Dreaming Reality

So it's been maybe 9 months since I've sat down with the intention of writing something that I have felt passionate about. Not that fashion (see last post) really blows my meager mind in any way, but I was annoyed enough to at least throw in my two cents. So with that in mind, I suppose the motivation today is not so much any sort of cultural opinion or self bashing, but more just like a journal entry about some things I've been thinking about lately.

I've been playing drums in a project called Mors Mortis Machinatio for almost 6 years now, and for me that is the longest commitment I have ever had to any one specific endeavor in any aspect of my life. You could refer to our music as "face peeling", or "technical metal". Or some people may refer to it as "loud and obnoxious" or "the sound of a group of men that are really mad about something, but there is now way they will ever make a living from this".

Since my inspirations to play the oboe or piccolo fell through the cracks in middle school, the fact that I've been steered towards hitting a super expensive set of shells with wood sticks has been a blessing and a curse. Much like the Neanderthals got some sort of twisted satisfaction from clubbing a buffalo or resistant women, I find it rather cathartic to beat the shit out of something in a coordinated fashion with other people. The downside = you need to sell a kidney, your soul, a firstborn, and any family heirlooms you may have to afford to stay up to date with equipment. Unless of course, you hit like a 5 year old limp-wristed girl.

So the point that I'm glacially arriving at here is this. There are people who just love music, and appreciate the people who make an effort to create it, no matter what the genre. There are also people who still associate metal with church burnings and sacrifices to the devil. These people often eat their own hair, and think that whatever they like is the only reasonable thing for everyone else to enjoy. This blows my mind in a way, sort of like if a T-Rex climbed out of the ground and ran off into the horizon on a rainbow.

I don't have intentions to be famous, be the center of attention, or change the world with what my friends and I create musically. We write for us, and if other people get some form of enjoyment out of it, then that's just all icing on the already delicious cake that didn't need icing to begin with. If you can create something out of thin air that stimulates you to the point that you hear it when you're not playing, you get goosebumps, you fantasize about sky diving into an ocean of Pringles just to emulate the sound you are aiming for, you are doing it right. If you find other like minded miscreants who feel the same, well, huge bonus for all of you. And anyone who knows me personally, knows that I will bitch every time I sit down at my drums because all I'm seeing lately is a price tag, and not an instrument. But somewhere deep in my filled with random useless trivia answers brain, I still get that same feeling I did over 20 years ago when I hit a drum for the first time.

A word of advice from me to anyone who is afraid to share their creative side with people; In your mind, imagine what you are doing has never been done before. Ignore that you have seen or heard something similar that may come to mind. If it makes you happy and it isn't damaging anything permanently, it's perfect. Now I could also point out that this is synonymous with the crappy saying "Dance like no one is watching" version of today's "Inspirational and Motivating" posters you see in any business that you waltz into, but you get the point. I don't need people to think that I frolic through the woods nude to feel free, or host seminars about how "You are good enough and smart enough, and people like you".

Now go dance like no one is watching.................and get that hair out of your mouth.

Inserting Foot, Sock and Boot in Mouth

The tendency to pry and break down normal social barriers of conversation with people I don't know that well has always been something exciting/dangerous to me, and just like Russian Roulette, you're gonna spin the barrel and land on the bullet at some point. And boy did I.

I could probably site many examples of why it's better to listen and shut the hell up sometimes, but this one really blindsided me. Through my work, there is a department at one of my "Big Box" clients that lately has been notorious for 66% of the females working there to be getting or going through a divorce. I often wonder if they had a meeting at some point to discuss the finer details of pro's vs. con's of turning their worlds upside down to search for new meat, and while this can easily be played off as pure coincidence, the relationships between these ladies is strong enough that I would not be shocked to learn that there is a sinister plan behind all this.

In normal conversations that occur between myself and the divorce crew, I will normally ask something like "what's new and mind blowing in your universe lately?" This last Thursday proved to further my theory of mass divorce conspiracy, but it was the details of what this young lady ended up saying to me that took a huge dump in my Cheerios. She did no more than hold up her left hand to display that she no longer had a wedding ring on, and this prompted a series of divorce jokes from me, knowing that she has a good sense of humor, and that some light hearted conversation might cheer her up during a not so enjoyable time.

Now this is a perfect example of where it should be widely known that passing off the reigns of this conversation should go to her, she probably has lots to say about it. My broken brain decides to go investigative journalist, asking questions that I probably should leave for her to bring up on her own if she feels comfortable enough with me to discuss. She says to me "It really just came down to having more kids. He wants to; and I'm not ready, and I don't know if I ever will be."

Normal conversation rules dictate that facial expressions do in fact play a key role in determining the route of where talk will lead, just like playing The Sims, you look for thought bubble pictures and sounds that are synonymous with what you are talking about. I should have known after she said this that the look on her face said to me "I don't like talking about kids."

Captain Warning Sign Ignorer (me) went ahead and asked "How many kids do you have now?"

Her response "I had one." Silence......."He died as I was giving birth to him."

Now I had no way of knowing this, and I definitely would not pry to talk about something as tragic as this had I known. Needless to say, having super powers that would allow me to time travel, run through walls, resurrect people, grab words out of the air before ears hear them, would have been super neato right about that moment.

Long story short, I learned a valuable lesson that while fast tracking your way gaining trust from people by asking personal questions, it's often better to just shut the hell up sometimes and let someone else pilot the conversation, certainly when it could involve something tragic that you did not anticipate. I need to stick with things that I'm good at, like saying inappropriate things at the dinner table, screaming at old people while they are driving awful, and hitting things with sticks.

Tuck in your shirt and wear a belt, Christopher Ford cares.

First off, I understand that if I accidentally stumble upon a website devoted to fashion, all news stories and tidbits of info will generally revolve around fashion. Same with music, travel, medicine, midget tossing, salad tossing, or knock-knock jokes. Here is the article that grabbed my attention while I perused through CNN morning news, as this was linked just after radiation updates in Japan (obviously closely related).


http://manofthehouse.com/style-grooming/fashion/tuck-in-shirt-6a?utm_source=Outbrain&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=Outloud-Outbrain


There is not much that I feel I can add to this, and certainly not from his perspective. While I appreciate taking fashion and style tips from another man, his logic and devotion to such an asinine topic actually irritated me enough to inspire me to comment.


I quote Christopher "A man should ALWAYS wear a belt. If your pants (or shorts, or whatever you're wearing) have belt loops, then you should be wearing a belt. Always. If your pants have waist adjusters or are made for suspenders then you are off the hook, but otherwise put a belt on. Even if your shirt is out and covering your belt loops, you should be wearing a belt. Trust me. Not wearing a belt makes you look like you don't care about your appearance and like maybe you should go back to exclusively wearing drawstring sweatpants like you did in college."


Wow, what an astute observation sir. By your Gentlemen's Quarterly logic, if you are wearing a shirt with pockets and a sewn in eyelet for a pen within that pocket, you better have a notepad, calculator, and pen inside that pocket. It's there for a reason, just like belt loops. Some cars manufactured today have ash trays strategically placed in multiple spots throughout the car, you better light up a cigarette, they serve a purpose and they MUST be used to avoid looking like a "slob" or "classless".


I quote again. "Generally speaking, a shirt is supposed to be tucked into your pants, and in fact the majority of shirts are designed to be tucked in. Every time a man doesn't tuck in his shirt it's a choice--a deliberate choice--and is usually made by someone younger than the average Man of the House reader. It's OK, and sometimes appropriate, to not tuck in your shirt, but know that by doing so you're making a choice."


Boy, that sounds ominous. Yes men, we are making a choice, like the one that Chris never made: to move out of his parents basement and focus on not being grossly obese instead of shaping his tuck/untuck theory around ways to make him look presentable in public when he goes on his Taco Bell run.


Here's what I think. Dress how you want to dress. If you want to wear a Fedora with sweatpants and a tube top, feel free. If you would like to wear a wife beater with some fancy slacks, have at it. If you are overly concerned with appearance, it's better to focus on your crappy personality and general unpleasantness before worrying about your belt and tuck or not tucked appearance. I mean for real, look at Mickey Rourke, he appears homeless and looks like he smells like feet, and people pay money to see him. 

Carving scars from stone

Long time, no post. Maybe this can be attributed to lack of motivation, ideas, passion, money, a keyboard.......all pretty awful excuses if you ask the right person, so I'm honestly going to make an effort to take time at least once a week to just put ideas in binary code again.

This stems from an idea I had during the week, regarding who we choose to surround ourselves with in the course of our daily shenanigans, both business and personal. I think we've all felt that feeling of "I wonder if the grass is really greener on the other side" from time to time, and that's absolutely normal for anyone who doesn't just settle for what's laid out in front of them. For me personally, it's ideas of traveling the world or writing for a publication of any sort, moving somewhere exotic and working as a bartender on a beach, elephant trainer, etc. It's the idea of self identification and the strive for always being a little bit more exhilarating, even to yourself, not just how we are perceived by anyone else. In thinking about this, I realized that surrounding myself with creative and forward thinking people is just as important as being surrounded by people who have reached the pinnacle of their pleasure centers by receiving a coupon for Old Country Buffet or took a sweet picture of their accomplishments in Farm Ville. I seem to draw a crazy amount of inspiration from both sides of the coin, and beyond my passion for music I'm brainstorming other facets of creating something out of nothing.

So my realization is this. Creating something from nothing is fundamentally the idea behind everything around us, from the start of the Universe to coming up with an idea, no matter how ridiculous, out of absolutely nowhere. With that I want to personally strive to force focus everything in my life that sucks the soul out of me and use it as inspiration to create something that will not only appease me personally, but give some sort of comfort or entertainment to others. I fully believe this will be a great year for progression and contributing to an already amazing cast of misfit idealists, like a traveling band of gypsies who despise snow and abandoned tradition by taking showers and paying taxes.

Won't you be my neighbor? Oh, okay, I don't blame you.

In the city, rural, or even countryside atmosphere of land ownership and the "neighborhoods" of the American suburban nuclear family, we have over centuries become accustomed to others living around us. Now there are two sides to this coin. Or maybe it's more complex than this, like 20 sided dice. Let's assume there are good neighbors, and there are bad neighbors, for the sake of brevity. We get a 007, Spy Vs. Spy glimpse into the lives of the people we live around, and vice versa, whether we care to acknowledge this or not. We are always somewhat aware that just maybe someone is watching and formulating opinions about you when you aren't quite anticipating that you are indeed parading in front of a panel of judges.

The reason I bring this up in the first place is what I think my neighbor thinks of me. It all started the first day we moved into our duplex.......I was "dressed up" for the evening, wearing my finest "I'm gonna drink until I face plant into something harder than my skull" outfit. I like to wear "many hats" so to speak, I dress nicely for work and try to look professional, I dress like an angry teenager when I'm going drinking, and I dress very Family Ties if I'm trying to look like a mature adult. Maybe I'm just too paranoid about what others think, but I gauged this situation ahead of time as I was first introduced to my neighbor that same evening. She's a very sweet, mid to late thirties single woman who has two dogs, and I couldn't help but notice that she was wearing a very, very Jesus-y shirt. Now I'm not against organized religion or the people who embrace it until it is crammed down your throat mercilessly, and I didn't get the impression that she was one of these people, and to this day has been nothing but friendly as hell. But part of me knew that my heavy metal, black shirt, house party bound ass was gonna be critiqued.

As of late, I've been too trusting of my puppies when I take them outside, and we normally run into the neighbor and her dogs when they are outside as well, creating a multitude of issues. I would love to trust my dogs without a leash when I take them out for two reasons. It's less work for me, and sometimes I just don't know when the three extra seconds it takes to put one on will be three seconds too long, and I get a steamy hot loaf dropped on me or the carpet. Just about the last ten times I've been out with them, it turns into me yelling like a redneck hillbilly dumb ass at my dogs who just refuse to do their business and take off on me over to her house. I'm sure all the neighbors love this. Here is the conversation I picture in any home around me. "Hey sweetie, that dickhead across the street is outside yelling at his dogs again. You would think he would have figured out to use a leash by now; he's obviously a very gifted young man. Does he ever wear anything besides pajama pants and a wife beater? We know how to pick the good neighborhoods, don't we."

So to my single middle aged friendly neighbor, I'd like to say I'm sorry for being a little retarded. I'm actually a talkative, mature adult, it's just been three months of showing you otherwise, so I'll work on it. To my neighbor across the street, I'd like to say something as well. Yes, I am outside yelling at my dogs again. Yes, I am wearing pajama pants and a wife beater, a lot. Maybe you wouldn't pick up on all the fine details of my daily activities if you would maybe try to find employment, or a gym and a salad.

The side effects of meeting an idol

There is a lot at work here, and I feel like there is great advice to be shared for the future "way too excited fan" that may prevent what happened in this photo from happening to anyone else who would like to look back on photo memories without cringing.

1. The nearly matching shirt. It's not like we called each other before the show, but you would think this at first glance. While we have never met in the past, one may choose to acknowledge that there would have been no way to know this would have happened. The best way to counteract "matching dude" issue is to always have a backup in your car, as you can't expect a rock star to care enough on his end to not match one of his fans. Take one for the team and help everyone else feel a little less awkward by taking the necessary steps.

2. Child predator/Serial Killer face. We all get excited when we meet someone who provides us with a great joy in our life. In this case, this is the singer from Karnivool, one of my idols, as I wish I could be a singer myself. This will never happen of course, because it would sound like what you might find Yoko Ono doing as of recent. You thought she was bad with John? You are in for a treat now. Regardless, you want to avoid this face for a multitude of reasons, as without a doubt it made Ian very uncomfortable, it made the person taking the photo uncomfortable because she knew it blew but would hate to ask to retake it, and now I have to look at my "I make furniture out of people" face every time I want to remember the show.

3. Bombarding the band in the alley after their show. Let's be honest, they were all sweaty and tired from over a full hour of kicking ass. More than likely, all any of them were interested in at that point would have been a clean shirt, some cash for the bar, some boobs thrown in their faces, and a little time to calm down before enjoying the evening. Imagine that you just walked off stage from a great show, and you're a little tired and uncomfortable, so you step out back to get some fresh air before you finish things up for the night. You open the door and feel the blast of cool, crisp fall air hit you as you step into the alley behind the venue downtown. Everything seems wonderful as you are on a large tour, making great money, and getting your name out there until you return to Australia to do your next album. You turn to your left and see some people near the street; they clearly know it's you and they are interested in talking. You reluctantly hold your ground and welcome these strangers, until you see matching shirt guy with child predator face walking way too Richard Simmons like towards you. This one encounter, without a doubt, derailed his entire evening, as instead of drinking Fosters that night like his native land would have preferred him to, he was drinking Blue Moon, and was more interested in going to a jazz club afterwards.

So consider this. Next time you are going to any event, whether it's a concert, movie premiere, book signing, what have you; take the time to prepare yourself ahead of time, focus on your photo face, and bring back up clothes. You don't want to end up looking like this, or worse yet, drinking Blue Moon and going to a jazz club on a Friday night.

Way to be current on trends, fella.

I think we can all admit that in one way or another, whether we would like to admit it or not, we're mostly creatures of social voyeurism. While we all have our own hot-button issues, opinions and feelings, an outlet of some sort is always a healthy or unhealthy way to vent and to be a sponge for others doing the same.

So here comes my old ass wandering into the fray of the social boxing ring, with the ever so self righteous, holier than thou "blog". I've never had anything I truly felt compelled to share with the binary masses or that I thought would even be interesting enough even for my family to read. I must admit I find great joy in reading what's on other peoples minds quite a bit, whether I agree with it or disagree, I appreciate people's willingness to divulge their souls for the world to devour, like an Aztec sacrifice to the gods. Honestly, at times these personal admissions are just as brutal. Before cell phones and the Internet, to get information required actual human interaction. How convenient would this be; you wake up in the morning, put on some crappy pair of comfy pants and pour some coffee, sit down at your computer and there are 35 other people in the room telling you what they are thinking about or what their plans are for the day. The whole room would smell like morning breath and sleep odor, and everyone would be crabby as hell because no one likes to be seen at their vulnerable "I don't honestly care about how I look right now" morning state. This is not new, or even relevant information to anyone. We all know we have the great "Big Brother" technological advantage at our fingertips whenever we feel so inclined to poke our heads into the lives of others, and I'm embracing this idea and returning the favor for all who have bared their souls unwillingly to me.

So this is it. The start of something that will be either some of the most horribly boring shit you have ever had the displeasure of reading, or possibly the Grand Canyon of too much information that will clearly be used against me as blackmail in the future. So the title pretty much sums up my rationale behind even starting a blog in the first place. "The Random Walk" is a term used in modern astronomy, to describe what photons do from creation to expulsion from the sun. At or near the core, they bounce violently at a very rapid pace being absorbed by atoms and spit back out, over and over again. As they near the surface, they are far less likely to collide, providing a stability in their path from the sun to us, in the end giving us all the much needed light that sustains us. Whether this can be viewed as a metaphor for our lives in any way, that's to be determined by someone who is light years in intelligence beyond my scope of understanding. But for the time being, it will be my own little tool of "expulsion" for all you social voyeurs.