to drum up something. I was scared. Ronnie had a place in daycare waiting for her. I needed to get work somewhere in order to pay for it. As a family we had been going into the red every month for longer than I would like to admit, and the credit was running out. We were in a pinch. Something had to break. It broke. I felt like a man diving into a tank of sharks who instead of being ripped apart at impact suddenly found himself swimming with dolphins. Or maybe mermaids.

With almost perfect timing I was asked to come in to interview for an internship position at an agency I had applied to while still in school. I had my wife's parents look after the kids so I could go to the interview. I troubled myself over what to wear. I knew I shouldn't show up in a full suit, because ad peeps aren't like that anymore, but I wanted to show respect for the interview. I ended up wearing new jeans I bought for the occasion, a simple button up shirt, and my chuck taylors. I threw on a suit jacket as an offering of respect. I have heard horror stories of people showing up overdressed for ad gigs, and I didn't want to be the next.

Before arriving to the interview I was terrified. The shop I was going into does a lot of digital work, and my book is mostly traditional print media. I practiced the night before by familiarizing myself with all of their clients. I came up with questions they might ask and practiced answers I might give. I was also hoping they wouldn't think I was too old. Not because I think I am too old, or that I have ever heard of that being a problem in this business, but because I was scared, and realized that I might not be as enthusiastic about "revolutionizing the industry" as someone in their 20's might do. I went into the convenience store and bought a 5 hour energy drink before I went in. I figured the dose of vitamins would get me to 25 year old levels of enthusiasm at least.

When I got off the elevator and saw the agencies' sign all I said to myself was, "groovy." The space was at the top floor of a hundred year old building right in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. It was open, spacious, well lighted from every angle by large windows and skylights, and there were stylish benches near the windows for me to sit on while I waited. I very much dug it there. I had been to lots of agencies in Minneapolis, Chicago, and LA. I like ad agencies because they set out for a visual aesthetic. It's one of the reasons I want to be there and not in a regular corporate cube farm. When I was still working at Wells Fargo while going to school, I would sometimes have class in the teacher's agency, and I was always jealous first at how much more the actual space was designed for awesomeness than regular cube jobs, and second by the fact that there were always free sodas and beers in the fridge.

When I went into this interview I was thinking I had a small chance at maybe getting the gig, but once I actually sat down with the copywriters who were interviewing me, I suddenly felt like I was already the guy they wanted. It was amazing. When I think back on it, this was my first real interview that had a job on the other side of it. I have been to tons of informational interviews, or portfolio reviews, but this was the first real job interview in advertising I had ever had. I had my book ready to show, but it never came up. They had already seen my work and my resume, and they just wanted to get a bead on who I was, and if I could be someone to work with for three months. One of the copywriters had done driving jobs just like I had. He also played bass, just like me. He too wanted to write comics. The other copywriter was older, and had spent time as a stay at home dad. He too got into this business later in life and felt that writers need a strong background in life. Both of them found my experience in rock and roll to be an asset.

I was completely at ease for the entire interview. I almost felt like the job was mine. I got the tour of the agency and it was everything I always love about ad agencies. Kiss pinball, ping-pong, booze, nice furniture, places to work that are hip, fun, and functional. Everything about the place was great. The fact that I had no experience in digital didn't matter. They liked my portfolio as it was and assured me that new media solutions could be taught. I was on top of the world.

It must be noted that while I was touring the agency, I took time out to call my attorney. I called him because his office is across the street from where I was. He could see me from his office waving at him. He said, "You have to get this gig, so we can have lunches together." This was perfect. If I was in charge, I would have said, "Yes, I'll take this job."

It was all too good. I had to wait 2 days for an answer, and the amount of anxiety and second guessing that went on during that period could fill volumes. This was the perfect gig for me. It was perfect for my family. It was perfect in every way. It was only a three month paid internship, but it was a job in advertising. You need to remember that I was also trying to get jobs through the temp agencies. I had been to their offices recently, wearing a suit, tie, and uncomfortably nice shoes. I took tests. They were ready to put me back to work at Wells Fargo as a temp for the same amount of money that the internship provided. I waited and worried.

Then happiness burst into my world. It was like the birth of a new child. I got the job. I wanted to scream my elation from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know. My mom, dad, and brother all got calls. I was so happy, yet I was a little worried about telling some of my school peers. I didn't want to come off douchey, but I still wanted them to know I had made it into an agency.

I managed to get a job in advertising. For three months at least. It is a great opportunity. It is up to me to make it pay off. I feel that my career is finally off the ground. I am ready to become Chris Hill-copywriter. My excitement and happiness at this point is a state I need to ride, like a surfer. I may crash, but I may also ride that wave to a future I haven't yet dreamed of.

Now for the hard part. Agency life?

Hipster, poser,or lazy slob?

2010-06-04T23:51:00.000-07:00

When you look at me you will see a 37 year old dad with messy hair, an unshaven face, worn out checkered Vans, and an argyle cardigan. The thing about my look is I never really tried to cultivate it, it just sort of happened. Don't get me wrong, I'm as vain as the next douche walking down the street. I have tried in the past, very unsuccessfully, to create a "look" for myself, but in the end I just got lazy and fell into what feels right for me. Which is cool I guess. The problem is that currently my look is considered to be contrived hipster. I don't mind being mistaken for a hipster, but I do mind being mistaken for a poser.

Lets break this down shall we? I have been snugly cardiganed for my entire adult life. I live in a cold climate. I like cardigans. It's as simple as that.

Next there is my messy hair. I tried forever in my life not to have messy hair. Then I got tired of it. Suddenly my failure to use a comb becomes the fashion forward look. (I said suddenly, but the messy hair thing has been going on for some time now. I'm old, remember?)

My stubble is not me trying to show my gritty side. My beard is merely the result of my baby face. For years I could not grow a decent beard if I tried. When I was younger, this bothered me a lot, gave my insecurity, made it hard to sneak into clubs underage, etc. But eventually, somewhere in my 30's my beard began to sprout. The thing is, I was used to shaving once a fortnight. That kind of habit is hard to break. I still shave as often as I have my entire adult life. Only now, I look like Don Johnson or something. (Kids, you can Wiki Don Johnson if you need to. I wore a jacket like his to class pictures in 9th grade. One of my only true regrets in life.)

Then there are the old checkered Vans. I have to admit, I bought my first Vans in 2001 so I could be like Spicoli. I used to see older kids wearing them in the 80's and I thought they were so cool. In 2001 it was hard to find them. I looked all over hell, and once I had them, they were suddenly everywhere. This happens to me a lot. I choose a fashion accessory, have a hard time finding it, and within the year it is in Target. I think I'm being followed by the big brother of fashion or something. I have worn the Vans since 2001. I wear them out and buy a fresh pair every 9 months or so. They get very worn looking, and people often remark how awesome it is that I still have vintage Vans from the 80's.

So my current look is poser hipster. Oh well, in 5 years trends will change and I'll still be doing what I do. Fashion trends tend to come and go and sometimes I look withit, gear, fab, and other times I look like a lame asshole. But the timing for my current hipster look is good. I am in school with people much younger than I and looking trendy helps me to blend in, until I start talking about breast pumps, poopy diapers, The Berenstain Bears, or the wonderful aspects of Goldfish crackers. Most people don't think I am as old as I am. I've always had the baby face too. It bothered me a lot back when I was 20, but now its a good thing.

There is one thing that always makes me look old. My pants are too wide. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, wear skinny jeans. FUCK! Never. But someday the loose fit will come back too, and I'll be cool all over again. Of course by then all this grey hair will be a dead give-away. Oh well.

Portfolio Night 2010. One man’s story of the LA contingent.

2010-05-27T00:16:00.000-07:00

There were terrible hours the day before departure. One word was incorrect in a comp. As the copywriter I should have noticed it much earlier, and in fact I had, yet I found it to be too silly to go unnoticed by any art director worth their salt. Still, the mistake was purely mine. It came from my original document. Always proof read! Always!

I had the mistake corrected by one of my own contingent. Then I was off to the printer in a feverish frenzy to get my book together before I had to deal with the vicissitudes of life that an Ad Dad has to endure.

On the morning of Portfolio Night I awoke as usual and dressed my kids. I fed them breakfast and even spent some time in blissful cuddling. Then I drove my son to his pre-kindergarten class. He has gone every Thursday since the beginning of the year, but today was his last class. I would have to be back in an hour and a half for his “graduation” ceremony. I took the time in between to go to the bank, and to buy new headphones to enjoy music on my flight to Los Angeles. I wanted to buy new checkered Vans for the occasion since mine were badly worn, but I didn’t have the time. I buy new Vans every year, but I figured I could rely on the idea that my old pair were “vintage” and get a pass on that.

I picked up my wife and we headed to the graduation. My son decided to not cooperate during the ceremony. In fact he had his hands stuffed deeply in his pants the entire time. I decided to not be unduly embarrassed. At the end of it we all went to a small concert given by a children’s performer. Then we raced home so I could make my final preparations for my flight to LA.

The flight went well. I saw many mountains and other interesting geological features from above. When we landed I turned on my phone and found out from a message that I had left my sons diploma at the school. I felt like a complete ass.

I left the airport with my bag strapped to my shoulder. I never check luggage. I walked outside and asked the first person I saw with and official badge which way Sepulveda Boulevard was. I should have printed a map. Or I should have taken a cab, but I thought I could get to the ad agency by walking. It was close. Real close. But my mistake was applying logic. I assumed Supulveda North would be north of Sepulveda regular. A fifteen minute walk and much questioning left me with a different answer. So then I backtracked and found myself growing increasingly late for the event which brought me to LA in the first place. I walked back to where I had been and then even farther. Suddenly I was confronted with a tunnel. A traffic tunnel. A car tunnel. An evil tunnel. I looked for a way around the tunnel but I was fenced in. I was late enough already and with growing anxiety I decided I couldn’t back track another mile. I KNEW my destination was at the end of that tunnel so I decided to go through even though there were clearly marked signs telling me not to.

I walked through that long tunnel with cars and trucks whizzing by. It was not fun. Halfway through it was made worse by the realization that my right arm was covered in a thick black soot. I trudged on. I prayed I would not be stopped by cops, or worse, flattened by an errant vehicle. If I was stopped by authorities I was prepared to play the “aw shucks” yokel card, and get a ride to my destination anyway. Eventually I made it out, and there was the building I needed. I walked inside and I could see people milling about the guard desk. I was too embarrassed in my black arm sooty stage to go forward, so I went toward a restroom. It was locked. Damn! I then proceeded to try to wash off my blackened arm in the drinking fountain. I made an insane mess on the floor. But thankfully I was not seen. I called my friend and was able to take my bags to his car. Then I checked in to the event and was finally able to clean myself of sufficiently in a bathroom. From there on the event went quite well.

The host agency was David and Goliath. They did the KIA ads with the hamsters. I have actually made fun of those ads before, still it was fun to poke around the place and see areas where the creatives do their work. I saw marker comps on the walls, and those primitive drawings reminded me of some of the work I have seen in ad school. It gave me hope for my future. It shows you can take pretty simple ideas and eventually have them produced into effective advertising.

The creative directors who looked at my portfolio had good things to say, and they had lots of constructive criticism. It was worth the trip for that alone. I also met with many young creatives (most way younger than I) like myself and shared stories. It’s fun to look at the work other people are producing, and it gives one an idea about the competition.

The event was well catered. I ate tons of little pork tacos, and drank more than my share of the open bar. Toward the end of the night I met the woman who ran the catering. She is a British ex-pat about my own age with whom I discussed the awesomeness that is Doctor Who.

That night I left with the other two students from Minneapolis. We drove in the rental car provided by my art directors mother toward the hotel room paid for by his grandfather. It’s good to have connections kids. I heartily thank his family for all they did for us during our stay.

The next morning we awoke early so we could tour some ad agencies and to hopefully have another chance to show our books. One thing I was worried about on coming to LA, was that it was going to be hot. I never know how to present myself in the warmer climes. I’m suited to the chill of the Midwest. My style is largely based around the fact that I will be wearing a cardigan. But to my surprise it was a chilly weekend in LA. I was overjoyed at the sudden realization of cardigan weather. It’s like the gods themselves wanted to make my stay comfortable. I should also mention that while I was there I never saw any poor people. Not really. Maybe some of the busboys were poor, I couldn’t tell because they were in uniform. The host agency was upscale. The hotel we stayed in was a mile from the beach in Santa Monica. The other agencies we visited were in good neighbourhoods. My art directors family lived in the Pacific Palisades. Actually to get from our hotel to their house we had to travel through Brentwood. Brentwood for those of you old enough to remember the 90’s, was the place where that football star murdered those people a while back. Later my trip included dining in the Hollywood Hills and being dropped off in Beverly Hills. You may hear on the news that California is bankrupt, but I never saw any indication of anything other than luxury.

Back to the story. The first agency we visited was Saatchi & Saatchi. In LA their main client is Toyota. One of the art directors I was travelling with had an actual job interview there, and we joined in on the tour of the agency. It was a fun place to visit. Part of the tour took us into a video editing room where I made fast friends with one of the employees over his toys. We talked Star Wars in genuine Nerdese until I was forced to continue the tour. Later we found a bunch of creatives in an alcove watching the original Clash of the Titans. They claimed they were doing “research” and I bet they really were. I thought to myself that this is defiantly the line of work for me. Don’t get me wrong, everybody we met also talked of long hours and the pressure to produce amazing work. Still I felt a kinship with those folks.

The next stop was Chiat Day. This agency was truly amazing. It was huge. They had a basketball court in the middle of the place. This is where the iconic 1984 Apple Ad that aired during the Superbowl was created. There were dogs everywhere. We were then taken to a meeting alcove and given the opportunity to show our books to a resident art director and a copywriter. It was kind of scary but still quite worthwhile. I recently saw a movie called Art and Copy. There were many scenes filmed right there in the same place where I showed my book. It’s the kind of place I would give up my cardigan wearing habits to work at.

Afterwards we went to the Pacific Palisades and visited my friend’s family. His grandparents took us out to eat. Then his uncle and cousin took us to a cool bar near the ocean. It was a great end to a productive day.

The next day I met an old friend of mine. She had moved to LA a couple of years ago to be a screenwriter, and then she won an Oscar. It was great to see her. She is preggers, so we got to talk about kids. We also talked about the latest Star Trek, writing, and the possibilities of my band playing in LA. It was great to see her. She took me to lunch at her club. She was afraid they wouldn’t let her in because she was not in fancy clothes, but rather comfortable pregnant clothes. I looked down at myself and noted my crusty old checkered Vans, my camouflage pants, my Han Solo t-shirt, and my well worn green argyle cardigan. I was worried I didn’t look right either and she laughed and said everyone would probably think I was a producer. I’m not sure where she took me, but it was a rooftop café snuggled within the Hollywood Hills. I would have been happy going to In and Out Burger, but this place was really amazing. The waiter treated me like royalty and I ordered every cocktail recommended. I was far away from my responsibilities so I was very elated to enjoy the moment to the fullest. Then she drove me to Beverly Hills where I was to meet up with the rest of my party. She felt guilty dropping me off half drunk in the middle of LA, but I assured her that Beverly Hills was probably the safest place to drop a half drunk person off. But I made her drop me off near a bar.

At the bar I learned my friends were trapped downtown on a shopping excursion. I drank a beer and decided that I didn’t care to play tourist in Beverly Hills. I asked the bartender how to get to Santa Monica, and she told me there was a bus just outside the bar that would get me there. Then she gave me the exact change for the fare. So within an hour of being in an exclusive club in the Hills with an academy award winner, I found myself on a bus heading towards the Santa Monica pier. The culture shock was palpable. The people on the bus were regular folks, workers, families, tourists on a shoestring, etc. Every ad on the bus seemed to be in Spanish too, which was okay since I can read Spanish. I arrived at Ocean Boulevard and got off the bus. I walked by street performers and headed to the water. The one downside to cardigan weather is that it really isn’t beach weather. I rolled up my pants and waded in the Pacific Ocean. It’s like a ritual pilgrimage of mine. Whenever I am close to an ocean I have to pay tribute. One time I paid that tribute to the Atlantic in Coney Island in November. That was a cold ocean.

That night our group went back to the pier and rode the Ferris Wheel. Then we headed back to the hotel and slept. The next morning we went to my friends grandparents house. His mother made us breakfast and we squeezed fresh orange juice from which we picked oranges off a tree in their backyard. After breakfast we shopped along Venice Beach. I bought a hat for my son that looks like and Indiana Jones hat. Then we were dropped off at the airport. When I arrived in Minneapolis it was hot. Cardigan weather was over and I took a 55 dollar cab ride home.

Being home was the best part of the trip. Travelling is wonderful, but holding my family is even better. I have never been much of an LA guy. It really hasn’t been a place I wanted to visit too badly, but I really had a great time there, and I want to return. Maybe someday I will work there and then I can feel the ocean breeze under the shade of a palm and have my family with me too. One can only dream. Though I would still miss the winter.

Lights, camera, action!

2009-12-07T23:18:00.000-08:00

When we were kids, or at least when I was a kid, the family camera was a sacred thing. You were not allowed to touch it. The camera was my moms domain and she kept it on a very high shelf. The idea of even taking 1 simple picture was a laughable offense. "Film costs too much," my mother would say. And that was that. It was made very clear to me at an early age that the camera was not a toy.

When I was ten I decided to buy my own camera. This was considered a weird undertaking for a kid back in 1982. But I just wanted to have the chance to take all the fun and silly pictures I had always dreamed of. I thought my pictures would tell stories and be worthy of praise to the highest degree. I imagined that I would be making movies in still life. I could recreate Star Wars with kodak film and some action figures.

My first roadblock was my parents. They thought I didn't need to spend my paper route money on a frivolous purchase. Why couldn't I save my money like my brother? My brother never spent any money as a kid. If he wanted Van Halen's 1984 he would simply convince me to buy it, then he would reap all the benefits. (there is a lesson there. Hmmm?) Anyway I convinced my parents that $39.99 was a good deal for a camera. It was a disc camera. In the early 80's it was the cool new thing because it was cheap and you didn't need to load the film. Just snap the disc in place and you were ready to go. Wow! Fucking technology!

I proceeded to take all sorts of silly photos. I still have many of them in a special album I made. Before and after shots of me with a BB gun and then me with a bloody ketchup stained forehead. My pictures were never as much fun as I imagined, mainly because I would take them and then I would have to wait to develop them, which cost money. Then of course more film cost more money. I quickly was distracted toward other things. What I really wanted was a polaroid. Instant pictures! If only I could afford it. Sigh.

Years later, in my 20's, I bought a Polaroid and took tons of fun pictures. I took them with the same enthusiasm I had when I was ten, but I could see my great pieces of art instantly. It was amazing! At this point in history disposable cameras were all the rage, so if my wife and I went on vacation we just bought a couple cameras, used them up, and had them developed.

So here we are. In the future. the magical year 2000 is in the past. Now we have digital cameras. You can take as many pictures as you like, and you can see them instantly. It blows my 10 year old mind. So when my 4 year old son asks me if he can take a picture, I hand the camera to him and say, "go nuts." Kirk took a bunch of pictures. Most of them were of his own fingers or the TV. We've come a long way baby.

Mr. Mom

2009-12-04T23:04:00.000-08:00

I survived my first full week as a stay at home dad, and I've got to tell you--It's the most awesomest thing ever!! All I do everyday is hang out with my kids. I feed them and watch cartoons, and sometimes we cuddle. It's the greatest. The other day I wanted to take a bath, and my 9 month old daughter just stood at the edge of the tub the entire time smiling at me. I had to keep giving her toys to bang around and drop in my bath, but that's not REAL work. After so much time at work under pressure and under stress and paying the high cost of daycare, I couldn't believe how happy such a simple joy could make me. I would rather be here doing this than anything else right now.

However as an ad student I am still working toward my eventual career. I did find that I don't really have much time to write with these kids bandying about, but I find that I don't care. I can write when their mother gets home. I am as a whole so much better suited to do this than anything I have ever done, however temporary it may be.

This week we brought Christmas into our home. Kirk and I had plenty of fun just setting up and decorating our tree. Then I built him a toy boat out of a tin can, a cork, a pencil, and a twig we found outside. He loves it.

The greatest thing was when I learned I could join the YMCA and get up to two hours of free daycare while I work out. This is good for daddy, and the kids get to socialize with other children. They love Mr. Mom at the Y, and I can have some time to myself to think about advertising ideas while I exercise and relax in a hot tub. The Y is cheap and I get a discount through our health insurance, which is paid for by breadwinner mama Belsum's salary.

I am looking for other daily activities for the kids, and plan to set up playdates with some parents I know. I am also working with Kirk to get him ready for kindergarten by teaching him to read and write, and to count to 100. Everytime he asks for a big boy thing, like being able to play with sharp knives, I tell him he can't until he can learns new things. It's working pretty good so far.

After a fun day of play and naps and learning I get supper ready for when mama comes home. Sometimes the kids help me cook. I take extra care to make sure the house is neat and tidy before she comes home, so when I leave for school she won't have to worry about those things. So far this has been the best job I have ever had, and with the daycare savings, it is far from the lowest paid job I've had.

My next step is to start organizing this house I live in. I have time, and I'm sure the kids will help in between being fed and snuggled. My mother was right, being a stay at home dad really is a full time job, but I never knew how much I would love it.

Cardigan

2009-11-18T00:28:00.000-08:00

I know I am old dammit!. I'm reminded every day by consorting with people who can't remember a time before the internet and those who find it funny that I call CD's "records." It's RECORDED music you idiots. It's made worse when I tell my "first time I did something stories" and it was in the year my subject was born. But I am not old. Even the kids who make fun of me don't think of me as old. And I am not young either. I am in that nebulous in-between stage of life. It happens to everyone, but it is never glorified. No matter how old or how young I seem, I will never, ever, not be seen wearing a cardigan.

This bold statement of intent would have been better if I had stated it when I was 20, but when I was 20 there were no blogs to state it on. You'll just have to trust me. I am a cardigan guy. I wore them when they were hip, when they were not hip, and then when they were hip again. (Fuck, I really am old.) Still, I am a life-long cardigan wearer.

...And now I'm struggling to figure out what my intention for this post was.

Oh yeah! Just because I wear a cardigan everyday doesn't mean I'm all old and crusty. Sure in time I will be old and crusty, and be in a cardigan, but that doesn't mean I'm wearing the cardigan because I'm old, but rather because It's part of who I am. It's my brand.

This entire post could be summed up in one line.

Chris Hill digs cardigans.

Establishment

2009-11-12T22:54:00.000-08:00

My 8 month old daughter is quite a little menace. We put her to bed and she gets up repeatedly. Nothing seems to work. I fed her a bottle tonight and got her to fall asleep on my arm but as soon as I put her in the crib she was crying again. I decided to try a different tactic. I took her downstairs, where I keep my lazy boy. I let her crawl around the floor as I picked the perfect cassette. I should probably explain that I have a music nook in my basement where I can relax and listen to albums and tapes. It's where all my outdated but still awesome music collection resides. The tape I picked tonight was Establishment, the first band I was ever in. Good music from 1989.

I held my little girl and listened to the music her father made 20 years ago. It was a pretty low-fi affair, made on a 4-track recorder, but there is something about it that I still love. My most recent CD was released less than a month ago. It was recorded in a professional studio, yet I could still see the connection from where I was as an artist then, and where I am now. Basically I am, and have always been, a pretty pretentious and morose musician. Establishment had songs about sadness and suicide. There were definite influences from Joy Division and the Cure, and the drummer was a machine. Mercurial Rage is really the grown up version of Establishment in many ways.

In 1989 I spent about 2 months reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. It took that long to read because it is a big book, and well, It takes me awhile to read things. I still read pretty slow. I think I read it slowly because I was trying to impress the chick who lent it to me, and also because it was blowing my mind. The book left an impression on me. I can remember being in study hall quickly doing my analytic geometry homework so I could get back into the world of Howard Roark. I would imagine myself as a detached genius whose true soul comes out only in his creations. It was really a lot of bullshit, but it influenced the content of my music at the time. Establishment is not a good name for a rock band, but to me it spoke of the importance of creation, creativity, and the foundations of art as a necessary function of mankind. One of our songs was called Abysmal Altruist which was basically and homage to Rand's notion of individual freedom being a greater good than social equality. My biggest problem today is I still find myself more akin to Rand's thinking than I do with the prevailing logic prevalent in Obama's America. I often feel like an outsider in politics. I'm not a republican, but I certainly am not a democrat either.

I held my little girl and patted her back. I was happy, at peace, listening to me from 2 decades past, express myself through song. Of course there were other members of Establishment. Guitar god Paul Erickson, and singer Joe Allper from Seattle. I really can't rightly speak of them in this simple bloggity post. They each deserve their own. All I can say is, 20 years later, Establishment is still catchy as fuck pop music. I am proud to have been a part of it.

The little girl started to cry again, so I gave her to her mother. I think I need to go downstairs and finish listening to that wonderful Establishment record.

Transformation

2009-11-10T22:57:00.000-08:00

This is a transitional period for my life as well as for my blog. My last post was in April. Jeepers! I haven't written in so long. Far too long. A lot of things have happened since April. I will endeavor to make sense of things forthwith.

The previous title to my blog was "Cascade." I began blogging a year and a half ago during a period of intense creativity. Cascade was the title of the record I was endeavoring to bring into fruition with my band Mercurial Rage. The title Cascade was present throughout the writing and recording process of that record and it seemed a fitting title to my blog as well. During that time I also conceived and witnessed the birth of my daughter Ronnie, quit a job I had held for 7 years, and began attending a school for advertising. There have been many changes in my life, changes that need sorting out. I have spent the past year working on the new record, getting adjusted to my life as a student, and becoming a father for the second time. It has been a weird and wonderful ride, but not immune to the pitfalls of gloom and uncertainty. I have tried to keep a straight face but too much change at once scares me.

I haven't written much in the past year because I have been stretched to my limit with work, family, band, and school. Cascade is now released, and it is awesome. That chapter is completed. I made the record I wanted to make. I want to continue to make music, but for now it can be placed on the back burner of my life. The job I took after leaving the cafe has become too much of an obstruction in my life. The daycare costs, and the time it takes me away from my studies and my children have made it not worth the time or energy I spend there. We are poor now, and will only be the slightest amount poorer if I quit. So quit I did.

I have always wanted to be a stay at home dad. This is the perfect time for it, while my kids are not in school yet. I can spend my days with them and then be able to use my nights to focus on becoming the best copywriter possible. (As a copywriter I hate everything I have just written.) This is the time for my to hone my craft.

I have two focuses in life now. Family and school. Without my day job I should have sufficient time to give to both. I have changed the title of my blog to Ad Dad, because that is now the best representation of myself I can provide.

Important Day

2009-04-21T04:05:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days where everything lines up in a serendipitous manner making me want to believe in the Fates I often find so cruel in their cunning. Whew! Anyway, today is an important day for several reasons. First of all it is Robert Smith of the Cure's birthday. That is cause for celebration enough don't you think? Happy birthday Bob. Thank you for writing such plaintive music to help me muck my way through my adolescence. The second awesome factor about today is that the brand new Depeche Mode album is coming out. So go to your local record outlet (if one still exists) or go online and buy Songs Of The Universe. I haven't heard it, but I know it's good. It's fucking Depeche Mode. Of course it is good. And thirdly, today my band Mercurial Rage who have been monumentally inspired by both The Cure and Depeche Mode are putting out our new single. It is available as a FREE digital download by going here.

Okay that's enough glee for me in the morning. I still have countless hours of day job ahead of me. But seriously folks listen to your assignment and follow through.
1. Go into your library and pick out a favorite Cure record to listen to.
2. Buy the new Depeche Mode album.
3. Download Mercurial Rage's new sigle for FREE.

You won't regret it, and after listening to these three new wave gems you will be filled with as much glee as me!

I love my daughter.

2009-03-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

Ronnie is here! Yay! And she is adorable. Naturally. She is just a teeny little thing too. Super cute. We have taken to calling her "Bundle" because we are always wrapping her up in a little bundle. It's cute to hear Kirk referring to her as Bundle too.

She is a really good baby too. Very agreeable. No fits of screaming yet. She likes to be held, and is awesome for cuddling. Everything you could ask for in a baby actually.

I took her on her first daddy date. We went out to meet my friend Patrick and his two month old son Henry. It was her first time away from her mother. I dressed her in a new outfit and put a bow in her hair. We met at Hooters. You tend to get a lot of attention if you bring your babies to Hooters. Patrick arrived before I did and was basking in the fawning over his two month old and then I go and bring in even a smaller baby. I kind of stole his thunder. Heh. It was fun for us guys to catch up and talk about fatherhood while our babies slept.

I am my daughter's father

2009-01-22T21:41:00.000-08:00

I'm growing a beard. I do that sometimes. My new job allows it so I figure what the hell. Actually I'm trying to get all the fellers at work to grow one too. It's a fun diversion, and frankly it's just something to do to pass the winter. But I have an ulterior motive.

The first step in any good beard project is to stop shaving. Simple enough. Then once you've got a decent beard rolling you can shave parts of it off and make fun facial hairstyles. I think Im gonna do the reverse Abe Lincoln this time. You know the one where your sideburns hook up with your stache but your chin is naked. I'll rock that for a couple of weeks and wait for my mustache to get good and bushy and then shave the burns. I figure by the time my daughter is born I will have a full on Burt Reynolds, state trooper, 70's style stache.

When Ronnie is born I will be in numerous photos. I will be pictured holding her. Her daddy will be the tough looking guy with the bushy mustache. I'll have to make sure I'm wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt when she is born. This all plays into the double standard for boys and girls. For my son its okay to be the silly dad, but with my daughter, I want to project the image of the scary dad not to be trifled with. Maybe I should always carry a fake mustache to wear whenever I'm photographed with her so I can maintain the mystique. So when boys come over she'll point to my picture in annoyance and say, "thats my dad" and those little pricks will think twice about doing her wrong. This is going to be so much fun!

New President

2009-01-20T22:40:00.000-08:00

I'm glad to have the 43rd person to add to my list of Presidents. Don't ever forget to count Grover Cleveland twice. At mid day today as the inauguration was rolling I hoisted my coffee cup and realized that it was now obsolete. My coffee cup has all the presidents on it, or it did until today. Now I'm missing one. I need a new cup.

So now it's midnight. After inauguration. The parties are probably still going strong in Washington, but I hope Mr Obama takes a few minutes away from the revelry to just wander the halls of the white house by himself. I hope our new president can find a moment to be just a man and to savor the awesome position he has achieved. Before he gets put through the harsh, aging process our presidents go through, I sincerely wish President Obama one night to just be giddy with the excitement and the novelty of it all, before the job itself puts it's crushing pressure upon his shoulders.

I hope he is allowed to wander the darkened halls of the White House tonight, alone, in his pajamas, to just explore his new domain. I love that image. Hopefully too he can be left alone in silence so he can hear in the distance the shadows of those who occupied that house before him. As he wanders and passes by the portraits of his predecessors I hope he quietly listens to their ghostly murmurs, and finds solace in his membership in this exclusive club. And I hope he passes the portrait of James K. Polk and pauses for a moment, and smiles and nods to the old curmudgeon. Across the hall ole Harry Truman gives the "new guy" a wink and wishes him the best.

Then as our newly elected leader walks into his new office I hope he sits down at his desk and rifles through all the drawers thinking to himself, "this is my desk now." Then I truly hope in one of the drawers is a gift that looks like it was wrapped by a seven year old and has a big bow on it and a tag that says, "To Barak, from George" Barack is spelled wrong. He opens it and within is a special totem passed down from one chief executive to another, and a note from Mr. Bush wishing him the best, because in spite of all our political fighting I like to think of all of us belonging to the fraternity of America. Under the gift I hope Barack sees carved into the bottom of the drawer, "Bill was here."

I wish this for him. Before he is expected to perform miracles, I hope he can just be the man who is in awe of his own accomplishment. To be able to enjoy his moment.

Good luck sir. I'll be sending you your card on Presidents Day. Someday no matter what you accomplish you will have a stamp, and a coin, and a few schools named for you. Do your best. Follow your conscience, and do what you think is best for us. Be true to your principles, for even if we don't agree that is all you can do. Make the hard decisions. Be willing to make the unpopular decisions, and lead. People love to have someone to look to. To be our king. So be our king for 4 to 8 years and then step aside graciously. This republic can succeed. It will succeed. And don't forget to have some fun.

And listen to the ghostly voices murmuring in the halls. They know how you feel.

Rocka Rolla

2009-01-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

So I have been playing music for 20 years now. I just got done playing a rock show at the Kitty Cat Club and I thought it was fantastic. It was so much fun. This was probably the 400th gig I've played in my rock career, or something like that, and I was able to play and sing and feel comfortable and confident onstage. I can look at my band mates and smile and nod and even carry on small talk occasionally. I have even developed stances, and I strike my guitar with exaggerated flourish. I love performing. But it wasn't always this way.

Music does not come naturally to me. I've had to work at it. It's taken me 20 years to have the confidence and presence in a band that some of my peers achieved in their first couple years of playing. Creative thought however does come naturally to me. In high school I began my musical journey by writing song lyrics when I should have been paying attention to algebra. Three of my earliest songs were called, "My Head Explodes", "Fucking Gay", and "Battling Nations". I would show these to my buddy Paul who had already at that time made his first solo demo and was the guitar player in his brothers' band. Paul was and is very good. He put music to the latter of those three songs and it came out on one of their demos. My name was in print. I liked it. I liked it a lot. Paul wanted to start his own band and decided I was weird and flamboyant enough to be the front man. I could write lyrics, so it seemed the perfect way for me to become musical. It was perfect, I wouldn't even have to learn to play an instrument. But there was a problem. I couldn't sing. Singing is an instrument I later realized that has to be learned. I just couldn't get it right. I was off pitch and I didn't even know what that meant. I was clueless. Useless. It wasn't like singing in chorus. Sigh.

That was when I was handed the bass guitar. There was an electric spark of destiny as I put that thing on my neck. Only four strings, and they were big ones, it was like remedial reading class. I figured it would be a snap, but I had to work at it. It was difficult at first. I learned some easy songs, and then I started writing my own parts. The thing is while I was really bad at playing bass, I was very quickly able to actually write simple things. I had the creativity but none of the skill or talent.

Anyway that was 20 years ago. My first band made a demo which I am still strangely proud of and drawn to. We did things out of ignorance which I now would never even consider. It was awesome. When we played our first show I was meek and nervous. My tongue was probably sticking out as I was counting every plunk in my head, nervously studying my fingers, terrified to look away for even a micro-second lest I fall off the groove. Later that night I met a girl, and she seemed to think I was interesting. I never looked back.

A year after my first band began I decided to learn how to play guitar. Maybe I was hoping for a promotion. I took it very seriously and I learned what all the notes were. There were lots of kids back then who couldn't tell you were a G was on the guitar, they did it all by ear. I figured if I understood guitar I could at least communicate with my bandmates better. I wrestled with that damn guitar. It was so hard. Chords! Fuck me. My fingers were not meant to bend in all those strange shapes. I can remember lying on my bed crying because I could not transition from a C chord to a G chord without ten minutes of prep time. And bar chords? Forget it. Simply impossible. I was not going to get that promotion any time soon. After time I did learn to play guitar, but I've never been more than adequate at it. I have guitars lying around all over my house now, and I play them everyday. I write songs on them and play Beatles songs for my son, but I've only played guitar onstage once, and that wasn't anything to brag about.

After I mastered being really crappy on guitar, I went on to learn how to be really crappy on the piano, and then later how to be even crappier on the drums. That entire time I was still practicing on how to be a crappy singer. And I wrote songs. I kept writing songs. After a couple years I began to realize that I was not crappy on the bass. I was somewhat adequate. When I would jam with people I was even complimented occasionally as having a "style" of my own, (which I was ripping off from Peter Hook and Paul McCartney). People seemed to like me on bass, and I liked playing bass, so I just kept doing it. I became and have remained a bass player. And I am now proud to be a bass player. Bass players rule! But I wanted to write music too.

My problem as a bass player, was that it is difficult to bring forth song ideas on that instrument. Guitar players need more to go on than I was able to provide and I would often have the songs I wrote being changed simply by my inability to communicate my vision. The other big problem was that while I could sing to myself, or hear the vocal melody in my head, I simply could not sing and play at the same time. I worked on this all the time. I eventually was able to sing while strumming chords on a guitar, but singing while playing bass was simply not a feat any human could accomplish. Except people did it all the time. I then spent years simply not trying to communicate my ideas. I became just the bass player.

Ten years ago I was in a really good band. I was having fun playing bass at shows, but I was still terrified on stage. I was obsessed with not making mistakes. I could barely make eye contact with another band member while playing a song. I had to focus on the task at hand. That worked for the shoegazer style of music we were doing, but I wanted to do better.

After some time I found myself without a band. I spent about a year just writing songs on the guitar. I practiced writing entire songs, with beginnings, and ends, middle eights, verses, choruses, codas, etc. I just wrote. And I did some demos. I loved the demos because I could track everything separately. Most of it was crap but the bass lines were good. I then learned to bring those crappy demo ideas to other people and have them put their own talents into them. Somewhere during this time my confidence was building. I learned to communicate with other musicians. I was able to step up to the mic and sing while playing. It just happened. Suddenly I was capable of singing backup vocals live. I'm still not the best singer, but damnit I can sing and play at the same time finally. After that I was able to let my concentration drop while playing. I was able to look around, to smile, to develop exaggerated movements. And I didn't care if I made a mistake, I was able to simply enjoy the moment and get back on track if anything went wrong. I still try to not fuck up, that's what practice is for, but still this was a major breakthrough for me.

So here I am now 20 years later, and I'm just finally doing what I want to do musically. But I'm still honing the skill. It doesn't come naturally to me. I'm continually working to be better. Maybe in 20 years I'll be that grandpa musician who makes it look easy. I'm a slow ass learner. Actually that applies to every aspect of my life. Possibly the effort is what generates wisdom. I hope so. Tonight I played adequate, but I felt awesome while doing it. All that really matters in the end is that you enjoy the ride.

Charity CD

2008-12-08T22:01:00.001-08:00

Last year my band Mercurial Rage made a Christmas song. It was fun, and something I had been wanting to do for a long time. This year that song has been placed on a holiday compilation. Go here to check it out and buy a copy. All for a good cause and a great way to celebrate the Solstice. Yeah!

Date Night

2008-11-12T23:08:00.000-08:00

So me and mama B are finally gonna go out on a date. We are calling in a long standing offer from Kirk's godfather. So Kirkie is gonna go to "uncle" Michael's house while mommy and daddy go to a sit down restaurant experience without having to yell at someone for tipping out all the salt and screaming when he gets bored. Don't get me wrong, I love going out with the boy, it's just nice not to have to do continuous daddy patrol. We can sit and eat and talk like grownups for a change. MMM. Sounds delightful.

Kirk loves his goddad. Michael is the singer in my band and a close friend. Michael's wife will be out with her friends tomorrow so it will be just the boys. At first we thought they could watch Depeche Mode videos together, but Michael asked to have Kirk show him the movie Cars, which he has never seen. I told Kirk this and he was a little suspect of someone not having seen Cars. But then he got excited at the prospect of initiating someone into the world that is Cars. So tomorrow Kirk will take his Cars DVD, and a bucket of Cars toys to Michael's house and teach him about it.

Michael is a vegetarian. Kirk eats, well, mostly peanut butter sandwiches, cereal, carrots, and fruit. And candy if you ask him. They'll be fine. I don't care what they eat. It's not my job tomorrow. It's godfather time.

Kirk is fully potty trained when it comes to peeing. I'm not sure how well he'll pee in the potty without us, but we'll bring his potty ring with so he can show uncle Michael how cool he is peeing in the potty by himself. Again I don't care how they work it out. I can't be there forever. But still I hope my Kirkie can be all growed up around his godfather. It's a big step, and a necessary one. Kirk needs to be able to live without us or his daycare lady if he is to go to school and be a regular human and stuff.

I think this will be a win win win situation. We get to have a night out alone. Michael gets to spend some time with his godson and get a glimpse at his future as a parent, and Kirk gets to hang out with his cool godfather and show off what a big boy he is. For michael the worst case scenario I can see is that Kirk will pee a little off the potty. Easily cleaned, but he will then freak out on his failure and cry a lot and be a dick. No worse than dealing with me when I'm drunk. And Michael has done that plenty.

It's a Girl!....Probably

2008-11-10T21:34:00.000-08:00

We had our ultrasound and we saw a very healthy baby, and the "gender appears female". Of course this is not always 100%. If you don't see a penis, it doesn't always mean it's not there. People have thought they were having a girl, painted a pink room, spent tons on cute dresses, only to be surprised at the actual birth. But our whole family has had strong "girl vibes" all along the way. Kirk always uses the pronouns her and she when referring to the baby inside mommy's tummy. Though he still says he wants a brother.

This ultrasound was amazing, we saw her move her mouth and her fingers and her arms and legs. Squirmy little thing. Like her old man. With Kirk we didn't really see movement, although we did see a clear shot of his penis and balls. I'm still very confident it's a girl and I couldn't be more thrilled. One of each is even steven. I like that. My brother also has one of each, so we are keeping it consistent and giving my parents two of each flavor of grandchildren. (A girl tips the balance towards girls on her mothers side). I can't wait to be the daddy of a daughter. I never had a sister, so I love the idea of having another female in my family. I can't wait to put her in cute little dresses and put ribbons in her hair and all those girly things. Her brother is all boy, so I imagine she will be a tough little tomboy of a kid too. And I can polish my shotguns just waiting for some guy to try to pick her up for a date in a van.

I'm gonna be a daddy again! Yay!

I have to admit this second child thing has made me feel odd. I have not had as much of the excitement and magic that I felt with the first one, until now. Now that I have seen her move, it feels more real. I'm ready to give full unconditional love to another and it feels divine.

We are thinking of naming her Veronica. We will call her Ronnie. My dad's name is Ronald and it is my middle name as well. Little Ronnie Hill will be the coolest person on the face of the earth just like Kirk Hill is. Also she and her mother will each enjoy having Elvis Costello songs named for them. (My wife's name is Belsum BTW, I'm sure you all know the Elvis Costello song titled Belsum) And I will continually say to her, "just like Ronnie said, be my little baby."

And she will love me forever because I'm her daddy and I'm practically awesome. And she will snuggle me long after Kirk thinks it's lame to hug his dad. Okay kids you may notice I'm a little giddy with this post. Hee.

So my brother and I were talking about how we both have contributed females to this new generation of Hills. Females have been in short supply for quite some time. My dad had a sister, but both he and his brother produced sets of boys. My aunt never had childrens so our entire generation is all boys. We are the Hillboys and we have grown to love it. We get together during non-holiday times to celebrate our Hillboyness together. But now there are going to be two fresh Hill girls in the mix. We just love it.

Oh yes, children! I will soon have child-ren. Not just child. I love that too. I can now talk about my kids in the plural.

I could go on forever, but let me just say that I am extremely happy that our kick ass Nordic genes have produced a healthy baby, and that this new baby will soon join a family full of love. And she will be loved, very much, even if it turns out that she's a boy.

Making Gargamel proud

2008-11-06T16:48:00.000-08:00

Smurf stew with potatoes, carrots, and onions, along with smurf broth and seasonings.
INGREDIENTS:
. 2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
. 2 pounds lean de-boned stewing smurfs*, cut in 1-inch cubes
. 2 teaspoons salt
. 1 bay leaf
. 1/4 teaspoon dried leaf thyme, crushed
. 1 can (10 1/2 ounces) condensed smurf broth
. 3 1/4 cups water, divided
. 4 medium carrots, sliced
. 2 medium potatoes, cubed
. 12 small white onions
. 1/4 cup cornstarch
PREPARATION:
In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add smurfs; brown well on all sides. Add salt, bay leaf, and thyme, along with the condensed smurf broth and 3 cups of the water.
Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 1 1/2 hours. Add carrots, potatoes, and onions; simmer for about 30 minutes longer, or until vegetables are tender. Combine cornstarch and remaining 1/4 cup of water; stir until smooth. Stir cornstarch mixture into the stew. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Boil for 1 minutes. Serves 6.

*It takes about 12 de-boned smurfs to yield a pound of smurf meat. For best results I recommend free range smurfs. You can find these at your local co-op. They cost a little more but it’s worth it.

Concession Speech

2008-11-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

My fellow Americans I would like to first thank you for not electing John McCain because that guy seriously creeps me out. Then I would like to congratulate president-elect Barak Obama. I wish him all the best in the trying times we now face, and I don't envy his position at all. It is a difficult road ahead and president-elect Obama will have to meet these challenges without the aid of alien technology. That being said I would like to say this to you America. You dumb mother-fuckers! You blew it. You had the chance to vote for me and exploit alien technology, bring about the end of all war on earth, and ensure the promise of future colonies in space. But that's okay. Just remember to vote for me in 2012.

Things will be fine. I know this because I have been temporally scanned by a future alien invasion force while being imprisoned on their mothership. I have seen the future. I can't tell you much about future events but I can tell you a little. I will become president in 2012 and I will have the endorsement of Cyborg Obama. Cyborg Obama will not run for re-election because he will take on a leadership role in the founding of the first Terran Empire. I can't say why or how he becomes part machine, but suffice it to say Obama is never the same after his accident during the Battle of Beverly Hills. We will eventually reign victorious over this alien invasion but not without great sacrifice.

I promise to you that Cyborg Obama and I will work together to bring about human prosperity. Our time together in that alien prison in which I too become part cybernetic will bring us together as allies.

Thank you.

Misfit

2008-11-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

I am a misfit. In my home town and in my family I am certainly out of tune, but also in my circle of friends in my chosen city. I am a little off kilter everywhere. Misfits have a place in society and apparently many of them seek the wonderful world of advertising. So here I reside, trying my best to make a career in a world dominated by other misfits. My good friend Jen who is an advertising copywriter told me that it is the only straight job freaks like us can do. I hope she is right, and that I can do it. Because if I strike out at Misfit Academy I might have to become a dentist.

A letter to my father.

2008-10-31T23:48:00.000-07:00

I just wrote this in a frenzy to my dad in an email. I thought there was some good stuff in there. I hope he doesn't mind me sharing.

You know they say technology makes life easier, or better, and don't get me wrong I love all my high tech gizmos and I want more, but in reality technology only makes life different. We are still people. We have the same fears and doubts and joys and temptations and frailties and love and passion and longing that all people ever have had. We are human no matter what trappings of civilization surround us.

I have discovered in 36 years that mankind is quite adept at learning how to adapt to new situations. We are also quite extraordinary in our ability to build on the lessons learned by our previous generations when it comes to things like education and technology and farming and building etc. But when you get down to the nitty gritty of the human experience we are all doomed to make our own mistakes. We never really learn from the past when it comes to the true nature of ourselves. Every generation experiments, and every generation has it's pain. We repeat the mistakes of our forebears continually because that is what it means to be alive I guess. We look at our children and know that no amount of caution in the world will necessarily prevent them from doing stupid things for love or greed or revenge or whatever. That's who we are. It's sometimes harsh, but it is also beautiful.

Sorry to get heavy. I'm just writing creatively with you as an audience. I think about these things. I love humanity and I always look at the future with an optimistic view, because to me we are no worse or no better than we have ever been, but now we have a lot of fun toys to play with. Technology I think creates some of our current problems as well as provides the solution for them.

War, sadly, I believe will always be with us. Because there will always be those that disagree so much with another that it becomes apparent (and even justified) to obliterate them. "You're wrong and I'm right so now die." And of course it gets even more complex. I just fear for America. Our America is dying a silent death, and the new America will be something I'm not sure I know how to deal with.

Oh well. I'll still try to sell my bullshit to whoever will listen. And kids today and the kids of tomorrow will continue to make the same mistakes that we have all made forever. Life is good.

I love you Dad. Thanks for being my dad. If my son regards me half as well as I regard you, I will have been a successful parent.

Kirk

2008-10-20T23:16:00.000-07:00

Okay I named my son Kirk. So I'm a nerd. Whatever. The thing is my little boy who is three and put his pees in the potty at the Home Depot this weekend and is such a big boy is becoming a nerd too. We do have the right to brainwash our kids as we see fit. That is what religion is after all. Anyway, back to the potty. Kirkie has been wearing underpants and not having accidents, and the Home Depot thing was huge. He is a little shy of public bathrooms, as we all are, but he not only peed in a public restroom for the first time, but it was also standing up, and in the low urinal. I was praising him so much that when a stranger walked in he too understood and praised Kirk. Yay!

Kirk, who must be called Buzz these days, because he is Buzz Lightyear, is a big Space Ranger. He calls me Woody. I haven't heard the word daddy in months. I am Woody, all the time. His mom is sometimes Jessie, sometimes Mira Nova, but also sometimes still mommy, but I am always Woody. I'm so proud of my little space ranger for finally figuring out the potty thing. It's been work, and there are many bribes involved, but mostly there are rewards, and the things he gets for successful pottying are lessons in EARNING.

Back to the nerd thing. I lost my train of thought because potty time is such a big part of my life now. By the way, I recommend it. Simple lessons to children go a long way in understanding your own humanity. Anyway my Kirk is finally starting to watch Star Trek. He knows he is Kirk and he digs it. He has loved Star Wars for years, literally, and the Beatles, and Depeche Mode and other things I've exposed him to, but just recently he has discovered a fondness for the Trek. Original series of course.

He really likes the Corbomite Maneuver. Thats the one where the alien is all scary at first but turns out to really be a young Clint Howard. The alien is called Balok, and Kirk talks about his friend Balok all the time, but he hides under his blanket and cuddles me when we watch it, because he thinks the "puppet Balok" is scary. It's cute. I tell him it's okay, and that Balok just wants to be friends. He gets it but just can't deal with the Balok dummy. I like the cuddles though. He also likes to watch Spock's Brain. One of the silliest episodes, but Kirk digs it for some reason. He also like to watch the "silly black and white guys fight", and the "one where Kirk takes the Tribble from Chekov." Then he always says, "I love it when they beam."

My kid rules. The thing is I really didn't force it on him. I just asked him if he wanted to see an episode, and he watched it with me, and then asked for more. I tried to show it to him a year ago and he wasn't into it, but he liked Star Wars. Trek takes a level of sophistication. I can remember seeing it in re-runs when I was about his age and I was intrigued by it. The uniforms have bold colors, and the characters are classic. The kid who calls himself Buzz Lightyear truly loves space fantasy. He calls Captain Kirk him. He says,"look at what I'm doing." He loves that there is an awesome space hero called Kirk. By the way when we listen to Metallica I do point out that the nice guitar player is named Kirk too. He likes Metallica. We listened to Master of Puppets once and he was all headbanging in his carseat.

I let him drive the car this weekend. We went to a parking lot near our house and I sat him in my lap and let him steer. He needs to work on that, but he thought it was the greatest thing ever. Then I let him drive us home. When we got home he told his mommy that he drove. She asked, "Where did you drive?" and he shouted, "Home!" Whoops, I forgot to tell him not to tell his mother. Heh.

I love my three year old son. I only wonder what will happen when his new sibling is born. I can't imagine loving anyone as much as I love him. I guess I'm going to learn a new lesson about humanity soon. I do love babies. Being a dad rules. Please gods don't make them hate me.

Generations

2008-10-18T23:51:00.000-07:00

Okay I'm in Ad school. I'm in a portfolio school to learn how to sell stuff creatively. I do a lot of concepting but I am also learning how companies think when they are marketing to segments of our population. There is a generational component to this. This component has given me grief and has made me cause many disruptions in class. Let me explain.

The three main "generations" being marketed to are the Baby Boomers, the Generation Xers, and the Millennials.

I know the boomers well. They are our parents. The hippie 60's generation. The first rock generation, the Viet-Nam survivors, we don't need to be reminded about them, they are in charge and they are arrogant and harder to define than you might think. They were hippies, they were yuppies, and they are afraid to grow old. It's easy to sell to them. I have issues with the boomers that I openly state. My generation has lived in their shadow for so long, but I love the music and culture of the 50's and 60's. I love the boomer cultural contribution and fully recognize how it has shaped my own life.

Then there is Generation X. It's seems we are forgotten before we even came of age. The new Lost Generation. What the fuck? In 1990 I remember this new cultural phenomenon where a new generation was finally recognized. But before we ever had a chance to become anything they go and create a new generation under us, the Millennials. Apparently the Boomers were sad about how horribly they treated the X generation that they got to have a whole new generation to become their children. A redo? Well fuck you. I wish more of you fuck asses died in Viet Nam!

Okay. I'll calm down. The Boomers didn't create this. It's a product of capitalism and marketing. The boomers were mistakingly given two generations of children, when culturally it's not quite real. I'm not saying Mellenials don't exist as their own separate generation, but they CAN NOT BE THE CHILDREN OF BOOMERS. One generation begets another, which means these children are the children of Xers. So the timespans of these generations need to be refigured.

Here is how they have it written now:

Boomers-44 to 62 years old
Xers- 31 to 43 years old
Millennials-13 to 30 years old

Both Millennials and Xers are said to be children of Boomers. Okay, I understand we are different culturally because of certain things. Thing like the fact that the kids today were born into technologies that the rest of us grew into. Still on a realistic cultural level this is not a way to define generations.

I am 36, but I do not think of a 26 year old as a different generation. The kids who are 21 years old and younger sure, they were made by the Xer's or late Boomers. The problem is that your 44 year olds were not really boomers either. They graduated in 1982 and loved punk rock. Viet Nam was not their war, those kids loved Duran Duran and Metallica. They were proto-Xers. It's their kids who are now in their late 20's and those kids are Millennials. The kids who fucked up in my high school and had babies the year of graduation, those kids are Millennials. I waited until I was 33 to have children. My son is a late Millennial and not whatever brand they want to place on him.

This is a subject of much debate because people have kids at different times in their lives and things, but I would say your individual generation is more or less the people 10 years older and 10 years younger than you.

But in marketing segmentation is important. I can go there too. I quit my job at the cafe because the kids who I would be hiring would have been born the year I graduated high school. If you were born in the 90's you truly never can remember the time before every human had their own phone, or DVD's or ipods, or the internet. When I was a kid I had to get up to change the channel.

I am raising the real next generation. I know lots of 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 year olds. Good kids. Good kids. Gen Xer's will raise good kids. Nerdy kids, who understand Star Wars as mythological allegory and strive to create a better world despite the utter failure of the baby boomers. Stupid Baby Boomers.

Easy Money

2008-10-14T21:51:00.000-07:00

My current job is working in a cubicle at a major corporation. It is so easy. I always knew that all of my friends in office jobs had it easy while I was busting my ass for the man in a string of blue collar jobs. I should have pursued a career much earlier (yes, I should have, I'm old and starting fresh, SCARY!) but I was just going from job to job without the ability to choose a vocation. I stay at jobs for long periods. I always quickly rise to the top in these fields, but they were never more than just, well jobs. I'm trying to change that now.

What I really want to talk about is how every job I've had in my entire life has gotten easier. Every subsequent job is easier than the last and they pay better too. This is only one man's experience, so bear with me.

My first job was when I was 11 years old. I had to pick up garbage and mow my dad's company's sales lot. Yes I was 11. When I get my yearly social security report it goes back to 1987 when I was 16. I was paid under the table for the first 5 years, but I did receive an actual payroll check. From ages 11 to 16 I made $2.50 an hour. I did the hardest, most demeaning, backbreaking work of my life for $2.50 an hour. I hated it. I even tried to quit,but my dad wouldn't let me. When I would get my paycheck, I would spend it on Star Wars toys, and waterslides. My mom would then yell at me for spending my money wrong.

Eventually I stopped buying toys, and bought things like a tv for my own room and my very own VCR. I had a VCR years before my parents did. Of course they tried to talk me out of that purchase too, but when they finally conceded they made sure I did it right. I had toshop around, and make sure I got the salesmen's cards. When it was time to buy I was told to pull out the card to make sure my salesman got the commission. I bought the VCR at JCPenney of all places.

When I turned 16 I thought I should ask my dad's boss for a raise. He told me how to approach him. I spent an entire day terrified of the confrontation, but I eventually walked into his office, and said that I was 16 and I was thinking I should get a raise. I had been there for 5 years doing the gruntiest of grunt labor and all he said was, "well you know this will mean you have to work harder?" Then he offered me $3.35 an hour, which was minimum wage at that time. I went on the official payroll and have paid taxes ever since. The thing is after that I didn't work harder. I got to do more interesting things like move furniture, fix things, and I often got my own truck to drive around in.

Soon after I left my dad's company to work at a grocery store. $3.85 an hour, and all I had to do was bag groceries and put them in peoples cars. I don't know if any store even does that anymore. I quit that job to work with my brother at the Hy-Vee deli. They offered me $4.05 an hour and it was even easier. I did a lot of things, but it was fun. I fried chicken and sold it to people. I worked there throughout high school and probably left making $4.75 an hour, which I thought was good at the time. (back then boys couldn't wear earrings at work)

In college I got a job doing phone bank junk for liberal causes. I got people to pledge money for Paul Wellstone, the Sierra Club, Minnesota NOW, and anti-Gulf War I stuff. $6.00 an hour. It was easy in that I just sat there and made phone calls, but it was hard because people hate being called at home. I got fired from that job. That's when I discovered I'm really not that liberal. Don't hate me, this was 1991 when political correctness gave no room for a South Dakota kid who was high all the time and liked to make jokes. Believe me, nothing I said then would even phase today's kids. Of course I skipped work a lot too, because it's hard to call people to give money for anything with a head full of acid.

After that I got a University job. I became a janitor. $7.25 an hour. I figured I would be rolling in the dough. I really liked the job. I had time to study, and I became a smoker there. I did a lot of writing there. I got drunk a lot during work and eventually had to quit school because I was a train wreck as a human.

Some time went on, I had various jobs, and then in 1993 I started to work for Courier Dispatch. I drove a van and delivered junk. I think I started at $8.50 an hour. There was a lot of lifting, but a lot of driving too. I smoked grass and made up songs. I worked there for two years and then left to join Airborne Express. I got more money and the work was less harsh. I worked my way up to dispatcher and finally quit in 2000 to go back to school.

School was great, then the dot com bust happened and Belsum lost her job. I quit school and worked at the coffee shop. At first I made less money, but eventually I was the manager. That was a great job, a dream job. I did it for years, but in time I felt I was stagnating, so here I am now, working in a cubicle.

This job is fine. I don't hate it because it is a new experience for me, but it is temporary. Hopefully soon I will be able to make even more money doing a job where I get to be creative. Of course if a million of you readers buy a Mercurial Rage record I can just become a humble popstar. Go. Buy it now.

Good Food

2008-10-08T22:58:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to eat well these days. You know salads and things. Especially when I'm at work I have been seeking out vegetables to eat rather than your standard burgers and junk. I'm always looking for foods with vibrant natural colors. Orange, green, red, yellow. Not the dull brown of fried foods. Today I had a hankering for Sushi. I found a place in the Minneapolis skyway that serves pretty decent sushi for not a lot of cash. Of course I seem a bit wankerish in my cubicle eating my sushi, but who cares. I love good food.

I'm kind of a redneck. I guess. It's because I'm from South Dakota and I actually enjoy fast food on occasion. I love a McRib when it comes around. I love KFC now and then, and I love fried food, and the comfort food of my youth. My vegetarian friends pigeon hole me into a group of "bad eaters" when actually my tastes are quite diverse. Sure I eat shit a lot, and I love a buffet, but my gastronomic urges are much more complex than that.

First off I think vegetarians are evil. You heard me. Evil. They are taking the pleasure out of food. Food is to not only sustain, but to be enjoyed. If you are a vegetarian by religion, okay, I'll give you a pass, (and Indian vegetarian food with its long history of practice is simply perfect, I don't even know I'm not eating meat when it's prepared correctly),but if you are vegetarian because you think meat is murder, well you don't belong on the evolutionary food chain, and you should and will die out as a species.

I love meat. Most of my friends, who are primarily vegetarians for some reason, think of me as some big red meat eating carnivore. I do love a steak occasionally, and I do love eating pig wholeheartedly, but my favorite dish is fish.

When my wife and I go out to a fancy restaurant, there have been many times where they put her steak in front of me and my fish in front of her. So here I am the big meat eater, but still not manly.

Sushi seems sophisticated, but here I am the big redneck loving it the most. It confuses my friends. Especially the vegetarian ones. All I have to say is try it. Raw fish is the most delish. Yum!

So my wife thought my list of favorite foods would give a glimpse of my character. So here it is. My top 10 list of favorite foods.

1. Sushi
2. Thai Noodles
3. Spaghetti
4. Campbell's Soup
5. Fried Rice
6. Totino's Frozen Pizzas
7. Fried chicken
8. Hot roast beef sandwich
9. Pot Pies
10. Chimichangas

There it is. I am a redneck, but I know quality and taste too. Macaroni with hotdogs cut into it didn't make the list nor did fishsticks, but as a dad I deal with that cuisine often enough.

Metallica Rules

2008-10-04T00:25:00.000-07:00

First off I have to admit that I had a hard time logging on to my own blog. I have too many passwords and things and it's starting to get confusing. Imagine if I get Ronald Reagan brain. I'll never be able to sort anything out.

The new Metallica record rules by the way. It thrashes and well...it rocks. My good friend Jon could give you a better review, but all I got to say is it is a welcome return to the Metallica of old. I bought it off Itunes for $9.99. That is cheap really, considering that back in the day the first Metallica record I "bought" was the "9.98 CD". The 9.98 CD was an EP of cover songs that came out in between "Master of Puppets" and "...And Justice for All." It's weird to think that Metallica was the band that was fighting the industry with a CD that had it's price on the title, a price that was by the way very much lower than records were being sold at that time, and also being the band that fought Napster. It's not really weird. It's business. Music is a lot cheaper today than it used to be. Thank you Lars.

I don't work at a coffee shop anymore. I work in a cube. I process TPS reports for a major company. I like it. I dress well, put in 8 hours and go home. It's very different from anything I've ever done. At night I go to school to learn how to use my creative talents to sell you all shit. Please buy my bullshit. It's all I have.

The Great War

2008-09-10T22:21:00.001-07:00

World War I.

The Great War as it was called before the Second World War was also given the title of the "war to end all wars." What happened? So many wars have followed this "great war" that it has fallen into a forgotten page of world and American History. The politics of the first world war are still with us today. The fighting continues in the wars we fight in Iraq and Afganistan due to the fallout of the termination of the Ottoman Empire.

World War 1 is a forgotten war, that was fought only 90 years ago. There are veterans still alive. Actually there is only one American veteran still alive. His name is Frank Buckles.

When I was a kid my brother told me about how we would live to see the last World War I veteran. He got the idea from a school project about the Civil War. But I never forgot it. For several years I have been monitoring the lives of WW1 veterans, and we are down to 12 worldwide. As a consolation to the allies, I have to report that we have won the war completely. The last Central Power veteran died last year. The 12 remaining veterans are on our side.

I want you all to go here so you can pay tribute to all those great men and women still alive who fought for a cause that is now forgotten.

I do not want this generation to pass without notice. It is time to take a minute and remember the first World War, and to try to understand the great sacrifice these brave veterans made for us.

White House Tour Cancelled

2008-09-03T23:59:00.000-07:00

(I was in Washington DC this past weekend. I had a tour of the White House scheduled, but it was cancelled. I was upset over this, so I wrote a letter to the President. Here is the letter I wrote that day.)

September 2nd, 2008

Dear President Bush,

I didn’t get to go on my White House tour because I was told that you needed the house that day. Dude, that is not your house. I am pissed. I planned my entire trip around going to the White House, and now I’m left hanging. I checked out of my hotel early just so I could be at the tour on time. And because of lame security restrictions I left my camera with my luggage, so now I can’t take fun pictures at the capitol.

You need the house? For what? All I could get from the park rangers was that you were doing some uplink for the Republican Convention. My tour wouldn’t have bothered you at all. This is another example of the over zealous security following the tragedy of the 9-11attacks.

We always claim to refuse to negotiate with terrorists but by putting our own nation within a tyranny of fear you have succeeded in doing just that. It’s the erosion of simple liberties that are tantamount to letting the terrorists win. Why do I have to take my shoes off at the airport? All the new travel regulations make us less free. I hate less free. What do they accomplish anyway? Are we truly safer? I doubt it!

Nobody could hijack a plane like they did on 9-11. It was a one time deal. People would rush those bastards before they could say “box knife” today. So why all the extra precautions? It’s over. Let us get back to being free.

Sincerely,

Chris Hill

(After a couple hours I calmed down. Here is the letter I'm really sending the President.)

September 4, 2008

Dear President Bush,

I recently visited our nation’s capitol. I was excited and grateful to have secured a tour of the White House through contacting my local representative to congress. White House tours are hard to come by these days because of all the security involved. I planned much of my trip around the visit, and when I arrived I was told all tours were cancelled for the day. When I enquired for the reason, I was merely told that the President needed the house.

After my initial sadness over not being able to visit one of our country’s greatest historic treasures, I started thinking that there was no reason a White House visit has to be such an elaborate procedure. I feel I need to remind you sir, that the White House does not belong to you. It belongs to all of us. We the people of the United States own that house, and we should have the opportunity to visit it. We should have the freedom to touch that edifice and to immerse ourselves within the collective history of what it stands for. I realize on a grand scale a cancelled tour is not such a big issue, but it is a microcosm of a greater issue. America today is living under a tyranny of fear. It’s the loss of the simple liberties that gives me my greatest concern for our future.

I was able to visit the other two branches of our government without a problem. Only the executive branch provided an obstacle. I understand the need for security, but I think it’s gotten out of hand. Possibly it’s gotten out of your hands as well. I’m sure you don’t make the specific security policies of the White House, but you could if you wanted to.

A portion of the Presidential mansion could be made available to the public at all times. If you ordered it, the security agencies working for you would make it happen in a way that is safe for you and all subsequent administrators, and also provide the American people with a chance to feel closer to their government and their history. I am a student of American history. Just to walk under the iconic columns of that great structure would have provided me with the utmost wonder. You sir could make this happen.

I’m asking for you to use your influence to do the right thing. Give the executive mansion back to the people. Let the citizens of the United States bask in the brilliance of this symbol of self government in order to help inspire and remind us why we are the greatest nation the world has ever seen.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Christopher Ronald Hill

(If I had written either draft while I was sitting at the park bench just after being denied my tour, I would not have addressed it to Mr. President. "Dear Heartless Cocksucker" is what I was thinking at the time.

Gangs of the early 21st century...

2008-09-01T22:03:00.000-07:00

This will be a title of a book in the future. But what of the genesis of these gangs? I may have some insight.

Kirk is 3 years old and he has 3 major imaginary cohorts he hangs out with. They are: Hot Sun, Mustard Bottle, and Spider. Those sound like hoodlum names to me. He often goes into lengthy diatribes about his associations with these three malfeasant youths.

Hot Sun is actually, well, the sun. You know it. It shines overhead bringing life to the world. Sometimes it's hot, like when you're in a carseat. This character seems to follow Kirk everywhere he goes.

Mustard Bottle is a duplicitous fiend. At one time he was used to squirt mustard onto our hot dogs and sandwiches, and now he lords over all of Kirk's toys with impunity. He may not have the profile of Buzz Lightyear, or Lightening McQueen, but he simply rules the room from behind the scenes. Mustard Bottle is the Karl Rove of Kirk's room.

And then there's Spider. I don't know anything about Spider, and Kirk won't tell me. This mystery man is probably the most dangerous of the wacky triumvirate of colleagues giving my son advice on how to manufacture his wave of naughtiness. I'm pretty sure that when we are at the restaurant it is Spider whispering into Kirk's ear telling him to scream uncontrollably for no damn reason.

My plan is to use these three members of his organization, to bring them into my camp, and to exploit them into getting their master to put his pees and poops in the potty EVERY TIME. I know it smacks of Cold War intolerance and subterfuge, but this is after all the security of the free world at stake. Or at least the security of me not having to change a poopy diaper 40 minutes after I put Kirk to bed. They will submit. After all, I'm the only one in the house capable of pulling off Mustard Bottle's head without the aid of a tool.

Daddy democracy. If it looks clean on the books, there was no wrong doing. At least when he calls me a fascist at age 14 I will have earned it.

Chris Hill for President!

2008-08-28T23:45:00.000-07:00

First off let me say that my utter disdain for John McCain is palpable. I will have plenty of things to say about my Republican opponent next week when I attend the convention in my home state of Minnesota. I will be relentless.

Right now I have to address the folly of the Democrats and their elected puppet. Barak Obama seems like a nice guy. I don't know him, I only know what he says he stands for. This is true of all politicians. I'm not going to tell you that I think he is too inexperienced to govern. I am less experienced than he, and I wish to govern.

As the space party candidate it is my duty to bring up the following:

Barak Obama is not a space friendly candidate. Candidate Obama would "pay for his education plan by ending corporate tax deductions for CEO pay and delaying NASA's moon and Mars missions."

Delaying the missions to the moon and Mars? That stands against everything I believe in. End of story.

I don't care if the Senator is a socialist. Be a socialist Senator. Take money from Bill Gates. Take money at gunpoint from every corporation in America, but lets get some people into space. NOW!

This is why I miss the Cold War. If the Soviets were even talking about putting a man on Mars, we would have an American on Mars by 2010.

I am your father...

2008-08-26T22:32:00.000-07:00

Today I was watching The Empire Strikes Back with my 3 year old son. It was his request. He wanted to see "Luke Skywalker in the snow". What can I say, the boy has impeccable taste in cinema. When we got to the big fight between Luke and Vader, Kirk shouted, "Luke has a blue lightsaber". I replied, "Yes, I know, and do you know whose lightsaber it is?" He looked at me like I was an idiot and instantly stated, "Master Obi Wan's".

This is where I found myself in the most agreeable of disagreements of my life. I told him that while Obi Wan gave the lightsaber to Luke, it originally belonged to Anakin. Therefore both lightsabers in the battle belonged to Darth Vader. He gave me one of those stop-fucking-with-me-because-I'm-only-three looks and told me I was crazy, and then we actually debated it for several minutes. While eating fish sticks. The moment was absurd to me, but I was in nerd daddy heaven.

He wasn't convinced. He even got a little pissy about it. Eventually I had to tell him that I was, like, lots older than him, and that I knew Star Wars way better, and that it was naptime. End of story. Ha! I rule!

Okay it's my birthday.

2008-08-25T08:34:00.000-07:00

I like birthdays, and I like getting older, I really do, but this birthday is not my favorite. I'm 36. It's the late mid 30's, but more significantly it's the age where I am officially "pushing" 40. (It is official too. There's a government office that records these things. Probably under the umbrella of homeland security.) Today I am spending my time cleaning the house and taking care of Kirk. I get to be Mr. Mom for my birthday. We are watching Spongebob. A commercial recently came on for a Star Wars Lego ship. Kirk shouted at me, "Dad! Dad! That's what you're getting for your birthday!" I looked over at my stack of unwrapped presents, and he continued with, "It's the red present. That's what's in the red present." I thanked him and continued to do the dishes. I don't really like suprises anyway.

If anybody wants to send me a bottle of absynthe, I wouldn't hate it. Actually my two favorite birthday presents are cash money in cards, and booze. If you send me a card, there'd better be cash money in it. Even a dollar. I would prefer one dollar in cash to a gift card for $20. I don't really like checks either, because then I have to do work to get anything out of it. Since I'm 36 today the best present would be a card with 20, 10, 5, and 1 dollar bills in it adding up to 36. 18 two-dollar bills would really show a lot of thought.

My gods, 18 twos. I can't believe I'm two 18 year olds old today. That is the reason I quit my job. I worked near the university, and I didn't want to have to hire some kids and be twice their age. This is also the year when the kids who were born in 1990 are coming to college. 1990 was the year I graduated high school. I just couldn't be there for that, to check an ID and see the 1990 date on it. So here I am watching cartoons and playing Mr. Mom. I'm hanging out with the one person I actually want to think of me as an "old man". Later I get to put together my lego ship. It's a good day.

Don't Tell Your Mother

2008-08-21T20:11:00.000-07:00

Dont tell your mother-four words I heard often while growing up. My dad was always involving us in one caper or another. Nothing too felonious, but usually the kinds of things a mother wouldn't appprove of. This could range from letting my eleven year old brother drive us home from the bar to destroying a broken photocopier with a cannon. (Yes, one of my dad's friends did have a cannon. It was very cool.) There were lots of little things inbetween too. I thought it would be much longer in my parenting career before I uttered those four words to my own son, but I have actually uttered the phrase "don't tell your mother" twice, this week.

The thing is folks, there are different levels of tolerance between all human beings. Anyone who has had a roommate knows that there are different thresholds of clean for people. Some peolple can let dishes pile in the sink, but clutter bothers them, and some people are compelled to keep the kitchen clean but can let the rest of the house get piled with detritus without a second thought. This difference often causes problems. It's the same with parenting. Some things she lets him do drive me nuts and vice versa, but I am a boy so the things I have a high tolerance for are usually the kinds of things that are perceived as "naughty" or "dangerous". One thing she never lets him get away with is climbing on top of the grocery cart car, but when it's just me and the boy I encourage this behavior by calling him TJ Hooker and popping wheelies. Another time while we were waiting for his mother to come out of a store he proceeded to climb onto the roof of the car. Our actual car. I let him. She would never have tolerated that. Actually that time I wanted her to hurry so I texted her a picture of it.

The other day Kirk said to me, "Mommy hates when I climb on the cart at the green grocery store." I told him that he was right and that he shouldn't do it while she was around. I knew he was getting conflicting messages, so I just said, "When your with me you can climb on the cart all you want, just don't tell your mother." And there it was. I had become a bonafide dad.

Just this afternoon Kirk was eating cereal out of a bowl when he dropped a piece on the floor, before I could say anything he jumped down and picked it up with his mouth. I exclaimed, "did you just eat that off the floor?" He giggled in affirmation, so I just shrugged and said, "don't tell your mother." On a side note I have seen him put his mouth down on the sidewalk and eat an anthill. I told him not to. I told him it was icky, but he doesn't seem to care. Sometimes he comes in from the back yard with sand on his mouth and I'll ask him if he's been eating anthills again and he'll just say "yeah" casually.

When Kirk's sibling is born it might be good if she's a girl. I think we both need another voice of feminine reason in our lives. Then again if he has a brother, and I am the father of a pair of boys, well I can't imagine the potential danger. I wonder if you can buy a cannon on ebay?

Murder!

2008-08-16T22:28:00.000-07:00

We have a cat who goes outside. It's easier to just let her out than to fight with her or chase her down when she escapes. Besides since we began letting her out our other cat has fully recovered from a serious bout of mental illness where she spent an entire year living in the laundry sink. It's complicated. Anyway the cat goes outside, she prowls around the yard and neighborhood, and then comes back inside for food and to poop, and to lay on me while I'm watching tv. It's become routine, until this morning.

This morning Kirk and I found something horrific lying on our stoop. It was the remains of a young bunny rabbit. Actually it was only the top half of the remains, and a small peice of bunny leg. Murder! Yes friends, our cute kitty has become a killer. There are no other carniverous predators in our area, and certainly none that would leave an offering to our clan in such a fashion. It had to be her, our dear sweet Chloe. I am acutely aware that domestic cats are monsters. They are, they are just subdued by the lazy life offered by snuggles and crunchy food in a bowl, but left to their own devices their true nature sometimes rears it's frightening head. The savage beast is unleashed.

When Kirk and I investigated the remains there were flies all over the carcass. It was gruesome. Half a bunny. I had to tell Kirk everything. I told him his own kitty was the prime suspect. He seemed fairly okay with it, but he did look at the corpse for quite awhile before I scooped it up. Chloe seemed quite proud. In her reckoning I'm sure she felt she had given us a years worth of back rent. Cats are like that. I too am proud of my little monster. I gave her extra pets tonight. I stroked her tail and called her good kitty, but I didn't let her lick me. I was still a bit squeamish over the sight of the bunny entrails.

I imagine she caught the poor creature in another yard, and proceded to mangle it to death. Then she may have eaten some of it, because I haven't been feeding the cats very well lately. (it's not supposed to be my job, but a pregnancy in the family has made cat care my job, sue me) I'm sure she didn't eat half a bunny. I bet she toyed with it for awhile until it simply fell apart. Then she brought the head home as a trophy. What a good girl. Anyway, there it is. As far as I'm concerned the case is closed. No formal charges will be brought forth, but I have my eye on her. Oh, I'll be watching. I mean I don't want to step on any entrails on my way out, do I?

Star Wars

2008-08-16T11:56:00.000-07:00

We took kirk to see the new Star Wars movie. We don't get to go out to the movies much, so we figured this was a good chance to see something new, and not have to pay a babysitter. Kirk actually really likes Star Wars too. He loves to play with lightsabers and all of my old action figures. Still 3 years old is a little early for the movies. For him at least. He gets into the film for a while and then he gets squirmy. His mother tries to contain him, while I just let him squirm. We took him to the late morning showing specifically for the purpose of there not being many people around for him to annoy once he gets annoying. He was mostly good.

The movie itself was mostly good too. I know there are going to be many people out there who will completely hate it. These will be the same people who hate the prequels too. I will say to those people what I always say. "Shut up and make your own Star Wars." And I mean it too. I love all the movies. I love the universe of Star Wars. I even love things that are not canon. That being said it is no small wonder that I enjoyed this new animated film. It was an exciting tale set during the time between the second and third movies. It was during the precious Clone Wars that all the prequel naysayers are always bitching about. Myself, I just love sitting back and enjoying my time in a movie that has the action, sounds, and characters of my beloved Star Wars. I love watching Jedi be real Jedi, not the pussy fake half Jedi that Luke was. I love exciting lightsaber battles. I love watching the clone troopers fight their asses off. The effects were every bit as good as a live action Star Wars film. The acting was easily as good. My only concern going in was the animation style of the main characters was weird looking to me, but I got used to it.

So friends, I reccommend this movie. It will probably fail at the box office. It will be critically panned. Legions of fans will speak out against it, and yet it will probably make a ton of money anyway. I hope I'm wrong, and this movie will be embraced by Star Wars fans young and old. Still, if you don't like it, "Go make your own damn Star Wars you whiney fanboy!"

Think?

2008-08-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

I am from South Dakota. I haven't lived there for about 18 years. Gah, is it that long already? Yes, I guess it is. I don't even visit very often because my parents have long since moved to another state. So when I go back to South Dakota I am usually overcome by a deep sense of nostalgia. I'm not one of those people who leaves their hometown and then talks smack about it to all their high falootin' city folk friends. I truly have a fondly passionate kinship with the place of my birth and childhood. I am proud to refer to myself as a native South Dakotan.
There are some weird things about South Dakota, however. I was visiting the other day when I noticed the Think signs. Think signs, or fatality markers as they are known to the highway patrol, are exactly what they appear to be. They are signs that are put out on the side of the road to mark where someone died as the result of an accident. These signs were common when I was growing up, and I didn't realize they were unique to South Dakota until I went away. The creepiest scene is when you see 6 or 7 of these things lined up in a row, depicting a muti-fatality accident.

I'm not sure if any accidents are prevented by having the scene of an automobile death marked on the side of the road, but then again maybe it will keep a few drunks from driving. Maybe someone will think before making a phone call at 70 miles an hour. Maybe.

Chris Hill for President!

2008-08-07T09:18:00.000-07:00

I usually don't use this forum to further my own political aspirations, but with the conventions drawing near and my current status as an unemployed individual, I find it is time for me to rally a little bit for the cause of freedom. Many of you might not know that I am running as the Space Party candidate for President of the United States of America. This is purely a write in campaign, so if I win, it will really show what a bunch of narrow minded douchebags my opponents are. Yes I will go on the record and state that I think Senators Obama and McCain are both complete douchebags. It's time someone brought honesty back to politics. How many candidates have wanted to call their oppponent a douchebag but their "advisors" told them not too? I bet it's a lot.

What I want to accomplish right now is to differentiante myself from the other two candidates. First of all I want to come out and openly condemn the practice of drowning kittens and puppies. I AM THE ONLY CANDIDATE AGAINST THE DROWNING OF KITTENS AND PUPPIES. Why do you hate animals so much Senators McCain and Obama? What did animals ever do to you?

I am also strongly opposed to cancer. I am the only candidate who has spoken out against cancer. I think cancer is bad. Why don't you think cancer is bad Senators? Hmmm? If you don't think cancer is bad, you must think cancer is good. Well I just have to say that the fact that SENATORS JOHN MCCAIN AND BARAK OBAMA ARE TRYING TO GIVE ALL AMERICANS DEADLY CANCER, is appaling, evil, and should preclude them from holding public office. Why isn't the media covering this? It seems like pretty big news to me.

Why has no other candidte come forward in support of happiness? I am an ardent supporter of happiness! I guess those other two elistist fat cat career politicians want to keep the rest of us unhappy so they can claim to try to help us through our tough lives. They just want their cushy government jobs, and thier power. Okay I have to say, I too want a cushy government job and power, but hey I'm openly admitting it.

I think it's time the American people stood up to the machine mentality of major party politics, and voted with the conviction of their very hearts and souls. I say it's time to step up and put a true maveric, a true spokesperson of change into a cushy government job. It's time to vote for Chris Hill America, and I'm not just saying that because I am Chris Hill, I'm also saying it because it's the right thing to do.

I'm Chris Hill and I approve this message.

I'm a big fancy rock star

2008-08-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

Actually I'm a big geek. When I go to shows, (gigs as they are called in the business) I usually bring a bottle of Rolaids. I pack it with my gear. I do this because I know I'll drink a lot and that I get nervous before going on stage. Now a few people have made fun of me citing that a bottle of Rolaids in your gig bag isn't nearly as rock n roll as a bottle of Jack Daniels, but more often than not, upon pulling out my antacids I am innundated with requests to share in my joyous calcium rich booty. All the rock kids get nervous stomach. Sometimes instead of bringing the whole bottle, I'll just put a few in a ziplock and jam it in my pocket. Usually they get a bit crushed, so when I pull out my baggie all the casual observer sees is a bag full of some sort of chalky white substance. I have seen some serious glimmers of excitment in the eyes of my fellow rockers. For a brief moment I am a decadent rock god, but then I pop 2 in my mouth and offer them antacids. They are often crestfallen. Sometimes I put a few Advil in the baggie as well, and when I pull that out I look like I'm some sort of pill poppin' brain mangled drop out, hanging out on the fringes of the Hacienda night club in late 80's Manchester.

When I wanted to buy my first guitar my mom didn't want to let me. She said the rock lifestyle breeds drug usage, and she was right. I do drugs at every show. I'm playing tonight, and my baggie of ibruprofin and antacids is safely tucked into my front pocket. ROCK AND ROLL BITCHES!!!

I love the apocalypse

2008-07-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure why, but something about natural disasters, even man made disasters, excites me. It's not that I'm the anomaly either. I'm not some sort of freak. I think most of us find these things thrilling even if we don't want to admit it. No one enjoys human tragedy, espesially on a personal level, but when an event is so big that you can't wrap your brain around it, it takes on a different flavor. I think it has something to do with the fact that we feel some comfort in an event that makes the issues that plague us in our daily lives seem petty, or insignificant. But there is also just the excitement of a situation beyond our control that we share with everyone in common. Big events bring folks together.

When I was a little kid in the 1970's and 80's we were deeply immersed in the cold war. People were always trying to scare us kids about the possibility of nuclear war. The idea of course being if our generation grew up in fear of the bomb, we would grow up to end the cold war or something. (It's the same principle used with todays kids concerning the environment. The belief that if we use fossil fuels for "one more year" it will be too late and Minnesota will become coastline. Hmm? Actually that sounds okay to me.) Anyway, the cold war ended when my generation was still scoring weed and trying to perfect the gravity bong. Even though they tried to scare us I found the possibility of nuclear war seductive. I am a sci fi nerd, so the idea of a post apocalyptic future was on my mind more than the average child. I didn't fear armageddon, I welcomed it. But you see friends, nothing in my life really goes my way. It's a curse. So since nothing goes my way, and I wanted nuclear war with the Russians, well...You're welcome. It's my fault there was no nuclear war. If you have enjoyed the past 20 years, remember I'm responsible for everyone being alive. I don't think it would be too much to ask for every American to send me $1.00 as a gratuity.

I am always looking for that next earth-shattering event. Something that changes everything, and effects all people rich or poor. This doesn't have to be destruction either, it could just be the sudden appearance of aliens. This happenend in the TV mini-series V, and a also in Independence Day. Both examples went poorly for mankind, but who cares, I just want the aliens to show up. I remember getting tears in my eyes while watching Independence Day in the theatre. I didn't care that they were destroying our cities, I was just so happy that they had come. So if you are an alien reading this, please come. The people of earth welcome you. Come kill us if you want, but just come. It won't happen you know, because I want it. So I think you all should pay me another buck.

On a smaller scale, how many people out there think roller coasters are too safe? I do. There is no real thrill when there are never any fatalities. That's why I prefer those county fair rides, especially the Zipper. Sometimes when you board the Zipper, you can see bolts falling out of it, and you know it was erected by some carnie with no teeth probably addicted to meth. Now that's a thrill ride!

Speaking of Politics

2008-07-23T05:49:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody, check out who Steve Zahn wants to win the presidential election this "December".

Republican National Convention

2008-07-22T00:55:00.000-07:00

Okay dear readers there are a couple of things you must know. First off, the RNC is happening here, in my home town. Secondly, I have been known to have fascist tendencies, and have voted for a few more Republicans than I really care to fully explain. I hate them as much as you all do, but dammit, I hate the Dems more, most of the time. Don't try to figure me out, don't hate, be creative. People, I am the perfect ambassador to go into the lions den. I can go there in a suit, with press credentials, and come out with a tale of woe so juicy it will stain your underwear.

Why am I the perfect ambassador? Well, for one thing I can speak Reaganese. I know how to talk limited government, no new taxes, and well, I really find war to be exciting TV. These skills get me in under the radar you see. I get in and then I report back to all of you, the folly of it all. I can meet folks there and find after parties. I am a working musician, I know how to find after parties. I can expose the debauchery of the "family values" party because I am a family man and I am also an ex-hippie who isn't afraid to take a hit on a bong for the cause of pure, objective, albeit zany journalism. This mission is mine to fulfill, now help me fulfill it.

This is what I need from you. Credentials. I need to find an organization that can get me in. Too many lefty media sources are focusing all their energy on protesting the thing that they aren't considering the fun of a gate crashing panty raid. Come on folks, help me out here. If anyone has ANY clout with a news organization that can get me a day pass into this sea of bufoonery, please let me know. I will write an honest appraisal of the situation I find within, as well as a commentary on the behind the scenes depravity I may find in the bathroom stalls. Cocaine people. I bet there is lots of cocaine there. If there is, I'll sniff it down, and report it.

I won't meet any of the big wigs of the party I'm certain, but I will immerse myself within a go getting bunch of young Republicans, and I will follow them from gentleman's clubs to the hotel rooms, and I will give the exact coordinates in which to find the remains of any mangled hookers. I was born for this folks. Just give me a chance.

My first thought for a sponsor is Lavender Magazine. It's our local gay publication of note. They reviewed my last CD positively, and I am very gay friendly. I'm not gay, but I can probably find plenty of gay young Republicans if I'm looking.

I summation, I know no matter what, the article I write will be entertaining, fun, and scandalous. Stupid John McCain will never hear about it, but maybe it will derail a few voters toward not voting for him. Actually I don't really care. I'm voting for Chris Hill. Still, think of the funny.

A man of my word.

2008-07-21T20:55:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago my friend, and yours, posted a picture of her deck showing a scary electrical wire in close proximity.
Go here to refresh your memory, and check out my comment. I'll wait for you to come back.......Okay you're back. Well here is a picture from last weekend.
We were able to drive through town on our way back from the ocean, and I kept my word. Smoking and touching the wire. HA! I fucking rule! Go Zahn!

Cape Fear

2008-07-20T22:45:00.000-07:00

So I have been on vacation with my family on the beach in North Carolina this past week. It was heavenly. This was the view outside my massive master suite window everyday.

We spent a lot of time in the sun and the surf, and Belsum's Scandinavian family got super pink and burned. Good times. Thank god my mom's great grandma banged a native, because I gots me melanin. Yes dear readers, I tan to a golden delicious semi-brown.

We had internet at our swanky beachfront environs, but every time I tried to get on the computer I got hassled by the wife's family to stop nerding out and to join in the activities. But I'm back now. There are lots of stories to tell, but I will limit myself to one.

One sunset we were sitting in the hot tub listening to the crashing ocean waves when I decided that me and my fellow tubbers needed beers. So I sent my niece Abbe on a beer run to the cooler in the kitchen. She came back empty handed. She said her mom wouldn't let her bring us beers. I looked inside and I saw her mother shaking her fist at me. Later Abbe's mom brought us our beers, (so I still win) but bitched me out for asking a 6 year old to fetch them. Now people. I am from the 70's, and I am from South Dakota in the 70's, so I just didn't understand the problem at all. I can't remember a time when I wasn't fetching beers. I mean the beers are there. The adults are drinking them. What's the problem? Later I pulled Abbe aside and instructed her to "go under the radar" the next time I send her on a mission.

The next day we are eating at the kitchen table and I needed a fresh beer, so I tell Kirk, who is only 3 and busy not eating as usual, to go to the cooler and bring me one. The boy walked across the busy room. I saw a bunch of activity in the area around the cooler, several minutes passed, but eventually Kirk rounded the corner in triumph holding the beer over his head and smiling, shouting, "Daddy, I did it." What a good boy. I hugged him and opened my beer. Then I looked across the table at Abbe and said, "Kirk is practically a baby, and he successfully completed HIS mission." She protested, "But my mom wouldn't let me!" I looked at her as soberly as I could and said, "I'm not interested in your excuses, I'm only interested in your results. Let this be a life lesson for you." And then she stuck her tongue out at me. Ha!

All I have to say is, I know I'm a good father, but I'm also one hell of an uncle.

New Game

2008-07-08T22:34:00.000-07:00

Kirk said, "Play with me." So we started play with all his new birthday toys. Mostly this consists of the entire cast of Disney Pixar's Cars. Great film by the way. I've seen it 763 times, this week. Fucking Disney, they get so much of my money. Anyway! We were playing our usual car games which consists of me getting to play with only the select cars Kirk grants me to play with. I have to BEG to get even one of the 3 Lightening McQueens. But he usually lets me have one of the 2 Maters. He's a good boy. I decided to jazz up the game a bit and I pulled down some of MY toys from the top of the fridge. Here is a picture.
As you can see it is the Doctor, Woody from Toy Story, Captain Jack Harkness with a sith lightsabre, and a Kirk monster doing something unspeakable to Tintin and his rocket. Good times. Just imagine the adventure.

Anglo-American entente

2008-07-08T22:28:00.001-07:00

I first became aware of the concept of Anglo-American entente when I was reading the biography of President William McKinley. (President nerd alert!) McKinley was president during the end of the 19th century and into the beginning of the 20th century. Today we know that the UK or Great Britain are our bestest buddies, we fought with them in WWI, WWII, and hell we invaded Iraq together (it is rarely mentioned why they were so complicit in the invasion, but friends the troubles of Mesopotamia date back to the fall of the Ottoman Empire in the wake of The Great War, England knew this mess was theirs), but before Mckinley we were still sore over the American Revolution and the War of 1812. It wasn't until McKinley's time that all the border disputes between the US and Canada were firmly resolved and we could look upon the world together as english speaking nations with a common culture and become the friends we are.

I look upon the english speaking countries of the world as a family. I like to think that the British Empire is still alive and well, just under new management. Mother england has somewhat retired so now the elder child, the United States has taken on the job as CEO. Here's how it breaks down. Mother or Father England ran the company for years. Then the elder son, the American colonies rebelled. We said, "Fuck you Dad, I'll wear my hair how I want. You're not the boss of me!" So Father England put the smack down and we left home never to return. But in time we did return, after we grew up and cut our hair and became responsible squares in our own right. In time over a World War Christmas we hugged Father England and were prepared to run the family business.

Australia, the middle child, was busy yelling "oi" and beer bonging in college.

Canada, the youngest child, the weird kid. I mean whenever you see something American but "not quite right" it can be easily explained by being simply "Canadian." It's because of the Frenchness. The paternity of Canada may be in question you know. Anyway Canada spent a lot of years in the parents basement playing video games and drawing and shit. The kid is probably mildly autistic, which accounts for the lack of social skills, but brilliant. Suddenly, in recent times Canada is starting to come out of his shell, and is producing great things. If Australia sobers up and takes over the family business from a pill popping weary middle aged United States, Canada will be fine living on it's own.

Then there is the adopted child. India. It's not really talked about much. Embarrassing history and all. But India too is rising to power.

Okay. Let the hate comments pour in. I'm ready.

Happy 4th of July!

2008-07-03T22:01:00.000-07:00

Independence Day! America's birthday! Yay! I love this holiday so much. I am an American history nerd as well as a president nerd. The two go hand in hand. We celebrate today the bold steps taken in declaring ourselves a sovereign nation free from the shackles of British Imperial tyranny. Actually there is a lot more to it than that, but it was bold. We were sticking it to the man. And the man just happened to be the world's strongest power, while we were nothing but a rag tag bunch of colonial farmers and craftsmen, with a bunch of rich guys leading us into the jaws of certain doom. The declaration at the time was not a patriotic act. We were all British citizens. It was an act of rebellion, it was treason. But it worked damnit, and I love the United States of America.

We brought forth a new nation. A nation that held true the principles of the Enlightenment. It was a first, it was unique, and it helped set the tone for the nature of politics henceforth. No matter what you think of America today, our founding was and is a momentous occasion in the history of government.

To all my friends from the UK, hey, don't fret babies, Americas rebellion was just growing pains for our english speaking family, and today we are good friends once again. We love the english for their awesome New Wave music and Doctor Who, but for much much more. My next post will address that in detail (besides you got us back when you burned down the White House during the War of 1812), but for now I want to celebrate the old pagan summer holiday the way Americans have for 232 years--by drinking excessively and blowing shit up!

When I was a kid in South Dakota I was given my first bag of fireworks by my dad. I was 7 years old. We blew shit up for America and it was so much fun. It was still the 70's and we would use one of our mom's cigarettes to light the fuses. They worked better than punks. I can remember my 9 year old brother asking my half drunk mom for another cigarette. She was tired of lighting them for us, so she just told him to light them himself. I have a clear image in my mind of my brother with a smoke in his mouth trying to awkwardly light it. Some people who didn't grow up around fireworks fear them. I am sorry for that, and I'm sorry for all the dumbass kids who got hurt playing with fireworks, but not that sorry because it was you idiots that made it so I have to drive across state lines and break the law to celebrate my nations independence in the manner seen fit by the great John Adams.

Among the prices of freedom is responsibility. My drunk 70's parents knew we wouldn't get hurt, because they told us not to. Simple as that. I've blown up a lot of shit for America over the years, but I always explode my incendiary treats with respect. Sure there have been some misguided bottle rocket wars, a few minor burns, but that is all paying honor to the great men and women who have fought to keep us free all these years. To the veterans of the United States of America, I salute you. To the men and women now fighting, I will openly break state laws to show my love and respect for this great country of ours.

I'm leaving my job.

2008-07-02T12:12:00.000-07:00

I've been at the cafe for most of the 21st century and now I'm wrapping things up. I'm making my final schedules. I'm cleaning out my desk, and I'm trying to train people to take care of the old girl when I'm gone. I feel like a captain leaving his starship. I'm excited about the future, but I'm also sad. I really care about this place, and I want to see it in safe hands, yet I need to not be here anymore. I need to find the next new adventure. I'm frightened, but it is fear that usually keeps me from trying new things in the first place. I need to live in fear for awhile.

To all Doctor Who geeks.

2008-06-30T12:05:00.001-07:00

If you haven't seen this...well watch it. I think it counts as canon.

More backlog. Please tell me to stop. (If you want)

2008-06-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

Okay guys, and dolls, here is a thing I wrote as an assignment for a class I took. The exercise was a simple but unobtainable goal. I like it. It's a fun adventure, and it was fun to write. Please comment. Tell me I suck if you must but don't be like that Goddamned radio station that still won't play my music for some reason.

A Simple Yet Impossible Goal

(A man leaves his apartment to get drunk. As he heads to his neighborhood bar he encounters a drunken man in the street)

Drunk--Hey man, do you got four dollars and sixty-three cents? I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for a bus ticket.

Man--Four dollars and sixty-three cents huh? I didn't realize they were charging such unusual amounts of money to ride the bus these days.

Drunk--(Blank stare)
No man. I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for the bus because my car broke down and my wife and baby are waiting for me.

Man--I see. But you had time to get drunk along the way huh? Tell you what. I'm heading up to the bar right now to get drunk myself. I've been on the wagon for six months but I've had a pisser of a day. I'm being honest with myself, I'm going to tie one on. Now you be honest with me. Just admit that you want the money to get drunk and I'll be happy to give it to you, or you can join me at the bar and I'll buy you whatever you want.

Drunk--(Momentary blank stare)
Yo, I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for the bus, but I'll walk with you to the bar if you're buying.

Man--That's what I figured. You can't keep the wife and the baby waiting eh?

Drunk--What?

Man--Nevermind.

(They enter the bar)

Man--So what are you having? I don't know about you but I'm thirsty as hell for a beer. Should I just get a pitcher and a couple of glasses?

Drunk--Word.

(The man approaches the bar)

Man--I'll take a pitcher of your pale ale and a two glasses please.

Bartender--Did you just bring him in here with you?
(He points at the drunk)

Man--(Pauses as he turns around to look)
Uh---Yeah. I'm just buying him a drink. It's my charity for the decade, you know.

Bartender--I'm sorry but he's got to go. He's been in here pestering my patrons all day. I just eighty-sixed him a few minutes ago.

Man--Aw, c'mon, he's okay. Can't he have just one?

Bartender--No he can't! Do yourself a favor buddy, and walk away from this situation. You don't want to get involved with the likes of him anyway.
(He pauses as he looks over at the drunk)
Oh holy Christ in hell!

(The drunk has pulled out his penis and begins to piss all over the cigarette machine)

Drunk--I used to smoke Marlboros, but now I smoke Camels.

(The bartender leaps over the bar and and pins the drunk)

Bartender--Valerie! Call the cops!

(The waitress calls the police and they arrive almost immediately)

Cop 1--(To the drunk, as he cuffs him)
Alright Bob, looks like you're gonna have to spend the night in the tank again.

Drunk--Gimmee a ham sammich,

Cop 2--Sorry about all the mess.

(The cops exit with the drunk)

Bartender--Goddamnit! I got piss on me! Valerie, watch the bar while I get cleaned up, and whatever you do, don't serve the Samaritan there.
(He pionts at the man)

Waitress--Okay boss.

Man--Oh come on. This wasn't my fault. He followed me in here. Can't I just have one beer?

Waitress--If I were you I'd leave before Tony gets back from the bathroom.

Man--But--

Waitress--Don't protest honey, just move along please. There are plenty of other bars in town.

Man--Grumble.
(He leaves the bar and walks down the street. He goes into a liquor store and grabs a 40 ounce beer)

Cashier--Will this be everything?

Man--I guess. For now. Suddenly I've got the inspiration to act in a depraved manner. I'm going down to the riverside to enjoy this beer right out of the sack like a bum.

Cashier--Hmmph! We all need goals. Here's your change, but if I were you I'd watch out for all the other bums.

Man--Thanks for the tip.

Cashier--Don't mention it.

(He exits the store and heads through the alley down to the train tracks. He tries to open his bottle and drops it. It shatters)

Man--NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! Oh God, why have you forsaken me?
(He attempts to salvage a few dribbles of liquid from on of the broken pieces, but abandons the idea and heads back toward the liquor store)

Cashier--Back so soon?

Man--Grumble.
(Speaks under his breath)
Your mama.
(He grabs a six pack of cans)

Cashier--That'll be four sixty-three.

Man--What?!

Cashier--Four dollars and sixty-three cents. Is that a problem? If it's too rich for you, you should consider quitting.

Man--Thanks, but I've already tried that. It's just strange that I've already encountered that number today.
(He takes his change and walks back toward the river. He is approached by two clean cut teenagers in dress slacks, white shirts, and black ties, walking their bikes along side the railroad tracks. He tries to avoid eye contact, but they walk right up to him)

Kid 1--Hello sir, we're from the chuch of immaculate confession and we're wondering if you've taken the time to find Jesus?

Man--No thank you. I'm busy.

Kid 2--You can never be too busy to find salvation. It's not too late for you yet. Here have this pamphlet.

Man--(Takes the pamphlet and jams it into his pocket)
Thanks, bye.

Kid 1--Wait a minute sir. If I may be so bold, you look as if you're lost spiritually. Our group is having a bible study tonight, and we think you should come with us.

Man--No you may not be so bold, and I'm sorry, but I don't have the time. So good day to you both--Now fuck off.

(The two kids look at eachother and nod. Then suddenly one of them restrains him as the other grabs his sack of beer)

Kid 1--Now don't fight us sir. We're doing this for your own good.

Man--Goddamnit, what are you two cultists doing to me? Let me go!

Kid 2--We'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from taking the lord's name in vain. Now what do you have in the sack?
(He looks inside)
Just what I thought. Devil juice.

Kid 1--We're here to free you from your sin,
(They take the beer and throw the man to the ground and race off on their bikes. The man gets up and starts chasing after them shouting)

Man--Why you no good hoodlums! Scoundrels! Iconoclasts! Jesus freaks! Hey you stole from me! What would the lord say about that?
(He watches them ride off amidst the dust of their wheels and stops short of breath. He shakes his fist at the sky)
This is all your fault, you bastard!
(Pauses)
Wait a minute.
(He pulls the pamphlet from his pocket and notes the address of the bible study)
I'm going to get you now!
(He goes back to the street and hails a cab)

Cabbie--Where to?

Man--327 Lexington.

Cabbie--10-4. So what's up with you on this fine evening?

Man--Well, I'm trying my damndest to fall off the wagon, but without any success. So now I'm going to church.

Cabbie--Church huh? Well that's probably the best thing for you. A man without a proper spiritual anchor is a lost soul, adrift in the sea of eternity.

Man--Everybody's a philosopher.

Cabbie--I'm just trying to make conversation.

Man--Well if you really want to know, I'm on my way to church to beat the crap out of a couple of teenagers, and then if I have the time I'm going to take a piss on their alter.

(The cab pulls over and stops suddenly)

Cabbie--Get out of my cab sir.

Man--What?

Cabbie--I'm a very religious man, and I won't be a party to such blasphemy. Please get out of my cab, I don’t need your fare that much.

Man--Hey. I was kidding. No harm done. Just drop me off at the nearest bar.

Cabbie--No sir. Just get out now please.

Man--Okay, okay.
(He gets out and the cab screeches off)
Now where the hell am I?
(He hears the pulsating drone of distant rythmns and wanders towards it. At a warehouse some people are standing around a door)
What's going on here?

Leather Clad Youth--It's a rave grandpa. You know, a dance.

Man--I know what a rave is. I'm not that old. Do you have any beer in there?

Leather Clad Youth--Whatever your poison is, you'll find it. Twenty bucks.

Man--Twenty bucks?! That's outrageous!

Leather Clad Youth--Then don't go in. Now please step aside.
(Two hip dressed kids approach the doorman and hand him forty dollars and he lets them inside. A young woman in a yellow dress doing cartwheels in the parking lot approaches the man)

Girl--It's a beautiful night, isn't it?

Man--I guess.

Girl--Are you going inside?

Man--Well, I was considering it.

Girl--Come on then.
(She grabs his arm and pulls him toward the door)

Leather Clad Youth--Forty bucks.

Man--But I--

Girl--Come on.
(She flips her hair cutely)

Man--Oh what the hell.
(He hands him the money and they go inside. She leads him into a loud sweaty room with bright flashing lights)

Girl--Stay right here. I'll be right back.

Man--But--
(She disappears, and he stands there watching the mass of flesh dancing as he curses himself for being such a sucker. After a minute he goes looking for the bar)

Man--Can I have a beer?

Pierced Man--What? Beer? We don't have any beer.

Man--Well, what do you have?

Pierced Man--Smart drinks.

Man--I see.

Girl--There you are. I thought I lost you.

Man--I was--

Girl--Come on.
(She leads him onto the dance floor and begins to slither about him seductively. After a minute she starts to kiss him)

Girl--Oh hey! There's my friend Toby.

Toby--Hey Sunshine, how have you been?

Girl--Great! This is----

Man--Stan.

Girl--Stan.

Toby--(Nods)
We're all heading over to Jimmy's. You coming?

Girl--Okay.

Toby--See you out front.

Man--Now wait a minute. I just paid forty dollars to get in here. We're not leaving yet are we?

Girl--Don't be such a stick in the mud. Let loose. Live a little. I've got to go to the bathroom, wait right here.

Man--Sure.
(He waits a minute and then starts looking for her)

Man--You haven't seen a girl in a yellow dress, have you?

Dancing Kid--What? No.

Man--Figures. My head is starting to spin. I think I'm on drugs.

Dancing Kid--Cool.

Man--When that girl kissed me, I think I caught some drugs from her.

Dancing Kid--Cool.

Man--I can't breathe. I've got to get out of here.
(He runs outside)

Man--That girl I came in here with, have you seen her?

Leather Clad Youth--(Laughs)
Yeah, she just left in a van with some guys. Tough luck buster.

Man--I guess your right, but I should be more upset about it than I am. I think I caught some drugs from her.

Leather Clad Youth--You don't catch drugs. You catch herpes. You've ingested drugs.

Man--Yeah, well suddenly I feel very happy.

Leather Clad Youth--That'll happen.

Man--(Looks at the Leather Clad Youth for a moment)
Can I kiss you?

Leather Clad Youth--Okay, It's time for you to go.
(He pushes the man up the street. The man wanders and ends up in front of a liquor store)

Man--Oh yeah! I forgot! Beer!
(He digs in his pockets)
Oh no, I'm broke!

(A man walks out of the store)

Man--Hello, can I borrow four dollars and sixty-three cents?

Other Man--No you cannot, you freak. It looks as if you've had enough already.

Man--I'm not drunk. I'm on drugs.

Other Man--Figures.
(He walks off)

(Feeling over-confident the man goes into the store to steal a beer)

Cashier--Excuse me?

Man--What?

Cashier--Are you going to pay for that bottle you put in your pants?

Man--I was just looking.

Cashier--I can see it sticking out of your pocket. Just put it on the counter and walk away, or pay for it. Don't make me call the cops.

Man--I was just looking.

Cashier--Yeah, whatever, now put it back.

(The man runs and trips. He falls on the bottle and it breaks, cutting his leg open)

Cashier--Dude, you're bleeding real bad. I'm calling the cops.

Man--No I'm fine.
(He tries to get up but stumbles and falls)

Cashier--You're not going anywhere.
(He goes in to call the police)

(The man sits in the parking lot tripping out over all the blood on his hands from touching his wound)

Man--Lady MacBeth, what have I done?
(He starts laughing)
"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?"

Cashier--(Bringing the police)
Here he is. He looks pretty bad.

Cop 1--Okay sir, just relax. Put this towel on your leg and put pressure to the wound. The ambulance will be here soon.

Man--All I wanted was a beer. Can I please have one?

Cop 2--Alcohol thins the blood, and that's the last thing you need right now. Just sit tight and we'll get you the attention you need. You'll be charged with disorderly conduct, don't make things worse for yourself.

Man--Two Jesus freaks stole my six pack and I caught drugs from a hippy harpy, it can't get any worse.

Cop 1--That's your theory. Don't test it.

(The ambulance arrives)

Paramedic--Okay now, lets get you on the stretcher. I'm gonna have to cut your pants open to see the wound. We have to make sure we get all the glass out.

Man--This is why I quit drinking in the first place. It always gets me into trouble.

Paramedic--How much have you had to drink tonight?

Man--Nothing.

Paramedic--Are you sure? We need to know in order to help you.

Man--I think I'm on ecstacy.

Paramedic--You think?

Cop 1--We'll meet you at the hospital to take care of the paperwork.

Paramedic--Okay, see you there.

Man--Can I borrow four dollars and sixty-three cents?

Tuna Pie

2008-06-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

Recently it has come to my attention that there is a fast food item out there called Tuna Pie. It is supposedly an ethnic food. What ethnicity you might ask? Why, midwestern American my friends! I started thinking about it and the more I pondered the concept of Tuna Pie the more delicious it sounded. I imagined a tuna pot pie, or a tuna Hotpocket type of thing. I decided to create my own Tuna Pie recipe, and folks, it was absolutely scrumptious.

I decided to make a basic tuna noodle casserole type of thing and just simply put it in a pie crust. It is ethnic food, pure and simple. It comes from the culture I grew up in and I'm proud of it. For that authentic 70's taste, I made sure to use mostly canned ingredients; one can of Campbell's Cream of Potato soup, one can of carrots and peas, egg noodles, all mixed together in a frozen pie crust. It's the kind of thing you could throw together in the post apocalypse.

For you health conscious organic minded folks out there, you could use a dolphin friendly tuna, buy fresh vegetables from your local farmers market, and bake your own pie crust using all the expensive fancy ingredients that are important to you. I loved my tuna pie, though I think a little sauteed onion and garlic thrown in would have piqued the flavor a bit. Maybe a few aromatics. Fresh sage perhaps?

The best part is yet to come. I can't wait for tomorrow, and the promise of leftover tuna pie. MMMMMMM! Heaven!

Embarrassing mom stuff

2008-06-21T00:04:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine and I were talking about our troubling teenage years, and about how our mothers could sometimes make us feel like degenerates. My friend is gay, and when he came out his mom first wanted him to go to counseling. I guess to "fix" him. Later she discovered in the VCR, a gay porn, which he had accidentally left there. He was young, it was like his first gay porn. (I'm thinking Fisher Price here, My First Gay Porn) He had barely watched it himself. Someone came home and he shut it off and ran away in fear and forgot about it. Later, to his horror, his mother decided that to try to be compassionate and understanding, she would watch the entire movie herself just so she could understand how gay people behave with one another. That's like someone trying to understand a straight relationship by watching Big Booty Titty Fuckers Volume 69. I mean, really? Anyway it was a deeply troubling experience for the poor young lad, even though she meant well.

I am a self centered prick. If you know me personally you know what I'm talking about. I thought I had to try to top that experience. Of course I couldn't, but I do have some embarrassing mom moments of my own which I will share with you now.

Remember the beginning of Boogie Nights, where Eddie Adams of Torrence who later becomes Dirk Diggler came home and his mom was all drinking and being psycho? She said to him, "You don't think I know what's going on. I know what's going on. I wash your sheets." Well my mom wasn't mean or psycho like that, but when I first saw that movie I had a little bit of deja vu. My mom once actually said to me, "I wash your sheets, I've seen your pecker tracks." Now other than my mother I have never heard the term pecker tracks before or since. Oh I love it now. I've put my name in my winning video games as peckertrax many times. I even wanted to call one of my bands Pecker Tracks, or write a song called Pecker Tracks. I find it hilarious, but at age 16 I was horrified.

Once I had a girl in my room. It was in the summer and my mom came home from lunch unexpectedly. My mom was pissed that my friend had parked her car in the middle of our driveway so my mom had to park in the street. She came crashing into the house all mad, and me and my friend quietly walked upstairs to greet her. My friend said goodbye and left. When she was gone my mother glared at me and asked, "What did you do to that little girl?" That my friends, made me feel like shit. What did you do to that little girl? It made me sound like a pervert. "Nothing", I said guiltily. "We were just listening to the Doors." Which was true. Okay, she was 16 and I was 17, and well, we had been doing "stuff". But it was just kissing and mild groping. Teenager stuff. No big deal really.

Anyway I am curious if any of you out there have had any similar experiences. And as older folks now, and parents, how will we deal with these situations with our own kids?

God at an AA meeting.

2008-06-18T21:54:00.000-07:00

(I know it might be uninteresting or boring as shit to have me post my various scribblings. Then again this is my forum so I can do whatever I want. There are probably only two or three people who read this blog anyway. That being said, for you two or three, here is a little thing I wrote during a time where I was trying my hand at writing sketch comedy. This particular piece was the result of my own dealings with a certain sobriety group. I hope you enjoy it. Please comment even if you hate it. I am extremely needy.)

I'd like to thank you all for coming. It's really good for me to have these group sessions. Sometimes being all powerful can make you take for granted what it is like to NOT be God. All of you certainly know what it's like to not be me, and as you are my closest associates, I can't think of anybody else with whom I'd like to share my feelings with.

So that being said. My name is God and I'm an alcoholic.
(Hi God.)
Thanks in no small part to these meetings I have been sober for 91 years. Of course as you all know, my tendency to celebrate with wine usually falls in line with a period where I am smiting. I'm not sure which one is the actual problem. Drinking or smiting? The two are inextricably linked. Sometimes I smite and then get drunk, and other times I get drunk and then I smite. So what I'm really trying to say is it's been 91 years since I've smited.

I guess it boils down to my essential addiction to power. I am God after all. I'm the greatest. The most cool. I look at all of you dear friends here with me now and all I can think of is how much better I look in my outfit than the rest of you do in yours. I'm stronger, and faster, and smarter . I can do magic tricks, and I'm the center of attention wherever I go. Being mad for power just goes with the gig.

Sometimes I just feel this uncontrollable urge to smite. It happened to me last night but I called Methusalah and he helped me fight it off. Thanks again Methy. What worries me most I guess is that I don’t want to smite for any specific wrong that may have been committed. I'm just talking about general smiting here. Smiting for smitings sake.

I guess I'm just pensive about the old days. Some of you remember. Back when I was always laying down the law in the harshest manner possible. And in darn creative ways too if I do say so myself. Death of the first born. Raining animals, earthquakes. There were some wonderful plagues. Metatron remember that time we put all the boils on that King's nutsack? That was a laugh riot. Oh right, David! That was you! Sorry man, I'm just playing.

But sometimes I think fondly upon the days where I rained down fire and demanded sacrifices. Abraham I told you to kill your own son and you were going to do it. I thought that it was the funniest thing ever, and didn't really think about how something like that would effect you. I was just trying to test your loyalty. Again I'm so sorry.

Oh I know that it is for the best that I take a back seat role in the affairs of mankind. But old habits die hard, and I'm sure that it will be just a matter of time before my next relapse. It's like the Titanic incident. My last relapse. I had been going along for a good long while without any drinking or smiting. It had been since the Renaissance. Nearly 300 years, which is a good streak for me, and then these medamned arrogant little cocksuckers got to go and build an "unsinkable" ship. It just pissed me off. It was like I was being dared. I don't like being dared. So I sank the ship, and it was exhilerating. Of course the next couple of days I felt like shit. I wasn't so upset by the smiting, but was more sad for the loss of my good streak. And since the Titanic there have been thousands of reasons to smite for real and I didn't. I wanted to do much nastier things to Hitler's nutsack but I held back. Why have I held back all this time? Because I can see through the fact that I have a problem.

I've been focusing a lot of energy these days on my more creative pursuits. I didn't really remember how much I missed the creative process. I've picked up the electric guitar, I'm working on a documentary film about the daily life of being a deity, and I'm finishing up the final stages of a new universe, and I should have life on it by this upcoming Saturday. By the way I'm sleeping in on Sunday, but if you want to stop by I'll show it to anybody who is interested on Monday morning. You'll love it. It's a complete departure from the work I did on earth, and the people won't be in my own image this time. Trust me. You'll get used to it. And I'm proud to say that Jesus here helped me quite a bit on it. It was a regular ol' father and son activity. He's very good with plantlife in particular. That is another reason that I choose to stay away from smiting. I get more time to spend with my kids.

But I would also love to evolve my new people super fast and have them conquer the earth. But by the grace of me I'll think things through. I'm just being honest with myself, admitting that the urge is there. I only wish I had a higher power that I could give myself to in those sensitive moments. Sometimes I just feel that it isn't fair. Everybody else has a higher power, but what do I got? I invented everything. Sometimes I get the urge to create a better God than me, so I'd have someone to worship too. But that would be cheating, and besides I have a power issue, I'd end up having to kick His ass. And that would only bring me right back to where I am now. I guess it's all perspective isn't it? In a way I think of this group as my higher power. This is the only place where I almost feel like I am one of the group and not just merely above the group, which I most certainly am. But it feels good to talk to you all as sort of equals, I almost get the illusion that it matters what you think about me. Anyway thanks for listening. With that I'll pass.

potty mouth

2008-06-17T21:53:00.000-07:00

Kirk has a sense of humor. I'm glad of that. I love to laugh, and I love comedy of all stripes. Comedy is my favorite escape so I am naturally quite pleased at this development in my child. His laughter is infectious too. We'll be trying to snuggle back to sleep after he has conned me into inviting him into our bed at 4 in the morning, and he'll start telling stories. It's hard to tell what he's saying with his milk sippy in his mouth, but he'll start to laugh at his own silliness. One time in particular he said something about a "muffin bottom". I asked him, "did you just say muffin bottom", and he started cracking up, and then I did too. Pretty soon we were like two teenagers at a sleep over all slap happy, laughing uncontrollably about the muffin bottom. Until the wife told us to shut up and go back to sleep. Then we were quiet for a minute just looking at each other with smiles on our faces trying to hold back the laughter, when suddenly one of us whispered "muffin bottom", and then it was all over and the hysterics resumed.
Later I asked where he came up with the term muffin bottom anyway, and discovered he simply ate muffins the day before at daycare and loved the concept. I tried to tell him about the Seinfeld episode where Elaine had a muffin top shop and couldn't even give away the bottoms to the homeless. He really didn't understand that at all, he never saw the episode, and he's like not really even three yet, still the boy knows from funny.

Lately his humor has revolved mainly among butts. He thinks it is hilarious to call everything a butt. He makes me sing happy birthday as happy butt butt. I ask him if he wants to eat fishsticks, and he says he wants to eat fishbutts, and then he giggles. Now I know you are probably thinking he got this from me, and sure I have the knack for potty humor as well, but I usually work in the medium of poops or farts. Kirk will branch into poops and farts certainly, but his primary bit is butts. He comes up with this stuff on his own as if he were some sort of fully fledged big brained homo-sapien or something. Weird. It's gotten ridiculous. The word butt is coming out of his mouth all the time. The sun is a big bright butt, we drive a butt car, Thomas the train is a butt engine, and on and on. I don't mean to laugh all the time, but I can't help it sometimes.

Kirk has an imaginary band called Steggy Steggy, and they practice and have gigs and stuff, and his kitties are in the band (he says I'm the bass player,but I always tell him I'm just filling in until he gets a new bass player, I have my own band and don't have time for another). They have a new song. It's called Butt Butt Butt.

Tonight I decided to talk to him about spirituality. I asked him if he heard of god. I just want to get him started in my particular brand of brainwashing that is the right of all parents. I was trying to tell him simply that god is the love that I feel for him and his mommy, and the love he feels for us. God is love, basic stuff. He looked at me, smiled, put his nose against mine and said, "god is butt." He's a goddamn zen master that one.

I am a first class swearer. I come from a long line of professional swearers. My dad swore a blue streak all the time when I was a kid. I heard it all. I do try to censor myself around my child, but when I'm telling a story sometimes the profanities slide through. I'm surprised he hasn't picked up any real curse words. My friend's 3 year old actually once said, "change my fucking diaper." She told me she was both shocked and appalled, yet a little proud of the correct usage. That incident did lead however to a more rigorous potty training regimen. I'm a little embarrassed at Kirk's butt talk, but considering who his father is, I think he's right on track. Butt!

Empathy

2008-06-16T21:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when Kirk is misbehaving he will try to lash out and tell me he doesn't like me or he'll try to hit me. It's a big problem. I have decided to not let him get away with being mean to people including me. I say things like, "it hurts peoples feelings when you say you don't like them", and he will usually concede the point and say he's sorry. The problem with using empathy as a tool with a three year old is they are smart enough to try to use it back. The other day when I was trying to get him into bed for a nap he kept running from me telling me I was making him sad. He said, "it hurts my feelings when you make me nap." Then when I tried to change his pants before said nap he started yelling and saying that I was hurting his other feelings.

New story, written years ago.

2008-06-11T22:27:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine got a DWI a few years back. I took him to court. I watched people and dreamed up this little sick love story.

We met in court. That fact alone should have clued me in to the type of relationship we would forge together. I knew it would eventually go badly looking back, but I always think things will go badly. I’m a pessimist, and so was she, but we met in a time of forced optimism for both of us. Neither of us wanted to get sent to jail. I was there for driving intoxicated and she was there on a charge of aggravated assault after she got in a fight at a bar and slugged the bouncer. We both had booze in common, and that was all we needed at the time, that and lonliness, I guess.
If you’ve ever had to deal with the legal system before you will know that it is extremely boring. There is a lot of time sitting around waiting. So we waited. And in the process we found ourselves conversing with the other various miscreants present. It was the usual assortment—drug violations, traffic situations, and the lot—regular people having a bad week. We sort of found eachother by default. We were the same age and race, so we had similar backgrounds. It was court so we were on our best behavior. I was dressed in my cleanest clothes, I was showered, shaved, and I had my hair neatly put into place. She was wearing the type of suit you would expect a female CEO of a fortune 500 company to wear. It was new, she bought it for the occasion. She was quite beautiful, but that was the first and only time I would ever see her looking like that. After hours of sitting and chatting together we decided to have dinner. We had, as a result of the days proceedings, both lost our driving privledges, so we took a cab to a bar and grill to celebrate not having to go to jail.
As I said, we had booze in common, so it is not unusual that we found ourselves to soon be uncommonly drunk. After dinner and many cocktails we stummbled down the street together laughing at nothing in particular. We were having the time of our lives. We were like two soldiers surviving combat sharing in our mutual joy with gleeful camaraderie. We would pause every few blocks or so and make out. Eventually we stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of vodka and a case of beer and went back to her place.
The rest of the night was quite blurry. We drank and we fucked. Then we ordered chinese food, ate, and then drank and fucked some more. When I woke up it was still dark outside. My mouth was dry and my head was spinning. For a moment I had no idea where the hell I was. I sat up and as my eyes ajusted to the darkness it became clear that I was lying on the floor somewhere. I was in a hallway. I focused on a cobweb in the corner of the wall and the ceiling for a minute and then rested my gaze on a poster on the wall that was half lighted from an outside street lamp. It was from some foreign movie I had never heard of. I looked at it for a seeming eternity. It featured a man in a cape on a horse holding a sword. “Who the hell is this broad anyway?” I kept wondering to myself. Then I picked myself up off the floor and noticed a pile of rice and vegetables splattered on the floor next to me. It was on my chest too. I was naked. I found the bathroom, washed myself off and took gargantuan gulps of water from the faucet. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were blood red, my face was pale, and I still had bits of undigested rice in my sticky hair that looked like maggots to me. “Why am I such a hopeless lout?” I derided myself. “Well at least I got laid.” I smiled at my reflection but the smile I received seemed beleagered and sad. I went to look for my clothes.
I found my underwear in the kitchen and my pants on the radiator. I put my pants on and cleaned up my vomit with my underwear. I threw the whole mess in the bathroom garbage and went looking for my shirt. I was still too shaky and still too drunk to feel guilty, but I knew the guilt was coming. If only my mother could see me know, I thought, she’d be so proud. That actually made me laugh at the time.
I couldn’t find my shirt anywhere and I knew it had to be behind the closed door to the bedroom. I was reticent to enter. She was in there. I was embarrassed. I considered walking home topless, but as I heard the birds chirping in dawn and the early morning hum of the busses outside, I decided not to subject the working people of the city to that type of weirdness. The sun was rising. Orange light splashed on the furniture in the room. It was lovely. I layed down on the couch and fell asleep once more.
When I awoke next I was hot. The sun was shining brightly upon me. I was thirsty. I sat up quickly and stared about the room. Everything was still strangely quiet. The poster of the horseman stared back at me. I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. I drank it down in four gulps. Then I walked gently to the bedroom door. I knocked lightly, and upon hearing nothing I carefully and slowly turned the knob and peered inside. She was still sleeping. The shade was drawn and the room looked gray. She was on the bed at an angle. The covers were on the floor. She was wearing my shirt but below the waist she was naked. There was a dark spot on the bed next to her. She must have pissed the bed, I thought, or maybe I did before I ended up in the hallway. She looked so peaceful. I looked at her legs pressed together and at her triangle vagina, I actually yearned to lie next to her and be her boyfriend. The clock by her bed read 10:47. I had missed work. Again. I climbed in bed beside her and spooned her avoiding the pee stain, and fell asleep again.
I opened my eyes. The clock read 1:26. She was gone. I rose and went to the bathroom. She was in there, brushing her teeth. She smiled at me through foam and toothbrush. I smiled back and went to the couch and sat down. A minute later she came out and sat next to me and put her arms around me.
“Thanks for staying”, she said.
“I almost didn’t”, I admitted. “But you were too cute in my shirt.”
She laughed and tossled my hair, but soon she lept back and stated, “You’re gross, get in the shower. I’ll put our clothes in the laundry. Feel free to use my toothbrush too.”
After my shower I put on one of her robes and went into the kitchen where she was cooking. The rest of the apartment looked clean.
“Your clothes will be done in an hour or so, until then we’ll have omlettes. The grease will be good for your hangover”, she said while stirring.
We ate our breakfast in silence, and once my clothes were dry she handed them to me straight faced.
“So I guess you have to go home and take care of missing work and everything”, she said.
“Yeah, and I have to try to get my drivers license back.” I looked at her and she seemed sad, or was it the same guilt that I felt for being so drunk and stupid the night before.
We kissed goodbye and it was one of those unemotional kisses, an uncomfortable kiss, a kiss that is merely protocol for the situation. I promised to call her and went out the door. I walked down the hall and pressed the down button on the elevator. The doors opened. I stepped inside. Then, just as the doors were closing I put my hand out, the doors reopenened and I went back to her door and knocked. She opened the door and smiled at me with such beauty that I pulled her to me and kissed her for real. She kissed me back passionately. We stumbled back into her apartment and I made love to her on the sun drenched sofa. That was the beginning of our relationship.

Her friends hated me. I hated them too. Hell, I think they hated her. They were all getting married and starting families, and she was off getting involved with another drunk. I can’t blame them for hating me, I hated me too. We ruined all their parties with our recklessness. I fell into a china cabinet once and I even sneezed on one of their babies. We were never invited out again.
My friends liked her okay. They thought she was cute enough, but never tried to get to know her. She didn’t get along with their wives or girlfriends, so we weren’t invited out much. We remained very much alone, and we remained very drunk. We were in love, so the rest of the world could fuck off for all we cared.
We drank together all the time. We rarely had sex at all. Drinking was our pleasure. Sometimes we would fuck in the morning to shake off a hangover, but mostly we drank. We would work, and then we would drink.
Strangely enough her parents loved me. Her family were a bunch of rednecks who thought of me as “good people”. My mother also loved her. She just wanted me to get her pregnant. She figured the responsibility of children would cure us of our wayward lifestyle. But we both hated our families, because we were elitist asshole city slickers. Actually we hated everybody.
We had grand times together, avoiding other people. We had hot dogs on thanksgiving, and we made turkey dinner for the fourth of July. But eventually we started to hate eachother as well. She drank too much, and so did I. It wasn’t long before we were in court for breaking probation. We were ordered to go into treatment and that was the end of us. We didn’t have anything in common after that.
I got sober eventually and I met someone in my new life, got married, and started a family. She killed herself a year after treatment. I think of her everyday.

Dear old Matty Van. I'm a president nerd, remember?

2008-06-09T23:59:00.000-07:00

Here is something I wrote once. It has no ending. At least I don't think it does. I really don't know what to do with it, but I really like how it captures the essence of a highway journey, albeit a crazy highway journey. Please let me know what you think.

I’m thinking about killing myself again. But why? Rationally I ask myself the same question over and over. I never seem to find the answer. Possibly there is no answer. It really doesn’t matter anyway. I’m starting to see reason again. There is no satisfaction in death. There is no exaltation. There is nothing.
These thoughts then get me to thinking about metaphysical matters. What is the soul? Does it exist? How much does it weigh, or what is its color?
None of it matters anyway. I look upon the person at the counter and grin robotically.
“Yes, it is a nice day out. Oh, yes, I do think there will be rain after all.”
I take my candy bar, my mineral water and my luxurious stick of jerkied beef back to my newly filled gasoline combustion machine.
As I drive I begin to wonder what it was that brought me to my current state. Is there anything truly wrong with me, I wonder. It even seems as though I am forcing myself to suffer for some future deed as yet unfolded. Hmm.?
As I drive I try to conjure up any notion that lets me believe that what I am attempting is anything except crazy.
“I’m not crazy! Everyone else is crazy.”
I haven’t done anything crazy yet, but what I am contemplating still weighs weary on my mind.
“You see, I am an artist. That is all. I’m just making a grand presentation.”
Just a grand presentation. Yes. After all it’s not like I want to hurt anyone. Far from it, I’m merely making a demonstration of my love. It’s a gentle intimate thing. Not unlike a wedding proposal on a billboard. Just more unique. That’s it, more unique. I always try to be somewhat original. It’s my strong suit. But maybe I am grasping for straws. Maybe this whole goddamned trip is futile. Nobody likes an insane man. And isn’t that exactly the type of person I am presenting if I go on with this?
I turn on the radio. It fills my cabin with blissful forgetfulness for awhile. I like that. I sing along to the popular songs of my childhood in nostalgic reverie. I sing along. I sing along. And I hum. And I tap out familiar rhythms upon my steering wheel. All is good. Yes. It does feel good to be on the road. The road is entrancing. It bumps and pulsates giddily along. Flashing past so swiftly, so forgetting. So forgetting. I sip at my water and flap my tongue lovingly at the tingling. The bubbles.
After some time I find that I have traveled far, indeed, far through time, if not in space. I look upon my speedometer and start to make the calculations again. Okay, at 70 miles per hour after seven hours I should be getting near where I need to sleep tonight. For some reason I loathe the notion of stopping. I just want to plow through past daybreak. But it’s not reasonable. It’s not rational. I need some rest. I’ve been on this road for a day now, and if I didn’t think I was capable of being crazy then, I surely should by now. I need to sleep it out. Think things through.
“I need to keep myself awake until I find a place to stay.”
I’m beginning to grow so tired. I even try to slap myself, but it is only a facsimile of a slap. I chuckle to myself.
“I can’t even slap myself, how could I expect to kill myself?”
I turn up the music. Louder and louder. I roll down the windows in an attempt to revive consciousness while looking like an air eating dog. I bounce up and down in my seat and pray for a hotel. Eventually it comes.
It is late. Far past midnight. The girl at the counter takes my credit card without looking up, and I hardly notice. I bring myself to my room and flop down instantly. I lay there for quite awhile staring at the textured ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come. It merely teases me. I find myself looking up in the yellow illumination of the hotel lamp. The bed is neat yet hard. It is stiff. It is unyielding. Pulling myself out of my clothes I grab instinctively for the remote control and crawl into the sack amidst an array of flashing imagery. The TV sings it’s lullaby and I finally submit to sleep.
“You don’t know who you are.”
“I’m the man you find sleeping.”
I awake for a moment to find the station all a fuzz with indifference. I click it off and resume my slumber.
Morning comes, and I choose to shower. The hot water is blissful upon my waking back. I see more clearful.
“I am alive”
The hot water drabs down and I start to sob.
“Why can’t she see me as clearly as I?”
“Fuck her! Fuck everybody!”
I begin to pound my head against the hollow fiberglass. Boom boom boom.
“Jesus this must be an interminable racket.”
I step out of the shower and turn on the fake red ticking lamp just for fun. Seated on the toilet I hang my head. I hang my head and sit. For a while.
The phone rings.
My heart stops.
Pause.
The phone rings again.
I get up and answer,
“Hello.”
“Oh yes, thank you.”
I hang up having forgotten the wake up call I had asked for.
Bunching my spare clothes together in my sack, I dress and head for the outdoors. I am greeted by the cool breeze of freshness in my wet head as I climb into my car and make haste for the freeway.
Driving again I start to feel more relaxed.
“Sadness gropes me.”
Like a molester, despair plunges it’s fangs into my being from out of nowhere.
“Why am I such a pussy?”
After a while I begin to feel human. The endless monotony of the interstate placates my madness momentarily. I count to myself, trying to figure out my gas mileage, my distance from my goal, and how I’m supposed to dig up the body of President Martin Van Buren and win back my lost love.

Lot's O' stuff: new CD, fashion show, and the color fascist

2008-06-09T20:04:00.000-07:00

Hello all. It was a busy week for me last week, and a busy weekend. On Saturday my groovy electro-pop/rock band played our CD release party. We have just put out our second EP and we are quite proud of it. You can get your hands on one by going here. You can also get it from itunes, or by writing to me. If you are in Minneapolis the CD will also be available at all Cheapo locations and at The Electric Fetus.
Also the new video, as posted earlier, is officially released, so please, if anyone wants to splash it all over their various blogs and stuff, feel free. It was pretty silly that I had to remove it from myspace last week, especially considering the DVD player was broken at the club, and we weren't even able to premier it, but hey I was just following orders.
The show was a great success. Thanks to all who performed or attended. Here's a picture from our performance. In typical Zahn fashion I would have to say I look awesomely awesome. I love me in this band. I think my Dr. Who look came off quite nicely. Anyway that's enough about me, now I'd like to take some time to talk about other peoples art.

On Thursday night I attended a local fashion show. It was billed as "cliche's fourth anniversary runway event". It took place in a community center near the uptown area of Minneapolis. This town has a lot of art, music, and theatre. It often feels like the only events I ever attend are musically related, so it was nice to take part in a different type of scene. It was in a big room with a runway, DJ's, a wine bar, and lots of beautiful people. I think folks dress differently for a fashion show than for a rock show. There seems to be more daring, more people trying to make a statement rather than just looking slutty on the dance floor, (which I am a fan of, don't misunderstand). Anyway one of my coworkers was showing her designs. She designs under the name Karmadandi, and I think she is really exceptionally talented. Her line is sophisticated yet completely practical. I took some video, but my camera was not up to the task for this type of event. The funniest part of this video are the stupid comments you can hear me making. Sadly Belsum could not attend. It would have been right up her alley. I went instead with a couple of other friends. It was really fun to just comment on the designs and give opinions, and argue whether a particular item was sexy or not. I had fun. One of my friends was Ellie, see photo. We had an eventful day prior to the show. We were naughty. I got a jewish girl to eat bacon. Don't tell her mother. My other friend Rex, was also naughty at my urging, and having had to work early the next morning with a hangover, I'm sure he cursed my name plenty. Hey, it's a fair cop. Hey look I'm wearing the same sweater I wore in my music video. I do wear that a lot don't I?

Lastly. Kirk was cranky at having to go to bed last night. As I read a little Elmo book about colors, he had negative things to say for every page, and when I got to the end and asked, "what's your favorite color?" He said, "I don't like colors." I thought it was pretty absurdly funny. I mean c'mon, is there really a human being alive who just plain doesn't like color? Prefers a black and white world maybe? Waxes nostalgic about the good old days, when everything was in black and white as evidenced by the tv, movies, and photos from yesteryear? I'll have to ponder that. Goodnight.

I'm young again!!!

2008-06-03T21:19:00.000-07:00

This is a quote from a recent Mercurial Rage write up.

"Mercurial Rage aren't British; they were born during the era they are referencing" See full article here.

That meant that we were born during the height of Depeche Mode and new wave. I'm the oldest member of the band, so that officially takes at least 10 years off my age. Maybe more if you put the era in the mid 1980's. In reality I was born during the era of SuperGlam-T Rex, David Bowie, and The Sweet, baby. A sexy time in it's own right. But I don't mind the age demotion. One question? Does this printed statement only make my alter ego Christopher Church 25, or do I get to be young with the gang? My real identity is only credited as a lyric writer, not really a full band member, but I think I should be ,ahem, grandfathered in. Ya know? Compromise. I get to say I'm 28. That sounds good to me. The only problem is at 28 I can't continue to run for President. I may have to switch my myspace profile to Chris Hill for Congress.

Oh hell, who am I kidding. I'm wearing an argyle cardigan in our music video. I'm obviously somebody's dad. Speaking of being a dad, the other day Kirk told me to play guitar while he played drums. After a while he got confused and threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Stop the music!"

Check out our new video.

2008-06-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-30T22:51:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-30T20:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-28T23:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-27T21:37:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-05-25T18:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-24T22:33:00.000-07:00

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)

2008-05-21T21:39:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-20T16:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-20T13:35:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-17T21:25:00.000-07:00

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)

2008-05-15T22:36:00.000-07:00

*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

2008-05-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-14T20:16:00.000-07:00

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?