Musings of a Punk Rock Father

My dad is very much alive.  But I dreamt that he hung, dead, from our coat rack many times.  His body held no surprises; it always hung in the same spot, impotent, unable to touch me.  One night, the nightmare just stopped, but that visual often haunts me.  I had not recounted the nightmare to anyone until a few days ago.  In fact, I couldn't even describe the nightmare in full, because the details are so bizarre and disturbing.

As I face the image of my father hanging from the coat rack, I face my fears.  I attempt to discover a link between my nightmare and reality.  I think about the times that I have been impotent to protect myself.  If I cannot control my own safety, how can I control the safety of others?  I pray, I must pray, that I have the strength when a situation demands that I take action.  Even though I hope to be counted on, I fear that I will be unable.  My life shows a startling pattern.  In times of extreme fright, I shut down, unable to move.  I would be killed in a chainsaw massacre, lacking the ability even to run to the top floor of an abandoned house, where no exit exists.  I would stand and stare at the body of my father, hanging lifelessly from our coat rack, with no power to turn away.  I would be unabl to defend my house against a deranged killer.

I would not be able to save you if you were in danger.

The End

My wife and I attempted to find sleep, listening to the wind blow against the house.  Melanie lay to my left, on her stomach, comforter drawn up tight around her neck.  Our single-paned windows shook violently back and forth in the frames.  Car headlights streamed in through the blinds, casting strobed shadows of branches and leaves onto the walls.  Ambitious trees reached to scratch the side of the house with their limbs.

"What was that sound," Melanie gasped, suddenly rolling over.

"What, the trees?"

"No, the noise downstairs."

I listened, holding in my breath.  Yes, I heard the noise.  A kind of creaking sound.

"I don't hear a noise," I lied.

Truthfully, I did not want to discover the person, or thing, that caused the noise.  I could think of no weapon at my disposal if I needed to defend myself.  Instead, I rolled over and tried to rationalize the sound.  It couldn't be a break0in.  We would have heard breaking glass or the door being forced open.   We would definitely hear footsteps. The floor downstairs forgave no weight imposed upon it.

My thoughts moved onto the irrational.  Maybe someone slipped in, a supernatural being, someone not bound by our laws.  Maybe it is making its way carefully across the living room, up the stairs, preparing to... I heard Melanie's soft breathing now.  She had fallen asleep, leaving me to my ever-expanding imagination.  Once the wind subsided, and the trees grew weary of tapping their fingers on our house, I finally fell into slumber.

The noise downstairs turned out to be a neighbor's screen door, pried open by the wind, rattling against the front siding.  If I had gone down to check, the sight of the offending door swinging back and forth would have offered relief.  Yet I preferred to wish away the potential danger.  Instead of facing the unknown, I often offer up a prayer of protection.  Part of my troubled imagination stems from my belief in the supernatural.  Something wants me to believe that I must have control.  Something wants me to believe that I must save myself.  My nightmares and fears point to these lies told by forces that wish to corrupt my beliefs and wrest me from the only protection I have.  The nightmares cling to these lies; they push me toward an illusion of providing salvation for myself.  The truth?  I can't save myself.

Next: Part VI

The corpses all hang headless and limp
     Bodies with no surprises. 3

^{I'm at the doorway to the basement stairs.  I slowly turn the knob until the latch pulls free of the recess in the wall that holds it shut.  I open the door, and darkness fills the room the way light should.  Suddenly I am looking at the landing as if I were several feet away, like a camera physically pulling back while simultaneously zooming in with the lens.  I feel the fear and pain settle in my heart, in my stomach.}

My dad's dead body hangs on the coat rack that stands on the landing at the top of the stairs.  I don't know until this moment, the moment the open door reveals his hanging body, that he is dead.  But rather than bury him in a casket, or cremate him, someone has decided to hang onto his body, the way pet owners stuff and mount their beloved animals so they will never be without them.  He hangs wearing his blue winter jacket, the one with two lighter blue rings around the arms.  He hangs slumped forward, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes half open, pupils rolled back to reveal the white.  The dark-framed glasses magnify his eyes, and his thinning brown hair sweeps down his forehead, rather than over the top of his head.

I am compelled to cross in front of him to go downstairs.  I don't know what I need downstairs, why I must go there.  I only know I must pass by my father, who hangs limp from the coat rack.  As I approach, he begins to groan.  Whether the gutteral sound announces a groan of pain or some gas bubble left in his stomach that makes its final trip up his esophagus, I do not know.  I only know that he groans each time I approach him.  Hanging there, groaning, arms at his sides.

³ Misfits. Skulls.  Walk Among Us.  Ruby/Slash, 1982.

Next: Part V

One night, near the end of my sophomore year of high school, I camped out in the forest with Brian Miller and Cameron Anderson.  We actually camped in Brian's backyard, but the vast yard included a forested area.  Brian's house lay on a side street off Mussetter a few miles north of my house.  Mussetter wound up and down, alongside a pasture, and around a rock that once caught a careening pop-fly of an airborne Porsche, before the road gave way to a hallway of trees that guarded Brian's neighborhood.  Some distance away from our campsite, the foundation for a new house had been poured, and construction began on the second floor.  When the workers ended their day, we used the open, skeletal house as the set for our music videos, lip-synching as the Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Fight Like a Brave" blasted from our portable tape player.

Brian and Cameron shared my passion for movies and comic books.  Every Friday afternoon, after picking through the newest comics at the urine-scented basement called Brainstorm Comics, we headed over to the theater.  Brian covered his inherited bulk with extra-large t-shirts emblazoned with a superhero such as Spider-Man.  When he laughed, his puffy cheeks pushed his glasses up on his face, and his moppy brown hair shook.  Cameron, not as skinny as I, hid his muscular arms and legs in a slender body.  Although fragile to look at, Cameron could have snapped me in half.  When talking animatedly, his teeth pushed their way outside of his lips and he often tucked runaway strands of reddish-brown hair behind his ears.

After preparing our campsite in the daylight, we ate dinner and watched a movie at Brian's house.  Cameron chose The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 as our evening's entertainment.  I have never been a horror fan, but Cameron subscribed to Fangoria and owned a pair of Freddy Krueger gloves.  Downstairs, we played a pre-movie game of "Golden Axe" on Sega Genesis, when Mrs. Miller called down.

"Dinner is ready, boys!"

"What is it?" Brian shot back without taking his eyes off the TV.

"Italian beef," she yelled.

I didn't think I'd be able to choke down an Italian beef sandwich while a man with someone else's flesh attached to his face wielding a chainsaw chased a hapless teenager through the dark.  But I did.

Later that night, after watching innocents get sliced up over a meal of Italian beef, we camped.  Our campsite lay far enough from Brian's house that we felt secluded, but close enough that we could grab some more Coke in the event supplies ran out.  We nearly missed our tent in the dark of the forest.  Once we found the tent, we settled in and lit the lantern Cameron brought.

Huddled around the central glow of light in the tent, we listened to Cameron read from a book of ghost stories.

"And the blood oozed from the walls," Cameron growled, affecting the most menacing voice he could muster, "and collected in crimson pools on the floor below."

A car pulled into the driveway of the house under construction.

"Uh oh," I said.

"What?" Cameron asked, the light shadowing his face from below.

"The car.  It must be the owners."

"Don't worry," Brian reassured.  "We're not on their property."

Cameron shrugged and returned to the story.  "An awful howl spread through the Victorian house..."

I heard a car door.  This time, Brian and Cameron both looked up.  Cameron put the book down.  The car door opened, then closed.  Footsteps on the gravel driveway.  We all cocked our ears toward the sound.

"It's nothing," Brian now whispered.  "They're probably just inspecting it."  He sounded unconvincing.

"Inspecting?  At two in the morning?" I asked.

Cameron hushed us.  I clearly heard a trunk latch pop, and a rustling noise.

"How can you tell it's the trunk?" Cameron whispered.

"Didn't it sound like a trunk to you?" I asked.

We all sat completely still.  Silence.  Then, more footsteps.  In our direction.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Cameron repeated.  Brian held his sleeping bag up to his neck, his eyes large and clear behind his square glasses.

Another sound, like a lawnmower being started.  Then a sputtering.  No, not a lawnmower, a chainsaw.

A CHAINSAW!

Brian threw himself to the ground, pulling his sleeping bag over his head.  Cameron stared ahead, frozen.  The lantern fell over, casting the light into a corner of the tent.  I jumped from my sleeping bag, my brain tripping over itself in indecisiveness.  I rummaged in the tent, searching for my shoes in the limited light, and unsuccessfully tried to put them on.  I heard the footsteps, crunching one by one through the twigs and brush lying on the forest floor, as loud as if her were standing right next to me.  Screw hiding, I was going to run.  But where to?  Through the woods?  I couldn't even see in the darkness.  What if we were quiet?  Would he even know we were here?  I couldn't get my feet to fit into the shoes.  I am going to die.

The chainsaw now roared to life, and roared ever closer to our tent.  Brian and Cameron were useless, crying and quivering in their sleeping bags.  My ability to coordinate my arms with the rest of my body vanished.  I couldn't scream; I couldn't swear.  I couldn't rouse my friends to take action with me.  I wanted to yell Stand and run! Leatherface towered over our tent now; why didn't I run without my shoes?  Why didn't my life flash before my eyes, the way it does in movies?

I awaited the appearance of the chainsaw through the fabric of the tent, through my friends' skulls, spraying blood and brain matter everywhere.  Instead, the serial killer unzipped the flaps at the front of the tent.  A face peered down.  Not a face with someone else's flesh attached to it, but a familiar face.  Mr. Miller.  Brian's dad.

"Have a good night, guys," he bellowed, chuckling as he killed the chainsaw and walked back to his car.  "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

Next: Part IV

All encompassing defeat awaits the day,
     I choose to plunge and embrace this nightmare. 2

^{I watch myself, as through the lens of a camera, glide smoothly through the front door.  My eyes absorb the empty living room.  Paintings of deer used to adorn the walls.  A wooden clock above the fireplace mantle used to keep the hours.  A television used to fill the room with blue light and the sounds of talk-show applause, laugh-tracks and prime-time programming.  Floor and table lamps used to illuminate the room.  I see the walls painted the color of eeriness and the floors lined with dread.  The sofas no longer fortify the walls, and the end tables no longer offer a resting place for issues of Reader's Digest and TV Guide.  The room whispers of desolation.  Darkness pushes the last remnants of light out of the room through the space between the baseboards and the dark wood floor; a crack of light strains against the power of the darkness.  The mysteriousness of the door pulls me forward.  My breathing does not abate; my heart rate remains normal; my knees do not knock.  I cannot stop my advance, even though I do not want to open that door.}

² Project 86.  "Stalemate." Project 86.  BEC Recordings, 1998.

Next: Part III

I'll take you to a place where chimes are ringing,
     To a place with a chill where souls are singing,
I'll bring you to a state of nightmares clinging,
     Where your innocence dies with lies I'm bringing.     
I'll take you to a place lying six feet below,
     Where bodies lie cowering soft and slow,
Where the song of the chimes keeps ringing,
     And outside the windows, the demons are singing. 1

^{The nightmare comes to me every night for weeks.}

^{I enter my family's house through the front door, which opens to the living room. I might be returning home from another day in fourth grade. I might be coming in to grab more G.I. Joes for the battle taking place outside.  Either way, I eschew the path to my bedroom I would normally take through the kitchen and dining room.  I am unaware of the hallway that accesses this path; I scan the living room and note the absence of furniture, suggesting desertion.  I turn right.  At the far end of the room a door leads to the basement.  The nightmare waits behind this door.}

Our Maryland home sat on the east side of a winding country road that ran from mostly south-west to mostly north-east.  A former auto body shop decomposed in the lot south of our house.  When I was younger, I never thought anything of the boarded up windows, rusted out sign, or gravel front lot littered with garbage.  In back, a concrete wall surrounded what used to be the area that mechanics stood in to work on the cars suspended above their heads; long, metal planks, onto which the cars were driven, still stretched over this wall.  The wall now enclosed unused, rusted auto parts and assorted garbage.

The auto parts served as toys.  My brother, sister and I, along with a couple of neighborhood kids, used the scrap pieces of wood and metal to "build" our own recreations of the five Voltron spaceships, crafted in the Saturday morning cartoon to resemble lions that attached to each other in the final ten minutes of each episode to form a mammoth robot.  My cockpit − complete with steering levers, laser blasters, and other weapons − became the green lion, which I believe formed one of Voltron's legs.  Although I liked the green lion, I couldn't help but think that my fellow pilots assigned me the role because of my resemblance to my bespectacled cartoon counterpart.

Behind the house stood a barn made of concrete blocks.  I dared not enter alone, for you never knew what lurked inside.  Generally, only pregnant stray cats made their home there, but in the darkness I imagined forces far more insidious.  My fear of the unseen continued down our sloping backyard, until, toward the end, a wire fence separated the grass we kept mowed from the weeds that soared over my head.  Who knew what waited down there, in the tangle of vegetation that stood between this fence and the river that marked the end of our property?  I never crossed more than a few inches past the fence.  Somewhere in the weeds, I knew, stood a dilapidated horse barn.  How many years had passed since horses neighed and galloped back there?  For how many years had these weeds controlled the land?  The ground had been lost now, and my parents never tried to regain control.

The house itself looked and felt strange.  Originally, the house contained only the front room, the kitchen, a bathroom, one bedroom off to the right of the hallway and a small basement with a utility room.  The previous owners, who felt they had attained some mastery of carpentry, added a dining room, master bathroom, and three bedrooms to the back of the house, above a two-car garage.  In order to reach the back bedrooms, you had to pass through the kitchen and dining room on the left, an architectural choice that frustrated my mother once she realized how much traffic three kids created while she cooked dinner.

The basement frightened me, starting with a door leading to the stairs.  the door opened onto a small landing, leaving you staring down a steep, narrow stairway.  Past the coat rack and down the stairs, noises spilled forth.  I imagined the same things numerous kids imagine of their basement.  Although told of the furnace, I knew that the whooshing and humming served to cover up the rattling of chains and grinding gears of hidden torture devices, hidden even from my parents.  I never caught them, but I knew that inhuman inhabitants worked in the dark of the utility room.

The doorway between the basement and the garage proved to be the second most frightening part of the house after the door to the stairs.  Small panes of glass in the upper half of the door caught any bit of light and threw it back at me, causing me to think, momentarily, that some hatchet-wielding madman stood on the other side.  A concrete wall separated the garage − which never actually sheltered any cars − into two sections; the frame of a doorway allowed passage, although no actual door stood between the stalls.  Each stall stored Christmas decorations and unopened Allied moving boxes.  A window in the far stall faced out onto the barn.  Someone once tried to break into our house, evidenced by the broken glass scattered below the window frame.  For some reason, the would-be intruder never made it through the hole he created, and during our stay in the house the attempt remained an isolated incident.

When I picture the house now, I seem to picture it in darkness only.  The inside of the house felt dark, due partially to dark woodwork, and unusual architecture, but also to the unsettled feeling I had.  The exterior was no different; large, reaching trees shaded most of the front and back yards.  In fact, trees shrouded most of the neighborhood.  The covering of leaves from the tree rooted in our front yard created a ceiling that blocked out light and multiplied the dark.  The large-leafed limbs gathered the yard toward itself, a mother gathering her children.  Trees stood in various positions out back.  A monstrous pine emerged from the ground and stretched out next to the deck, dropping needles and pine-cones that would end up in arts and crafts projects.  Near the barn, the wind rustled through maple leaves; the wind-chimes and trees shared in a near-daily symphony.  Toward night, the symphony turned dirge as the chimes mourned the setting of the sun, and the ever darker shade of the trees offered condolence.

¹ Project 86.  "Chimes." Drawing Black Lines. Atlantic Records, 2000.

Next: Part II

So we have former governor Ryan in prison, ex-governor Blagojevich probably heading there, a Senator (Burris) who probably bought the seat, a candidate who wins the lieutenant governor primary for the Democrats (but needs to quit the race after troubling allegations), so now Speaker Madigan wants to eliminate the lieutenant governor's position.

I can't say I think that's a bad idea.  Illinois hasn't had a lieutenant governor for over a year, I believe, and I don't think we are any worse off for it.

I imagine there are a lot of grossly overpaid positions in our state government, and this is probably a great place to start.   Maybe Illinois can use some of that money to pay our states' universities some of the hundreds of millions of dollars that are owed.

On January 25th, at about quarter to nine in the morning, while driving to work, I was hit by a car that careened out of control.  I was heading south, she was heading north, and she lost control of her car and it veered across the lanes at an intersection and the rear passenger side of her car smashed into the front of my car.

The car was totaled.  And my body felt totaled as well.

I went to the ER right after the accident, and was already feeling extremely sore.  It took a couple hours, because I was standing out in the cold waiting for the police.  It took a while, because two villages were arguing, while I was talking to the 911 dispatcher, over who was responsible for the intersection I was in.  Once the numbness from teh cold wore off, I started to feel it.

In the ER, I was x-rayed, given some Advil, and had a chance to chat with the lead singer of the Bollweevils, who is apparently a doctor at that hospital.   I couldn't work Monday or Tuesday.  I went back to workon Wednesday, although my movement was limited due to the neck and back pain.

Three days later, I was in excrutiating pain.  I decided to go to see a doctor, and was prescribed a painkiller and muscle relaxant.  Finally, the pain was dulled enough that I could work.  Pain was still present, but dulled.  I went to a chiropractor the following Monday for a consultation.  They took another set of x-rays, and scheduled a follow-up.  Unfortunately, I came down with a nasty cold, and wasn't able to make my appointment.

It still hurts, and I am hoping that my cold has diminished enough that I can go back to the chiropractor.  I am hoping something can be done to eliminate the pain I am still feeling.  It flares up from time to time, but is always present at least a little bit.  I just need to keep in mind how blessed I am that it wasn't worse.

So I had joined a 28 Day Blogging Challenge that was started on Twitter, by Scott Bishop.  He made a resolution to blog everday in the month of February.  I joined the challenge a few days ago, and already failed by my 7th day.

My biggest reason for accepting the challenge was because I love writing.  I just do not do it enough.  Or at all.  My life is so busy, so full, that I do not have time to sit and write.  I thought that if I publicly stated I would blog every day for 28 straight days, then I would be more likely to follow through.

It is crazy how much noise there is in the world, and how hard it is to sit down and write.  I thought I could do it early in the morning, before anyone wakes up.  But it seems that I have a difficult time waking up before everyone else wakes up.  The kids are usually up by 6:30, and I do not see any cicumstances (short of a 4 am earthquake) that would have me awake and alert before that.

Maybe I could write at night, after the kids go to bed.  Except that there is that pretty box of light beaming CNN, Comedy Central and (I loathe to admit) Fox News into our family room.  Even though there is probably only 23 worthwhile minutes of television each night, I manage to sit through a few hours' worth.  And even if I am not engrossed in some partisan bickering on a "news" channel, I am folding laundry, or emptying the dishwasher, or finding something else to occupy my attention.

So, maybe lunchtime is the best writing time!  Except that I am a business owner, and business doesn't get done unless I do it.  And business won't wait for my munch hour to conclude.  I rarely take a proper lunch break.  And if I do take a lunch break of any sort, it is usually at a networking event, where I am really working anyway.  There is too much e-mail, phone calls, walk-in customers, and any number of other distractions to keep me from writing anything during the workday.

So when am I supposed to write?  Well, I just need to make time.  There are all kinds of things I need to make time for.  I need to make time with my kids, otherwise I would never have a chance to play games with them and find out what they had done that day.  I need to make time with my wife, in order to communicate with her, and find out what her needs are, and how her day has gone.  I need to make time for God, to figure out how to rest in His presence during all the hectic hours of the day.

So I should also make time to write.

I don't know why, but the majority of books I have been reading lately are non-fiction.

I think it started with Joe Bonomo's Sweat: The Story of the Fleshtones, America's Garage Band, a great account of the titular band.  Then came John Grisham's An Innocent Man, a horrifying account of one man's journey through a flawed judicial system (and also the only Grisham book I have read that I would actually recommend).  Another great book, Henry Louis Gates's Colored People was a compelling biography.  Humorous, well-written and compelling, I highly recommend this book.  After that I read Rotten, John Lydon's confusing explanation of his years with the Sex Pistols.  The book was both poorly arranged and not very illuminating.  The Sex Pistol's documentary The Filth and the Fury gave more insight than this biography.  Joe Bonomo's next book, Jerry Lee Lewis: Lost and Found, is a rock n roll masterpiece, one that I plan on writing more about in the coming days.  Right now I am reading Go Tell the Mountain, a book written by The Gun Club frontman Jeffrey Lee Pierce shortly before his death in 1996.

In between these, I did read Animal Farm, a fictional diversion that only lasted a couple of days.  I hope to get back to some fiction soon; for right now, though, I am riveted by these true-life accounts.  Some seem to be a bit hyperbolic.  Could you really expect anything less from Johnny Rotten?  Not all of his stories ring true, but it is hard to tell.  Likewise Pierce's writings seem to contain events that might have happened, but I have a hard time believing he could remember events in so much detail after so much drinking and drug use.  Even if they do spin some unlikely tales, there are kernels of truth.  Even in the extremes, the writers reveal truth about themselves.

I hadn't realized my recent penchant for non-fiction until I started thinking about the next book to put on my reading list.

What do you prefer?  Fiction or non-fiction?  What is the best book you have read recently?

Just a quick one.  Last night, Aidan read to us again.  this time, Grandma Judy was visiting, so he got to show off his reading chops.  He read from Detective Dinosaur, which has three short stories, all of which feature Detective Dinosaur in need of solving a mystery that isn't a mystery at all (in the first, he can't find his hat, and discovers that it is on his head).  Throughout, Aidan would crack up and say, "He isn't a very good detective!"

And it was hilarious that when he came upon Deputy Diplodocus, he stumbled over "deputy" but had no trouble with "diplodocus"!

I like falling asleep with the TV on.  I don't know why, but if I am having trouble sleeping, sometimes all it takes is turning on the TV.  But I usually put on one of a handful of movies that I watch over and over again.

These are the movies I like to watch when I don't feel well.  These are the movies I watch when I am stressed.  These are the movies I watch when I can't sleep.  These are the movies I watch when I want to fall asleep to a movie.  Here are 4 of my favorites.

Elizabethtown

I love absolutely everything about this film.  I love Alec Baldwin.  He has some hilarious lines, like telling Drew his is "a failure of mythic proportions, a folk tale that makes other people feel better because it didn't happen to them," and another one mentioning the sound of something hitting the fan.  I love Chuck and Cindy, who are lovin' life.  I love the pace of the film, which is rather slow, but comfortably slow.  But I love the ending the most.  The road trip Drew takes with Claire's elaborate mix-tape just makes me feel good.  Even if I don't make it to the end, I know that it is coming, and I look forward to it.  But I am just fine even if I fall asleep before Drew even departs for Elizabethtown.  Because maybe I will wake up just in time for the road trip.

Almost Famous

Oh man, is this going to be a list of all of Cameron Crowe's films?  No, these two just happen to be two of my favorite feel-good movies.  I identify with William Miller, the teenage music writer.  When I was younger (not as young as William Miller), I too wanted to be a music writer.  I wrote a fanzine, published a handful of issues, interviewed some of my favorite bands.  I got to hang out backstage a couple of times, once I was even on the band's tour bus.  Starstruck.  (But I never, ever asked for an autograph.)  Almost Famous shares a certain restrained sentimentality with Elizabethtown.  There is a warmth, a humanity that comforts me, that makes me want to watch again and again.

Wonder Boys

When I think about what this movie is actually about, it doesn't seem to be appropriate to put on a list of feel-good films.  Yet that is what it is to me.  I have to start with the cinemetography.  There are scenes that take place outside, in the snow, that I think are beautifully shot.  Dante Spinotti and Curtis Hanson were also the d.p. and director, respectively, of L.A. Confidential, another beautifully shot film.  The film looks warm to me.  I really enjoy Michael Douglas's Grady Tripp.  I cannot articulate why, because there is nothing overtly spectacular about his performance.  That could be what is great about it, that his performance is low-key; I think Roger Ebert called it "muted."  It is fun watching the variety of writers in the film. And that is probably the main reason I love this movie, and consider it a feel-good film: it is about writing.  But it has writer Grady Tripp, who is having trouble following the overwhelming success of his first novel; James Leer, a talented but highly troubled young man who seems to need a mentor to channel his talent in the right direction; 'Q,' who seems to be a type of Stephen King or John Grisham, a writer who churns out a novel a year (and starts his lecture with the line "I. AM. A WRITER," a line I always laugh out loud at).

Ocean's 11

Steven Soderbergh might be my favorite director.  Many of my favorite movies are Soderbergh movies: Out of Sight, The Limey, Erin Brockovich, Traffic, Solaris, The Good German, The Informant...the man knows how to make a good movie.  But this is the one that makes the feel-good list.  When I first saw previews for this, I think I shook my head in disbelief that he would make such a vapid movie as Ocean's 11.  But when I watched, I saw it for what it really is: an extremely flashy, good-looking fun vapid movie.  When Melanie was pregnant with our first child, we might have watched this movie 3 nights out of the week.  I think the score to the film was the only thing that could calm Aidan once he was born.  The actors all seem to be having such a good time making the movie, that I can't help but have a good time watching it.

There are a few more, like any of the Bourne movies, or Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (which is more of a favorite "sick day" movie), or Big Fish (in retrospect, I should have written about that one, because it round out a solid "top 5 feel-good movies" list).

What are your feel-good movies?

One of my favorite parts of the day is reading a story to the kids before bed.  Last summer we read James and the Giant Peach.  We check out loads of books from the library (usually dino-related) for story time.  For Christmas, we got the kids a boxed set of Madeleine L'Engle books.  We are almost through A Wrinkle in Time.  Before bed, after brushing their teeth, we read from their children's Bible (right now we are reading about how Joseph's brothers sold him into slavery) and then from a story book.

• • • • • • • •

I haven't been well this week.  Actually, I haven't been well for a couple of weeks.  First, I was hit in a head-on collision on January 25th that totaled my car.  (See photos at www.facebook.com/inkstation.)  I have had aches and pains since then, at times severe.  This week I caught a cold, probably from the petri dish that is my children.  Tuesday afternoon I began losing my voice.  By Tuesday evening, I could only whisper.  The loss of voice continued through Wednesday, and was bad enough that I couldn't go to work on Wednesday.

I thought I was feeling better, but today I started losing my voice again.  I struggled at work, helping customers in the store and especially with phone calls.  And I could not read to the kids tonight.

So Aidan grabbed Go, Dog, Go, and read it for Catie and me.  I was so proud.

Link: http://8tracks.com/newbombdisaster/dean-s-mix

I just made a mix CD for a friend of mine.  His taste leans toward country, and mine toward rock n roll and punk rock.  I love how so many punk bands and rock n roll bands take their cues from early blues and country.

Listen to the Gun Club's first album, "Fire of Love," and tell me you don't hear blues and country wrapped up in their punk rock sound.  Social Distortion always sounded like the owed a lot to Hank Williams, and Mike Ness made that clear with his "Under the Influences" album of country covers.

Here I put together a collection of rock n roll, punk and rockabilly bands that I think a country fan might enjoy.  You can listen either by clicking on the link above or on the player in my sidebar.  The last song is kind of a bonus track for my friend, for reasons he will understand.

Livin' For the City    Dirtbombs    Ultraglide in Black    3:11
War on War    Wilco    Yankee Hotel Foxtrot    3:51
Preaching The Blues    Gun Club    Fire of Love    4:01
Chickamauga    Uncle Tupelo    89/93: An Anthology    3:44
Last Dance    Mekons    Fear And Whiskey    3:15
I Don't Want To Know    This Train    Mimes Of The Old West    4:51
Bolan's Crash    New Bomb Turks    At Rope's End    2:47
Waves of Grain    Two Gallants    What the Toll Tells    9:36
Goin' Back to Tucson    Supersuckers    Evil Powers of Rock and Roll    2:22
Rowboat    Beck    Stereopathetic Soulmanure    3:47
Jack The Ripper    Link Wray & The Wraymen    Mr. Guitar (Disc 1)    2:23
Left On    The Sea and Cake    Everybody    4:56
Civilian Ways    Rancid    Let The Dominoes Fall    4:13
Don't Come Looking For Me Now    Compulsive Gamblers    Bluff City    3:50
Modern Times    Black Keys, The    Magic Potion    4:24
Bridge To The 21st Century    Gas Huffer    Just Beautiful Music    2:28
Ten Years    Quadrajets    If The Good Lord's Willin' And The Creek Don't Rise    3:20
Banker and a Liar    Reigning Sound    Love and Curses    2:38

Ball And Chain    Social Distortion    Social Distortion    5:46

BONUS TRACK

I can't believe Brendoman is still hosting this thing.  I have neglected it for oh-so-long.   Life has been so busy in the last couple of years that blogging couldn't have been further from my mind.

I previously mentioned here that in June of 2007, CitiMortgage closed the Chicago branch of the wholesale mortgage channel.  I had just completed a rigorous training and audit program to receive underwriting authority.  I was given my authority to underwrite up to $1.5 million in residential loans, and then -- poof -- the office was closed.

I also previously mentioned here that in October of 2007, I and a business partner launched a new company.   We spent the summer of 2007 creating the company.  Writing a business plan.  Researching similar businesses.  Creating a brand identity.  Choosing a retail site.  Building a website.  Building out the retail site.  Selecting equipment and vendors.  Hiring.  Stocking.  And on and on.

Now we are over 2 years into this business.  In 2009, we won a Small Business of the Year Award from the Naperville Area Chamber of Commerce for businesses under 5 years old.  In 3 years, I hope to be nominated for the top award.  I enjoy building the business, and it has challenged me more than any other job.  I always did my job with great personal investment, so there is no difference in the way I approach my job.

My wife is near the end of her teaching program.  After we started the new business, she started thinking about what she would like to do once the kids were in school.  She talked about getting a part-time job, but I knew that wouldn't be satisfying.  When she mentioned the possibility of teaching, I was ecstatic.  Even better, she applied to the graduate program, and is working toward her Master's degree.  This fall, she will spend her semester as a student teacher, and I could not be more excited for her.

In fall, our little boy will begin kindergarten and our little girl will begin pre-school.  Oh, where has time gone?  They both crave information, and I cannot believe the rate at which they learn new things.  Tonight, he asked me what "transluscent" means.  She is already learning to write the alphabet, thanks to her big brother.

I read on Twitter that a guy I follow started a 28 day blogging project.   To blog every day in the month of February.  I don't want to officially commit to anything, but I want to be able to write something here regularly.  Part of my absence is due to time.  Part is due to a lack of knowing what to write.  I like that the Julie & Julia blogger had a concept for her blog, and purpose.  I want something like that, a motivating force for my blogging.

Well, let's see what happens, shall we?

Sunday evening, Aidan and I took in a baseball game, just father and son. I had been looking forward to it, thinking about what a special thing it is to bond with my son. I worried for a while that day, because a few hours before the game a storm rolled through Auorora. The rain lasted only minutes, however, and did not prevent the game from being played.

We went to see the Kane County Cougars, the single-A team of the Oakland A's. Their stadium is about 15 minutes from our house, which is benefit number 1 compared to taking him to a Cubs game. Anyone with small children knows that sometimes the trip somewhere can waste precious "good behavior" time. Benefit #2 is the price of a ticket. I bought the best seats in the house, for $12 a piece. First base line, a little past first toward right field, 5 rows up. Benefit #3 is free parking. Benefit #4 is all of the activities they have for kids. Benefit #5 is having no one yelling "Soriano, you suck &*%$!!" I heard no foul language at the Cougars game, compared to the constant onslaught at Wrigley Field.

As we approached the stadium, we were handed a free sample of a Dunkin Donuts iced caramel latte. Aidan loves Dunkin Donuts, a love passed down from his Grandma, and he loves iced lattes, a love handed down from his mommy. Good start as far as he was concerned. We went to will call, picked up our tickets, and entered the stadium.

He actually exclaimed "Wow!" upon seeing the field, and immediately wanted to find our seats. I wanted to walk around with him a little, because we got there about an hour and a half before the game was to start. But we found our seats, watched a little batting practice, then went for a walk. We made note of all the concessions available, saw a little kids area with a giant slide and obstacle courses, and then sought out the souvenir shop. It had heated up quite a bit since the storm, and I felt my head burning already. So a got a Cougars hat, which was only $9.00!

Before the game, the crowd was invited down for autographs and photos with the players. I took a photo of Aidan with my phone, but being somewhat slow, I cannot figure out how to get the photos off of it to post here. After the photo, he turned to the Cougars dugout and said he wanted to go in there. I told him he couldn't, so he kicked dirt into it! Thankfully it was very chaotic, and I don't think anyone saw it. I guess it was his Piniella move.

By the time the game started, the sun was beating down on us from over the other side of the stadium. I now know that evening games should be watched from the third base line, because for a few innings I had to squint to see the field. Aidan had been acting tired, and for the first couple innings, he laid down on my lap. I thought this was the end for him. But as the sun went down and it got cooler, and as he made friends with Nick, the 4-year-old sitting behind us, he started getting re-energized. It was cool to see him interact with Nick; I told Nick's dad that they were peas in a pod.

The "skits" between innings featuring a bird called Birdzerk were probably Aidan's favorite part of the game. Birdzerk taunted the opposing players, he danced, he drove around the field. Aidan laughed and laughed, and when the game resumed he always asked, "Where did Birdzerk go?"

In the fifth inning Aidan told me he had to throw up; I thought maybe the heat, his Sierra Mist and the corndog were conspiring against his stomach. But when we got to the bathroom, he said, "I was just kidding, I don't have to throw up." Thanks.

In the seventh inning, while he was enjoying a raspberry slushie-type thing, he suddenly looked up and said, "Uh-oh, POOP!" We raced to the bathroom again, and this time it was not a joke. While using the facilities, he kept asking if Nick was going to use the bathroom after him. I was proud of the little guy for letting me know!

After the game, we were treated to a pretty cool fireworks display. Aidan kept saying, "I want a bigger and bigger and bigger one" while putting his arms wide in the air. And then after the fireworks, we were able to go onto the field to run the bases. He was so cute as he raced around the bases. I got a really cute photo of him between second and third, and another good one of him stepping on home plate. Again, the photos reside only on my phone.

Walking back to the car, he said goodnight to everyone we passed, even the police officer directing traffic. He said he couldn't wait to come to another ballgame, even wishing we could go immediately, right now, to another game. But he'd like it if Catie and Mommy could come to.

At the dinner table last night, Aidan asked, "Daddy, is your finger ok that you drilled the way other day?"

I should explain that a few days ago I was installing new cabinet locks on every cabinet in the house so that Catie does not accidentally ingest cleaners), and as I was drilling into a cabinet door, the screw slipped and I drilled my finger. Nothig bled, it just hurt.

I told him that it felt much better. He said he wanted to pray for me.

He bowed his head, closed his eyes, folded his hands and said, "Dear Jesus, thank you that my Daddy's finger feels better. Amen."

I have never been part of a better prayer.

Man, the last few days my throat has been killing me, usually starting with some pain in the morning, getting better through the day, then changing to severe pain by the evening. Today it is really bad. I feel like I am losing my voice too. I have awful post-nasal drip, and occasional headaches. It is most likely allergies, which have been getting worse and worse every year older I get. I wish it were a cold or flu, because then it would go away.

I guess I'll need to try out the new over-the-counter Zyrtec.

I just added another widget: books I am currently reading. I saw Kyle's library widget on his blog, and wanted just to add what I am reading right now. So I set up a LibraryThing account to do just that.

I haven't taken time to check out all I can do on my blog, but yesterday I dug into the admin portion and found some cool stuff. I changed skins so as to allow for a sidebar, into which I discovered I can insert widgets. I didn't even know what a widget was, but I managed to figure out that I could insert stuff from my last.fm account, such as recently played songs or most popular artists of the week. I also put a compilation (which I blogged about a few weeks ago) together on last.fm, and inserted it into my sidebar also. I feel pretty awesome. Now I want to find other sites where I can get more widgets to insert here, just because I know I can.

I keep hoping to start blogging regularly, but by the time I get a chance to login here, I forget whatever I was thinking of blogging about.

Man or Astroman | Test Driver | Not even a song, more like a speaker test for A/V equipment
Billy Childish and Holly Go-Lightly | Let Me Know You | Great garage tune from Headcoats/Headcoatees genuises
Teengenerate | Mess Me Up | Awesome Japanese band singing in unintelligible English
Today Is the Day | Timeless | Another non-song. It's too bad this track popped up instead of an actual song, because I have been obsessed with this album lately
Mudhoney | Real Low Vibe | The title describes the way the song sounds pretty well
Gorilla Biscuits | Big Mouth | I didn't start listening to the Gorilla Biscuits until about 2 years ago, but these would have been great anthems for my high school years
Pixies | Gouge Away | Another album I discovered too late in life
The Infections | C'mon | X-Rip Offs on Rip Off Records
Offspring | Beheaded | This coincidentally played yesterday on my iPod also
Gaunt | Don't Tell | I really need to get more Gaunt stuff. I'm trying to sell my LPs, and replace them with CDs, like I Can See Your Mom From Here, Kryptonite, Whitey the Man, etc

Mother | Tori Amos
A Mother Has A Hard Road | Killdozer
Mommy, Can I Go Out And Kill Tonight | The Misfits
Mama Don't Get Off | Jack Oblivian
Mommy's Little Anarchist | Crash Dog
Just Like Your Mom | Electric Frankenstein
Your Mama On the Rocks | Hewhocorrupts
Mother was a Vulture | This Et Al
Mommy's Little Monster | Social Distortion
Say Mama | Milkshakes
My Mom Still Cleans My Room | MxPx
If Mother Knew | Oblivians
My Mother's Only Son | Blindside
Mama Said | Metallica
Blame It On Mom [Live] | Johnny Thunders
Mom's In Rehab | Huntingtons
Send A Picture Of Mother | Johnny Cash
Mama's Boy | Ramones

One of the things I miss most about my previously held job at CitiMortgage was the CD club I shared with 2 of my co-workers. Well, just because I was laid off does not mean Citi should lay claim to my need for new music as well as my need for regular pay.

Thusly, I contacted the aforementioned 2 co-workers in an attempt to revive our CD club. The club basically involved the 3 of us deciding upon a theme for a compilation, or mix CD (which sounds so less romantic and elegant than mix-tape, but that's what happens when technology evolves - never mind that it is now the mix-USB flash drive, but I am getting ahead of myself), and then giving ourselves a deadline for producing, for the auditory enjoyment of the other 2 members, an album using that theme. I immediately hear back from one co-worker, but not from the other, although I know the other has far bigger fish or other sea creatures to fry, so I do not hold a grudge against him.

I suggested to my ex-co-worker a city comp, a mix-CD of songs that mention cities. We both excitedly got to work on this project. I like comps, mixtapes, whatever, because the blank audio format becomes a canvas upon which to paint with other artists music in such a way that it becomes its own creation. And I am excited that ECW (ex-co-worker, not Extreme Championship Wrestling) also enjoys making comps.

So yesterday I received a package from ECW. Unfortunately, it was not big enough to be a CD (see, if you remember the 2nd paragraph, then you already know the outcome - if you don't remember it, then you could direct your eyes above and ruin the end of the story for the 2nd time, it's just that you didn't remember ruining it the 1st time). I opened the package, and it held a cassette. See, this made me upset because ECW knows that I do not have the necessary access to a tape player. We have one in the Camry, which Melanie drives (although the other night she sent me out to Oberweis for some premium Conservative Republican ice cream, a trip which I used to blast a cassette with Articles of Faith and Bhopal Stiffs, a tape also made by ECW) and I have one under our TV, but which is not actually hooked up top anything. But I opened it and quickly realized that it was a cardboard tape, a fake, a fugazi, if you will (I just watched Donnie Brasco tonight, forgive me). Inside the fake cardboard cassette tape was a flash drive containing ECW's cities comp entitled "Topics in Audio History: Chicago, Vol. 1." Ambitious, no? See, he compiled 20 songs that all referenced Chicago. I was impressed.

Here, then, since I am actively listening to it, I present my compilation of city songs, dubbed "Downtown Shout Down," a title which is understood and funny only to a select few ex-co-workers. Included is/are the songs referenced.

Be-Common ref Chicago
Cleveland Confidential (Real World)-Pagans ref Cleveland
Safe In New York City-AC/DC ref NYC
All I Can Do Is Cry -Mike Ness ref Kansas City
See Ya Later-The Boys ref Belfast
It's All Moving Faster-Electric Frankenstein ref NYC
Lexington Nightlife-Gas Huffer ref Lexington, Charleston, Concord
Imminent War-Living Sacrifice ref Jerusalem
Doomsday-Transplants ref San Pedro, Washington
Battle Crick-Bantam Rooster ref Battle Creek, MI
Love Kills-Radio Birdman ref Chicago, Detroit
Motor City Is Burning-MC5 ref Detroit
Wanted Man-Johnny Cash ref Kansas City, Cheyenne, El Paso, Pleura, Shreveport, Abilene, Albuquerque, Syracuse, Tallahassee, Baton Rouge
Spanish Fly By Night-New Bomb Turks ref Cincinnati
Gun Street Girl-Tom Waits ref Birmingham, Waukegan
Modern World-The Modern Lovers ref Boston
Idle Hands-The Murder City Devils ref Austin, Dallas
Goodmornin Da-The Tossers ref Dubllin
Bodies-Sex Pistols ref Birmingham, England
The Young Crazed Peeling-The Distillers ref Melbourne
The Strangler of Boston Town-Thee Headcoats ref Boston
Bangkok-Nomads ref Bangkok
Rip Off-Sham 69 ref London
Goin' Back to Tucson-Supersuckers ref Tucson
Normandy-Project 86 ref Normandy

1 U2 - The First Time
2 Half Pint & the Fifths - Orphan Boy
3 Syd's Dance Band - Never Again
4 Crime - Frustration
5 Johnny Wright - The World is Yours
6 Black Flag - Life of Pain
7 R.L. Burnside - Jumper On the Line
8 The Prescriptions - I Shall Punish You Severely
9 Nirvana - Turnaround
10 Murder City Devils - Bear Away