tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86668834376029186332024-03-05T20:43:17.684-08:00Stranded in HickvilleThrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.comBlogger220125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-71868287224559843282023-03-13T19:02:00.000-07:002023-03-13T19:02:35.440-07:00Still Haunted. Still Seeing Ghosts.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite4enZ-9ZxU_pVVyVWs5Jojnf5H8_GpsdszkVhUiaJg0XO9R2BCvCTeROK3YrrbkvFsMTXPC-lu2VnAkxy5iJFkHAQbpWcBkE2fBjb1019Alw_i6G-1tiyhulbZ27CiI1cFiJ84GYg2QtDKlYbghvVN5Kfw5SVs5eHCaJ3poI3AT_2jb62QZVaUOS/s320/20170322_143056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite4enZ-9ZxU_pVVyVWs5Jojnf5H8_GpsdszkVhUiaJg0XO9R2BCvCTeROK3YrrbkvFsMTXPC-lu2VnAkxy5iJFkHAQbpWcBkE2fBjb1019Alw_i6G-1tiyhulbZ27CiI1cFiJ84GYg2QtDKlYbghvVN5Kfw5SVs5eHCaJ3poI3AT_2jb62QZVaUOS/w640-h360/20170322_143056.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I was thinking about this project I'm working on today. It's called Unusual Idaho. It's something I'm pretty damn excited about and that I hope I get off the ground. Actually, it's off the ground, though it's a long, long, long fucking way from being finished.</p><p>Anyway, I was thinking about ideas for UI (that's what the hip kids are calling it) and a thought popped into my head. The thought that Amber would've loved this project.</p><p>You see, Amber was all into fantasy creatures like vampires, werewolves and reptilians that feed on the life force of human beings. She believed, even claimed to have had interactions with some of them. So I think she'd be into the idea of a project that centers on cryptozoology, the paranormal and the unexplained. Maybe she wouldn't be down with tackling those subjects from a comedic angle, but she'd be down with digging into the mythology and reality of those creatures, even if we're fabricating that mythology and reality as we go. I think she would really dig Unusual Idaho.</p><p>I spent a few moments entertaining the idea that Amber would love our little web series/podcast/WhatTheFuckAreWeActuallyGonnaDoWithThis and then it hit me: Even though it's been almost five-and-a-half years since the last time I saw Amber, since we last shared the same space, and she still crosses my mind. She still haunts me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpjLIONgB3oJi7xHZIj-Qd-k9aZjC-r13A0l9xHfu8qry-nK7kgfNS_vuMD2zLVeZcMDNRLOc9og7haQYSNftaMpdHhrksnvYlT2fQWSFUZJ9XgMRPt89s6bEz5fj8at6F3ipuLWXaVkcsaXe1tC_gkrlBTfvLSlGk8cNTRhucHACIYklKIY1l3MX/s400/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpjLIONgB3oJi7xHZIj-Qd-k9aZjC-r13A0l9xHfu8qry-nK7kgfNS_vuMD2zLVeZcMDNRLOc9og7haQYSNftaMpdHhrksnvYlT2fQWSFUZJ9XgMRPt89s6bEz5fj8at6F3ipuLWXaVkcsaXe1tC_gkrlBTfvLSlGk8cNTRhucHACIYklKIY1l3MX/w400-h300/giphy.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Ghosts are totally real, you guys. I'm not joking. They haunt me constantly, showing up when I least expect them to, leaving me trembling and broken. </p><p>They just aren't the kind of phantoms the dumbasses on Ghost Adventures are trying to prove exist. Maybe those kinds of ghosts exist. Maybe they don't. I remained unconvinced. But ghosts haunting the recesses of the human mind, memories that trigger strong emotional reactions, those motherfuckers are totally real.</p><p>But we can't be haunted by just anyone. The only people who can haunt you are people who make an extremely deep impression, who reach into your very core and touch your heart. That's what Amber did to me. She was one of the pillars of my existence for years, someone I truly didn't think I could live without. Someone I relied upon even though I definitely shouldn't have.</p><p>Someone I deeply loved.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA69WhyoUiiojEfTyeGKtgCOW9hJ5rlKysQ8_IHFySXyEOseTIRPA3hWZIwODjFuRH7acDpmkwgx1Vmo3Q6OvFMO9MBVOB4-1EAlra2PB9D2vYjY-FaH2HoiGG3b1-Kkdv8JZzisd8RRjCnj-xDIxK9PfzGo1FjTESE2_pxYpcUwRoyQf3ADNz-RNZ/s320/20170505_163308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA69WhyoUiiojEfTyeGKtgCOW9hJ5rlKysQ8_IHFySXyEOseTIRPA3hWZIwODjFuRH7acDpmkwgx1Vmo3Q6OvFMO9MBVOB4-1EAlra2PB9D2vYjY-FaH2HoiGG3b1-Kkdv8JZzisd8RRjCnj-xDIxK9PfzGo1FjTESE2_pxYpcUwRoyQf3ADNz-RNZ/w640-h360/20170505_163308.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Unfortunately for me, what we built wasn't made to last. Even before she abandoned me to move clear across the country unannounced, I felt the end was coming. I wasn't feeling it anymore. I was tired of listening to her complain about all the shit in her life and how she didn't have what she really wanted and how miserable it all made her feel. I was tired of her attitude, that basically she felt like she was entitled to exactly what she wanted and that if she caused other people pain as a result of knowing her, well, tough shit. That wasn't her problem. </p><p>She wasn't egotistical in the typical sense, but good God, was she ever self-centered and unable to see past her own misery to see how she might be affecting those around her. I don't know if she was lacking in empathy but I definitely got a sense that she didn't much care whether I was hurting or not, even when we were at our closest.</p><p>TLDR: This woman wounded me over and over, made me hate myself and even wonder if I even have any worth. And I'm still thinking about her over five years later. I'm still haunted by her. I'm still thinking about her. Someone cue up a big-haired glam metal power ballad. I think Danger Danger had one that would fit...</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gcTw-Qj2eUQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="gcTw-Qj2eUQ"></iframe></div><br />The fact is that I've slowly gotten better in the past five-plus years. Most days, I don't even think about Amber anymore. Some days, there's a vague sense that I miss her, that there's still an Amber-shaped hole in my life that may never be adequately filled. I see her in my dreams occasionally. Sometimes, they aren't even sexual dreams, just us sitting around having conversations we never had but that I probably needed to have to get closure. But she's never at the top of my mind. Hell, I had to scour old blog posts to find photos of us together.<p></p><p> Then there are days like today, when I'll be working or thinking about something that has nothing to do with her and she'll pop in there. Like, what's up, asshole? Those days are the most frustrating and I usually end up being pretty pissed at myself. It's almost like some aliens with sick senses of humor scanned my brain to see which memories trigger me and occasionally beam them into my head so they can watch me fall apart when they need a laugh.</p><p>But those days are fewer and farther between these days. I also realize that the only thing worse than being haunted by someone you thought you were leaving behind is getting pissed off when one of their ghosts visits you. Why let a memory wreck your day?</p><p>And maybe having some ghosts paying you unwanted visits is the price you have to pay so you can be visited by ghosts you want to have around. I miss my brother and my niece desperately, even all these years after they passed on. If putting up with an occasional memory of Amber is the price of keeping my most cherished memories, that's a price I'm willing to pay. Not all ghosts are bad. Especially not that band from Sweden.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLQ9fdiQIvNoUdc0Xmh9urBwcsjL1Igz95amqbBruK13LNTthBz-Q9BOWSqSGgqVzNyeFkHlqLV8Hf49OQXKHFqVynvE6aa6_cUw7kiqK0wj7XxsgxwDQYQq6TGe_J4R29ytE2IZLWwkmvQVMRV0glOd1zCTi-xSqnKec6zEKLcIKoTInvyuoCAWx/s450/19430.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="450" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLQ9fdiQIvNoUdc0Xmh9urBwcsjL1Igz95amqbBruK13LNTthBz-Q9BOWSqSGgqVzNyeFkHlqLV8Hf49OQXKHFqVynvE6aa6_cUw7kiqK0wj7XxsgxwDQYQq6TGe_J4R29ytE2IZLWwkmvQVMRV0glOd1zCTi-xSqnKec6zEKLcIKoTInvyuoCAWx/w640-h360/19430.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-75533148784228732622023-03-05T09:34:00.000-08:002023-03-05T09:34:17.850-08:00Revisiting: Metallica's Metallica (The Black Album)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlwI-DKJ0qMETWNFTAQ-vwsvgsIrVTY5GAkSmP6KcGDYWI9O9PDl6gCdh3uSNUVzxT0ssmIg8hMzWTDkhDFrjaF8CMIB5NIxXx30mhoQwnx-enAEP7XH-AyEsqAw2dfHAq2KzbyaupeEESYjFJzL3bl8jaRRhncCl7eCmgiEG3h484zuYW7_p-7mz/s1200/20150807_215617_7549_752895.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlwI-DKJ0qMETWNFTAQ-vwsvgsIrVTY5GAkSmP6KcGDYWI9O9PDl6gCdh3uSNUVzxT0ssmIg8hMzWTDkhDFrjaF8CMIB5NIxXx30mhoQwnx-enAEP7XH-AyEsqAw2dfHAq2KzbyaupeEESYjFJzL3bl8jaRRhncCl7eCmgiEG3h484zuYW7_p-7mz/w640-h640/20150807_215617_7549_752895.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Metallica (The Black Album) by Metallica</h2><h3 style="text-align: left;">Release Date: 1991</h3><div><b>Last Time I Listened: </b>Last week. Spinning this album is what made me decide it needed to be an installment of Revisiting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Metallica's fifth record was monumental. They had steadily built up a fan base over the years without much radio airplay by playing shows and establishing a reputation as a killer live band. So they were already pretty popular, especially for what was seen as an extreme metal band. But The Black Album caused that popularity to explode like an atomic bomb. EVERYBODY dug this album. I knew people who'd had no previous history with Metallica who now suddenly knew every word of Enter Sandman. I had an acquaintance back then who was all about country music. He had three exceptions: AC/DC, Guns n' Roses and The Black Album. This record was huge.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I loved it. Even though I preferred ...And Justice for All and Master of Puppets, I was overjoyed to have an album by a real metal band that my non-metal friends (and about all I had back then was non-metal friends) would listen to. This album and Countdown to Extinction by Megadeth always trigger happy memories of cruising around east Idaho, talking shit on the C.B. radio and just being young and dumb. For a huge chunk of my life, The Black Album has been a sentimental favorite of mine.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Verdict: </b>I think I may have been blinded by sentiment because when I listen to The Black Album now, it's a chore to get through. I mean, this album is fucking boring. I get getting to a point where you're tired of playing complex, technical metal with tempo changes and riffs that verge on being progressive, but Black seems like a massive over-correction.</div><div><br /></div><div>The album opens with Enter Sandman, perhaps the most well-known Metallica song ever. As tired as I am of hearing it, Sandman is a banger with a main riff that embeds itself in your head and just will not leave. I could do without the little kid nursery rhyme lyrics but it's a pretty good tune. The next song, Sad But True, is even better. This is arguably the single heaviest tune Metallica ever recorded and it boasts one of two guitar solos on the record that don't suck. So far, we're off to a good start.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then track three, Holier Than Thou, hits and Black's biggest flaw becomes very clear. This album is full of plodding mid-tempo tunes that honestly start to blur together before too long. The Unforgiven saves things for a few minutes with its tale of growing up with an absentee father. That song's pretty epic.</div><div><br /></div><div>The epicness doesn't last. Wherever I May Roam is a snooze and it's followed by Don't Tread on Me that's even more of a snooze because it brings the beats per minute down at the time where it feels like Metallica's stuck in second gear. It's also around this time that it becomes apparent that Kirk Hammett decided to compose all of his solos out of reprocessed Jimmy Page licks. Hammett's ability to mix the bluesy with the more exotic made his playing stand out. Here, he just sounds like he should be playing lead for some small-town bar band, not one of the biggest bands on the planet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there's Nothing Else Matters, my absolute least favorite Metallica song. I'd rather be strapped down and forced to listen to that Lulu album they did with Lou Reed. It's not that it's a ballad. Metallica had been doing slower numbers like Fade to Black and One for years at that point. It's not James Hetfield trying to sound like He-Man Metal Singer one moment then crooning about trust the next moment, though that's pretty fucking annoying. It's that this song is so goddamn cliched and offers nothing in the way of insight. It's like Metallica decided they wanted to write a love song and then wrote the blandest, most insufferable love song of all time. Even though it contains the only other good guitar solo on Black, Hetfield's lead at the end of the song, I can't stand this song. </div><div><br /></div><div>There's the pretty good one-two punch of Of Wolf and Man and The God That Failed on the back half of Black. But by then, it's too late. I've long since checked out. If I'm not asleep then I'm pondering the implications of the idea that Metallica deserves to be hyped as the best metal band ever by dumbass rock writers considering that the only reason they got mainstream acceptance is that they record an album that sold over sixteen million units. And with all due respect to Joe Elliot, I don't believe that the fact that an album that sold 16 million copies means it's legitimately better than an album that "only" sold 5 million. Massive sales don't equal quality.</div><div><br /></div><div>I get that Black is a lynchpin album for a lot of people. I know that it was a doorway into metal for tons of people, including many who now play in some of my favorite metal bands. I also admit that my taste has changed and that has an effect on how I experience this album now. But this record is a major mixed blessing to me now. The highlights are great. And while the lesser tracks aren't necessarily bad (with the exception of Nothing Else Matters. Fuck that song. Seriously.) they're way too samey-sounding and lack energy and excitement. Given the choice, I'd rather spin Countdown to Extinction by Megadeth or Testament's The Ritual. Too much of The Black Album is as colorless as the album cover art.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Best Songs: Sad But True, The Unforgiven, Of Wolf and Man, The God That Failed</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHWyw47VcGqBR0qaYbAdjRi276EbTFPmwH80AZAAcTNkKfVRQU5Q1CXR-uZfx0PXS2xqMjpKV69cPjHsxepcJc5CTdavFeMf_UcUo6mOrKcuT1RQoxDmhM34N7tGF3CBUDc29cR-Ao4fypCaLRUq9MSAp7rVivQLG4qo7GW5PXyFThIWktpcAm7Xz-/s2384/20230304_102356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2384" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHWyw47VcGqBR0qaYbAdjRi276EbTFPmwH80AZAAcTNkKfVRQU5Q1CXR-uZfx0PXS2xqMjpKV69cPjHsxepcJc5CTdavFeMf_UcUo6mOrKcuT1RQoxDmhM34N7tGF3CBUDc29cR-Ao4fypCaLRUq9MSAp7rVivQLG4qo7GW5PXyFThIWktpcAm7Xz-/w640-h330/20230304_102356.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-14221126933800173112023-03-01T20:29:00.004-08:002023-03-02T15:07:43.067-08:00No More Free Bullets for You<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Jre_Yzf_SKOX1rk_K6sv_lDPQb562BA1BLQBKTbcuEaj2Qjzer0kIcPNoq1b8A0IUaOEQE-O8-6ExI0_6aQB_pq6nqL2_ZMOPeTxFyaLh9yecCgXyijPXjH9Ik4o7ck9rb6c7Jpk3le7Gq_k7k2z005FDrQjYNYHDp8OiA4mcseG-YLgmfhKQRmb/s640/Title.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="640" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Jre_Yzf_SKOX1rk_K6sv_lDPQb562BA1BLQBKTbcuEaj2Qjzer0kIcPNoq1b8A0IUaOEQE-O8-6ExI0_6aQB_pq6nqL2_ZMOPeTxFyaLh9yecCgXyijPXjH9Ik4o7ck9rb6c7Jpk3le7Gq_k7k2z005FDrQjYNYHDp8OiA4mcseG-YLgmfhKQRmb/w640-h268/Title.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>(Clumsy metaphor incoming...)</i></p><p>I close my eyes and I go way back to when I was no older than 5 years old. I stand in the midst of my babysitter's destroyed sunflower patch, which I kicked the shit out of because I thought they were weeds.</p><p>I close my eyes again and I'm walking to my friend's house after school. His younger brother is a few yards ahead of us, yelling and carrying on. I call his name and then launch a glass juice bottle at him. The bottle hits in front of him and shatters, a shard catching him in the arm and slicing him pretty badly.</p><p>I close my eyes again and I'm in high school, at a basketball game. Everyone around me is yelling insults at the opposing team. I get carried away and start screaming. "U.G.L.Y. YOU AIN'T GOT NO ALIBI. YOU'RE UGLY!! YOU'RE UGLY!!" The gym quiets just in time for me to yell "YOU'RE MOTHERFUCKIN' UGLY!!"</p><p>There have been many times in the intervening years when I've felt pretty sorry for myself. I'd feel like I grew up in a town full of prejudiced assholes and their stupidity and willing blindness resulted in suffering. My suffering. How can a brother get a fucking fair shake when you can be blackballed by everyone around you for having hair the wrong length or wearing black clothes? It's hard to be the weird kid in a homogenous, church-centric town.</p><p>However, over the past year or so, really ever since I wrote my series about why I quit the L.D.S. Church, things have been surfacing. Memories like the ones I listed above. It turns out that while I still believe members of a church that preaches tolerance and seeing the good in your fellow man ought to treat everyone in their world with decency and not talk shit, I gave everyone around so many reasons to believe I was a twisted, broken, corrupt soul.</p><p>You might say that so many of my wounds were self-inflicted. You might say that I was hit again and again by friendly fire. Cuz it turns out I gave my detractors a holy fuck ton of metaphorical ammunition.</p><p style="text-align: center;">*****</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgII_WEQg9iGmvj0Mymwvhgj9wNN1l4kMJKrx6_KzNb8rOsOzrE2f7sFqNaRs_EEF8JKZCza4gf9uiikpN_kt4BpFw94q3TERgLamO2iKCBKjUtMkUrnUN6oOr_N7ja4Air5YFSP1kdFfBP2WBobD_c7qmYdyJWwTW8NzSNQFlv2iQd3vhHnJI-WRQ4/s540/EssentialBabyishHadrosaurus-max-1mb.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="540" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgII_WEQg9iGmvj0Mymwvhgj9wNN1l4kMJKrx6_KzNb8rOsOzrE2f7sFqNaRs_EEF8JKZCza4gf9uiikpN_kt4BpFw94q3TERgLamO2iKCBKjUtMkUrnUN6oOr_N7ja4Air5YFSP1kdFfBP2WBobD_c7qmYdyJWwTW8NzSNQFlv2iQd3vhHnJI-WRQ4/w640-h272/EssentialBabyishHadrosaurus-max-1mb.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br />Life is hard. Vexingly so. Life is hard enough if you don't provide the people around you with material they can hurt you with. You do the math and all you're really beating the shit out of yourself. And what good does it do to punch yourself in the face repeatedly?<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">It's a sad fact of life that most people are so self-interested, they're willing to do anything to almost anyone in order to raise themselves just slightly above their fellow humans. We all want to feel important and respected. And sometimes we're a little too eager to step on our fellow being in order to get that feeling of importance and respect.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not different. I have walked all over people I felt were beneath me. It wasn't until I really started trying to understand my hurt that I began to see that I not only bear ultimate responsibility for my own pain, but that I've also hurt way too many people around me. Family members. Friends. Coworkers. No one has escaped my wrath.</p><p style="text-align: center;">*****</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxhoqleawEn8B0PJqIffEWGN6HholnOwJ5sO88yXVDoYA42MQSQsEujDvrihucz4pf0MMj_K5jMflQQEv-rf9ted7PojOH2-EgxrlBJ3Ii2prCJnvA_GPK-7jYPNCc3dk4OVTjCIhWSbqfPuhhJ_wKfxMjrE9I2MybcNndKNb411l77Abd8s5oYfp/s480/6469855_orig%20(1).gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxhoqleawEn8B0PJqIffEWGN6HholnOwJ5sO88yXVDoYA42MQSQsEujDvrihucz4pf0MMj_K5jMflQQEv-rf9ted7PojOH2-EgxrlBJ3Ii2prCJnvA_GPK-7jYPNCc3dk4OVTjCIhWSbqfPuhhJ_wKfxMjrE9I2MybcNndKNb411l77Abd8s5oYfp/w640-h360/6469855_orig%20(1).gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Deflecting projectiles looks really fucking cool in Star Wars but in real life, deflecting the metaphorical bullets others launch at you gets pretty chaotic. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That's the thing about bullets. If you're not careful, you could wind up wounding yourself. If you're not careful, you could wound someone who doesn't deserve it, who isn't involved in whatever situation is hurting you. It's surprising how rarely the stray bullets you're trying to redirect manage to strike the people you'd like them to. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. It's never made me feel better about myself. It's never gotten me any closer to where I want to be. In fact, I usually just end up hating myself even more than I would have if I just let the assholes around me hurt me. I'd be better off if I just let all the bullets I've given to others find their marks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's really only one solution and it's pretty damn simple, too. Just stop giving people bullets. Stop acting out, stop getting in other people's faces, stop bringing all of the wrong kinds of attention to myself. I'm not an angry teenager anymore. I'm an old man. I might be bitter but I'm also supposed to be dignified and wise. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The best part is that I don't need to become an oppressed, closeted version of myself. I need to stop dumbing myself down and hiding the best parts of myself. I need to stop steering into the skid and overemphasizing my flaws. I've spent my whole life acting like a dickweed to keep myself from getting hurt. Guess what that got me? Pain, loneliness and a lifetime of underachievement. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The bottom line is that I'm a pretty badass motherfucker. I'm just starting to see it. I'm just started to understand what I'm capable of and how much I've held myself back just because of fear. I HAVE GOT TO figure out how to let that shit go. No more living in the past. No more holding myself back because the path behind me has a bunch of fucking weird turns in it. And, for fuck sake, no more giving people free bullets with which to wound me. To quote someone much wiser than myself: "I told ya. You should've killed me last year!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">P.S.: I hate guns, so I dunno why the hell I went with the bullet metaphor. Maybe I should've gone with toxic bubbles...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslZF1WeZz5rSxaGoeviyI_7KgUVqTULeC6vVD62MKmelRBfm6Hz12YHNwiywVZXWhwexWT0cPGWCmaDMf63_qan7w5UHFfGBeWgTnwKNPs22uwZSUhfNRNHplZZozJw8SPs1_vY7pEDMogxXlmms2hJcWd6B6bUBqYQG912HfkTHkXGrujAXgHRJH/s960/145912856_10218138595846220_6377605555723383420_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslZF1WeZz5rSxaGoeviyI_7KgUVqTULeC6vVD62MKmelRBfm6Hz12YHNwiywVZXWhwexWT0cPGWCmaDMf63_qan7w5UHFfGBeWgTnwKNPs22uwZSUhfNRNHplZZozJw8SPs1_vY7pEDMogxXlmms2hJcWd6B6bUBqYQG912HfkTHkXGrujAXgHRJH/w640-h360/145912856_10218138595846220_6377605555723383420_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-12308482414337464852023-02-13T19:04:00.000-08:002023-02-13T19:04:12.222-08:00The Chase Is Not Better Then The Catch<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCDrJxE7g0iZ4Nu6JE7BnqiU366KIcLXvthFrq9u8oWU1gyItCgcnXaw0Z0dCgp4oygRO8gVXCX-yyB_LQyVdsh-MSKA2g7M1mMGomsX_uRLUGA6htRVuaJMQsVQNGrSCv3qSvBtQSxlUPxc_WaJeDU1a0Iy2oZ21bST27NufxizQVHsHl77GjSoG/s640/lemmy-motorhead.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="640" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCDrJxE7g0iZ4Nu6JE7BnqiU366KIcLXvthFrq9u8oWU1gyItCgcnXaw0Z0dCgp4oygRO8gVXCX-yyB_LQyVdsh-MSKA2g7M1mMGomsX_uRLUGA6htRVuaJMQsVQNGrSCv3qSvBtQSxlUPxc_WaJeDU1a0Iy2oZ21bST27NufxizQVHsHl77GjSoG/w400-h308/lemmy-motorhead.gif" width="400" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black;">Lemmy is inarguably one of the greatest frontmen in metal history, but he's as wrong as he can be about one very important thing.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: black;">Motorhead recorded this song called The Chase Is Better than the Catch. This little ditty is all about how Lemmy woos the ladies. A lyrical passage from the song:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: black;">The more I get, the better it is<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />I like it fine, I like a little whizz<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Treat them like ladies, that's a fact<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />You know the chase is better than the catch...</i></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">The lyrics get a little spicier from here but you get the picture. What Mr. Kilmister is saying is that in the game of love, he prefers playing the game to actually achieving his goal. For him, chasing women is more satisfying than forming relationships. The chase is better than the catch. And he should know. After all, Lemmy is God, right?</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGdvGffg7Hnz5D3i2cBR-3jKxEziwsNZVeubb8IMwnVawNupkbDgTjsQf8NztcuXb7w-mE0TLg8_jHhYVwa1qDYR1GBHzbw2daK0anFJ3V5iCMnTAwC2amF640eQxrkJ4mQtVFxAcwaal4hhV2sGbUTpauiirTkem8HMvpUVfwEf5yYScMVmOyBvUg/s480/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="480" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGdvGffg7Hnz5D3i2cBR-3jKxEziwsNZVeubb8IMwnVawNupkbDgTjsQf8NztcuXb7w-mE0TLg8_jHhYVwa1qDYR1GBHzbw2daK0anFJ3V5iCMnTAwC2amF640eQxrkJ4mQtVFxAcwaal4hhV2sGbUTpauiirTkem8HMvpUVfwEf5yYScMVmOyBvUg/w640-h352/giphy.gif" width="640" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Far be it from me to disagree with God but in my experience, Lemmy is dead wrong. He just is. Chasing after people you want to include in your life is not better than being able to build life-enriching connections with people who help to make your existence tolerable. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">To my mind, chasing relationships serves about the same purpose as chase scenes in movies. It gives us something to focus on s the movie tries to figure out where it's going and it can be pretty damn exciting, depending on the way it's been put together. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">The problem with chase scenes, and most other action scenes in films, is that the story stops progressing as the characters run around and jump and kick and punch and blow stuff up. Chasing people you want in your life is kinda the same way, or at least it is for me. I tend to focus in way to myopically whoever I am pursuing. When I was chasing Girl X, I was all about her. I neglected my other friends. I neglected any efforts to improve my job and financial prospects. I let my story grind to a halt.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">The same thing happened with C-Word. I got so lost in chasing her and not being able to get her that I didn't see how much of myself I was losing. Instead of feeling excited, I was anxious, sad, lonely and frustrated. I was in an emotional fog that never seemed to end. More than anything, I was tired.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PWb1BcHgVZQoGzpNxnJ519R1sNZJftRuXXRjk4RQ2Sn6s3uPeTrDlL0ClWGrIrlXesDF5SsZBMrkMxXWaoOYX9ZRxZTZ2zPFMAo9EEzQDAksjnPUfeoF_UFN0WiYsVBCrkls3WKbBvPfzsSOf7ia7Q4Aw4TM28p0ZNQ1vhusK_lP-htboAu5SijO/s484/AdorableWickedAmoeba-size_restricted.gif" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="484" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PWb1BcHgVZQoGzpNxnJ519R1sNZJftRuXXRjk4RQ2Sn6s3uPeTrDlL0ClWGrIrlXesDF5SsZBMrkMxXWaoOYX9ZRxZTZ2zPFMAo9EEzQDAksjnPUfeoF_UFN0WiYsVBCrkls3WKbBvPfzsSOf7ia7Q4Aw4TM28p0ZNQ1vhusK_lP-htboAu5SijO/w640-h330/AdorableWickedAmoeba-size_restricted.gif" width="640" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: black;"><br />It gets worse. It turns out that romantic interests aren't the only people I've been chasing. Certain friends in my life have become something close to objects of obsession for me. I so badly crave their attention. I focus on them to the exception of everyone else in my life. I ignore other people in my life, friends and family who actually want me around, to chase the attention of people who say they love me but treat me like I don't exist.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: black;">Now, I know what you're thinking. But I'm not a dummy. I understand that life is busy. Work, family, spouses and all that takes up massive amounts of time and energy. I get that. What I don't get is when people tell you they love you or that you're important to them and then they just stop talking to you. That shit hurts. It's confusing, it's exhausting, it drives you into utter despondency. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;">No, Lemmy. The chase is not better than the catch. At least it's not if you deal with depression, anxiety and HSP. I'm tired of getting my soul wrecked like I'm a participant in a high-speed emotional car wreck.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;">I need to be done chasing.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgOkXDSyCCbhebJlXV4Ci_lyGY547iuDQUvOhE_ZurGnPhTkSXJXsd6nBK7ryqxERCWSxT6x1Hg1_j9oKNU6Y0_o5dPnJHkvW9MecaddFkAZeKDOw6PRSnovoYqlSNoP5dcuPtgW0GuFrf8Es2UdHJvCw8JtdlI0D7RlfYjLO35yS2ILeh0fYEbbD/s480/tumblr_f8d7fbfc3e81915b81f5f9f2f9301b64_7f2a1a7e_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgOkXDSyCCbhebJlXV4Ci_lyGY547iuDQUvOhE_ZurGnPhTkSXJXsd6nBK7ryqxERCWSxT6x1Hg1_j9oKNU6Y0_o5dPnJHkvW9MecaddFkAZeKDOw6PRSnovoYqlSNoP5dcuPtgW0GuFrf8Es2UdHJvCw8JtdlI0D7RlfYjLO35yS2ILeh0fYEbbD/w640-h360/tumblr_f8d7fbfc3e81915b81f5f9f2f9301b64_7f2a1a7e_500.gif" width="640" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7rcfZgPmA3Sx6vbYMJjWS1XXkWyftLiDCt4l5sMDAN60pe6NE2EZF80MhKLFIIqWEwnaWS8vD1DsKyjWrd3h4KFXnCeD3osgLSjaLrYJc7117YL2vWEkacCKLZMexRoIPxuhfyH_0etadTLjLcY7wn-3_4Kar9eCllUcD8iB7P4NjSZnd7cnUQF8/s600/7cb506f0b3a3fa1868ec81023652006f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="600" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7rcfZgPmA3Sx6vbYMJjWS1XXkWyftLiDCt4l5sMDAN60pe6NE2EZF80MhKLFIIqWEwnaWS8vD1DsKyjWrd3h4KFXnCeD3osgLSjaLrYJc7117YL2vWEkacCKLZMexRoIPxuhfyH_0etadTLjLcY7wn-3_4Kar9eCllUcD8iB7P4NjSZnd7cnUQF8/w640-h336/7cb506f0b3a3fa1868ec81023652006f.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></div><p><span style="background-color: black;">There's another song, this goofy pop song by Matthew Wilder called Break My Stride. It's one of those songs that you probably know even if you don't know you know it. It's a bouncy little number that's as catchy and sticky as flypaper. Here's the chorus:</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Nobody gonna slow me down</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: black;">Oh no, I got to keep on movin'</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: black;">Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: black;">I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: black;">Oh no, I got to keep on movin'</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: black;"><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">That needs to become my mission statement when it comes to relationships. Friendships, dating, family, whatever. I can't allow myself to become so engrossed in chasing anyone that I lose track of everyone else in my life. I can't pine so hard for one person's attention that spending time with anyone else becomes unsatisfying. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;">I'm done being so tired and frustrated, feeling so used up from chasing someone who doesn't reciprocate. I'm done being heartbroken and miserable because someone who "loves me" can't find enough time to get lunch or shoot me a text or a DM. It's going to be lonely because I seem to collect people who don't care whether I'm around or not. That means I'm going to have to sever ties with a lot of people in my life. And that's going to suck.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;">But I'm done chasing people, no matter how much I want a connection with them. No more chasing people. I just heard the swan's escaped. I'll go chase the swan instead.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwSgjluK1SjJ2j9VyHWqNfNJaVZloFERJy3-egvLEJLKatk1jVNTF2r0IF8s6r6djPAYvIiDb-jVbr3hHqfvhQjDGaTDLCRdu5NDBmvba4jmXX_eX_PIr812mjMyg8nk1ttTwbkcCBFrTGyScIdwnUyS2WAoMvrtUxMFPrQWhT_9PIq_wDMtG_SNf/s500/tumblr_inline_mv5wecmJTy1qhqb9q540.gif" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="500" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwSgjluK1SjJ2j9VyHWqNfNJaVZloFERJy3-egvLEJLKatk1jVNTF2r0IF8s6r6djPAYvIiDb-jVbr3hHqfvhQjDGaTDLCRdu5NDBmvba4jmXX_eX_PIr812mjMyg8nk1ttTwbkcCBFrTGyScIdwnUyS2WAoMvrtUxMFPrQWhT_9PIq_wDMtG_SNf/w640-h272/tumblr_inline_mv5wecmJTy1qhqb9q540.gif" width="640" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-7004301598366754722023-02-06T17:12:00.003-08:002023-02-06T17:12:56.665-08:00I'll walk with you but I probably won't enjoy it...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSyVpcMoYhn58CxE53AyXJAHViB8kFwPL4pe1A3C-J1VoYp5vt4Tg0x5PwO-FZcMjwLwZI4FHpiOgR7Qxi5XKA5ydoUSoN4_xnF0QU5jilwzoBFnnb79ToEGVd-CQgfdUB-Y4SnY8kcrHUo4QAvVaj4zHtxdSsIMZNbBxqIsOAOnpFm20OHWr94oM/s500/By4hSd8IUAE-aWq.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSyVpcMoYhn58CxE53AyXJAHViB8kFwPL4pe1A3C-J1VoYp5vt4Tg0x5PwO-FZcMjwLwZI4FHpiOgR7Qxi5XKA5ydoUSoN4_xnF0QU5jilwzoBFnnb79ToEGVd-CQgfdUB-Y4SnY8kcrHUo4QAvVaj4zHtxdSsIMZNbBxqIsOAOnpFm20OHWr94oM/w640-h480/By4hSd8IUAE-aWq.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /> People. <p></p><p>I don't foresee a time when people won't be a struggle for me. It might be the anxiety that goes with trying to figure out what the people around you are thinking. Or perhaps it's a side effect of anxiety and depression and a holy fuckload of social awkwardness. Maybe it's because I'm terrified that people can see right through me and can tell what a fuck-up I am.</p><p>Or maybe, just maybe, most people are self-centered, self-interested assholes who aren't above taking advantage of you to get what they want. Myself included.</p><p>I'm sure the aftereffects of the pandemic are also impacting this, but I've spent most of my time alone for a long time. I'm a writer so I should expect that but I've become such a loner, such a recluse, such a homebody that it's not even funny. I don't want to spend the energy to get dressed, drive to where ever I gotta go and just be out in public and away from my sanctuary, my fortress of Thrashbrowns-itude. Plus, I've really gotten to the point where I'd rather not wear pants.</p><p>And yet, I've realized that nobody ever gets anywhere worth going on their own. All those billionaire jackasses who call themselves "a self-made man" are full of shit. Somewhere along the line, they were helped along by a friend, a family member, a teacher or mentor. Everyone needs help sometimes and usually the further you go, the more help you've received. Choosing to lie about how self-made you are doesn't change that.</p><p>There's a really good reason that the theme of the classic Christmas film It's a Wonderful Life is "No man is a failure who has friends." That reason? It's because that's what we're all here to do: help one another along and make each other's lives more tolerable, successful even. It's a cliche but no man is an island and those who try to be, usually end up pretty miserable.</p><p>I can't tell you how much that knowledge, that I need people and people need me to get where we want to go, vexes the fuck out of me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0B6xNxbw3J-sRU5YUpK9ciUulq7VQJW-48b-lPr7V8glNJjJsvU6CUGjcubqxSdr0MJoWVJkJUoetGUas28HJMaysiugR2JyI9JroUQtVXcQTnBR1OmFqdUCR1yU2HjXe4tjuXUV-LdfHg4Pk4JYk489RQ9B3d6PiHs1OLV7Oo54UUHXstpLsQirP/s2380/PC125-Were-all-just-walking-each-other-home-postcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1581" data-original-width="2380" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0B6xNxbw3J-sRU5YUpK9ciUulq7VQJW-48b-lPr7V8glNJjJsvU6CUGjcubqxSdr0MJoWVJkJUoetGUas28HJMaysiugR2JyI9JroUQtVXcQTnBR1OmFqdUCR1yU2HjXe4tjuXUV-LdfHg4Pk4JYk489RQ9B3d6PiHs1OLV7Oo54UUHXstpLsQirP/w640-h426/PC125-Were-all-just-walking-each-other-home-postcard.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>When people are your biggest difficulty in life and you realize you need people if you hope to reach your potential, man does that cause some serious dissonance in your head. It shows up in situations I should feel completely equal to and causes me some incredible stress. I'm talking situations that are basic, everyday shit like conducting interviews for work or just hanging out with friends. I should've conquered these issues long ago. But I haven't and they use up soooo much energy. So very tiring.</p><p>How do I get to where I want to go when I have so much trouble dealing with people, even people I love? How do I get over the guilt of not being there for those I care about? I don't want to hate people but they keep giving me a wealth of reasons to do so. I don't want to waste my potential but I'm tired of being miserable because of other people's bullshit. Is there an answer? Can I ever deal with all the people who are so sure they're being clever when they're really being stupid? You know what they said on Spinal Tap, right?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGreiCOFZyf6JH2mN6Fznb_jXuXOkcpz-TPqRD6jTYmxBso5MWA1ZjV9HjvlSbo9lZzKouJP47xDL9BKfkFrLajJQ7PBRpk4cuX5xxORIy_DfzQvEuF7iKRvFwJeH7_cw0-tJji1wYF00ch-O-upCxeLd2b11drYp5HJ81fMKPn4bqWuFMej7ho7v/s500/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="500" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGreiCOFZyf6JH2mN6Fznb_jXuXOkcpz-TPqRD6jTYmxBso5MWA1ZjV9HjvlSbo9lZzKouJP47xDL9BKfkFrLajJQ7PBRpk4cuX5xxORIy_DfzQvEuF7iKRvFwJeH7_cw0-tJji1wYF00ch-O-upCxeLd2b11drYp5HJ81fMKPn4bqWuFMej7ho7v/w640-h346/giphy.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Actually, I think there is an answer. As someone much wiser than myself once said, sometimes you just have to shit your pants, dive in and swim when you find yourself on the precipice of an unenjoyable situation, social or otherwise. Sometimes, it may be worth it to make yourself uncomfortable if it makes someone around you a better person. Don't get me wrong, you have to be very careful that you don't use yourself up and you better pay attention to any red flags that pop up. But if you can help make the people around you easier to be around, that makes your life better.</p><p>Plus, there's just something so fulfilling about helping people blossom into who they're supposed to be. My favorite memories from when I first started writing are how my friends and I built each other up, sharing ideas and feeding off that energy that arises when you're being creative in a group setting. We helped each other find the stories we wanted to tell. It was one of the best things I've ever experienced. I want that experience again, be it with old friends or a new group of acquaintances.</p><p>So I will try to push myself out there cuz there are people that need me. I want to be there for them. It will take work. Time. A massive amount of effort. I have to get it through my head that being out among people has much more potential to be much more rewarding than sitting around watching YouTube or Netflix. It will start slowly and I'm going to be doing it begrudgingly. But if you need someone to walk your path with you, I want to be your wingman. Because that might be the only way I can even grow into the best version of myself. </p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-66682250527419275162023-02-02T15:14:00.002-08:002023-02-02T15:14:42.744-08:00The Blues Don't Bother Me<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk5yOS4yZtP2MQSp5DrpMlZ5wodik12hJNWZcLiWHgOxR_dW-phDGf0yS7mjIQNPEDx3928bNcVq7HZ-cyb6tU2u5kXYoKQX7B3GD2HPQJ-ftheL6F45f4jtJx59V3YPyciNSBXTIxBmcOS0HJbFGdfmrQVq_U-9pG-sQv2VFBOIA0a2PcgIypl8za/s1280/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk5yOS4yZtP2MQSp5DrpMlZ5wodik12hJNWZcLiWHgOxR_dW-phDGf0yS7mjIQNPEDx3928bNcVq7HZ-cyb6tU2u5kXYoKQX7B3GD2HPQJ-ftheL6F45f4jtJx59V3YPyciNSBXTIxBmcOS0HJbFGdfmrQVq_U-9pG-sQv2VFBOIA0a2PcgIypl8za/w640-h360/maxresdefault.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> <i>If you're wonderin' what's all the noise/ I'm in the back room with the girls and boys</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>We're discussin' the blues and they don't seem to see</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The blues is all I play/ The blues don't bother me...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've all heard that story about how you boil a frog to death. You can't just drop Mr. Frog into a pot that's at full boil cuz the frog will just jump out. You have to put Mr. Frog into lukewarm water, slowly increasing the temperature and letting him get acclimated until the temperature is high enough to boil his ass. No big changes. Kill him comfort and familiarity. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can relate.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you were to chart out my emotions on a graph, you wouldn't see a wide range of variation. I'm rarely extremely happy and I'm also rarely very sad. My foundation emotion is pretty even. But things have to be either unbelievably exciting or unbelievably catastrophic for me to lose my shit. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For the most part, my mood is pretty low. Like if I was cast as Eeyore in a play or something, I wouldn't have to do much acting. I'd just have to be. Sure, that may seem miserable to you and sometimes I wish I was more of a ray of sunshine. But it's comfortable. I'm used to it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Getting too far away from my foundational emotion is extremely unnerving to me. I used to think being comfortable with my depression was a good thing. Now, I'm starting to not be too sure...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8owGmhAHoFfuqgBaLaCgJL5DSrzHN2sqlby_qrDM3UjxYndAdgoZvuxvoKY4DLl3X2N46O3v0JuNxygmdv5lqKlkNetHxY6_Q-IC_Dh6pfhsRT8KUOKA9XhDaZmw2CynRMxENHd8CqlaD5OM6jZemTXpGLUwd5LfsCPXY4FDv_6pymrJk2BLx4_dY/s480/2bde0354df6839c2a21a0e108da05298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="480" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8owGmhAHoFfuqgBaLaCgJL5DSrzHN2sqlby_qrDM3UjxYndAdgoZvuxvoKY4DLl3X2N46O3v0JuNxygmdv5lqKlkNetHxY6_Q-IC_Dh6pfhsRT8KUOKA9XhDaZmw2CynRMxENHd8CqlaD5OM6jZemTXpGLUwd5LfsCPXY4FDv_6pymrJk2BLx4_dY/w640-h534/2bde0354df6839c2a21a0e108da05298.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>When I was a little boy sittin' on my papa's knee</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I couldn't have been no older than two or three</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>He said "I am a bluesman. You're gonna take after me"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The blues is my companion/ The blues don't bother me</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">I recently reconnected with a friend from high school who I haven't really communicated with in like twenty-five years. I know we all sit around and shoot the shit about the good old days from time to time but talking to this dude has been really illuminating for me. Not only did I misunderstand so much about my friendships and my perceptions of the people around me back in the day, but it would appear my emotional and psychological problems go back farther than I ever realized.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As life has rolled on, I have, slowly yet extremely effectively, allowed myself to get so used to being sad and alone that anything else feels uncomfortable to the point where I either can't function or have to take multiple days afterward to decompress. That feels normal to me but more and more, I'm getting suspicious that this shit ain't all that normal. Happiness, connection and all that ice-cream-and-puppy-dogs shit shouldn't be so unsettling. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's almost as if I don't know how to exist if I can't be depressed...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstvigJu0V3T8K0fXr1vnmPr0rN4W9_Y3pwUFC2FdvIdlepR2ddI3w-nmhcUDFdkVa1m9m9Fq6tU93rHj7gDJMI_18vnDMbZz0mEpPw49d4N8sg2MJSoidXBsFA1mWn2lEXVgdBrByStVe5xdJs1ZYdFlS40N8UAClmb9eHcOzJuVrdXt5Ad_k7c3u/s660/UnfortunateBelatedBull-size_restricted.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="660" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhstvigJu0V3T8K0fXr1vnmPr0rN4W9_Y3pwUFC2FdvIdlepR2ddI3w-nmhcUDFdkVa1m9m9Fq6tU93rHj7gDJMI_18vnDMbZz0mEpPw49d4N8sg2MJSoidXBsFA1mWn2lEXVgdBrByStVe5xdJs1ZYdFlS40N8UAClmb9eHcOzJuVrdXt5Ad_k7c3u/w640-h360/UnfortunateBelatedBull-size_restricted.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>When I go to bed at night I throw on a record or two</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>If I didn't have these blues I wouldn't know what to do</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I need them to soothe me, to ease my misery</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The blues is my companion. They don't bother me...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">So... What to do when you reach the (correct) conclusion that how you feel all the time, and what you feel most comfortable feeling, is causing you to withdraw, avoid social situations (even with your nearest and dearest) as completely as possible and wither into a shell of your best self...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well, the obvious answer is to push yourself to go out. Unfortunately, that leads directly to the second issue: No one has time for me anymore. I used to go out and play D&D but then COVID hit and my group stopped getting together. When they started getting together again, I was never invited. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it made me reluctant to get involved with another group. And considering how much trouble I have getting along with people, finding a new group was a really unappealing prospect.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Other friends have gone in new career directions and don't have much free time. Still other friends have family issues that have eaten deeply into the time they're available to hang out. And maybe, just maybe, I'm not all that much fun to have around and COVID isolation and all that shit gave them a convenient excuse to ditch me. I mean, it's not like I've never been ditched before.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So today, I find myself alone, waiting to hear back from contacts for potential stories and thinking about Matt "Guitar" Murphy. Not only is he a key player in my favorite movie of all time, The Blues Brothers, but he also wrote and recorded The Blues Don't Bother Me, the lyrics of which I've used as the headers to each section of this post.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm thinking about how comfortable Murphy has gotten with the blues, to the point where he'd be clueless as to how to function without them. Yeah, I know he's talking about music but I can identify with being so comfortable with your state of being that the mere thought of changing things terrifies you to the point of being petrified. Misery may love company but what it loves most is just to be left the fuck alone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I'm wondering how I ever convinced myself that being like this was acceptable. Also, wondering how to get out of this pit when I'm totally certain any effort I make will fail. Maybe the first step is to get into a healthier headspace where slight failures don't cause me to fold like an origami swan. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If I ever excavate an answer, you'll know. Cuz I'll be right there in your face, telling you all about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwueQirZKFMj4l2Wl8v4K6aolFoWd8DWXNt9QrQkvaAdP0OdlQxjf90moXMEX70NbrPtZ9vogf25rmQ96mcDrx6BcT1CZYDmsJmmKKwWcihOhzPV9jSlo1VeyzOHQhYZ5qvrdCBadYX8Z2lIgyRDIONflXhCOwJId_PXvILNoiGju0DuVrEAvR_t_/s2592/20230129_173211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwueQirZKFMj4l2Wl8v4K6aolFoWd8DWXNt9QrQkvaAdP0OdlQxjf90moXMEX70NbrPtZ9vogf25rmQ96mcDrx6BcT1CZYDmsJmmKKwWcihOhzPV9jSlo1VeyzOHQhYZ5qvrdCBadYX8Z2lIgyRDIONflXhCOwJId_PXvILNoiGju0DuVrEAvR_t_/w640-h360/20230129_173211.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> </div><p></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-53602724715070176722023-01-23T20:06:00.001-08:002023-01-24T10:29:18.059-08:00Revisiting: Garth Brooks' Ropin' the Wind<p>The past few posts here have been kinda heavy and dark, so let's do something fun tonight. Well, fun for you (hopefully) and dead-ass torture for me... </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU81lbEw6lp0c02-2eL3WPh42MwmJAFneZq7iZ-EDIdfaMYJ61kh0ToX76GmCjNagNlnU50qEx-sVBtdN7kkDdtaLm0B1wTVVHSl72-keRsiyWJyvq-2wl9kO6ROdfcZQ_wcN-B2D-1ACgP6P3EWk50_UzKdYt2sPEb3LL8FaTk8nEcWaDz0CaN6J-/s500/51yrMsUNj9L._SY1000_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="500" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU81lbEw6lp0c02-2eL3WPh42MwmJAFneZq7iZ-EDIdfaMYJ61kh0ToX76GmCjNagNlnU50qEx-sVBtdN7kkDdtaLm0B1wTVVHSl72-keRsiyWJyvq-2wl9kO6ROdfcZQ_wcN-B2D-1ACgP6P3EWk50_UzKdYt2sPEb3LL8FaTk8nEcWaDz0CaN6J-/w640-h636/51yrMsUNj9L._SY1000_.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Ropin' the Wind by Garth Brooks</h2><div><b>Release Date: 1991</b></div><div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Last Time I Listened To It: </b>Dear Lord, I haven't even bothered with this one since like high school. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ok. Story time. You know that narrative all the rock journalists push about how Nirvana came along and saved rock music from the vapidness and stupidity of glam metal? (By "saved" I mean ruined lots of careers and financially damaged even a lot of good bands just cuz they didn't pout or wear flannel.) Well, I didn't experience that at all. By the time Kurt Cobain came along to be the "voice of Generation X," most of the rocker kids in my school had already kicked butt rock to the curb in favor of country music. Garth Brooks was a god in a ten-gallon hat, Wranglers and really ugly shirts. In my neck of the woods, Nirvana didn't kill metal. Garth Vader did.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ropin' the Wind wasn't Garth's breakout album. He was well-established by the time he tracked this one. I chose this one for a more traumatizing reason. When my younger sister was in like eighth grade, she got a karaoke machine for Christmas. She spent countless hours caterwauling along with New Kids on the Block and other groups she liked. I was subjected to so many off-key (I love my sister dearly but back then, she couldn't sing to save her life) renditions of that Garth Brooks song The River. On quiet nights, I can still hear my sister's voice reverberating off the inside of my skull. Ropin' the Wind impacted me in a way no other album ever has. Thanks for the trauma, Garth. You piece of shit.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihNkzrikCeqxMZ6XgGq6yovBdbIFi24g_4h-w_Z2t1bhV84vt79bGEBqtbY-kCe0pF6MX3Maw67gSvWmRc3yOk3szI2pnxNfNNWgMdi-HywLY-IByD4vVcvDGkcpyHoADTX0Ijx5f0GIOIxwIC2BPM3dRvi2jHZKb-8KFGufP_dw0SvljHxOuPv_8/s1166/kwjfpsqld4u21.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihNkzrikCeqxMZ6XgGq6yovBdbIFi24g_4h-w_Z2t1bhV84vt79bGEBqtbY-kCe0pF6MX3Maw67gSvWmRc3yOk3szI2pnxNfNNWgMdi-HywLY-IByD4vVcvDGkcpyHoADTX0Ijx5f0GIOIxwIC2BPM3dRvi2jHZKb-8KFGufP_dw0SvljHxOuPv_8/s320/kwjfpsqld4u21.jpg" width="296" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>The Verdict: </b>Garth Brooks marked a fork in the road for country music. He brought a rock n' roll energy to his music that made him stand apart from his more traditional contemporaries. I remember seeing a live performance where Garth smashed his guitar. Good God, did that piss me off. Where Jimi Hendrix setting his guitar afire felt spiritual and ritualistic and the Who wrecking their gear came off as an act intended to get in the faces of all the squares, Garth smashing a guitar seemed like a move made to pander to rednecks and get them to be like "GORTH IS SOOOO COOOOOL."</div><div><br /></div><div>It seemed fucking phony to me and all these years later, Garth still sets me on edge.</div><div><br /></div><div>Listening to Ropin' the Wind, I was kinda shocked at how many of these songs I still remember. Against the Grain opens the album with a high-energy stomper but it loses me as soon as Garth sings about how folks call him a maverick. Then he says he's been accused of making his own rules. Ok, buddy. You may have brought pop and rock sensibilities to country music in a way nobody had before, but you're hardly a maverick or doing anything edgy. Maybe country fans at the time this was new felt that way but after years of listening to metal, hearing a balding Wrangler-clad dumbass yack about what a rule-breaker he is comes off as trite and silly to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there's his voice. So nasal and reedy and it makes me want to jam sharpened pencils in my ears. And then I start wondering if that's how he always sounds when he sings or if all the barnyard twang shit is an affectation. Like, does he sound like that when he's singing in the shower? Country music culture seems obsessed with tradition and authenticity but so many country artists come off as phony. Yeah, I know that metal has its own issues with gimmicks, affectations and authenticity but at least bands like Alestorm, Ghost and Babymetal are fun. </div><div><br /></div><div>One thing that's changed over the years is that it's easier for me to appreciate the musicianship and performances of the session players. The playing on this record is excellent, even if I don't like the style of music they're playing. The solo sections on Against the Grain are as shredtastic as anything you'd hear on a rock record. So, there. I said something nice.</div><div><br /></div><div>The main problems I have with Ropin' the Wind are the lyrics and Garth's voice. Country songs always seem like they're trying to be relatable to the working class while at the same time being witty. We Bury the Hatchet tries to capture the mind-breaking effects of a love/hate relationship but is built on a foundation of a silly cliche that's eye-rollingly lame. The ballads, like What She's Doing Now, are so cloying and sappy, they are robbed of any emotional impact they could have with a singer who understands how to deliver lyrics with a little subtlety. </div><div><br /></div><div>Elsewhere, Papa Loved Mama has some cool slide guitar work and I'd probably like this song if it wasn't Garth singing it. His cover of Billy Joel's Shameless has a nice melody and the lyrics don't make me want to puke. Still, I remember this song sounding a lot better when my buddy Erik and I used to sing it as "I'M BRAINLESS. AND MY PANTS ARE FULL OF POOH." </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Then there's the elephant in the room. The River is the album's finale and maybe after having been exposed to it so many times, its effects on me have worn off. Don't get me wrong, I still don't like it. The metaphor in the lyrics is lame enough to make me facepalm and feel sorry for the songwriters. But it at least reminds me that I'm pretty fucking lucky that my sister is my sister. That's kinda cool, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>Full transparency: I've been revisiting country artists and songs I used to like and learning that while I still hate most country music, there are some country acts I genuinely like. I've spent a lot of time with George Strait and I find myself wishing he'd sung the songs on Ropin' the Wind instead of Garth. George Strait doesn't need a phony-sounding accent or a ridiculous amount of twang in his delivery to sound country as fuck. But Garth apparently does and that makes it impossible for me to connect with his music. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go listen to some musicians who paint their faces all sick and act all Satanic. Cuz at least they know that everyone knows they're full of shit.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Best Songs: Against the Grain, Rodeo, Shameless</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>BTW: these pencils weren't sharpened. No Fatties were physically harmed in the writing of this post. Mentally damage, well, that's a different story.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9gIw5kiri2iYTwiiM3aANDGhraqbLIvz29d9nEyeM6vNRPC85gD7dvIAYMLqS8GOycqvqVRrjKFNUTUiX46zZrt7mVmXQu5hpXZo5IjOReaHFZt9XgbK3EXNmUpsNb9T6VSg9BVwWioZ9IZUaChYSkviCIqxoVXJnXvV9tidso4vpIZJxJ_QMH1Z/s2592/20230123_193448.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9gIw5kiri2iYTwiiM3aANDGhraqbLIvz29d9nEyeM6vNRPC85gD7dvIAYMLqS8GOycqvqVRrjKFNUTUiX46zZrt7mVmXQu5hpXZo5IjOReaHFZt9XgbK3EXNmUpsNb9T6VSg9BVwWioZ9IZUaChYSkviCIqxoVXJnXvV9tidso4vpIZJxJ_QMH1Z/w640-h360/20230123_193448.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-42937060336196011822023-01-16T21:19:00.002-08:002023-01-16T21:20:34.104-08:00I Am a Walking, Talking Mod Platform<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZ-z4cQ8_92bKv5GZM8Dr-zYZclx1pILCv1mJMiYhlp_CKcTDqoExFckHju6WXgXJ01G9tDCqyPLV_CZkNd8ziOOestvbgzF-VM1zAh9HiQ62_fDqrDqC8jXDHCxRcBD59zakHD-OAVbjEexxYdj7uhWed-IT_2cGAztUASShkQSpTxuWAhBAJnvv/s699/KOlT74.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="699" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZ-z4cQ8_92bKv5GZM8Dr-zYZclx1pILCv1mJMiYhlp_CKcTDqoExFckHju6WXgXJ01G9tDCqyPLV_CZkNd8ziOOestvbgzF-VM1zAh9HiQ62_fDqrDqC8jXDHCxRcBD59zakHD-OAVbjEexxYdj7uhWed-IT_2cGAztUASShkQSpTxuWAhBAJnvv/w640-h476/KOlT74.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />We're about halfway through January, which means there are still probably a lot of folks crammed into gyms or whatever, trying to hammer themselves into some form of sculpted physical perfection. New Year, new me, you know?<p></p><p>I abjectly fucking hate the phrase "New Year, new me." What a stupid fucking utterance. As if you cease to be you at the stroke of midnight on January 1st and become a completely different person. I posted a meme making this exact point on social media cuz I thought it was funny. I got one self-righteous comment that said something like "That depends on you" or some such bullshit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnS0K8wBDWgMlGbnfED_Q6aaWSf6TbolQbP1m3bIecMlc02EizXO5mIVUZo3-dcncKn9lAvQBovJnnp836Ode69VIuQGqb-C6tM9upqVEODp7U4q5svvrsbMaRd1CN5CEDnNXEtVzEZvwX2Zl-6iodrc7nUxVNmBn_aBC48q-IHDv02rR5FNLZKupD/s780/f84fd43f7dba01a51da0253f0d4d6965e1c7bb9ca732e518defb7a6a4e89af9e_1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnS0K8wBDWgMlGbnfED_Q6aaWSf6TbolQbP1m3bIecMlc02EizXO5mIVUZo3-dcncKn9lAvQBovJnnp836Ode69VIuQGqb-C6tM9upqVEODp7U4q5svvrsbMaRd1CN5CEDnNXEtVzEZvwX2Zl-6iodrc7nUxVNmBn_aBC48q-IHDv02rR5FNLZKupD/w369-h400/f84fd43f7dba01a51da0253f0d4d6965e1c7bb9ca732e518defb7a6a4e89af9e_1.jpg" width="369" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I tried to explain that nothing instantly changes and that change requires work but the commenter didn't re-engage. He probably just wanted to try to make me feel stupid. That's always how it goes with people like that. They come in, drop what they consider "knowledge" and then disappear before you can tell them that while they aren't wrong, they're certainly not as right as they think they are, either. </p><p>Anyway, back to the point. I think "New Year, new me" is bullshit. I prefer the Frankenstrat approach to personal change. Allow me to explain.</p><p>Eddie Van Halen was not only one of the greatest guitarists to ever walk to Earth, but he's also the <a href="https://www.thompsonguitarandthrift.com/blogs/news/eddie-van-halen-and-the-dawn-of-diy-guitar-modding" target="_blank">godfather of modifying your guitar</a> to get it to sound, feel and play the way you want it to. You keep the bones of what makes a guitar good and fix up the parts that are substandard. </p><p>One of Eddie's most famous mod jobs was his Frankenstrat, a guitar he assembled from assorted cheap parts. He said he wanted an axe that sounded like a Gibson Les Paul but looked like a Fender Strat. His creativity and vision enabled him to see beyond the pile of parts in front of him to what these pieces could potentially be together.</p><p>I infinitely prefer this way of looking at things to "New Year, new me" because it acknowledges the truth. The truth is that we all have aspects of ourselves that are worth keeping. Better to try to make what's already there better by swapping out the parts that don't work with parts that will. The truth is that no matter how much we might wish differently, we don't just instantly become new, different people. We are who we are. But we can tinker with ourselves, excise the parts that don't benefit us and add in new parts that will improve our lives. You, me... we're all walking, talking, channel-surfing mod platforms.</p><p>If that doesn't work for you, maybe think of yourself as a hot rod you're fixing up.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonX7qnlgH5xXeZxXvqCjB7fjLf9OKHmA0tSAxjvkTC2hBo7Gk7yujLi0WUpi1M8Huw7iIDzuUBwmr-lWdVCWzGbyAbHeE6mOCDEIiPqhLolarKlHyJWJpIQ5gcJLACwXkc00iwxJP20bRSzaS4DilzmLaQuoGPdBfKz8YkwshR5HmG3uGlxq5NbGe/s498/ford-mustang-classic-muscle-cars.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="498" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonX7qnlgH5xXeZxXvqCjB7fjLf9OKHmA0tSAxjvkTC2hBo7Gk7yujLi0WUpi1M8Huw7iIDzuUBwmr-lWdVCWzGbyAbHeE6mOCDEIiPqhLolarKlHyJWJpIQ5gcJLACwXkc00iwxJP20bRSzaS4DilzmLaQuoGPdBfKz8YkwshR5HmG3uGlxq5NbGe/w640-h346/ford-mustang-classic-muscle-cars.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Restoring a car is a little different from modding out a guitar, seeing as how you're working to restore a classic piece of automotive art to its former glory as opposed to trying to make a cheap guitar play like an expensive one. But there are also hot rodders who will leave their cars rough and unfinished on the outside but modify and beef up the engines, suspensions and the like so that they have a car that people completely misjudge. </p><p>Think about it. You roll up in your big-ass pickup on a car that looks beat ten times to Hell. Its body is full of dents, the paint chipping, scratched or incomplete and mostly primer. Check out this piece of shit you tell yourself, sneering at the car's owner. You ought to be embarrassed rolling around in that junker, you think. You rev your engine, issuing a challenge you're sure you'll handily win. </p><p>Then the light turns green and that car you think looks like shit leaves in the dust before you can get out through the intersection. Whoa, you think. That car may not look like much, but it's got it where it counts. Wait. Where have I heard that before...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B0O5v1QJrrN4OsRmnztawqdE-OM72bPF-SuhqqS-nbwJx5m_OZidggv1qq76BDWVDkLki0ufwRc0_2AlEjltUGBrJoAMuKL-n9wqvTMniQpBuQMH2cv9C2tP-qkj4ayMWtUJCHrEqPepB5encb68L1IXhoLVWZautUa6T7bRVLxBM8nQ-Dzr9fag/s448/BelatedEquatorialFossa-size_restricted.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="448" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B0O5v1QJrrN4OsRmnztawqdE-OM72bPF-SuhqqS-nbwJx5m_OZidggv1qq76BDWVDkLki0ufwRc0_2AlEjltUGBrJoAMuKL-n9wqvTMniQpBuQMH2cv9C2tP-qkj4ayMWtUJCHrEqPepB5encb68L1IXhoLVWZautUa6T7bRVLxBM8nQ-Dzr9fag/w640-h358/BelatedEquatorialFossa-size_restricted.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Sooner or later, I always come back to Star Wars. But I think looking at yourself as the Millennium Falcon works better than "New Year, new me," too. I mean, that's yet another case where the original bones and identity of the ship are still there but Han Solo upgraded aspects that needed to be improved so the ship would serve his needs. "I made a lot of special modifications myself," he said. </p><p>On top of that, Solo added a critical element that all mod projects need: Love. He loved that ship and because he love the Falcon, it became more than just a spacefaring piece of machinery. It became something very special. It became a home.</p><p>Whether we're talking guitars, cars or fictional spacecraft, any of these approaches is infinitely more appropriate and realistic than "New Year, new me." They accept the fact that you're always going to be you. But you can be a better, wiser, kinder you. That's a mod project worth undertaking.</p><p> </p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-17588559605870427772023-01-10T21:57:00.000-08:002023-01-10T21:57:12.630-08:00Two Cheeseburgers and Some Car Karaoke<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SsPdqQqy8aJq3eQ5eEa_r5XMfoK8MtSbTZm4i4aAEF7-lHWr82ejX8TLJzU7kYmwOqFVALPeDBz98khQ2R4Tvpaw60j5DeYkHY-gaKIftfY3lH-74VMqtZ13tIvv5_aVTgcUsOFGwcuNBVWjzl1aFeO_d8223FDS2FIlAAzCwpaCdhm75i4kK5D6/s514/24e83492f9dfa4b2edb9ac59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="514" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SsPdqQqy8aJq3eQ5eEa_r5XMfoK8MtSbTZm4i4aAEF7-lHWr82ejX8TLJzU7kYmwOqFVALPeDBz98khQ2R4Tvpaw60j5DeYkHY-gaKIftfY3lH-74VMqtZ13tIvv5_aVTgcUsOFGwcuNBVWjzl1aFeO_d8223FDS2FIlAAzCwpaCdhm75i4kK5D6/s320/24e83492f9dfa4b2edb9ac59.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I put on about ten pounds between Christmas and Thanksgiving. Go me...<p></p><p>I'm not the only one who struggles with their waistline during the holiday season. It's cold so you're less inclined to run around outside, egg nog is super yummy and there is sooooo much good food everywhere you look. I get it. Eating is fun and Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year for good food.</p><p>So yeah. I got pudgier over Christmas but thanks to a bit more discipline, the weight has started coming off over the past week. Still, my inner fat kid likes what he likes and tonight, he wanted a cheeseburger worse than anything. </p><p>I'm getting better at combatting cravings. It helps that I live a good way outside of town, which means a round trip to a burger joint takes at least a half hour and it means getting out of my sweats or jammies into regular clothes. Spending the time and effort it takes to go get food is less and less appealing, especially now that the roads are icy.</p><p>Still, I'm only human. Tonight, the cravings became too intense and I buckled.</p><p>I drove in silence, anticipation building. The last fast food trip I made was to Jack in the Box and it was disappointing. Too expensive for what I got and it didn't taste all that good. The trip before that was to McDonald's and it was disgusting. So I decided to hit up Dairy Queen hoping to have a better experience and better-tasting food. I went through the drive-thru, got the 2-double-cheeseburgers-for-$7 deal then drove over to a parking lot by the baseball fields to eat.</p><p>I was not disappointed this time. My DQ cheeseburgers were way above average, or maybe they were able to fool my taste buds into believing they were above average. By the time I was finished, I was fat and happy.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSLQwyBBaAtEpe2sUl9UdSF41nEqllG8k3YfEtCTfYiY5stydTbBO8a7ixdUr1W3mgAePgOuenS4497dBasWUjc6UDDwP3qOcmDxQB7TK5hSXFPssXPCBLCUIxU9ok2TU14g-4BIy1SACgjtpAJ8tE734dTWMflc9XGcb7blolHxiYRY6Gb1buLWc/s500/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="255" data-original-width="500" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSLQwyBBaAtEpe2sUl9UdSF41nEqllG8k3YfEtCTfYiY5stydTbBO8a7ixdUr1W3mgAePgOuenS4497dBasWUjc6UDDwP3qOcmDxQB7TK5hSXFPssXPCBLCUIxU9ok2TU14g-4BIy1SACgjtpAJ8tE734dTWMflc9XGcb7blolHxiYRY6Gb1buLWc/w640-h326/giphy.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>I decided to take the long way home. It's been a while since I had my car radio on, and I was in the mood for some tunes. I turned it on and was totally stoked to hear that I had left a Tom Petty greatest hits album in my CD player. I rolled the window down in spite of the near-freezing weather and just started wailing along with Tom and his Heartbreakers. </p><p>Now, there is an art to picking the right car karaoke soundtrack. You need something infectious, with sticky hooks, easy-to-remember lyrics and fun-to-sing melodies. It also helps if the singer you're singing along with isn't overly intimidating in skill or range. Singing along with Enuff Z'Nuff's Donnie Vie is a blast. Singing along with the mighty Rob Halford? Not so much.</p><p>Genre doesn't matter so much. Queens' "Fat-Bottom Girls" is as fun to sing as "Weezer's "The Good Life." "Electric Crown" by Testament is as much fun to sing as "I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow" off the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack. I enjoy car karaoke-ing to Steel Panther as much as I enjoy car karaoke-ing to Cheap Trick. </p><p>But as far as car sing-along material is concerned, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - Greatest Hits is a Hall-of-Fame collection. So. Many. Great. Fucking. Songs. A partial tracklist includes "Refugee," "Don't Do Me Like That," "I Won't Back Down," "Runnin' Down a Dream" and "Mary Jane's Last Dance." That's a helluva car karaoke setlist. All sung by a voice that's not intimidating to follow along with.</p><p>As I drove along the backroads, singing along with Tom Petty and my burger dinner settling, I felt a warm sensation. Not indigestion but contentment. I was, in that moment, happy. Driving, eating and singing are up there with playing guitar and going to the movies as my favorite things in life. </p><p>It's kinda shocking how little it takes to make me happy. That's not a negative. Unfortunately, there are far too many times when I forget to savor little moments. Just sitting in the presence of my favorite people, making fun of shitty old sci-fi movies with friends, a colorful sunset. These are all little things that make me happy to still be drawing breath. </p><p>This is a lesson to me to live in the moment more. To stop being elsewhere mentally, pining for things I want in my life that I don't have or people who have left my universe long ago. To be present as often as possible. To pay attention to the moments you find yourself in. Because moments that make life worth living are gone in a flash and if you aren't mentally present, you won't get all the good stuff that you could out of those moments. May we all be present in our lives. Also, thank the Maker for cheeseburgers and Tom Petty!!!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfS7Uz7W5ym6fQR5-vVhxP9ceeqmO9Cn81eo5AqrMGoGv14eIWzJxOfquyzD2XkM6_whWKFSShFZefaNU_2rvcW9qZKkvvu4DK2r9MGxkd_tutzhxUvrA80nYZ4A2N9_37q19lYHFpRRA-1ODIRd3pFhQPgNlpxqyYozq7Gp4NzmuGr297yOK8Fvp/s638/waynes-world-wayne.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="638" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfS7Uz7W5ym6fQR5-vVhxP9ceeqmO9Cn81eo5AqrMGoGv14eIWzJxOfquyzD2XkM6_whWKFSShFZefaNU_2rvcW9qZKkvvu4DK2r9MGxkd_tutzhxUvrA80nYZ4A2N9_37q19lYHFpRRA-1ODIRd3pFhQPgNlpxqyYozq7Gp4NzmuGr297yOK8Fvp/w640-h366/waynes-world-wayne.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-91659675218500302612023-01-06T15:24:00.000-08:002023-01-06T15:24:46.113-08:00Dispatches from the Soda War battlefront<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBKhhEkJGB--IS2g0CZFIKKhb_IDYeQMOskvqB1pbBpoYlNkNJt0ZLlcJjLe3L6tc7Y-9KyTEyI6owhU-L0La7JrrDvvVShkUj3n0G0Zl3RyslZvewmJz5720JwrWWe6CT_k4Y-xzqhKLo7xx02YfL3JDLOtCdoiwwa2q2UflR4AwWRsHTGyqXQ9L/s2592/20230106_131333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBKhhEkJGB--IS2g0CZFIKKhb_IDYeQMOskvqB1pbBpoYlNkNJt0ZLlcJjLe3L6tc7Y-9KyTEyI6owhU-L0La7JrrDvvVShkUj3n0G0Zl3RyslZvewmJz5720JwrWWe6CT_k4Y-xzqhKLo7xx02YfL3JDLOtCdoiwwa2q2UflR4AwWRsHTGyqXQ9L/w640-h360/20230106_131333.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I drank soda today. Mtn Dew Major Melon to be exact.</p><p>235 days ago, I decided to do something to drastically reduce my soda pop intake. I was awash on a sugary, carbonated ocean, inexorably drifting towards my demise. I wash tired of feeling like shit all the time and while a lot of that isn't within my control (I was born with a heart condition which required surgery and many of my issues come out of that), what I put into my body absolutely is. </p><p>So I set out on a mission to cut soda completely out of my diet, knowing full well that I was going to fail, probably multiple times. As of right now, my record is 218 days without soda against 17 days with soda. That's a success rate of 92.7%. Any professional sports coach would kill for that record, but it's my record. Mine, bitches!! ALL MINES!!!</p><p>...whoa... excuse me... where did that outburst come from?</p><p>218 days without soda is nothing to sneeze at, especially for someone who used to chug down AT LEAST two 20-oz sodas every single day. While it is disappointing that I haven't been able to quit completely, I have actually done what I set out to do. I have drastically cut down my soda pop intake.</p><p>C'mon y'all. It's party time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqe_QNbpmSaVNerjqWFEjGWuuyY7g_geyEOqmc3Xoiw_-P4_QOkl9cA-haNvCRo07laZStVqFb7lzDroXYJQK61vnwsau7_ZRp66vuWmXTBx8LZkTpMv4jN4cLffwXfN4Y49fFNir-ICYvgd6x8nH7lNtOWOVn50p4s106ge0EsVOs_3rqbJV16aI/s600/tumblr_32d9dc3b08c4ed79573cac8e9a8add6a_ff738b6e_640.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="600" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqe_QNbpmSaVNerjqWFEjGWuuyY7g_geyEOqmc3Xoiw_-P4_QOkl9cA-haNvCRo07laZStVqFb7lzDroXYJQK61vnwsau7_ZRp66vuWmXTBx8LZkTpMv4jN4cLffwXfN4Y49fFNir-ICYvgd6x8nH7lNtOWOVn50p4s106ge0EsVOs_3rqbJV16aI/w640-h384/tumblr_32d9dc3b08c4ed79573cac8e9a8add6a_ff738b6e_640.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Spend enough time working on anything, whether it be learning a new skill or trying to cut something out of your life and you gain insight and wisdom. Sometimes, it may be valuable to others for you to share what you've learned. In that spirit, let me drop some knowledge. This stuff isn't particularly profound or insightful but it might be useful for you at some point. If nothing else you may get a chuckle outta reading this and thinking "How the fuck does this dumbass think this shit is revelatory?!"</p><p>First off, I've realized that anything, even things we may think are insignificant, can become a crutch for us if we aren't careful. Not that crutches are necessarily bad. Everyone needs someone or something to help us bear our burdens from time to time. But be careful, because the line between acceptable reliance and overreliance is razor-fucking-thin.</p><p>For example, I never considered how much I leaned on soda to pick me up when I was down until just recently. I even managed to miss this revelation during previous attempts to quit. But now I can see just how much used soda to lift me up. I've always said that my struggle to quit pop is nothing compared to the battles with addiction that other people endure. But now I can see that my struggle is not so very different, and for someone with my health issues, just as important.</p><p>Secondly, I've come to realize just how much our vices are created to serve the avarice of others. Think about it. Somewhere, on the top floor of some towering, glassy high-rise, seated behind a desk carved from some exotic African tree, there's a fat, stupid, shit-sipping CEO who's only sitting there cuz he's the former CEO's kid or because he screwed over some other fat, stupid, shit-sipping CEO wannabe. Eveytime I buy a Mtn Dew, that fucker's stocks go up by a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a point. </p><p>I'm not saying these CEOs have departments full of Batman-like detectives with supercomputers full of databases about all of our individual wants and cravings. Just that if that is what's going on in the R&D departments of companies like McDonald's or PepsiCo, I wouldn't be surprised. These products that become vices, be they soda or tortilla chips or porn or WHATEVER, are being engineered to exploit our weaknesses and give us just enough of what we want that we have to keep going back for more. They are quite literally killing us for profit. I think about that and wonder if it's too late to escape. Maybe it is, but I gotta try. I'm tired of killing myself while making some entitled prick with six mansions, a hundred-foot yact and 35 Bently Continentals richer. Even if it's just fractionally richer.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhEckcY5TwyMS2OT_o9ahNFZ_7P7o2PcXFXolrOK8uAQ49hjPiQ06zbItm_To5gDq4qo1hi6uOZ615vuzQf11V8xmTmT-hv-JVAB676WfJ2mBSPkoWHEPfEvzfuTv3LhIl2kxxJA7Lt5XSwsnQHS9pi237pNsxk6s1osp08kiiUlLrnLNBHltSdEC/s2048/301921885_10220873210409875_6298051627590273539_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhEckcY5TwyMS2OT_o9ahNFZ_7P7o2PcXFXolrOK8uAQ49hjPiQ06zbItm_To5gDq4qo1hi6uOZ615vuzQf11V8xmTmT-hv-JVAB676WfJ2mBSPkoWHEPfEvzfuTv3LhIl2kxxJA7Lt5XSwsnQHS9pi237pNsxk6s1osp08kiiUlLrnLNBHltSdEC/w640-h360/301921885_10220873210409875_6298051627590273539_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Thirdly, this shit is EVERYWHERE. Soda pop is prominently displayed in stores and soda ads are in regular rotation on TV and streaming outlets and all over the web. Hell, even if you stop buying soda, there's a good chance other people in your house hold are still drinking it and bringing it into your home. The enemy is everywhere.</p><p>That being the case, your mission isn't to completely avoid the enemy. That's damn near impossible. Your mission is to throw up blockades that stop your enemy from advancing. That requires finding new crutches for those times when you're at your wits end or feel particularly vulnerable. Perhaps you have a friend you can text when you feel endangered. Maybe you can find something that replaces that crutch, a healthier substitute that provides some of the benefits that soda used to give you. Be careful not to sever your unhealthy relationship with pop only to become just as overdependent on its replacement. But you can find a way out.</p><p>Finally, realize that this takes time and learn to find contentment in progress. The first time I slipped up and drank soda after deciding to stop, I felt like complete fucking trash. I had made it without drinking pop for 55 days and I felt like all my progress had just been obliterated. Poof!! Just like that. What I've come to realize is that cutting any crutch you overrely on out of your life takes time, sometimes a lot a time. Progress shouldn't be measured by quitting completely but by how big a decrease there is in your soda intake. </p><p>Like I said before, I've gone from drinking two (and sometimes three and sometime four and sometimes more) 20-oz sodas everyday for the vast majority of my adult life. To go from that to drinking one 20-oz pop every 3-4 weeks is actually a huge step in the right direction. I know there's still a ways to go. I do want to stop drinking soda completely and I also want to cut deeply into my fast food and junk food intake. But every journey begins with a first step. If I can avoid getting too disappointed in myself and just keep making baby steps, I'll get where I'm going eventually. Enjoying the journey, marveling at the landmarks as they go by, is all part of the ride.</p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-27074539035224101592023-01-04T18:24:00.006-08:002023-01-05T07:57:21.078-08:00Of Highlight Reels and Whitney Houston<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IAdGFMIyKKXJAJ31Ue5W_Y_JBzUzyQsypa4WqM2vYR2tzajZ4QjQJGLWdSC0lF4OYKU3qvZXV8-55Nq-o1-1wIMmzFsbPpo73i-DQT5PnKOVjC8EnL44cEWe-9FI2p8_UUYku49RJJxt_CfqpZug5YXj1BU1xrIhCPGzYAzNSbOvi_xHHL_I32gG/s2592/20220807_072537.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9IAdGFMIyKKXJAJ31Ue5W_Y_JBzUzyQsypa4WqM2vYR2tzajZ4QjQJGLWdSC0lF4OYKU3qvZXV8-55Nq-o1-1wIMmzFsbPpo73i-DQT5PnKOVjC8EnL44cEWe-9FI2p8_UUYku49RJJxt_CfqpZug5YXj1BU1xrIhCPGzYAzNSbOvi_xHHL_I32gG/w640-h360/20220807_072537.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I had a rather unpleasant encounter this past weekend.</p><p>I don't wanna go into too much detail cuz I've been reliving it for the past four days or so and I'm ready to try to let it go and move on. But it involved me getting yelled at for lustfully leering at a young woman in the Wally World parking lot when all I did was acknowledge I saw her before moving out of her way.</p><p>More important was the thought process I went through after the incident. At first, I was super pissed at Mormons cuz, in my experience, Mormons are super hung up on shallow, external qualities and equally prejudiced against older single people. After all, Brigham Young once allegedly said any unmarried male over the age of 27 is a menace to society and I'm not exactly well-known for possessing good looks or a strong sense of style. In that light, it completely makes sense that young Mormon women might think that older single males constantly have ill intentions in their minds.</p><p>Driving home, I realized that there's no way to tell someone isn't married just by looking at them. Unless you look for and cannot see a wedding ring, there aren't many outward signs and even then, people working on their homes or in their yards might take off their rings off to avoid damaging them. So, my harasser wasn't doing so because I'm old and single. It was because I'm old, not handsome and kinda creepy. Great. That's so fucking much better.</p><p>Once I got home, I sat down and began scrolling Instagram, hoping to settle down and put the incident to the back of my mind. Image after image of people living their best lives rolled by. Vacation pics from exotic locales. Christmas trees festooned in lights and ribbons, surrounded by giant piles of presents. Beautiful young people having fun, being in love and celebrating with their nearest and dearest. I was already feeling shitty about myself and seeing all these photos full of beauty and revelry made me feel even lower.</p><p> Just when I was at my lowest, I remembered the only New Year's resolution I made this year: to learn to love myself. Well, that and I remembered Whitney Houston.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqR4YEYWA7bgtTnOi6hQSKe5bsp38sFygtIJMYpBL6NwnQwpLermWJGJb8D2xLCSJqKDeUa6XVi9n42E_p6ulcAX5KCfofUujGtT4Dr5DpKfFFnNEXsJMcQqmxxD-qVB4W-OPeO4xu7OmnhkZcaYWX2a-o8v8uHuuCVz6EPmLhbXMbzM09abDBhj1M/s400/a02b1da0-5426-47c0-9900-1e0ccc418325_text.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqR4YEYWA7bgtTnOi6hQSKe5bsp38sFygtIJMYpBL6NwnQwpLermWJGJb8D2xLCSJqKDeUa6XVi9n42E_p6ulcAX5KCfofUujGtT4Dr5DpKfFFnNEXsJMcQqmxxD-qVB4W-OPeO4xu7OmnhkZcaYWX2a-o8v8uHuuCVz6EPmLhbXMbzM09abDBhj1M/w400-h300/a02b1da0-5426-47c0-9900-1e0ccc418325_text.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>In 1985, pop singer Whitney Houston recorded a cover version of the song "Greatest Love of All," originally written for a 1977 Muhammad Ali biopic. The song is about learning to love oneself and how important learning that skill is. There's also some jibber-jabber about children being our future and stuff. But loving yourself is the main thing.</p><p>I dunno why I thought of Whitney Houston's self-love power ballad. It's a pretty horrible song, truth be told, all syrupy cloying lyrics and overblown orchestration. But inside all of that, there's a message that actually has a lot of weight behind it.</p><p>Loving yourself is the foundation of a happy, successful life. Everything else is built on that. A healthful relationship doesn't happen without loving yourself first. A flourishing career is a pipe dream without loving yourself enough to push for what you feel you deserve. Pursuing hobbies isn't something one does if one doesn't love oneself enough to go after creative fulfillment.</p><p>Loving yourself gets a lot harder when you have people you don't know screeching at you for things you did not do. It gets harder when you live amongst extremely judgemental, narrow-minded asshats. And it gets much harder when you compare the totality of your own life with the highlights reels of other people's lives. </p><p>Talking with a dear friend, I expressed my frustration and lack of knowledge about where to start my effort to learn self-love. She said "write down three things you can do to learn to love yourself right now." After some thought about my weekend, I've come up with a couple things I want to work on in the immediate future.</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Stop comparing my life to what I see on other people's social media. </b>Facebook, Instagram and all those other apps are useful to keep up with loved ones and share the things you care about. But social media can shred your soul if you see the cool things others are doing in their lives and start beating yourself up cuz you're not living as exciting a life. Remember, most people live unspectacularly most of the time and only share what they want you to see. That doesn't mean your life sucks any more than theirs. It just means you're more open about the reality of your life.</li><li><b>Stop caring about what people who don't know me think.</b> A lot of people who know me make incorrect assumptions about me all the time. For example, I get the feeling that most people who know me think the only movies I like are comic book movies, Star Wars, and other big franchises. The truth is that I love all kinds of different movies, from artsy weird movies to little indie films and crazy foreign flicks about murderous monster sushi. The point is that even a lot of people who know me, don't really know me as well as they think. If they don't know me, how could anyone who I've never had a conversation with know me? And if people don't know me, then why the fuck should I care what they think?</li><li><b>Spend more time with good people. </b>I spend a lot of time by myself. A lot of time. Too much time. One of the things I get jealous of is photos people post of them out with their friends having a good time. Social anxiety makes being social tiring and I avoid it as often as possible. But that leads to loneliness, anger and self-loathing. Is that preferable to being stressed from being out with cool people? Fuck no, it's not! So while I don't think becoming a social butterfly overnight is the right idea, I do need to start out slow, stop declining invitations and get out there and let myself shine. Cuz I'm pretty sparkly when I let myself shine.</li></ol>Maybe this stuff seems obvious to you. Truth be told, I've kicked each of these ideas around before. But you have to start your journey into self-love somewhere. This seems as good a place as any to start.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTT65I25JqlWGWqzF6XL6_WmPs0gm0TJ_PLBnFEA8ebMA9NHSNIUwvervDyuGLV2MPvEu7z1fzstM7mKAeEgzO6LhhT4C0ttGMDMLb9HbUEfDKP3I9WPw3tYTASS6cIPEiwMnS0Ve0JKEmxkNNAcGYDJ1FjQg8fM75AfnSKpFCwAuPmLVEjZXir9S/s2510/20201221_193916.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1019" data-original-width="2510" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTT65I25JqlWGWqzF6XL6_WmPs0gm0TJ_PLBnFEA8ebMA9NHSNIUwvervDyuGLV2MPvEu7z1fzstM7mKAeEgzO6LhhT4C0ttGMDMLb9HbUEfDKP3I9WPw3tYTASS6cIPEiwMnS0Ve0JKEmxkNNAcGYDJ1FjQg8fM75AfnSKpFCwAuPmLVEjZXir9S/w640-h260/20201221_193916.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-55729646968972932142022-12-19T22:44:00.000-08:002022-12-19T22:44:13.494-08:00The Christmas Room<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQs-p0Wv_lc7t9KOdCzpIiV4QYv1vGBCONmvJ4WV7wfncNL-j__dJbYQP-z3EnB4rNvkhJ0xI2AKL-8qjkR3MjW6t9DRR4LcKN8MT-tKxliLHtqvvFmWJ0gqwwCVpr1_07eqbrtMOnEF8oa4shk537CriN0LTdslPaYEU2KQ3CdbZc0g4FO17qtwZp/s2560/20221219_192757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2560" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQs-p0Wv_lc7t9KOdCzpIiV4QYv1vGBCONmvJ4WV7wfncNL-j__dJbYQP-z3EnB4rNvkhJ0xI2AKL-8qjkR3MjW6t9DRR4LcKN8MT-tKxliLHtqvvFmWJ0gqwwCVpr1_07eqbrtMOnEF8oa4shk537CriN0LTdslPaYEU2KQ3CdbZc0g4FO17qtwZp/w640-h360/20221219_192757.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>My parents have a room where they store their holiday decorations, gift-wrapping materials and other miscellaneous odds and ends. Some of this stuff gets dragged out each November and makes the house festive. But there's a lot of stuff in there that hasn't been used in years.</p><p>In addition to two complete pre-lit artificial Christmas trees (one currently on loan to my niece and her family), there are at least half a dozen strings of Christmas lights in various states of operation. There are dusty old wreaths, little porcelain Christmas village pieces, candles (both real and fake) and enough artificial poinsettias to fill a star cruiser. </p><p>But the real treasures of the Christmas Room are two reindeer made out of giant clothespins. These two beloved pieces of my childhood Christmas experience stood like sentinels next to our Christmas tree, guarding our presents and becoming participants in my family's holiday traditions. I looked forward to seeing them each year because their appearance meant Christmas was right around the corner.</p><p>These reindeer are in kind of rough shape now. The boy deer's hind legs are becoming unattached to his body while the girl deer is missing an eye. I kind of want to fix them up, restore them and bring them back as part of Christmas to come. Sure, the cats would probably shred the shit out of them... On second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroM9-pma6jyK_UMcNEK9tazFPnFI25nbQxcQQFJd9TvivlOall1-U7i9uReXg63jdLCjvhDzNPP6R_CS6_9MfSVgjRYDrKiw1wquXxQ0Sq1LOJT9_U-w7v8B4KeTgMapAMwyzKph8WUHWXhDXgWw4LH-eWh5qzFd4UbqZMtu-8GPRfZE94dkbHgOS/s2592/20221219_200525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroM9-pma6jyK_UMcNEK9tazFPnFI25nbQxcQQFJd9TvivlOall1-U7i9uReXg63jdLCjvhDzNPP6R_CS6_9MfSVgjRYDrKiw1wquXxQ0Sq1LOJT9_U-w7v8B4KeTgMapAMwyzKph8WUHWXhDXgWw4LH-eWh5qzFd4UbqZMtu-8GPRfZE94dkbHgOS/w640-h360/20221219_200525.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Anyway, I've been spending more time in the Christmas Room this year than I normally do. I keep digging through my family's holiday past, digging through memories, digging through past versions of my siblings and me that no longer exist anywhere but deep within ourselves. It's a bit like time travel. The holidays are usually a nostalgic time for me but this year, the nostalgia is heavier than it's been in a long time.</p><p>The thing about the Christmas Room is that the door handle is a little tricky. It doesn't always work. Honestly, it needs to be replaced before someone gets stuck in there and can't get out. Imagine in a few thousand years, when archaeologists from Planet Neebblephrax excavate my house only to find that I was entombed with a bunch of old Christmas decor. How embarrassing...</p><p>That thought came up tonight as that stupid door handle failed to do its job and I was shut inside the Christmas room. My phone was in the next room, so I couldn't call anyone to come let me out. My anxiety means I don't deal with stressful situations like normal, functional people do, so I kind of freaked out. On top of that, my mind kept going over old memories involving my family, the Christmas shit we used to do, like setting up an old box like a basketball hoop and playing sock basketball while Christmas albums by The Beach Boys or Alabama provided that soundtrack.</p><p>I was freaked out and openly weeping so I sat down on the concrete floor and did my best to settle myself down. The Christmas Room doubles as an annex to the fruit room and I had bottled salsa and spaghetti sauce and five-gallon jugs of water. So I wouldn't be starving to death for at least a few weeks. </p><p>Then the thought struck me: Just take the fucking doorknob off. As soon as I got over feeling like a complete dumbass for going straight to death and catastrophe in my head, I dug out a screwdriver, disassembled the doorknob and set myself free. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfuSnYHtginzxDDCCgThxacwV_8rbZKQcZIGgIadkxOsu0J03_hiK7apqbJ7tOnKLgGZQJEulFesQzLGn76a_kAfAFg36fhMFYBimIucYXTX8M8QCujR-sU5Sg7dwAMlai5TvLrPzmXDok18UBWGRegE1qDuqoOQ2CofoBI0hkWfdFyFQiASmAn_w/s752/hathat.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="752" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfuSnYHtginzxDDCCgThxacwV_8rbZKQcZIGgIadkxOsu0J03_hiK7apqbJ7tOnKLgGZQJEulFesQzLGn76a_kAfAFg36fhMFYBimIucYXTX8M8QCujR-sU5Sg7dwAMlai5TvLrPzmXDok18UBWGRegE1qDuqoOQ2CofoBI0hkWfdFyFQiASmAn_w/w640-h338/hathat.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>As I sit here now, I find that my Christmas Room adventure can serve as a handy metaphor. We all have rooms in our minds that are chock full of memories. We enter these rooms from time to time, trying to relive our experiences or resurrect loved ones we've lost. We revisit who we used to be and measure that person against the person we are now. </p><p>This is perfectly normal. While our memories aren't the sum total of who we are, they do help us define ourselves. They teach us, in both good and bad ways. Sometimes it's healthy, needed even, to look back on who we used to be and where we came from to help us figure out who we are now and where to go from here.</p><p>However, we have to be careful to not spend too much time wandering the hallways of the Christmas Rooms in our winds. We can lose track of ourselves, get lost and become imprisoned by our pasts. We can be held hostage by people who don't exist anymore simply because they are who we used to be. If we allow ourselves to be swept away by the past, we risk losing the possibility of anything wonderful happening for us in the here and now.</p><p>In spite of that, I'm going back into Christmas Room one more time. There's a pair of clothespin reindeer who need a little love and care. And maybe I need them right now, too.</p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-59889840998427043092022-09-15T17:44:00.002-07:002022-09-15T17:44:41.340-07:00Defeating the Pattern<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wvyvFiWJWxnh67VvaqwG7jS7d-LrMimpFWiJWQFUcVnMza-vAisu0x7Sfay8wA0cg1ImSU4voySq3arAG0Xui_w-rbCIPJbjSXhWYbB1p2sl14arArB_ZHk3DFSfC2AFaP7U_5bOMOnqgyLjG_5rOihwK0Pmp0lUPCRdVJQuZ39RK1eri3r9Hn09/s2559/igms%20cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="787" data-original-width="2559" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wvyvFiWJWxnh67VvaqwG7jS7d-LrMimpFWiJWQFUcVnMza-vAisu0x7Sfay8wA0cg1ImSU4voySq3arAG0Xui_w-rbCIPJbjSXhWYbB1p2sl14arArB_ZHk3DFSfC2AFaP7U_5bOMOnqgyLjG_5rOihwK0Pmp0lUPCRdVJQuZ39RK1eri3r9Hn09/w640-h196/igms%20cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>It plays out the same way practically every time.</p><p>An attractive woman I don't know will ask to follow me on Instagram. I'll look up her profile. If she's attractive or seems interesting, I'll accept her follow request.</p><p>The next step usually unfolds within the next week. "Hi," she'll say. I'll decide to reply because I'm bored and the woman in the photos on her IG is hot. "Hey," I'll reply.</p><p>After opening pleasantries, she'll where I'm located, followed by my relationship status and whether or not I have any kids. "Do you want to be single forever?" they'll ask. I already know where this is going.</p><p>Soon, she'll be calling me sweetheart, dear and other shitty pet names while I wish that, just once, a woman would call me Destroyer of the Universe or Sir Magic Penis. She'll ask me if I'm interested in her and if I've ever been in a long-distance relationship or dated online. </p><p>I'm bored and incredibly lonely, so I'll play along. It gives me a chance to flirt, something I rarely get to be in the real world these days. She'll say "I love you" or "I'm falling for you" or some such shit. I'll replay that I'm very fond of her, too, rolling my eyes the whole time.</p><p>Then comes the turn.</p><p>"Dear, I need your help," she begins. She'll conjure up some emergency situation. One time, her phone was about to stop working. Another time, she needed groceries, even though judging by her photos, she lives in a pretty fancy apartment or house. Another time, she needed my help for her business. Still another time, she needed me to pretend to be her husband so she could receive her paychecks... I think...</p><p>Once we reach the "Please give me money" point of the relationship, I bail and the blocks come down. Then, because my mental health is a dumpster fire, I'll feel guilty for like a week as I wonder if my Instagram Mystery Lady was actually what she claimed to be.</p><p>This is The Pattern. I've been through it over and over and over. </p><p>In the past two months or so, I've been feeling more lonely than I have ever been in my life. It's made me a little more open to the idea of fraternizing with strange ladies online. So I've had a rash of these lately, and every time one of these "relationships" ends, I tell myself how stupid it is that this is the bulk of my social interaction and how I need to stop it cuz it doesn't satisfy. Then, a pretty lady messages me and the whole pattern starts again. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jB_psJtEO-ttynlEl3PHGpmZUtstaxU06X5u9VyAIOkrgUb285FCJ54VVbAwIsVCmUVH9WZHTX396OcMimi9dHxGBdpf4ILb2bP-hFDkvjzVVVg9cUVU6nfLI_f_TZpwj_0fEKy3Mp9HnKtCS-VWJ34d1PT_XhP6Wk8UGBSLjq2B1YKeG72DRK7s/s2592/20220911_133651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jB_psJtEO-ttynlEl3PHGpmZUtstaxU06X5u9VyAIOkrgUb285FCJ54VVbAwIsVCmUVH9WZHTX396OcMimi9dHxGBdpf4ILb2bP-hFDkvjzVVVg9cUVU6nfLI_f_TZpwj_0fEKy3Mp9HnKtCS-VWJ34d1PT_XhP6Wk8UGBSLjq2B1YKeG72DRK7s/w640-h360/20220911_133651.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> It's so easy to get lost in The Pattern. You think you're too smart to fall for any of that bullshit. But before you know it, you've dropped $70 buying some person you've never met in the flesh video game gift cards. The Pattern can be alluring and lull you into a state where you think you're in control, even when you're not.<p></p><p>Thankfully, The Patter can be defeated. All you really have to do is put down your phone and go see real flesh-and-blood people.</p><p>I was deep in the thrall of The Pattern when a cousin, who I'd never met face-to-face before, began messaging me about getting to know each other. We messaged back and forth for a few weeks before deciding, goddammit, it was time to meet face-to-face. We met for lunch at a BBQ joint (and I got my testimony of the deliciousness of cheddar jalapeno smoke sausage re-enforced.) and she was completely delightful. I left so happy and excited to be at the start of a friendship that could be really healthy for me. </p><p>As I sat with my new friend/cousin stuffing my pulled pork/sausage sandwich into my face, I had a glimmer of a realization. I didn't miss my Insta-babes. I wasn't constantly checking my phone. I was perfectly content to sit with my new friend and talk about life, the universe and everything.</p><p>The Pattern has a weakness, just like the fucking Death Star. And I had just dealt it a crippling blow. </p><p>Then earlier this week, I went out for dinner and a screening of Clerks III with two of my favorite people. Not only did I not think about my Insta-babes for the evening, but it also began to annoy me that I was substituting online interaction with scammers for time spent with my nearest and dearest.</p><p>It's amazing how easily we can allow ourselves to be satisfied with things in our lives that aren't anywhere close to as good as we deserve. It happens with jobs, friendships, family issues and relationships. We set aside what we want most with whatever is most convenient or whatever we can get right now. We suffer for doing so. The Pattern exploits our tendency to do this. </p><p>But there's a way out. Get out there and mingle with people you love and who care about you. Do things that keep your brain occupied enough that you're not worried about chatting with individuals who most likely only view you as a way to supplement their meal ticket. Feel REAL LOVE instead of the hollow excitement and ultimate disappointment given by The Pattern. Bring down the blocks and set yourself free!!</p><p>Now, I can't guarantee that I won't fall prey to The Pattern ever again. Sometimes my curiosity overwhelms my skepticism and loneliness is a constant problem. But I know the way out. And I know that chatting to sexy scammers will never bring the kind of validation and fulfillment that real-life friends bring.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMRaBfDGGO_4yYIaoKMUQGIz5XG1G5FYeNTe4xQctlHqvkuHHHLPhktQsOdbNViKbBOYZlf_8Nz2T35YkOaQqS8RsgGQ07jcXpkedK1ywdg6XokDQX3g9KCZYM3zlNr59745HwsCA7QPIeSd8QzH3W9Ky6GIVNPnzKLjxdkBXmX7LiwBPwIm86799p/s3280/306266757_845472653486432_384216123321807060_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2464" data-original-width="3280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMRaBfDGGO_4yYIaoKMUQGIz5XG1G5FYeNTe4xQctlHqvkuHHHLPhktQsOdbNViKbBOYZlf_8Nz2T35YkOaQqS8RsgGQ07jcXpkedK1ywdg6XokDQX3g9KCZYM3zlNr59745HwsCA7QPIeSd8QzH3W9Ky6GIVNPnzKLjxdkBXmX7LiwBPwIm86799p/w640-h480/306266757_845472653486432_384216123321807060_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-54734854517022491012022-07-24T20:21:00.001-07:002022-07-24T20:21:58.546-07:00Dog Days<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uaWcBY0Ss9xz9dlu12G-FqznVQfk6f9uHCddLkpMRvmI4gCks__5IgSLEOpq1rBbuqbLDaxjxg3V9kxw-RLWJMHQxGKveAlnK0pkErHtR0thJDLu2dbVjAQBgkihHb4zr-JEYs8nQ5oVYjmPzA-zWRS35V8rSnwREhw0MMAb-oh80xCPULlDY7l7/s2592/20220724_161556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uaWcBY0Ss9xz9dlu12G-FqznVQfk6f9uHCddLkpMRvmI4gCks__5IgSLEOpq1rBbuqbLDaxjxg3V9kxw-RLWJMHQxGKveAlnK0pkErHtR0thJDLu2dbVjAQBgkihHb4zr-JEYs8nQ5oVYjmPzA-zWRS35V8rSnwREhw0MMAb-oh80xCPULlDY7l7/w640-h360/20220724_161556.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> I fucking hate summer.<p></p><p>Don't get me wrong, there are things I like about it. I like sitting in dark, air-conditions theaters watching the big summer blockbusters. I like the beautiful summer sunsets. I like hanging out with my family and having cookouts and the abundance of things there is to do during this time of year. I like having a good excuse to consume mass quantities of cold beverages. I love long summer drives in the country with the windows rolled down and the stereo cranked up.</p><p>But summer sucks ass, too. With every passing day, we get closer to the long cold dark of winter. The potential possibilities the year holds quickly dwindle, replaced by the realization that I'm wasting so many opportunities to turn my life around and get myself onto a track I actually want to be on. More time streams by while I cling to things that feel familiar and comfortable but also are incredibly destructive and unhealthy.</p><p>This summer has been different in one major way: This is the first year that I've seriously entertained the idea that I'm too far gone for things to get better. This is as good as it will ever get for me. I'm too broken to even hope for a better ending.</p><p>It really hit me this weekend when my family was over. I was watching my niece's and nephew's kids tear around the lawn like bats out of Hell and I realized that this is something I'll never get to have for myself. I'm never gonna get to have small children of my own. </p><p>That was sobering. </p><p>Add to the fact that thanks to my stupid heart failure, I really struggle in the summer heat. The least strenuous of activities cause me to sweat buckets. The best way for me to deal with the heat is to avoid it by hiding from it in my basement and if I'm unlucky enough to have to go out in it, to stay as still as possible. I'm like a lizard sunning myself on a stone, only I'm not enjoying it. I'm completely fucking miserable. All I can do is as close to nothing as I can while daydreaming that I'll survive long enough to make it to fall, when the temperatures will be much more agreeable to me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RdHtz2Rb00WAMmeC6YbzZAsDUbOpsYYUQWOh7fYor9e0yqMoYoKa08h_ZHOpVUE9FWI8sdS2SjOW5F-dk57_j9tqNrh2GzWjlm0MoKvcj51cT-pXo9lKlEUVD0a5CuogMrkUP-MtPcE-mNN2zK-enPnmYH7z8M57eec3_5_U_ye4iKIIGvxNPBMH/s720/293782496_10220747938158147_5251518584543301777_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="720" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RdHtz2Rb00WAMmeC6YbzZAsDUbOpsYYUQWOh7fYor9e0yqMoYoKa08h_ZHOpVUE9FWI8sdS2SjOW5F-dk57_j9tqNrh2GzWjlm0MoKvcj51cT-pXo9lKlEUVD0a5CuogMrkUP-MtPcE-mNN2zK-enPnmYH7z8M57eec3_5_U_ye4iKIIGvxNPBMH/w400-h345/293782496_10220747938158147_5251518584543301777_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>So there I was, suffering through the anxiety of having a house full of guests and knowing at any moment, I could say something offensive or stupid or embarrassing (probably all three simultaneously), realizing I had gone to seed and there wasn't much for me to look forward to. I tried to put on a happy face and if I thought smearing Joker makeup across my face would've helped convince anyone including myself that I was ok, I would've fucking done it. And I'm a Marvel, not a fucking DC.<div><br /></div><div>The only solace I found is that my great-nephew and great-nieces seem to like me ok. That took some of the sting out of realizing how much I've fucked myself over and how deep a hole I've dug for myself. But let's face it, I'm running out of time and with my health the way it is, I'm closer to the grave than the rest of you normies. How do you pull out of a dive this steep?</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish I could tell you there's a happy ending but this isn't over so I can't even offer you that. The only optimistic signs I see are the fact that I haven't completely given in yet. I'm close but I have a tiny bit of fight left in me. I also realize that this is just one day and not every day will be this dark. Also, I really wanna stick around for Clerks 3 in September and the MCU Fantastic 4 movie in 2024. But how much longer can I use movies as motivation to keep on keeping on, especially if I keep failing at getting what I want most? It truly feels like I was put on this planet to cheerlead as others score victories without racking up any myself. How much longer can I keep that up?</div><div><br /></div><div>The question to answer here is the same question Agent Smith asked Neo at the end of The Matrix Revolutions. Why, Mr. Anderson? WHY DO YOU PERSIST? If I figure that out, I'll let you know.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4S3b70-Xg_8oDQ7_A9NreFY5fUWji-5Vdugwpxv0AsxrpqhIzegI2qFQ0xi-z3CStgLbyUmoDU2NXCI9E-ZPqJhrabTBSXsY5Le8kJ3WNKcDndDNvHozEjHcx3awkr2NDxuFBrWaRGIzdIVR18gbiST5aWHm5Wmi1mY-2Yser-nL5AJAkJocckTCa/s617/1520866718410.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="617" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4S3b70-Xg_8oDQ7_A9NreFY5fUWji-5Vdugwpxv0AsxrpqhIzegI2qFQ0xi-z3CStgLbyUmoDU2NXCI9E-ZPqJhrabTBSXsY5Le8kJ3WNKcDndDNvHozEjHcx3awkr2NDxuFBrWaRGIzdIVR18gbiST5aWHm5Wmi1mY-2Yser-nL5AJAkJocckTCa/w640-h260/1520866718410.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-64426734423072739392022-07-17T22:33:00.001-07:002022-07-18T08:40:43.106-07:00Rediscovered Gems<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyOdbdcIpufEs_wvW1zeUL3NWvUwz9Y0Pn_UY-fyIlT-vKFp0FrOlCu_2yWYKmuWS7yCchIWKRQW1i_0Rbm8vaiY1jhrm4Z5Hr1oCgZM8jGBi9CM_Oohwwm3n17m4Zg4J4aHUDjW9vOY1LCrw1fpc0AgQlM3mCwFwRXr7f-BoD3x7vM1OuqRBOTM3/s1440/116103545_10216901169991347_8222379500538979705_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1440" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyOdbdcIpufEs_wvW1zeUL3NWvUwz9Y0Pn_UY-fyIlT-vKFp0FrOlCu_2yWYKmuWS7yCchIWKRQW1i_0Rbm8vaiY1jhrm4Z5Hr1oCgZM8jGBi9CM_Oohwwm3n17m4Zg4J4aHUDjW9vOY1LCrw1fpc0AgQlM3mCwFwRXr7f-BoD3x7vM1OuqRBOTM3/s320/116103545_10216901169991347_8222379500538979705_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>The past few posts I've written have been a bit heavy so I thought this week, I'd do something a little more fun. Here it goes...</p><p>One thing that's changed since I started this latest attempt to quit drinking soda is that I've rediscovered my love of the music I grew up on. While I've taken plenty of time to jam to newer favorite bands and albums, most of my music-listening time has been committed to rock and metal from the 80s and early 90s. I'm falling in love with that shit all over again.</p><p>I don't really understand the psychological link between quitting soda and rediscovering my musical roots. Perhaps it's an attempt to replace the joy that's left my life via quitting soda with the comfort of past love. Whatever. Does it really fucking matter? </p><p>What's obvious is that the old-school shit I used to jam is a lot more fun than my newer favorite bands. Don't get me wrong, it's a lot of fun to hear Killswitch Engage tear into a big, beefy riff or to hear Gojira get heavier than plutonium. But the old-school shit isn't just fun to listen to, it's ABOUT fun. Song after song about partying and carrying on. A wine, women and song kind of thing. It just makes you feel awesome and it kicks ass as a soundtrack for long country drives.</p><p>Here are seven songs I forgot about and recently rediscovered. As Eddie Munson might say, THIS IS MUSIC!!</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">1. "Sentimental Street" by Night Ranger</h3><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/has6r1zQPcI" width="320" youtube-src-id="has6r1zQPcI"></iframe></div><br /> Night Ranger was my favorite band in 7th grade and a crucial stepping stone to me getting into metal. They wrote pop-style melodies and hooks but they had the flashy guitar goods, too. Brad Gillis briefly filled in with Ozzy Osbourne after Randy Rhoads passed away and Jeff Watson was no slouch either. I went with "Sentimental Street" because it puts me in a nostalgic mood. And cuz this chorus is so much fun to sing along with.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Also check out: Rumors in the Air, Don't Tell Me You Love Me, When You Close Your Eyes</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b>2. "Scream Until You Like It" by W.A.S.P.</b></h3><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Kpi2r47D8Lo" width="320" youtube-src-id="Kpi2r47D8Lo"></iframe></div><br />Nobody in rock or metal has a voice like Blackie Lawless. It's a banshee-like shriek but he's still able to carry a tune and he always flavors his delivery with a touch of sleaze. This mid-tempo grinder rides atop a simple yet massive riff and Blackie drives that melody so deep into your brain you can never get it out.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Also check out: L.O.V.E. Machine, Rebel in the F.D.G., I Wanna Be Somebody</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><h4 style="text-align: left;"><b>3. "Superstitious" by Europe</b></h4><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5gU5Vg2JokU" width="320" youtube-src-id="5gU5Vg2JokU"></iframe></div><br />Europe started as a straight-up metal band until they broke out big with their megahit, The Final Countdown. This tune kicked off their Out of This World album and with its huge, hooky chorus, shreddy guitar leads and Joey Tempest's melodic croon, it's the blueprint of how to put together a late-80s rock hit.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Also check out: Ready or Not, The Final Countdown, I'll Cry for You</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">4. "Don't Stop, Don't Go" by Heaven's Edge</h4><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iUhy-_vAgRw" width="320" youtube-src-id="iUhy-_vAgRw"></iframe></div><div><br /></div>These cats showed up on the scene just in time to watch 80s metal crumble and it's really a shame. I've always dug this tune. The guitars pack plenty of grunt, the tempo is great for headbanging and Mark Evan has a pretty cool voice with enough melody to woo the ladies and enough grit to not sound like a pansy while doing so.<div><br /></div><div><b>Also check out: Anything else off their 1989 debut record</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><h4 style="text-align: left;"><b>5. "Hee Bee Jee Bee Crush" by Kix</b></h4><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4MvNqh2N8wY" width="320" youtube-src-id="4MvNqh2N8wY"></iframe></div><br />Kix sounds a bit like AC/DC on speed. They're bluesy, swaggering hard rockers but they can shift into a higher top gear that AC/DC never had. The proof is in the pudding on their album, Hot Wire, which closes with this total banger. If you like screechy, Brian Johnson-style vocals with faster, harder-driving guitars, give this one a shot.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Also check out:</b> <b>Cold Blood, Midnight Dynamite, Piece of the Pie</b></div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">6. "Battle Stations" by Winger</h4><h4 style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oP5eeF9yedY" width="320" youtube-src-id="oP5eeF9yedY"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">Winger got a raw deal. They brought a new level of virtuosity and musicianship to the 80s glam scene. I mean Kip Winger was a talented bassist, singer and songwriter and Reb Beach could set your eyebrows aflame with his solos. I've always had a soft spot for this jam, which was heard in Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey. Give these guys a chance and it'll all make sense.</span></h4><h4 style="text-align: left;">Also check out: Madelaine, Easy Come Easy Go, Headed for a Heartbreak</h4><h4 style="text-align: left;">7. "Rock on the Radio" by Firehouse</h4><h4 style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/11l2smkrroU" width="320" youtube-src-id="11l2smkrroU"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">Another band that gets unfairly dumped on. I know because I've done plenty of dumping on them myself. But when this song popped up on me, I had to give them props. This here's a legit rocker with a truly infectious shout-along chorus. Just don't listen to it after like 9:30 pm unless you live alone. Cuz you'll have no choice bet to crank it!</span></h4><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Also check out: All She Wrote, Reach for the Sky, Can't Stop the Pain</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3oM1KfxoI3ZwAEaUtJRi59GBDEvKNvyYMBoS-tcJmNVf_Zjsx_qaCB6n_AYRDRSI4VTeMhVIjKIeIzyS4aIGYO5Z9pptZhm9ogRgMF4kB5gG88g9UVjHIat2xwCcZ2ytNw4h9bGlex08p7JYoiAuyHNh8ZVgQQ915FMD2WWE1-xQbMCh-RM1saDk/s1080/67142515_10213926340942480_2832447428957831168_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3oM1KfxoI3ZwAEaUtJRi59GBDEvKNvyYMBoS-tcJmNVf_Zjsx_qaCB6n_AYRDRSI4VTeMhVIjKIeIzyS4aIGYO5Z9pptZhm9ogRgMF4kB5gG88g9UVjHIat2xwCcZ2ytNw4h9bGlex08p7JYoiAuyHNh8ZVgQQ915FMD2WWE1-xQbMCh-RM1saDk/w640-h360/67142515_10213926340942480_2832447428957831168_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-61021897597411013702022-07-12T14:12:00.000-07:002022-07-12T14:12:08.894-07:00Oops... I Did It Again<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzREgDL1CkxBggazEb2T_5jebCfwuPuA93EDIuPpDxQ2cv9CkxlwR6VtiLn2D3dISKJ03bv-kNJQuqil4XzxCa_9ooNJ4d1qX5TJXQZkGPwN16hAJGSwAWeg1h4QSSYmIWU4BTGROMBvkJZi0lJQ-GGdLZUC6th8GLhxRvUDsj-e2OGqCw1jXVw4i3/s1080/280269356_10220415258161355_4906443167177324288_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzREgDL1CkxBggazEb2T_5jebCfwuPuA93EDIuPpDxQ2cv9CkxlwR6VtiLn2D3dISKJ03bv-kNJQuqil4XzxCa_9ooNJ4d1qX5TJXQZkGPwN16hAJGSwAWeg1h4QSSYmIWU4BTGROMBvkJZi0lJQ-GGdLZUC6th8GLhxRvUDsj-e2OGqCw1jXVw4i3/w640-h360/280269356_10220415258161355_4906443167177324288_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Oh, dear.<p></p><p>Almost 60 days ago, I decided it was time to give breaking my soda-drinking habit a concentrated, sustained try. I was tired of feeling like hammered shit and thought kicking pop to the curb would be a good step in the right direction. I also saw quitting soda as a first step in changing my lifestyle from that of a junk food black hole that could ingest a whole large pizza by myself in one sitting to something much more healthy. Something less sedentary where I feel less ashamed of my food habits.</p><p>So I set out on a mission to quit drinking soda pop. For the first 55 days, I was wildly successful. I abstained like a motherfucker, not drinking a single drop of soda. I found other alternatives and while those alternatives didn't scratch the exact same itch that pop did, they did take a lot of the edge off. I wrote dopey little Facebook posts about my progress, comparing quitting soda to a break-up with a long-time lover or ending a severe drug addiction. I got some excellent feedback. Hell, I even started sleeping better. </p><p>Then on Day 55, it happened. I stopped at my local gas station and in addition to about half a tank of gas, I grabbed one of the Summer 2022 Mtn Dew Pineapple 20 ouncers. I chugged it in the five-or-so minutes between the store and my house. I felt like shit about buckling. Like, this was going so well, and SO EASY. How the fuck did I buckle this badly?</p><p>I didn't have to wait long for my next failure...</p><p style="text-align: center;">*****</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WGtXlBbWeB4" width="320" youtube-src-id="WGtXlBbWeB4"></iframe></div><div><br /></div>Today, not even five days since my last cash-and-burn, I crashed and burned again. Different convenience store, different Mtn Dew flavor, different experience. This time, I knew the cashier, who knows I've undertaken a quest to quit soda, so she of course gave me shit about my purchase. As I sat there waiting for her to shut up and ring me out, the devil and angel on my shoulders quickly had the following conversation...<div><br /></div><div>Devil Me: Look at you. Up and out of the house before 9 in the a.m. Cleaned up and looking fine. You should treat yourself. Get a soda. It won't kill you.</div><div><br /></div><div>Angel Me: But what about quitting soda?</div><div><br /></div><div>Devil Me: Don't listen to this feathered fairy. You can start fresh again tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Angel Me: How many times are you gonna tell yourself that bullshit? You know for a fact that giving in once makes it easier to give in again and again and again...</div><div><br /></div><div>Devil Me: Fuck this pansy! Abusing your body is fucking metal!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Angel Me: (Deep sigh) Do whatever you want. Fuck it.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">*****</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3W3qtafY2IIS7m25pv6_sUtBdtBlUd_RfSbi68F-jfqPTA-cDVz_xMw3SCzdGue4iQg5G-_8P6WccLCzAjjzDbxOBZApIOkH6om_VG-RIf21AQAz-VAbgbRpYPr7RkhUYb7Ux8t944S_Ukf4EpEAa5oMCO2PTw4-_M5lSeCMJjLl7YWaQSCc4tDZ/s498/jensen-ackles-son-of-a-bitch.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="498" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3W3qtafY2IIS7m25pv6_sUtBdtBlUd_RfSbi68F-jfqPTA-cDVz_xMw3SCzdGue4iQg5G-_8P6WccLCzAjjzDbxOBZApIOkH6om_VG-RIf21AQAz-VAbgbRpYPr7RkhUYb7Ux8t944S_Ukf4EpEAa5oMCO2PTw4-_M5lSeCMJjLl7YWaQSCc4tDZ/w640-h358/jensen-ackles-son-of-a-bitch.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p>When I started this, I knew I was gonna struggle. I'd act like I was trying to kick heroin or something much more severe cuz hyperbole is my favorite currency to spend. I also know how lacking in discipline I am and how that can turn tasks that would be easy for a normal non-dumbass into near-insurmountable obstacles. So yeah, this wouldn't be easy.</p><p>Yet, even with that in mind, I still think I lulled myself into a false sense of security. That was exacerbated by how easy it seemed to come this time. Sure I thought about soda a lot, and about how I was kind of unhappy without it. But I wasn't digging a soda out of a cooler, then putting it back, then digging it out again. I didn't have days of headaches and withdrawals, like I have during previous attempts. I had people cheering me on. I was gonna do this!!</p><p>But since my first failure on Day 55, I've been rolling my efforts over in my mind and some important red flags have come up. For one thing, it was easier to stay away from because I wasn't leaving the house, like, almost at all. Besides work excursions, I rarely left the house over the first 55 days. That meant I needed to stop for gas a lot less, which meant I was inside convenience stores, in close proximity to soda.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMkixFgatzeOmuaOnaVgDN1YLnpnW8ntV89J_Qy7t8n6Qic8wk6YVS5ZZnpbwOtj9AEwxEG3MKJglhtzcI-1fzYjnQg8RxUf3zsZHwcdIM7mEryP54aBnHBAv_7uG6uWMlSIY1wrUdK7wJ8bT8azT8cV6ZFTcgqs6cy683drbfx01fdpVV7mW5wXO/s1080/20818969_10209339210387083_3713337667669214697_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMkixFgatzeOmuaOnaVgDN1YLnpnW8ntV89J_Qy7t8n6Qic8wk6YVS5ZZnpbwOtj9AEwxEG3MKJglhtzcI-1fzYjnQg8RxUf3zsZHwcdIM7mEryP54aBnHBAv_7uG6uWMlSIY1wrUdK7wJ8bT8azT8cV6ZFTcgqs6cy683drbfx01fdpVV7mW5wXO/s320/20818969_10209339210387083_3713337667669214697_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>At the same time, the search for a source that gives me the same kind of joy that soda has led me to arrive that the realization that I probably can't have that kind of joy in my life anymore. I may have accepted that but I haven't figured out how to deal with it yet. On balance, this undertaking has been more difficult than I've realized, even in the midst of it.</p><p>The big fear for me right now is that I realize that buckling and cheating once make it much more likely that you'll buckle again. Buckling again facilitates re-buckling and re-buckling over and over and over in perpetuity until you're dead. I've fallen down, hard. I've really fucked up my knees and I'm bleeding and I'm really upset at myself. I'm not even sure the cheating was worth it. I mean, I've heard that you eventually get to the point where soda tastes too sweet. While I didn't really find soda to be too sweet, but after a month-and-a-half-long break, soda did taste artificial, like some kind of nasty chemical, to the point where it was really unpleasant. </p><p>So, I guess today I'm back at that familiar pick-myself-up-and-dust-myself-off point in this process again. I'm not giving up, though. There's still a smile out there somewhere that I need to find. Cue the epic John Williams adventure music. I'm off on an adventure...</p></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-86000983293084926222022-07-03T14:20:00.001-07:002022-07-03T14:22:44.658-07:00As Pretty As You Feel<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiyEcixu0mnH7joCxzYKbe8_P2uHP8Evz2KgoL-5LjLYpBHL4XPqfpYDEzanJ3WCXgv3-W5BmM98ad_zC0khKyL_6namEjJUTvddWpNs8kpk_EnGlckZbD0CiKQrt9kLGDu1sRwVfJ5J6IslnRcUha32HuftyLfhgZEdJF1VM7PYc7JZBJZIuWcUl/s1934/IMG_20190620_162954_671.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="1934" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiyEcixu0mnH7joCxzYKbe8_P2uHP8Evz2KgoL-5LjLYpBHL4XPqfpYDEzanJ3WCXgv3-W5BmM98ad_zC0khKyL_6namEjJUTvddWpNs8kpk_EnGlckZbD0CiKQrt9kLGDu1sRwVfJ5J6IslnRcUha32HuftyLfhgZEdJF1VM7PYc7JZBJZIuWcUl/w640-h360/IMG_20190620_162954_671.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Look at this fatass fuck. That right there is a guy who is feeling his full self. He's feeling like ten million bucks. That's in part because he was about to go watch Mastodon play a gig but it's also in part because of one other simple thing: at this moment this guy right here could NOT fucking care less what anyone else had to say about him. He was just enjoying the experience he was having and the people he was with at the time. Plus, this guy right here definitely enjoys hamming it up and being cheesy and acting much more badass than he actually is. <p></p><p>Because of all those reasons, this is, far and away, my favorite photo of myself. Ever. This will become relevant, I promise. </p><p>But first, into the way-back machine we jump.</p><p style="text-align: center;">*****</p><p style="text-align: left;">When I was in third grade, this girl Monica who was in my class told me I was ugly. I wasn't particularly fond of this girl and nine times out of ten, I couldn't have cared less what she had to say about anything.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, my physical appearance was a big sore spot for me back then. I wanted to be the cute boy all the girls wanted to kiss. I knew that I was pretty fucking far from being the boy, but it's what I wanted. So being told by a girl that I wasn't attractive hit me pretty hard and I've hung onto that ever since.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Not surprisingly, my physical appearance is still a huge sore spot. It's only gotten worse as I've started losing my hair. I mean, for a good, long time, sprouting hair from different areas of my head and swearing were the only things I was good at. Now, I'm down to swearing. Fuck me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3M05SpmG0bH6zrxKN247R0RqxgZl--Xg06fzwPXKj2JMatC132ADVm0iefzcU-F6bjrevvhwj7v8D0DZGr4I9GkSsIpLHY-KkylWpR9kpKH_ukWoCjwarOURaVUwNAQgqm9Q-9RAPQ3VF49ftO5p9aXDxkJlF9f1lphLynqes7M0wIJ2eozG6YnZx/s1683/20220703_133408.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1683" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3M05SpmG0bH6zrxKN247R0RqxgZl--Xg06fzwPXKj2JMatC132ADVm0iefzcU-F6bjrevvhwj7v8D0DZGr4I9GkSsIpLHY-KkylWpR9kpKH_ukWoCjwarOURaVUwNAQgqm9Q-9RAPQ3VF49ftO5p9aXDxkJlF9f1lphLynqes7M0wIJ2eozG6YnZx/s320/20220703_133408.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>When someone does go out of their way to tell me they think I'm attractive, I usually don't believe them. Historically, people who have told me I'm attractive are either trying to manipulate me into something or they were my mom. <div><br /></div><div>Combine that with the fact that my dating life has always been a lonely, deeply disappointing affair and you have someone who feels blocked from what he wants most while watching people with no more credibility than him get what he so desperately desires. Cue the self-loathing, the depression and the hopelessness.</div><div><br /></div><div>But sometimes, when I can turn down the volume on all the negative self-talk in my brain, I'm able to look at people around me and observe how, even if they're goofy as fuck-looking, they're not bothered by it. They find other ways to compensate for their lack of physical attractiveness. Maybe they're really funny, or good at music, or they can cook. It isn't all about having money or a rugged jawline or a giant schlong.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, it usually doesn't take too long before those realizations are drowned under a tsunami of negativity. But in those moments, it clicks for me what the key to being attractive is and it has very little to do what you look like.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">*****</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBMjMZH8VtK05Y2E4eUkm06hZVxzKtEotlHJRzyMzH7QBXr1YwHXLjmu64yPJvCgMRsneqYif24GRK3iwqYF2S3n44eNHLwhMTJ55BfayPfrsc-1k-bes-lpNUi1PvjZlV9OSEPZ9_fFdfQxnufuPiPePwWe7moZMOFXiLv5Z9xuhMOhXLrCeIBbq/s536/Webp.net-resizeimage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="536" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBMjMZH8VtK05Y2E4eUkm06hZVxzKtEotlHJRzyMzH7QBXr1YwHXLjmu64yPJvCgMRsneqYif24GRK3iwqYF2S3n44eNHLwhMTJ55BfayPfrsc-1k-bes-lpNUi1PvjZlV9OSEPZ9_fFdfQxnufuPiPePwWe7moZMOFXiLv5Z9xuhMOhXLrCeIBbq/w640-h424/Webp.net-resizeimage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>It's truly astounding just how many interpersonal issues not giving a fuck what anyone thinks takes care of. <div><br /></div><div>I'm not saying one should be actively hostile towards people, cuz that creates other problems. I'm also not saying abandon the human race to the point where you couldn't care less whether or not we go extinct. That leads to nihilism and an inability to treat others with even the most basic level of dignity. Cuz, after all, there's no point in being a decent human if all we're doing is waiting for mankind to blink out of existence.</div><div><br /></div><div>I mean not worrying about what others may think to the point that you alter your behavior. We can't be so terrified of the opinions of others that we live in a way we think they expect us to act. Living by the expectations of others is a slow, painful death. </div><div><br /></div><div>Beyond that, when you're living your truest life, doing your own thing and being the most authentic version of yourself, that's when you glow up. There is something irresistible about someone who is living true to themselves and not manufacturing a normie cosplay based on what others think is normal just so you can be accepted. Hell, in my experience, the acceptance never comes, so why the fuck even bother with it?</div><div><br /></div><div>I have noticed that the most attractive people I've ever been around are the ones who just do not care what anyone else thinks. You can tell when someone is living for themself, loving who they are and doing what makes them happy regardless of what people around them have to say about it. People doing their thing and loving it have a lot more going on than shallow hotness. They shine through from a different, deeper level. They're as pretty as they feel and nobody can shake that feeling cuz nothing they say matters.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which is exactly what's going on in that first photo. I was having fun just being myself. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about all the reasons I have to hate myself. I wasn't worried that I looked like a fat fucking slob. I was just being me. And I fucking liked it! </div><div><br /></div><div>That's why I think I look awesome in that photo, in spite of the fact that I was flabby, dorky and way too damn hairy. The truest, best version of me was shining like a supernova through all the bullshit and all the damage that's built up within me throughout my lifetime. I loved myself, if only for a brief moment in time. I want to be that person all the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Being that person, not giving a fuck, feeling my worth as a person in spite of my innumerable faults and flaws, that all takes confidence. It takes discipline of the mind, so we don't follow the depressed, self-loathing rabbit down its hole. We have to learn to let go of negative thoughts. It's easier said than done and it's shockingly easy to plant a thought that takes root in your brain and grows into a towering tree of dispair. It takes effort, energy and, most annoyingly, tons of time. But it's also freeing and totally worth it.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that's an area I'm gonna work on: Not giving a fuck and being the truest me I can be. And y'all better be wary. If I ever get this mastered, I'mma be the sexiest motherfucker to ever walk the planet and I'll steal your honey like I stole your bike!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGLBBoRWS7z8LH4ql-J8nLAzbTF270TOyZcEjSlvPVSM1womWFUct_QrpD3oLsAy5_2uFP1fCg_jgjm5qeJpxKuNgXMLJtovcTC4v8-zB0EX_qqrg9LesmeO_B_WwMnSEog2OIJeAljuxfi4SSyTn9NpJ8iIFDpNUQxF7RUqUuO-vRi3UC46vTWrP/s2592/20220701_210908.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGLBBoRWS7z8LH4ql-J8nLAzbTF270TOyZcEjSlvPVSM1womWFUct_QrpD3oLsAy5_2uFP1fCg_jgjm5qeJpxKuNgXMLJtovcTC4v8-zB0EX_qqrg9LesmeO_B_WwMnSEog2OIJeAljuxfi4SSyTn9NpJ8iIFDpNUQxF7RUqUuO-vRi3UC46vTWrP/w640-h360/20220701_210908.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-28970960628588941042022-06-26T20:15:00.003-07:002022-06-26T20:22:29.496-07:00Flying Flags<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ReftQmvkxOZS0G06QniUlO1qW-IDY45CU3RWg0XIkrBaKhawORTVJTnm-MTeMPa2YTWS1BVoRjPIWfOdHVKCHgTlKqeSNiogR6NM4RKpXl6ryCm-ieQYBuuZvmGr8fGdVvDn239-X48GCjh40MFlK5c_iTNSq9f3qGfSTKJazxmsUiHHkyn9F09X/s1440/202918720_10219029903688359_3784778992321728102_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1440" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ReftQmvkxOZS0G06QniUlO1qW-IDY45CU3RWg0XIkrBaKhawORTVJTnm-MTeMPa2YTWS1BVoRjPIWfOdHVKCHgTlKqeSNiogR6NM4RKpXl6ryCm-ieQYBuuZvmGr8fGdVvDn239-X48GCjh40MFlK5c_iTNSq9f3qGfSTKJazxmsUiHHkyn9F09X/w640-h356/202918720_10219029903688359_3784778992321728102_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Flags, man.</p><p>Flags are a way to represent large groups of people, from entire nations to fans of sports teams. They're a reflection of an individual's identity, something that indicates a person's tie to their home country, their sexuality and other things that they consider part of their identity. </p><p>So illustrative of a person's identity are flags, that the expression "fly your flag" has become another way to say "you do you, unashamedly." Wear what you want to wear. Do what you want to do with your hair. Listen to whatever music you want to. Fuck it. Get naked and smear EZ Cheez all over your body while twerking to old Ice-T records, so long as it doesn't hurt anyone. You know. Fly👏 Your👏Flag!</p><p>Unfortunately, I live in an area where blending with the rest of the overly homogenous population is seen as a virtue. Squelch who you are to make everyone else comfortable. And it only looks to be getting worse. Reading the tea leaves in the wake of the fucking clown car known as the Supreme Court's overturning of Roe v. Wade and knowing how the Religious Right is foaming at the mouth to get everyone who's not white, Christian, conservative and male under their heel, I worry that this is only the start. </p><p>How long before they come after people who don't worship the same God they do? How long before they come after those who don't buy into the ideology they claim gives them authority and entitles them to decide who deserves to be respected as a living breathing human being? How long before those fucking right-wing jerk-offs come after me?</p><p>Is it even safe for me to fly my flag?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisIX-LONZ7_5vHBQVyfqsuFxvfAmZhim0ZG5bc0k7jvycqHr9nzpz7vEfIRquq8CldXslBe0dngG-cZW89TbNMERFzUe1bseIjFYfo79MrEIKQoj4Eo8FJm_OrM00VG7ZuAMejYrx4RDpVgNKe8A2v88XHD0ykUc0T2URbpcgPPE81yNc3ZK00Ndl/s1920/117444900_10217022118374981_1798402352396032130_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1920" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisIX-LONZ7_5vHBQVyfqsuFxvfAmZhim0ZG5bc0k7jvycqHr9nzpz7vEfIRquq8CldXslBe0dngG-cZW89TbNMERFzUe1bseIjFYfo79MrEIKQoj4Eo8FJm_OrM00VG7ZuAMejYrx4RDpVgNKe8A2v88XHD0ykUc0T2URbpcgPPE81yNc3ZK00Ndl/w640-h358/117444900_10217022118374981_1798402352396032130_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>I spent a vast chunk of my life hiding so much of who I am. If you've known me for a long time, you know how fucking goofy and odd I am and you may not agree with that statement. But I can promise you, you've probably never seen me at 100% myself. </p><p>A big part of it is certainly being raised Mormon. The boundaries of what Mormon society finds to be acceptable are so narrow and it's so extremely easy to walk out-of-bounds, ofter without meaning to. I am slowly accepting that I was a shit-disturber and a line-stepper growing up and that a lot of the damage I sustained was self-inflicted. But when you grow up in an environment that tells you that normal experiences kids have growing up are condemnation-worthy, you'd be surprised how easy it is to arrive at the conclusion that the answer is to steer into the skid. Embrace what THEY think you are.</p><p>As I got older, life just got more restrictive and it became harder and harder to be my true self. Whenever I'd try, I'd wind up alone and heartbroken. It was as if whenever I let a corner or two of my flag slip into view, the people around me would grab my flag and shove of whole fucking thing up my ass in hopes they'd never have to see it again. </p><p>And the less ok I felt about being myself, the even more of a unicorn I became. Do you know how odd it is to be my age and not be married or have a family? Do you know how odd it is to be my age and have nothing more substantive to talk about than movies? Maybe unicorn is the wrong descriptor. Maybe Sasquatch or Loch Ness Monster is more appropriate.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHiX4pEdButv8KOgt5OK2MJu6awTB8thKthY6Q8x_L7EI0sWxiGZiHfsRclibyOyduxO0Or404yukDwN51LGCwdv0HeqaymbcJtdSaLXmwtEeFaULVXH5QvdDaZIvvKJBSAgJjDrHbZArLX2XSqyr8B6lrnfdlRqRx7XKhTpLmjSTC5Q4uig5wkDr8/s1080/79361986_10215045131591547_2200765191208042496_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHiX4pEdButv8KOgt5OK2MJu6awTB8thKthY6Q8x_L7EI0sWxiGZiHfsRclibyOyduxO0Or404yukDwN51LGCwdv0HeqaymbcJtdSaLXmwtEeFaULVXH5QvdDaZIvvKJBSAgJjDrHbZArLX2XSqyr8B6lrnfdlRqRx7XKhTpLmjSTC5Q4uig5wkDr8/w640-h360/79361986_10215045131591547_2200765191208042496_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> That brings us to yesterday, setting under a picnic shelter at the local Renaissance Faire, interviewing someone for a piece I'm writing (or supposed to be writing, I decided to take today off). The young woman I was talking to is someone who not only lets her flag fly but also uses her social media to, in part, help others fly their own flags. In a sea of shiny, happy Mormon pod people, she stands out like a thumb that's so sore, it's spurting blood.<p></p><p>As I sat there asking questions, I really came to admire my story subject. This is someone who truly doesn't give a fuck what anyone else thinks. She's like the ultimate black death metal tee-shirt in an ocean of fuzzy pink sweaters. Not only that, but she is so totally loved by her tribe. And sometimes you REALLY, REALLY, REEEEEEEEEEALLY need to stand out from the crowd to find your tribe.</p><p>As I sat there, looking around at the Ren Faire goings-on, I realized that it's in times like these, in a political climate like we're stuck in right now that it's MOST IMPORTANT to fly your flag. It serves as inspiration for others who may be intimidated to be their true selves. It helps like-minded individuals to find one another. And it might not be long before those political and religious shitstains are able to criminalize it. </p><p>So let your flag fly!! Let us see everything that's wonderous and colorful about you!! And to paraphrase AC/DC: For those about to rock, I salute you. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8fPf6L0XNvM" width="320" youtube-src-id="8fPf6L0XNvM"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WPsaTIL6Woa2mkAtChoADfQBoHfVWetez9RGbEeeFaLHS1AGUV8mXo5a9kBJLgxcXJ4MgrhdCxslP0kf-odKGl8Xfv678iY0B6oOnQ4Jgp8PwOYJ-UvBMxSTVdcaPZJiOGv5q_zuIl_imrthBPi5Ae8A4vopBJRmm1vh8uAR_6P7s5fKapIZBkix/s960/205907661_10219030538904239_7744874721895331567_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WPsaTIL6Woa2mkAtChoADfQBoHfVWetez9RGbEeeFaLHS1AGUV8mXo5a9kBJLgxcXJ4MgrhdCxslP0kf-odKGl8Xfv678iY0B6oOnQ4Jgp8PwOYJ-UvBMxSTVdcaPZJiOGv5q_zuIl_imrthBPi5Ae8A4vopBJRmm1vh8uAR_6P7s5fKapIZBkix/w640-h360/205907661_10219030538904239_7744874721895331567_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-18069167470081634702022-06-22T15:29:00.000-07:002022-06-22T15:29:18.711-07:00Revisiting: Evanescence's Fallen<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRQEi8GGGHtz2gDQ_ZVIMm_Om4uRccqUJ_eEuDGxk9HiN-hqQRRl5esRnAmbsk4QRAp56O_K3FUOw_E5V-T6hKqLeiTwafTrRncRw40imp9hIJ9hj-2h8rReE13o440MUV9gJzuUFuZ8Xm_sv9RmefS-zGskTlnxFGZ_yKS3KQKHbHfVp8oArzuJe/s450/7163tf7rbLL._SY450_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRQEi8GGGHtz2gDQ_ZVIMm_Om4uRccqUJ_eEuDGxk9HiN-hqQRRl5esRnAmbsk4QRAp56O_K3FUOw_E5V-T6hKqLeiTwafTrRncRw40imp9hIJ9hj-2h8rReE13o440MUV9gJzuUFuZ8Xm_sv9RmefS-zGskTlnxFGZ_yKS3KQKHbHfVp8oArzuJe/w640-h640/7163tf7rbLL._SY450_.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Fallen by Evanescence</h2><div><b>Release Date: 2003</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Last Time I Listen to It: </b>Not sure. This album was part of a bunch of CDs I gave to my sister so it has to be at least ten years. But from the day I bought it through 2005 or 2006, I played the fuck out of this one.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like almost everyone else, my first exposure to Evanescence came from hearing their big breakthrough hit, Bring Me to Life. I also remember how My Immortal was the musical score for the funeral scene in Daredevil and it did a lot more to stir the emotions than anything any of the actors in that scene did.</div><div><br /></div><div>I picked this CD up mostly because I was kinda sick of nu metal and guitar pop and Ev at least had some heavy guitars. I've always dug the way Amy Lee's voice hung like an eerie mist over the instruments. And it also didn't hurt that Lee was smokin' hot.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fallen wasn't the only Evanescence album I bought. While I no longer have a physical copy of Fallen, I do still have 2006's The Open Door and 2011's self-titled record on CD. I did really enjoy this band's debut but it was a case of diminishing returns. I liked every new Ev record less than the last one. On top of that, it was around this time that I was really getting into bands like Lamb of God and Mastodon. I guess there just wasn't enough room for Ev in my heart anymore. (That last sentence is sponsored by Kraft Cheese.)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Verdict: </b>This is still a fun listen. Going Under gets things underway with heavy guitars and a steady, stomp-worthy rhythm. Bring Me to Life isn't as cool as I remember it being but Everybody's Fool is a pretty killer song. My Immortal is a little too overblown for my taste but it adds a nice dose of drama to the record and stands out by being driven by piano instead of guitars.</div><div><br /></div><div>The big highlight on this album for me is Tourniquet, a song that raises the beats per minute a little and eekes out every ounce of desperation out of Lee's voice. This song was also huge for me when I was struggling with religion and feelings of unworthiness. I can totally relate to the desperate, terrified soul taking stock of how far they've fallen and wondering "Am I too lost to be saved?" Plus that riff is pretty badass.</div><div><br /></div><div>The back half of Fallen is basically a copy of the front half only less memorable. My Last Breath works pretty well with its pulsing electronic beats bleeding into heavy rock. Hello is another piano ballad that doesn't have the hooks My Immortal does. This isn't bad stuff, it's just that the finish isn't as good as the start.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even with its flaws, Fallen is a pretty good listen. Even the lesser material on the record is still enjoyable, if only because of Lee's performance. The bottom line is that Fallen is really pleasant, the perfect album to enjoy on a chilly, rainy day with a cup of tea. </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Best Songs: Going Under, Everybody's Fool, Tourniquet, My Last Breath</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhAhvyh4lGY_UiNt0rMDdbRb-Qrxt--Ik5OWE-HkUvD7Y5tOYrUZD6Sx5CHaXaWP7bAtwa0JrP_iFPgGMrUDj7n_WYbYJwhe_cbUOcH3-UJHHyy2w5JeCdqe1VaSYjcyqkeyPK9kMEJx6T3sB-LEziCvADh-pJRjVqzwOJnp_4LUziVTgFhLLOddH/s2592/20210506_104806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhAhvyh4lGY_UiNt0rMDdbRb-Qrxt--Ik5OWE-HkUvD7Y5tOYrUZD6Sx5CHaXaWP7bAtwa0JrP_iFPgGMrUDj7n_WYbYJwhe_cbUOcH3-UJHHyy2w5JeCdqe1VaSYjcyqkeyPK9kMEJx6T3sB-LEziCvADh-pJRjVqzwOJnp_4LUziVTgFhLLOddH/w640-h360/20210506_104806.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-30546553171601920652022-06-19T19:23:00.000-07:002022-06-19T19:23:03.447-07:00What I should've Said (But Never Did)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHmi3rL17ZCH5lczQ4nBrzKnLbIf7SPqPMHcTI4CnkICEQOrobd1hQ8bf9_qYujXVZDQJM8ZSIthCyTdAFFxLTQz7haEGEH0kAAy07RI4tZ1BQU4s4frlJuiS2T1-8oHhDFAYUSw9uFJwC47umEiA1c5z9kwfN5oFITQNQEeaZdJ-NXDxKgHMtJkcX/s960/12524382_10205474256605654_7209271122816557244_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHmi3rL17ZCH5lczQ4nBrzKnLbIf7SPqPMHcTI4CnkICEQOrobd1hQ8bf9_qYujXVZDQJM8ZSIthCyTdAFFxLTQz7haEGEH0kAAy07RI4tZ1BQU4s4frlJuiS2T1-8oHhDFAYUSw9uFJwC47umEiA1c5z9kwfN5oFITQNQEeaZdJ-NXDxKgHMtJkcX/w640-h360/12524382_10205474256605654_7209271122816557244_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's coming up on five years. Five fucking years. You've been out of my life almost as long as you were part of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't want you to think that I sit around, doing nothing but pining for you and listening to old, sad bastard music because I'm still just so heartbroken. I am trying to move forward. Hell, I've had a couple of other women mistreat me since you abandoned me. But they were never as dear to me as you were and my feelings for them never reached the same depths as my feelings for you. So, while I'd love to be able to say with total honesty that I never miss you or think about you, that's just not true. Sometimes, I still miss you. Sometimes, I wish you were still around.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Still, with every passing hour, you're becoming less of a pathetic obsession I can't free myself from and more a memory of a really shitty situation I went through. Occasionally, it helps to imagine conversations we never had. I get to imagine saying all the shit I should've hit you with but kept to myself. After much thought, I've decided to get them out in writing, so I can better process what happened and maybe, possibly, let go of them for good. You know, cuz closure is a really good thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here we go:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>"You know how I feel about you and you need to respect my feelings."</b> - I was constantly walking on eggshells around you cuz you were so goddamn sensitive and easy to set off. The least you could've done is cares enough to use more tact and not blast me with shit you, in all likelihood, knew would hurt me. On a related...</li><li><b>"I can't be someone you bitch to about your love life."</b> - You knew I wanted to be more than friends, so I have to believe you knew you were torturing me every time you'd whine to me about the loser shitbags you'd date. I get that friends need to feel safe talking to friends about everything, but I should've dug up enough spine to tell you your love life was out-of-bounds. It hurt enough knowing you were with all those assholes. I never should've let you rub it in like I did.</li><li><b>"You're not the only person in this relationship who matters."</b> - Relationships, be they friendships, family relations, romances or whatever, are never just about one person. If only one person is getting what they want out of the situation, then it's a situation that needs to end. Both parties' thoughts and feelings matter, and if you get put out by that fact then you need to be kicked to the curb. </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37wmMl6glaxkKDBQKGQWPiwwa8LyPQtSWmRgfup_1V-9RXJheVUC90gjw5Qi3VJvsJ05OoDc81AA_uXcr_UZ_ctQplt2WiW_OlzjYkfLjmeQZyHaLAjBXA6yjbgPk4IRt3rvkrYtAzhK_j5MGVgRUbDNObjGMnHER_d38zx4Ws5fgXeqRVZZjxbGZ/s320/20170505_163308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37wmMl6glaxkKDBQKGQWPiwwa8LyPQtSWmRgfup_1V-9RXJheVUC90gjw5Qi3VJvsJ05OoDc81AA_uXcr_UZ_ctQplt2WiW_OlzjYkfLjmeQZyHaLAjBXA6yjbgPk4IRt3rvkrYtAzhK_j5MGVgRUbDNObjGMnHER_d38zx4Ws5fgXeqRVZZjxbGZ/w400-h225/20170505_163308.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>"If we can't be together as boyfriend/girlfriend, I can't be your friend anymore."</b> - Having to squelch the powerful emotions that accompany being in love with someone is some of the most hateful, damaging shit ever. Much better to take the pain of a lost friendship than to suffer the agony of not being able to be as close to someone as you want to be.</li><li><b>"You don't value people."</b> - Pretty self-explanatory but it always shocked me to see how little value you place on your relationships with people you said you felt close to. One slight trespass and you booted them, often with no explanation.</li><li><b>"I can't be friends with you anymore."</b> - You abandoned me but even if you hadn't, I don't think our friendship had much life left in it. I had had enough even before you left and I am convinced I would've walked away sooner or later. But I shouldn't have walked the way I did, without telling you why I was done. I deserved more closure to our friendship but so did you. I should've told you what it was about you that drove me away. I should've expressed how you made me feel, both the bad and the good. I used to believe I never owed you an explanation but if I could do it over again, I would have told you why it was ending.</li></ul><div>There are a lot of other things I should've said to you, but those are the important ones. There are things I wish you'd have said, too. But that time has passed, I've changed a lot since then and God knows where you are now or what you're doing. Where ever you are, I sincerely hope you're happy and that you've found what you were looking for. Or at least that you found a place to live that will let you keep a dog.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1mHxjYEjIZPlthIl377WG7pjek-PMQ6G0HoONidvYdwWy1ZyXqEqFqFkvCUqBTzCs8tZAFdPeSz13Yi47tRhkoHaGtfhOV7ykB-huq5FxBzQEgfIx1NRdn6PlzI4CZ5F8wkwcVsaEDFGcZbgfNvWp5U0LhrH8zscgJy7_dM9WXV0QDbQg0DJHMu4/s320/20170322_143056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1mHxjYEjIZPlthIl377WG7pjek-PMQ6G0HoONidvYdwWy1ZyXqEqFqFkvCUqBTzCs8tZAFdPeSz13Yi47tRhkoHaGtfhOV7ykB-huq5FxBzQEgfIx1NRdn6PlzI4CZ5F8wkwcVsaEDFGcZbgfNvWp5U0LhrH8zscgJy7_dM9WXV0QDbQg0DJHMu4/w400-h225/20170322_143056.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> </div></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-21868081928253303532022-06-14T15:47:00.000-07:002022-06-14T15:47:39.173-07:00Junk Food FOMO<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFAucliCn5oFJa0FKNBwSc3uPpXpFGTaDE2tMusA7DcqR8QRsqnqZrHHKvg1rBcnB9DFE9aMUjbcd4yo8gQk963vlOxLVscBe4EVi1-nS-aNwyEwuVitStW6ZXMJnVv7kkQ_Eo3mEz5VTsOIGo58TG-XmYQ5UNR2xEjs4KFX9WZf2yQwFyzk2IlJh/s2592/20190621_001315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFAucliCn5oFJa0FKNBwSc3uPpXpFGTaDE2tMusA7DcqR8QRsqnqZrHHKvg1rBcnB9DFE9aMUjbcd4yo8gQk963vlOxLVscBe4EVi1-nS-aNwyEwuVitStW6ZXMJnVv7kkQ_Eo3mEz5VTsOIGo58TG-XmYQ5UNR2xEjs4KFX9WZf2yQwFyzk2IlJh/w640-h360/20190621_001315.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I have a pretty tortured, intense relationship with junk food.</p><p>Junk food has been a part of my life as far back as I can remember, but I think shit really got out of control after I returned home from my church mission. At that point, Hasbro had been releasing their Star Wars: The Power of the Force toy line for about two years, and I was engaged in an epic quest to collect as much awesome Star Wars shit as I could. My homie Erik and I would embark on long trips to find the latest, greatest plastic Star Wars facsimiles. Every one of these trips would include a stop to get lunch at a fast-food joint. In addition, I remember spending extra time in Taco Bell around that time because they were running a contest to win the Batmobile. This was when my relationship with junk food truly took root.</p><p>Fast-forward to spring 2022. I had a particularly disgusting trip to Taco Bell. I mean, fast food is inherently a little disgusting by its very nature but this was way beyond that. I dunno what the fuck was inside my chalupas but it had the texture and consistency of old pork fat. I didn't puke but it was offputting enough that I swore I'd never "Quiero Taco Bell" and "make a run for the border" for "the cure for the common meal" ever again. And for the past two months, I've stuck to it.</p><p>Around the same time, I decided that I was tired of feeling like complete bat guano all the time and decide that my diet and sedentary lifestyle were in need of a change. I started trying to learn how to cook, reasoning that if I could cook for myself I'd be less inclined to choose junk food. Progress there has been stop-and-start, currently in stop mode.</p><p>Not long after, I decided I was going to quit drinking soda pop. That's going a bit better, as I haven't drunk a drop of soda in the past month. But it's about to get even more challenging, as Mtn Dew just announced their new flavors for Summer 2022. And when I saw that announcement, it clicked with me why I fail so hard trying to quit junk food. </p><p>It's because of FOMO.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXHCctktWWvSu09LPkIpS26np-qpofvn9GH_uGuF3-LeAH21M0EalSBrOlGJucZiV7vFh0fJnFxvku7TEWtDWfHCZJzUVVbnmepVQgz_Zou5hAO0zVyvOuvmfLKUZB6pEvvKDaMqEiN8B6Gt8qo6fD_XGikhc2FLT7PZQ__Q4U3XYhrd6ngzv1--B/s1080/53032374_10213112323512553_567954290400821248_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="795" data-original-width="1080" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXHCctktWWvSu09LPkIpS26np-qpofvn9GH_uGuF3-LeAH21M0EalSBrOlGJucZiV7vFh0fJnFxvku7TEWtDWfHCZJzUVVbnmepVQgz_Zou5hAO0zVyvOuvmfLKUZB6pEvvKDaMqEiN8B6Gt8qo6fD_XGikhc2FLT7PZQ__Q4U3XYhrd6ngzv1--B/w400-h295/53032374_10213112323512553_567954290400821248_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>See, I don't lead a very adventurous life. My anxiety keeps me from doing a lot of things normally-functioning humans get to do so my ability to have new experiences is rather limited. But one area of life where I CAN have new experiences without my anxiety fucking it up for me is food. If I see a new flavor of Mtn Dew or Coke or whatever in the cooler at the convenience store, it doesn't frazzle me to grab one, chug it down and have a new flavor experience. If a burger, taco or pizza place I like is advertising some item I haven't tried yet, it's not a problem for me to go get it and give it a test drive. Hell, I don't even have to get outta my car. Thank you, Drive-Thru!!</p><p>Because I value those new taste experiences so much, I can get pretty neurotic when I think about not getting to try new options at fast food joints or convenience stores. I go out of my way to get them. Good hell, one time last summer I made a 40-minute trip to a c-store in Idaho Falls just to load up on Mtn Dew flavors that hadn't appeared in my neck of the woods yet. I frequently see ads from food places when I'm watching Hulu or whatever late at night and will pause my show, get dressed, trudge out to the car and drive into town just to satisfy that craving.</p><p>Sometimes, it doesn't even have to be new items. For example, I made a 1:30 am trip to McDonald's at the end of May because I knew their 2-for-$6 was ending and I couldn't bear the thought of missing my chance at one last cheap quarter pounder and McNuggets meal.</p><p>I can't handle the thought that I might not taste what Baja Gold Mtn Dew tastes like. I'm currently wrestling with my need to hit up Jack-in-the-Box for one of their Double Bacon Chessy Jacks. Summer seems to be the season when the junk food makers really push the newest flavors so the next three months are going to be a real gauntlet to run.</p><p>That said, I know what the issue driving this is so I can figure out some solution. After all, knowing is half the battle.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcA9vf2B7xD-XRCPL9f6SwEVdule0ZTlxT11sbo1RKYQnRX2wa-l8sZpAjlll_Lj80ASFUQijqjsNCxhYr_0WRxO0sC1E2oFZuPs2i_XW-b7gevgl_ltHORpzcpXPYMUa1PrCYzQbmWjbttqtAkKvec5e2ODoeT4zWmK960-UPTqlOXJKnP3gumkC/s472/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="472" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcA9vf2B7xD-XRCPL9f6SwEVdule0ZTlxT11sbo1RKYQnRX2wa-l8sZpAjlll_Lj80ASFUQijqjsNCxhYr_0WRxO0sC1E2oFZuPs2i_XW-b7gevgl_ltHORpzcpXPYMUa1PrCYzQbmWjbttqtAkKvec5e2ODoeT4zWmK960-UPTqlOXJKnP3gumkC/w400-h305/giphy.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-72974016154042859342022-05-24T20:19:00.000-07:002022-05-24T20:19:15.618-07:00On Rabbit Holes<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBNf-NJsre6ha9k0ga9FVveS-PopusKh3YEkul_TZOVpk9ORmDVnptISX_cOhxrNcZkv9ND3MinDWy-GBRtxqZJQIdUjJo4wQ8-grDuFNWcEN_-ecca9XNf2MH9p5ijciA1j7QIfg2XwZaKFf8UfjHOc9q8bAV9KuQxQeyM9SabSxpy8lg0M1VyXPl/s2300/20220523_171603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="2300" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBNf-NJsre6ha9k0ga9FVveS-PopusKh3YEkul_TZOVpk9ORmDVnptISX_cOhxrNcZkv9ND3MinDWy-GBRtxqZJQIdUjJo4wQ8-grDuFNWcEN_-ecca9XNf2MH9p5ijciA1j7QIfg2XwZaKFf8UfjHOc9q8bAV9KuQxQeyM9SabSxpy8lg0M1VyXPl/w640-h360/20220523_171603.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>"I've been obsessed and obsession isn't good" - Chef in South Park Episode 205</i></p><p>For a long, long, long-ass time, I've been looking for some kind of community for people who have left the LDS Church. I've been searching for a tribe, a group of people who know where I've been and understand what it's like to experience a lapse in faith. Someplace where I could find some support. </p><p>It hasn't gone very well.</p><p>The main problem has been that I keep running into is that every group I've tried to be part of has been full of people who seem to see ex-Mormon groups as fields from which to recruit newbies to their Christian congregations. It's like "Did you leave the Mormon Church? Are you ready to have a real Christian experience?" Like, no thanks, bro.</p><p>If it's not recruiting, it's Christians who expect you to respect their beliefs and tiptoe around their delicate widdle feewings. FUCK THAT. Christians, on the whole, are super disrespectful of any beliefs that differ from theirs. And if you won't respect what I believe, how the fuck can you expect me to respect yours? Sorry, but that is not how I roll.</p><p>Anyhow, I spent years looking for a support structure for my apostasy without much success. I found a few people who'd traveled a similar path to me but I was mostly very alone. I kind of expected to be isolated and solitary, as leaving an organization in a geographical locale where the vast majority of people belong to said organization immediately makes you an outsider. Not a member of the flock. The Other.</p><p>Then, a couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across a YouTube channel called My Spiritual Life. The channel is run by a young woman who grew up LDS and then left the church after experiencing a crisis of faith. She talks about subjects like feeling guilt for leaving the church, different ways the church indoctrinates its members, dealing with the sadness of losing your belief system and much more.</p><p>I watched one video. Then another. Then another. I then found similar channels with similar content. I started watching Mormon Stories and Exmo Lex and several others. I soon found that I was burning six to eight hours a day watching exmo video content. It was keeping me from working. It was keeping me from writing projects. It was keeping me from making an effort to see my friends.</p><p>I was obsessed. I had tumbled down a rabbit hole and if I didn't do something to stop myself, the rabbit hole would swallow me and I'd never get out.</p><p>At this point, I feel like I should explain something. These vids haven't altered my view of the church. These creators spend A LOT of time discussing the misdeeds of the current church leaders, the cover-up of the dark deeds of Joseph Smith and other historical church figures. They spend a lot of time calling out lies that cut to the heart of the church. For me, the truthfulness of the gospel was never the point. That's not why I left. I left because I was so unhappy trying to reconcile the person I am with what I needed to be to be a "good Mormon." And whether the church was true or not didn't make a fucking bit of difference. </p><p>Nevertheless, I was obsessed because it was so nice to hear from people who had endured a similar faith journey and not have anyone trying to get me to join their church. I felt safe. The world we currently live in is scary, so I'll take any tiny micron of safety I can get. </p><p>But like anything else, too much of anything can be a bad thing so I know I need to dig my way out of this rabbit hole. For one thing, it's a bit of a one-way interaction and while I don't feel so alone knowing there are so many people out there who know what's it's like to lose your faith, I don't get the feedback of understanding and empathy from a moving image on a computer screen. </p><p>For another thing, it eats up a lot of time. Time I should be spending on achieving shit on my bucket list. Time I would be wise to spend on other things I love, like playing guitar, writing fiction, visiting friends or even just driving around through the country listening to metal really fucking loud. That's how rabbit holes get you. They restrict your vision. Your focus becomes malignantly myopic and you lose sight even of things that are most important to you. Rabbit holes entrap you, cause you to lose yourself and you cease to exist as you wither in the darkness.</p><p>And I have way too much fucking light within me to let it be extinguished by losing myself in some rabbit hole. Time to refocus my light into a beam that can illuminate my way out. Wish me luck. </p><p>Now, if you'll excuse me, it's Tuesday night and I'm in the mood for some late-night taco.</p><p><u style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE:</u> <b>Tacos Acquired. Achievement unlocked!!</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILys6GTHHcKihFifgKXk1bC-UKR_H2Qk5FAxVMGpBC3cc9oXT0084f8vzanGcJmnFGqMve2wijE7zFQt2FHWnVrZOQ9iUmUx0oboFDkaNa8ZNysQRGCUOl7OiYg6DEqjpe_mQMCLA571jXwb4Lw__v23vEP-AtWL3OHc3FleV53gV76_YSGxA74QQ/s2592/20220518_131306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2592" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILys6GTHHcKihFifgKXk1bC-UKR_H2Qk5FAxVMGpBC3cc9oXT0084f8vzanGcJmnFGqMve2wijE7zFQt2FHWnVrZOQ9iUmUx0oboFDkaNa8ZNysQRGCUOl7OiYg6DEqjpe_mQMCLA571jXwb4Lw__v23vEP-AtWL3OHc3FleV53gV76_YSGxA74QQ/w640-h360/20220518_131306.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-9721103220633784262022-05-01T13:20:00.000-07:002022-05-01T13:20:12.624-07:00Thrashbrowns Loses his Religion Revisited: This Endless War<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvS2FTahZSJ2PyIubLcxXg6Ioj-ldSI8HMKkLiUPxN1IdBuk-16eYZYvYzGQMzd5Ii7RIRhj9tF7_OPLLC-hY4z9yNDwiHuDUy6JDb_PsBsK6klCQV8XNF5Qh_axAkPM7tstQ_siiqE3al4zcaHN4lj5Rax-QRp_2psB-l_fUCaht6JFRXrH90s7-d/s928/Webp.net-resizeimage.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="928" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvS2FTahZSJ2PyIubLcxXg6Ioj-ldSI8HMKkLiUPxN1IdBuk-16eYZYvYzGQMzd5Ii7RIRhj9tF7_OPLLC-hY4z9yNDwiHuDUy6JDb_PsBsK6klCQV8XNF5Qh_axAkPM7tstQ_siiqE3al4zcaHN4lj5Rax-QRp_2psB-l_fUCaht6JFRXrH90s7-d/w400-h230/Webp.net-resizeimage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> Hi. It's been a while, eh?<p></p><p>Last year, I decided it was time to do a deep dive-style breakdown of the events and experiences that led me to leave the LDS Church. It was a multi-part, months-long exploration that helped me get so much shit out in front of me so I could see and make sense of it. It was a difficult, painful process but when it was over, I felt like I had finally put a lot of shit to rest.</p><p>But I knew damn well that this wasn't over. Not. Even. Close.</p><p>So I figured that I leave the door open to occasionally revisit TBLHR when I felt a need to. Which is why we're here today.</p><p>I was watching a video on YouTube where an ex-Mormon lady was talking about things she resented the Church for. Part of her video covered how she resented the church for robbing her of her identity beyond being a wife and mother. She talked of she's still struggling with it even long it's been a good long time since she left. </p><p>That made a light in my head go off cuz I know there are still A TON of issues from when I was going to church that I still battle, many times on a daily basis. So, I guess I'm here to get a few of these issues off my chest. We'll take them one at a time, starting with...</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">A Sense of Worthlessness</h3><div style="text-align: left;">One of the biggest wars I've been fighting, one that I've been fighting ever since I can remember, is the war of self-worth. I've struggled to find things within myself that are worth liking for so long, it seems like it's been a fucking career. It's a struggle that persists even now that I bailed from LDS life, though it's a lot easier to find stuff to like within myself now that I'm out.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the LDS Church, the matter of worthiness looms like a storm cloud over your entire life. If you're not worthy according to the standards of the church, you can't enter the temple. You aren't qualified for all kinds of blessings that will greatly enrich and improve your life. You will lose the companionship of the Holy Spirit. If you die in your unworthiness, you cannot receive a fullness of glory or be with your loved ones throughout the eternities. To a kid with a heart condition who could drop dead at any moment, like me, that was some scary shit.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1-acTK_t761im2LGncDejcjAKhs8-QRII5ZtWcrTOCurhNmwGziwO5a4ak20_Wd-QnK7Lhq-opa01H7NR8j92KrxiHkaMqBwYbngdPq3CYgQmY-A4zxjSzKa_qts0TW05EY2vj-N8HRJbwAG3bI23yrBufoOySrcChh9XyPa4IQ2WGrLbUMTH--B/s843/42534156_10212125999695074_496919585774108672_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="843" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1-acTK_t761im2LGncDejcjAKhs8-QRII5ZtWcrTOCurhNmwGziwO5a4ak20_Wd-QnK7Lhq-opa01H7NR8j92KrxiHkaMqBwYbngdPq3CYgQmY-A4zxjSzKa_qts0TW05EY2vj-N8HRJbwAG3bI23yrBufoOySrcChh9XyPa4IQ2WGrLbUMTH--B/w640-h356/42534156_10212125999695074_496919585774108672_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And it's so easy to erode your own worthiness. It happens if you listen to the wrong music or watch the wrong kinds of movies. It happens if you swear or have impure thoughts or if you get angry. It turns out that in the LDS Church, worthiness is one fucking fickle bitch. As a kid who loved metal and bloody action movies and especially swearing, I always felt like I was unworthy for what seemed like petty, stupid, bullshit reasons. Eventually, I came to believe that what music I listen to or movies I watch is between myself and God and if jamming some metal or watching Die Hard is the worst thing I'm doing, I'm not doing too bad. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But programming is programming. After decades of buying into the idea that I had to be living a certain way to be worthy of the oxygen I breathe, I became mired in the idea that if I didn't try to change, I was doomed. I tried on two different occasions to de-metal myself by boxing up my music and giving it to friends so I wouldn't get into it. I also sold all my R-rated movies. I knew that this stuff was between myself and God but if God really didn't want me to listen to metal or any of that other shit, I had to try. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Giving up movies wasn't that hard because I could still watch Star Wars but giving up the music was so goddamn painful. My music had always been there for me, with no judgment, whenever I needed it in a way God never was. I tried to throw myself into the Gospel but I was miserable. Living my life without metal just felt wrong and I was more anxious and depressed than I'd been since my mission. Being without my music just felt wrong.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So I buckled and back into listening to metal. I felt like shit for buckling, like I lacked a spine, like I would always fold under the slightest pressure from temptation. There were other sources for feelings of unworthiness. The fact that the church puts so much emphasis on getting married and having kids made it hard to feel good about myself cuz I couldn't find my way into a relationship, no matter how hard I tried. The relationships I did get into were mostly miserable and I felt like it was always my fault. I was either unworthy of being with someone awesome or that God didn't think I deserved to have a healthful relationship. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That ground me down. Made me feel like I am complete trash. After all, how can I be a worthy, functioning human when I can't even fucking fulfill the most basic of biological needs and commandments of God? What good am I if I can't multiply and help replenish that Earth?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's a shadow of that flawed reasoning that continues to haunt me. Even after a decade-plus away from the LDS Church, I still feel like I am unworthy of a decent life. I still feel like I don't deserve love and financial success or even just being able to look into a mirror without going Man, you are fuck-ugly. This endless war, the flames of which were no doubt fanned by my experience as a Mormon, has held me in place for so long and I need to move. I need to make progress. I need to stop worrying about what anyone else thinks, God included, and start walking the path toward the best, most powerful version of myself. Not even walking. I can crawl towards my goals. It's slower but crawling gets the job done, too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tagretP9LjU" width="320" youtube-src-id="tagretP9LjU"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWhmq4Tas_yvlnEFXeyY1t1FJWt-g_n4YI3LCRTGoEq5Ogbtr5VCtuOGJgwW3wKIiKKgkRpG5k_EeHpSHewi_LzQRR2T-mm4fUE3EnwTBElLTB4FdXkyzxpo2RSA1Yr_lkm6cKXIRdxPOWjfo4CumcK1pJ_Y_p56ZMUkhhZcbsaZUc3Skh4FGXuaj/s2048/275679316_10220178298517512_1502541083428735392_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWhmq4Tas_yvlnEFXeyY1t1FJWt-g_n4YI3LCRTGoEq5Ogbtr5VCtuOGJgwW3wKIiKKgkRpG5k_EeHpSHewi_LzQRR2T-mm4fUE3EnwTBElLTB4FdXkyzxpo2RSA1Yr_lkm6cKXIRdxPOWjfo4CumcK1pJ_Y_p56ZMUkhhZcbsaZUc3Skh4FGXuaj/w640-h360/275679316_10220178298517512_1502541083428735392_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-80609493450537020982022-04-06T15:59:00.009-07:002022-04-06T16:38:19.817-07:00This Video About Metal Elitists Requires A Response...<div> <iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/CveEOqc8eZ8" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/CveEOqc8eZ8/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><p><span style="background-color: white;">I feel attacked.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">The guy in this vid used to be my one of favorite music YouTubers. In fact, I still love his Regretting the Past series. (He rips on Staind and Kid Rock so how could I not?) But he lost me a while back for being a hipster-ass millennial with a major hard-on for whatever band Maynard James Keenan's doing this week.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">But the title of this video piqued my curiosity, so I checked it out and by the end of it, I felt like he was calling me an elitist. While he comes out in defense of a couple of bands I truly love, his criticism of why elitists hate these bands rubbed me the wrong way. Some of the shit he sights as nitpicks are actually valid reasons for not liking a band, regardless of what defenders of said band may think. On top of that, this kind of calling out coming from a guy like this is pretty goddamn ironic. That's some pot-meet-kettle type shit.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">With that in mind, here's my two cents on the ten bands this guy mentions here insists metal elitists hate:</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Avenged Sevenfold: Dude says disliking M. Shadows' voice and complaining about it makes you an elitist? Seriously? That is fucking weak. I can't stand the dude's delivery and I also can't stand Synister Gates' guitar solos (leave the tasteless wanking to Vinnie Vincent, bruv.) Also, the stage names are moronic. Zacky Vengeance? GTFOH with that shit.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- DragonForce: I like this band. They're one of the few power metal bands that I like. They're cheesy and fun. I like cheesy and fun.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Babymetal: Good God, do I love me some Babymetal. I don't care what anyone says. Stop whining about female pop vocals not belonging in metal. Metal isn't supposed to have any rules beyond electricity, energy and volume. Baby metal has all three of those things in spades.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Bring Me the Horizon: I can understand how some fans may have felt betrayed by BMTH. I own a few of their albums and I definitely prefer their older, more metalcore stuff. But that's a personal preference and to whine at someone for having a personal preference is pretty lame.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Sabaton: What's funny is that most metal bands have gimmicks of one type or another. Some metalheads just don't like Sabaton's particular gimmick, which I think is fine. I personally dig me some Sabaton and I especially love Joakim Broden's voice. Yeah, they have a gimmick, but no more of a gimmick than Iron Maiden has with Eddie or Megadeth has with Vic Rattlehead. And those bands are badass, too.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Five Finger Death Punch: Ok, you got me. There is a total of one FFDP song that I like and I only like that song because Rob Halford from Judas Priest sings on it. These guys have talent and I think Ivan Moody has a really unique voice. What I cannot fucking stand about FFDP is their lyrics, which come off to me mostly as Moody weeping like a little bitch about how the whole world gossips about him and how misunderstood he is. Save the fucking emo weep-fest there, Nancy. And while you're at it, stop releasing horrible cover songs.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">P.S.: FFDP's relative level of success is meaningless to me. Even if all the bands I love sold like FFDP does, I'd still hate their music.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Ghost: I don't consider Ghost to be a metal band, though they do have some heavy songs and I'm not gonna fight you if you say they are metal. I fucking LOVE this band anyway. I love the imagery. I love their sense of the theatrical. I love the way they write melodies and how fucking catchy they get. And even if they didn't have any of this going for them, I'd probably love them for putting the spotlight on the Gibson RD guitar.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Bullet for My Valentine: I don't hate this band. I don't love them either. I honestly don't know much about them and have never spent much time with them. Tears Don't Fall and Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow are bangers, though. And that Axewound band that Matt Tuck plays in wrecks pretty hard.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Dimmu Borgir: To be honest, I haven't listened to Dimmu enough to have an opinion on them. (shrugs)</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">- Metallica: I have a complicated relationship with Metallica. I love a lot of their music. ...And Justice for All was my introduction to thrash metal and I own five or six of their records. At the same time, I feel like they're enormously overrated and it pisses me off that know-nothing music journalists have crowned them as the greatest metal band of all time instead of someone more deserving, like Black Sabbath (without whom, 'Tallica wouldn't even exist.) As far as them changing styles, I kinda feel like it's pretty cheap to hold the fact that someone doesn't like that a band changed their style against them. The fact that I think Ride the Lightning or The Black Album is better than Load or Death Magnetic doesn't mean I'm elitist, even if I complain about how much they've changed. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">In conclusion: This guy makes some decent points about the nit-picky shit people use to dismiss bands. But considering someone elitist just cuz they prefer one phase of a band's sound over another sounds pretty damn elitist to me. And after hearing this guy dismiss bands I love for what I consider to be stupid reasons while he can't shut up about hip rock and metal bands that all the cool kids love seems pretty fucking hypocritical to me. But what do I know? According to this quack's criteria, I'm probably an elitist. </span></p></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8666883437602918633.post-69442746200075541482022-03-09T13:33:00.005-08:002022-03-10T10:34:47.680-08:00People, be cool (a rant)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBa8-m9PNUTc3XwPx1yYLGUEssw4b3P8OfK1797HOdMEDwCiQ_c7al2NV-TIm69_jWc_W5ow02N3t9MkfQ5HBTHhnB6USpfDJAY4Bo2kqrgh0oXVxOktDRn0xQ2biRo0_agMXJrSszytMVa_114B9SmyY6-nFL2hY4MPaB0eKssJ2JrT-Yw8qtK7w-=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBa8-m9PNUTc3XwPx1yYLGUEssw4b3P8OfK1797HOdMEDwCiQ_c7al2NV-TIm69_jWc_W5ow02N3t9MkfQ5HBTHhnB6USpfDJAY4Bo2kqrgh0oXVxOktDRn0xQ2biRo0_agMXJrSszytMVa_114B9SmyY6-nFL2hY4MPaB0eKssJ2JrT-Yw8qtK7w-=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><rant incoming><p></p><br /><span data-lexical-text="true">- I hate people.</span><br /><br /><span data-lexical-text="true">- Just a word of advice: Blowing up over how much of your time is being wasted in front of someone who's been waiting twice as long as you have makes you look totally fucking clown shoes.</span><br /><br /><span data-lexical-text="true">- I get that waiting is frustrating and tries your patience. That's not lost on me. But berating someone who is completely overwhelmed and doing their damnedest to help you (instead of telling you to go fuck yourself, which would've been completely justified in this case) makes you look totally fucking clown shoes.</span><div><br /></div><div><span data-lexical-text="true"></span>- I've come to the conclusion that most people massively overestimate their own importance. You have other places to be? You'd rather be doing other things? You feel your time is being wasted? Well, join the muthafucking club, bub. I'm not at a fucking doctor's office because I want to be here. That's not my idea of a chill place to hang out. My time is being wasted just as much as yours is. And somehow, in spite of the fact that I have a pretty short fuse, I'm keeping my cool. Whatever you have going on is completely meaningless to every other person sitting in that lobby. You. Don't. Matter. From the cosmic perspective, we're all less than specks of dust. You could disappear in a puff of smoke and the world will spin on. We're all inconvenienced here, so calm your fucking tits.</div><div><br /></div><div>- I used to believe the customer is always right. Nowadays, I've come to believe that the customer is sometimes right, sometimes wrong but always overly entitled. </div><div><br /></div><div>- I don't care how frustrated you are, you have a responsibility to get outside of your own fog long enough to assess the realities of a situation. Most of the time, the people serving you are doing the best they can and you owe them a few shreds of consideration when they're stuck in shitty situations that aren't their fault. Take a breath and think before deciding to act like horse's ass.</div><div><br /></div><div>- Again, I hate people.</div><div><br /></div><div>- With all that's going on in the world, with the political strife, economic hardship, war and suffering that people are enduring, WHY THE FUCK CAN'T WE JUST BE A LITTLE NICER TO ONE ANOTHER?! Why can't we cut people, most of whom are just trying to live the best, most decent life they're capable of living, a little bit more slack right now? Why the fuck can we not just be cool to one another?</div><div><br /></div><div></end rant><br /><br /></div>Thrashbrownshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02671167182359215940noreply@blogger.com0