A Haiku From Me, To You

I'd like to blog more
maybe this will jumpstart me
no promises though

Okay, Let's Try This Again...

So, yeah. I've been gone awhile. My bad. Life, you know? Always getting in the way. I'm looking to write more regularly again, though. I think I'll change things up a bit in the layout as well. Also, it hasn't happened yet, but since I didn't have the money for it, I couldn't re-up my domain name, so the easier www.bartraeke.com may revert back to the not that much harder bartraeke.blogspot.com. More to come.

This Really Just Happened:

Checking out a grocery store:

Cashier: Weird. This isn't registering. Hrm. Hey *manager name*, this isn't ringing up, it keeps saying "Not for sale!"

Manager (without hesitation): Yeah, those are recalled.

Me: Recalled. Maybe you shouldn't have them on the shelves, then?

Manager (indignant): Well, sir, sometimes things get...overlooked.

Me (wtf look, to people behind me in line): Wait, how am I the asshole here?

Moral to the story: it's not the grocery stores responsibility to take a recalled food item off their shelves. They'll just wait until you try and buy it to take it away. My eye rolling might be causing tropical storms right now.

I'm Not Dead Yet...

I feel happy...I feel haaaappppppyyyy *thud*

And with a heavy handed Monty Python reference, I crash land back in to my own territory. Is there anyone out there who even is paying attention? Do I require another round of networking and blog surfing again if I wish to have more than an audience of 5? Do me a favor, give me a quick comment, let me know what kind of uphill battle of left myself with here, would ya? It'll take you five seconds, and the emotional scarring you'll give me will more than make up for that, I promise.

Anyway, instead of rambling incessantly about what "you've missed," I'll simply make a list of bullet points. Things I've done and/or learned, things that have crossed my limited mind, that sort of thing.

• Apparently, the gene pool created by my wife and I create a being that has an alarming cuteness:deviousness ratio.
• Bands and/or producers/engineers are winning the Loudness Wars, but our ears refuse to give up the good fight (or so I'd like to believe).
• The Cleveland Show is a bad idea (both the Family Guy spin off and the lame stunt LeBron James pulled).
• Re: the BP fiasco, people's grasp of how things work on a local level upset me. Hey Mr. Likes To Gloat About Local Gas Station is Tanking, I've got news for you: that poor franchise owner is simply that, and besides a hindsight wrong decision in what wagon he hitched his horse, is a victim in this as well. Don't take your anger out on them.
• It would seem, according to a new fangled analyzer making the rounds, that I write like Stephen King. I promise not to end this post with a vague concept that can't be quite visualized, therefore making the movie version reaaaaaaally lame.
• I think my ever present writer's block might have an origin in fear.
• I wish I could quit you, Vanilla Coke.
• I may root for the worst team in baseball, but I root for them loudly and openly, damn it. My team will always be my team, and while it's annoying and frustrating for them to be so bad, I can't fathom someone who calls themselves a fan who actually finds enjoyment out of this (and I'm not referring to what I do sometimes: defensive "laugh so you don't cry" type humor).
• Frankenstein's Monster says: politicians BAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
• If you're tired of Hollywood remakes, don't go. No money in them, less interest in spending money on them.
• I have a theory on the ending of Lost, but nobody seems to care since I never actually watched Lost. But in my mind, that makes my theory the best as everyone else can't seem to figure that shit out.
• Conan was screwed, but he set a pretty good example on how to handle a poor situation with grace and dignity. He let the other talk show hosts (like Kimmel) do all the hilarious dirty work.
• What's with all the bacon obsession? I mean, bacon is pretty cool, but in the past few years its become this juggernaut pop culture icon on it's own. Between fast food grandstanding and Jim Gaffigan basing half a comedy special on it, you'd half expect the First Church of Bacon (not Kevin) to pop up by now.
• President Obama's campaign team must have watched a lot of Bob the Builder. Think about it.
• I thought I'd hate children's programming, and there's surely some I could easily do without, forever, but I've found that just like my high tolerance for adult aged crap, I'll get in to the preschool aged crap as much.
• If your mother dies two weeks before your daughter is born, and then your daughter starts to physically resemble your mother as she ages...is this creepy?
• Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line.
• Can someone explain Lady GaGa to me? On second thought, don't. I'd rather not have nightmares.
• When exactly did the news sources stop reporting the news to us and begin to tell us the news? The world would be better off the first way...or at least less knee jerk.
• Someone who needs to cast brothers should give Mark Ruffalo and Vincent D'onofrio a call. Seriously.

Okay, that about does it. Perhaps I'll come back to this and post some (possibly humorous, at least to me) pictures.

Of All The Things I Miss, I Miss My Mind The Most

I miss gaming. It occurred to me reading Wil Wheaton the past couple of weeks as he geared up to deliver the keynote at PAX East. I'm talking tabletop gaming, with other uber geeks. RPG's, a la D&D (but not limited to, of course) even money sink card games a la Magic and even Pokemon (it's Magic for KIDS! FOR KIDS! Sorry, old joke that probably one or two people would get...if that still).

But then I remember that I'm probably stretched thin as it is. Family of course, the effort it's taking getting The Excelsior Base Ball Club off the ground (and staying up)...well, that's pretty much taking most of my time, and when its not, I want to be writing, or working on photography, heck, I wish I could be playing music with people. Oh yeah, having that full time job cuts in to the usable hours of a day thing as well, of course.

But at least tabletop gaming is something I *theoretically* could be doing at home. Not very realistic, though, but theoretically possible.

Oh well, hadn't written much lately. Thought I'd use this space to lament about my really geeky regret. We return you to your normally scheduled nothingness...

Humpday Haiku

Me, disenchanted

slave to the slave to the grind

fruitless enterprise.

No real secret that I'm fairly disenchanted with the 9-5 (or 7-3, or 2-10, or 12-8, or 10-6...whatever I happen to be working on a given day). What ever happened to that brash kid who said he'd never "be his job"? Now he's a blowhard adult, twisting in the wind.

Encore!

I promised a Muse concert review: They rocked. Biggest compliment I can give in this day and age: they don't record anything they can't recreate live. If you've ever heard a Muse song, then you can appreciate that statement. Combine that with a fun, innovative, visually stunning theatrical stage show*, and you had a whole lotta awesome.

However, it leads me to the Encore. Is there any bigger mutual charade going? It's not as obvious when there isn't such a "spectacle" and integrated show going on, but when a band leaves for 5 minutes, the audience keeps cheering, they come back out for an "encore" that's has full on stage show elements (song specific stuff), that's just a farce. That's not an encore, that's a planned 5 minute break. A REAL encore would happen after you do that, and the audience refuses to leave. But since they're a part of the charade, when the venue turns on the house lights as fast as they can, in a surprisingly efficient showing of groupthink, the audience turns and heads to the exit. But if they didn't, would a band actually DO a "real" encore at that point?

*Here's a shot of the opening of the show, a look they returned to a couple of times. Show started with scrims in front of those pillars, with images projected from them. They dropped to reveal the band up in the middle. Their platforms would come down, and rise back up, and the drum platform rotated. Combine that with your "usual" stage lighting and lasers, and really cool visual effects and video on those pillars, and you got yourself pretty spectacular eye candy to go along with the ear candy.

Don't waste your time or time will waste you.

Had a chance to run around the house, literally, with Erin last night, as she played the "chase me" game. I got tired quick, but it's hard to stop when she's laughing non-stop. One, I'd pretty much do anything to hear that laugh; and two, it's almost as if she was mocking me for being out of shape. It's fun to slowly watch her brain start to associate things, though. When she stops, looks back with that mischievous look in her eye...well, once I simply stopped behind her and didn't move, and she held her ground for a few seconds. She then giggled, ran a few more feet, and repeated the motion. Baby talk for "come ON!"

Muse tonight, for the astute who noticed the title is a Muse lyric. I'll let everyone know how they were.

Don't forget: you're here forever/do it for her.

So after a full day of getting back to the grindstone, I come home yesterday. I'm immediately greeted by the voice of my daughter, who was obviously entirely too used to me being around pretty much 24/7 in close quarters for the previous week. She very exuberantly called out "dada!" when she saw me.

It's the little things.

I'm on a boat.

Here we are, a month later. We're all a little older, a little wiser, and pretty much all of us on the east coast of the USA are tired of the effin' snow, already (welcome to my world every snowfall...).

Jess and I, with Erin in tow of course, got back from a week long cruise yesterday. To the Bahamas. It was okay. I suppose we're not really "cruise people." Overall environment kinda deal, simply not our bag. We loved it down in Nassau, at the "world famous" Atlantis resort, where we got day passes. But the cruise line (which I shall refer to as the "one with the towel animals") does some things in a very interesting way. And of course by interesting I mean "excuse me, but would you kindly stop screwing me royally, thankyouverymuch."

Erin became semi-famous, though, both with the crew and the other passengers. I guess it helps when you have a distinctive hairstyle, are entirely too cute for your own good, and like to engage everybody as you, or they, walk by. I knew we had a real phenomenon on our hands when we were at Atlantis, though, and people said "hey, I know that baby." If I thought like the one with the towel animals, I'd probably charge a fee for interacting with her (assessed at the end of voyage).

So, it's back to the grind. Damn, now I have that Skid Row song "Slave to the Grind" stuck in my head.

You Heard Me!

Not too long ago, I talked about how I don't believe in swear words. In there, or at least it should have been in there, was a tacit acknowledgment that I'm well aware that my feelings on this are very much in the minority. I try to temper my language accordingly.

But of course, there was always the etiquette/protocol/what-have-you about what one could say in front of your parents.

I remember saying "cock-knocker" at a New Years Eve party when I was about 11 or so. I didn't even know what I was saying. I was parroting a movie (Stand By Me). I got it good for that one. I probably got it worse for yelling "CHILD ABUSE!" when my father started giving me a butt smacking, but cut the kid me some slack...I had no clue what I said was "wrong" at the time. Both cock-knocker and yelling abuse.

My father was the more lenient of the two parental units, by far. My mother wouldn't tolerate the use of "sucks," in the context of something being bad, or unfavorable. She was always a bit old-fashioned, though. A few months before she died, we were at a family gathering. She made some remark that was startlingly quaint, and I asked her if she was actually able to hear us all the way back there in the '50s.

Once, while driving her back from somewhere or another, as we were close to home (I know exactly where for my readers who are geographically inclined to know: the stop light off the Rt 10 S Furnace Branch Road exit ramp), I dropped a fuck in to a sentence. I immediately got the earful. Unfortunately for her, she summed it up with "what if I were to just say it, huh? Fuck! What do you think of that?" Ruined her poor argument, as I retorted, "I think it's pretty funny, and kinda cool." Ah, Mom. The woman who told me only weeks before she died that she didn't think I'd like a guy like George Carlin because he was so "blue." As in his language, not his mental state of mind.

Now, Dad...well, he could curse with the best of them. Kind of like the father from "A Christmas Story." Except he was pretty careful not to drop the f-bomb around me. But hells, damns, sonuvabitches...dropped like crazy. But I remember distinctly when I learned how lenient he would be with me. I was probably right over the age of 18. I think had I been under 17 he'd been more strict, out of the notion that 18 magically makes you an adult. But we were in our backyard, and moving these cinder blocks. I dropped one on my foot. My reaction was as natural to me as scratching an itch, or blinking. "OW FUCK!" sums it right up.

Pause. Dad looks at me. Sizes me up. "What did you just say?"

No hesitation, I look at him and say "You heard me! I said fuck, I just dropped a cinder block on my foot!"

He gives me a another sizing up, followed up with a patented father stare/appraisal that I think is imprinted in the Raeke DNA, then when I don't back down, says, "That's what I thought you said. Just don't say that in front of your mother."

Fuckin' duh, Dad.

Shakabuku

Debi: You know what you need?
Marty: What?
Debi: Shakabuku.
Marty: You wanna tell me what that means?
Debi: It's a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.
Marty: Oh, that'd be good. I think.

Now, watch this short clip. I'll wait. Or as I see all over the web, we'll continue after the jump.

(I apologize for the clips dialogue not being in English, but the dialogue really has nothing to do with it)

It's what I needed. And I got it. I can't thank the people that helped enough, including my wonderful wife who put up with a whole lot of my bullshit as I not only suffered, but suffered in silence (and sometimes not so silently) and projected it all over everyone around me. And I should thank all those people that tried to get through to me. And apologize to them, as well, not for not hearing you, but not wanting to hear you.

And in a funny way, I should thank the folks who dropped a boatload of negative vibes in my lap recently. Your actions allowed the cup to spilleth over, as it were, and you set in motion the events that lead me to sit here, and for the first time in years, truly feel like myself again. Or at least, that my true self is emerging from a slumber, stretching arms and yawning, gaining bearing.

For close to 10 years I've had a myriad of reasons to shelter myself. Fear based reasons. Fear of being hurt emotionally by anybody. Fear of security (life security, that is). Fear of non-acceptance. The list goes on. And these fears made me want to shove myself in to this very small box of how I thought people wanted me to be. Except I forgot one person's opinion about who I should be: me.

My work life grew more structured, I grew more frustrated, I squeezed more in to the box, I got in to more trouble, I tried squeezing more in to the box, I grew even more frustrated. And all the while, the more worse it grew, the more I was bringing this home. Home, the one place I actually felt happy. Except I had changed my standards of happy. The emotional state I would have called happy years ago was much higher than the happy I accepted for myself now. In truth, comparably, I was miserable. I had committed one of the worst acts a person can do as they traverse the rocky road of life: I brought my work home with me. And even worse, since I had lowered my own standards, not only didn't I realize I was doing this, I had no clue how it was affecting everything around me.

Owa Ta Nas Iam. Say it, you'll get it.

I have no idea what the future holds, and that's the point. For the first time in a long time, I don't care. Because I have a beautiful wife who has more patience than humanly possible for being able to weather my years long stormy weather. I have an incredible daughter, who with every passing day grows more and more amazing, and whose laughter I could listen to forever. I own my own home, and while it's not the Taj Majal, it's my mine, and my families. It's more than shelter, more than concrete foundations and wood, it has metaphysical meaning as well. It's a tangible crucible of love, friendship, and many more.

And my family doesn't end there. I have a mother in law who loves me, perhaps even if I were her biological son. I have a father-in-law who appears to be pulling his life back together as well, albeit from a different direction. I have aunts and uncles who are nothing but loving and supporting. I have cousins who have always kept me grounded and humbled. I have half-brothers, while distanced, who would probably be there if I absolutely needed them. I even have great pets.

Basically, I have a great family. An awesome one. I had great parents, who unfortunately are no longer with us, but they're sure to be proud of me, and even prouder that after being knocked down, I'm getting back up, dusting off, and standing tall and defiant.

I am not defined by what I do. I am defined by who I am, by my relationships with those close to me. I am no longer afraid of what people who truly don't matter in the long run think of me. I'm not really afraid of what the people close to me think of me, either, but for them, at least I do care what they think of me, and caring doesn't equal fear.

I am me. And I'm going to be the best damn me there's ever been. Let the chips fall where they may. Hopefully, they fall in the right spots. But no matter what, forward ho, friends. Forward ho.

Now, Why Did I Do That?

Have you ever done something in the past that you vividly remember doing...

...but you can't for the life of you remember why? Or at least the pertinent details.

Kind of a weird phenomenon, but it happens to me entirely too often. For instance:

Around 99-00, my band was playing a show at a club in Baltimore. During the show, and I mean during the show, we were on stage playing, I threw a full cup of water on to the lead singer/guitarist. Not as a joke. I was pissed off. One step from actually walking off the stage pissed off.

But I can NOT remember why I was so angry. Only one aspect do I remember: that he had said something about me in to the open microphone. I've talked to the bandmembers in the recent past about it, as well as friends who would have been at the show. All that I've pieced together is that we had apparently been bickering about something but it hadn't been "broadcast" as it were. But I must have said something right before he stepped to the microphone that got to him, and bam, he's bad mouthing me to the entire crowd. Seconds later, he got a bachelor's shower. Not long after, we're downstairs at this club where the bands hung out before or after sets arguing, with the bassist and drummer between us. That picture there is taken in that very room, in fact.

Man, I wish I could remember those details. And a thousand other details. Not sure I ever will, though.

Swears

I won't lie to you.

I don't believe in swear/curse words. In this manner (amongst others) I'm a (George) Carlinite. Words are words. We, as human beings, give them their meanings, both denotation and connotation. This is why we have so many different languages, and even more dialects within those languages. Our brains have associated sounds with meanings.

And somewhere along the line, someone or a group of someones said "don't say those words. Those are bad words." I thought words could never hurt me? I mean, that's what we were always taught to say/think as kids, right? Stick and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me. So how can there possibly be a bad word?

There can't. It's an antiquated bunch of crap. Excuse me, shit. There's nothing wrong with the word shit. People only think there is because they've been conditioned to feel so. Look at how other words have gotten desensitized over the years. Mark my words, many more will follow, because words are only words. We are the ones who give them meaning. Without us declaring them good or bad, they are merely a grouping of sounds. Phonemes arranged in a manner in which our brain interprets as communication.

Here's another thing: you know how sometimes using such words is considered "vulgar"? You know the dichotomy of that word? You should check it out. I'll give you the condensed version: Vulgar meant peasant or commoner. After the Norman Invasion when Norman French were the nobility in England, French was the language of nobility. To be vulgar was to speak English. Like a commoner. You can see how it evolved in to speaking swear words in this day and age, but remember why exactly it was thought of as bad: a way to separate the upper crust from the lower.

I don't believe in swear words. I believe in words. Words can never hurt me. Only if I let them. I refuse to let words hurt me. I command the word, the word does not command me. Don't let it command you, either.

Tales From The Past: Bananas, Bananas, Those Freakin' Bananas.

As anyone who knew me from 1996-2004 can personally attest, if there was one thing I detested beyond anything else was bananas. Not the taste, nor the fruit itself, really. But the fact that I was the banana fetcher.

See, my mother had muscle cramping. Her doctor said it was from low potassium, and said the easiest way to remedy that would be to eat more bananas. So, no matter where I would be, and it would always seem to be the most annoying or inopportune moment (like 11pm at night), I'd get a page (yes, in the days of pagers) or a cell call from my mother telling me to pick her up some bananas.

Oh, how many times did I rail against the yellow, slightly curved, loved by primates fruit. Those damn bananas, man. You know how they say you spend X amount of time in your life sleeping, in line, etc? I think I spent 10% of my life fetching freakin' bananas. That and milk, but we've all had to make late milk runs. You know how much of a dumbass you look like at a grocery store at 11:30 at night with a bunch of bananas...and only a bunch of bananas?

My mom's been gone for over a year now. But I still get a chill down my spine when I see a banana, smell a banana, someone talks about a banana.

I still eat 'em though. I'm a monkey at heart, after all.