Respect

our great Nation's song

sung with mediocre flair

takes away, not adds

I played on a job today where someone else sang the National Anthem. Normally I would heave a small sigh of relief, not because I don't want to play, but more because it gives me a chance to really listen, stepping away from the ceremony.  Today the National Anthem was sung by two girls from the local town that we performed at. I have yet to hear a more lyrical, or more embellished piece of performed disrespect in my life. It got me thinking back to all of the different "versions" of the National Anthem that I have heard throughout my life.  I have heard it in an R&B style, a gospel style, blues, rock, and country. Why? Have you ever heard the Canadian, British, Japanese, Spanish, or Chinese National Anthem sung with embellishments or creative interpretation? Maybe this is what our country is based on, but I say there is nothing wrong with honoring tradition and singing/playing our Anthem the way it was written, the way it was intended. British drinking song or no.

Memorial Day

to all Veterans

ceremony, not enough

to make up for death

I played today at a Veteran's cemetery for a Memorial Day ceremony. I went in to this thinking it was just another day, just another gig. In fact, I even forgot to shave and had to do an emergency scrape in the men's bathroom, something I hate. I knew that there would be speeches, and from experience I knew that we would be outside, standing, in the hot sun. It's sad, but I admit that I was dreading the experience, and now that I think about it, I'm ashamed.

Once out there, we played a few patriotic tunes that were very well appreciated by the audience. It seemed nearly impossible to play in the hot humid atmosphere, the sweat getting in the way of even being able to hold my instrument. As we finished the National Anthem, a military fly-over swept over the audience. Perfect timing. The speakers had spoken about MIA/POWs and what the "missing man" formation means. All of things I knew but had forgotten. Then a woman came to the podium and was introduced as the local representative of the American Gold Star Mothers. This organization is for all mothers of fallen Veterans, all those mothers who gave up their son or daughter in the defense of our country.

I will never remember the words she said or the names of the men she spoke about, but I remember thinking about the mother of my own children, and how she would feel if she lost one of hers to war, to a violent death. It killed me standing there, hearing those stories and shamed me to think of the attitude I had going into the ceremony. I played the last song with everything I had, what little I had to give in honor of those whose mothers wished they could be there to hear. I imagined how little my personal struggle with the heat and humidity meant in comparison with the struggle of those young men and women, and the families they left behind. I don't consider myself a great patriot, and I may not always agree with war, but I can with all I have honor those that lost their lives fighting. To all of those who can't read my words, I thank you for your sacrifice and wish that you had never had to fight.

Thank you, to all Veterans.

Maine Lobster and Chowda

eating fresh lobster

like rich people in a band

chowda was good, too

Only a few days ago, I was in Maine with the band. I have to say that it was a very fun trip, meeting all expectations. It's the opportunities like this that always make me satisfied with my decision to join the band. I'm in the process of trying to earn a nursing degree, and fortunately there will be travel opportunities involved with that career as well, though maybe not as frequent or interesting.

For a band in Memphis to travel to Maine, it was a unique opportunity. I know that I will have little to no chance of getting back up to that area of the United States so I chose to experience a few of the things that the area is known for, namely Maine Lobster and New England Clam Chowder (chowda).

I have to say that the dinner was great, I ate it all up plus some of my friends' appetizers. (Thanks Tones for the glass of wine that went perfect. The golf-dude's wine, I remember). The company was loud, but thats only because we were all so excited to be able to enjoy something so rare. Even so, I'm pretty used to loud, so I opted to go back to my room and chill rather than stay out and drink. I'm not much of a social drinker and wonder at times if the social drinking friends think I'm flipping my nose at their idea of fun. Hope they know that I think they're great fun, but would rather not go out drinking. Anyhow, I had gotten what I came for and know that they all had fun as well. Overall a great trip! If you're ever in New Brunswick and want lobster or chowda (get the seafood chowder!) then try Joshua's, it's yummy and fun.

Claps or Steaks

the first of many

writing relaxes the soul

like many rain drops

I have been meaning to create a blog for a long time now and have met the challenge with mixed results ranging from procrastination to blogs that have been abandoned just after their creating. I feel pretty sad for these blogs-that-never-were and hope that this one goes on to live a long a fruitful life. My wife came up with a pretty neat name for the blog, so I'll go with it :D

Today was great, I mean really great. After spending the morning with my kids, I left for a gig in Marriana, AR. Oh wait, you didn't know that I am in a band. Well, now you do :D  Anyhow, you have to know that the population of Marriana is like 50 and they were mostly all there to watch us. It kills me to work up a show and play my heart out to a crowd that sort of stands there with a blank look on their face.  Next time you go to some kind of concert... clap. If not for the performer, then just for common decency. Non-clappers should all be shipped off to Antarctica where there isn't shit to clap for anyhow.

Well, funny story about the gig. One of the big-wigs in charge of the band was talking with one of the wigs who set up the show we were playing at, asking where the last place was we performed.  He told her and mentioned that one of the bandsmen had eaten a whole lot while we were there. She asked him what he ate and he replied telling her that the venue had provided us with steaks.  It was very true, they fed us steaks, good steaks.  She sort of looked at him sadly and said, "All we have is sandwiches for you, maybe next time we'll have steaks!"

Either clap or give us steaks, we'll take either >:0

Oh My God It BURNS!!

stinging of the eyes

brutal, everlasting pain

smashed sand in the eyes

I won the Darwin Award today.

At the base where I am stationed we have something lovingly referred to as "ASF" or "Auxiliary Security Force". This unique program allows all sorts of people to be trained as security guards for the base. Trained is the weakest and most polite word I can use to describe what happened to me today.

If you are wondering, the Darwin Award is given to those members of a population of living beings that fail to meet basic survival requirements, and through sheer acts of stupidity, manage to make themselves extinct (thus evolution. thus Darwin). I volunteered for this program, keep this in mind as I describe today's events.

It began with a written test, something I was completely unprepared for, taking only a courtesy glance at the study material ten minutes before it started. Whatever, it was all pretty much common sense. Don't shoot yourself with your gun. Maybe a jaywalker shouldn't be clubbed with your baton. Self Defense actually means defending yourself. I pass the test, no sweat. What do I win for completing such an arduous assignment?

** Phase 1 OC Spray Confidence Course ***

OOOooo Sounds exciting. Lets play. First a definition:

Pepper spray is a non-lethal chemical agent which is used in riot control and personal self-defense. The active ingredient in pepper spray is capsaicin, which is a chemical derived from cayenne, paprika, or chilies. Pepper spray is also known as OC spray (from "Oleoresin Capsicum") or OC gas. The excessive use of pepper spray has been linked to lasting injuries and fatalities. See also tear gas, chemical weapon.

The scoville rating for pepper spray can be as high as 5,300,000 for police grade and much lower for civilian grade.
We used police grade of course.

I stand three feet from a man I will forever remember and secretly resent. He asks, "Are you ready?" I reply with, "Yes", just as I notice the base photographer getting herself into a prime spot for the photo op. Her camera was the last thing I saw for the next forty minutes.

The spray came fast and strong, a surprise even though I knew I was ready. The bastard hit me with a stream across the eyes and then decided that he missed, giving me another burst straight in the middle of my face. I open my eyes and shout how many fingers the sprayer is holding up (a deceptively sinister part of this entire test, meant only to force you to open your damn eyes) then *> BAM <* my eyelids SLAM shut and remain uncontrollably closed in pure agonizing pain. I'm not saying that I couldn't open them because it just hurt too bad, my eyelids were as good as fuzed together, and impossibly they would not comply with my commands to open them. Opening my eyes would have been very helpful, as the next station had me "running" (more like prancing like a six-year old girl who thinks boogers are gross and just found one on the back of her hand) up to an "assailant" and putting him in a MACH 2 takedown (a stupidly intricate take down maneuver that requires complete cooperation from the bad guy for it to really work.) How did you see him? Impossible, your eyes at this point are useless. I used the sound of his voice and commands to get right up on him, grabbed what I hoped was his arm and carelessly slammed him into the ground, shouting "GET DOWN" like it was all HIS fault I was in this idiot of a predicament. 

Station Two rewarded me with my weapon, Excalibur! This small foam baton is used as a training device to mimic a police baton. It was all I needed to enact my enraged revenge. This little stick of foam would be my key to freedom and my newest best friend. I use excalibur to beat the crap out of my next invisible enemy, still unable to open my eyes I used his screams as a compass, my map to my salvation. Are these the roots of police brutality? 

I stumbled to Station Three and found myself completely at a loss as to what I should be doing. Nobody was shouting commands and I couldn't remember ANYTHING about what I was supposed to be doing, only the fire from my eyeballs remained in my mind. I stood there listening to the faint cheers and jeers from my friends waiting their turn, waiting for some sort of audible cue as to what I was supposed to be doing and where I was supposed to be doing it. Then it came, a tap from the back from an officer holding a practice pad. I laid into the sonvabitch like he had stole my lunch money. THEN. A tap from the front, they were trying to tag team my ass! Then I remember, front strike, rear jab. I became an animal, throwing everything I had against my two assailants. I soon heard the instruction to move on. 

Station Four had me in front of our instructor, a retired Gunny. "High Block!" he yelled and I blindly threw up my baton just in time to meet the attack. "Low Block!" "Strong-side Block!" "Weak-side Block!" all of met with sightless precision. "Go!" he said and I painfully ran in a random direction. 

"Wrong Way!" Ooops, I turned around and ran, managing to blink my eyes open just enough to see the man wearing the padded gear or "Red Man Suit" as it is called. He grabs my weapon, my only link to self defense. I rip it from his grasp with a stunning "Flying C" (Don't judge, I made up the name of that move, but I think it sounds better than "Make a C to disengage the attacker") I then beat the crap out of him with Excalibur, shouting "Get Down!" "Get Down!" The assailant gets on the ground and I sort of forget to stop hitting him. "Stop hitting him!" the instructor shouts, and I give him the rest of the commands, "Face away from my voice", "Put your hands out", "Palms up!", "Cross your legs!" "Bring your feet up to your butt". Problem is the pain was so great, all of this came out more like, "Get down! Face Away! Put your hands up! Palms! Cross your butt!!!!" I managed to scream "butt" the very loudest and in a moment of perplexing clarity found this strange and funny. The test was over. I won. I remember spending the next 35 minutes drowning myself on the end of a garden hose, doing everything I could to get my eyes to open. This will forever be the most painful thing I have had to endure, all for the sake of the spirit of volunteerism. What was that Navy stands for? Never Again Volunteer Yourself? Maybe I should at least proceed with caution before throwing my hand up in the air. 

***Update: It's been over 12 hours since I got nuked and it still hurts like a sunburn and cutting onions*** 

Moral: If ever staring down the bottle of a small red canister, RUN. Don't think, just run. 

***Update: I just posted the video of the encounter. Check it out!***

OC Spray

Janitor Hat

wearing many hats
cleaning up all the toilets
the shitter is full

Every job you get you must wear many different kinds of hats, it's true. I would have to say that life in the service gives you the chance to wear the greatest number and variety of hats. My newest being that of the Janitor, that's right I'm being paid by the tax payers to clean toilets. "How the heck is that?" you might ask. It's simple, we have toilets and we dirty them up so they must be cleaned. Cleaning of said toilets is done by the lowest ranking, because that's how it should be and that is how it has been since the beginning of time. Did the Pharaoh build his own pyramids? Oh no. Although I am a tad busy with all the other hats I have to wear, I will still find time to flop on my janitor's cap, roll up my sleeves and make things a little less shitty...

For the next few months I know some shitters that will be clean enough to eat off of, and I also know some mighty hungry people.