Bob Welch: He didn't want to be a burden

“I’m not going to do this to you.”

-Bob Welch in his suicide note

Bob Welch

The job of a musician is to bring beautiful noise to an ugly world.

However, the onslaught of the aging process on the human body, or disease, or disability, can take the gift of making music away, and the effect it can have on a musician is devastating. It can be traumatizing. It can even drive you to end your life.

Consider the case of legendary guitarist Bob Welch, who once was a member of the incomparable Fleetwood Mac and also had several hit albums and songs on his own. Bob Welch took his own life on June 7, 2012. Yes, his death was a few years ago, but the circumstances that led to his end are what is causing me to write about him today, as I was unaware of them at the time of his death.

As a musician, someone who has lost a family member to suicide, and someone who struggles with his own personal phantoms who fight to take him down the same path, I am doubly saddened when I hear of a musician who has taken his own life. When I found out why Bob Welch took his own life, it scared me, because it is similar to something that is affecting me not emotionally, but physically. You see, he was suffering from chronic back pain and received spinal surgery three months before his death, and that surgery was unsuccessful.

But first, for the readers who do not know who Bob Welch is, let me introduce you to him.

As a youngster, Welch learned clarinet, switching to guitar in his early teens. He had received his first guitar at the age of eight. The young Welch developed an interest in jazz, rhythm and blues, and rock music. After graduating from high school, Welch eschewed attending Georgetown University, where he had been accepted, to move to Paris, professedly to attend the Sorbonne. Welch told People in a 1979 interview that, in Paris, "I mostly smoked hash with bearded guys five years older." He spent time "sitting in the Deux Magots café" rather than attending to his studies, and eventually returned to Southern California, where he studied French at UCLA.

Welch was struggling as a guitarist in his own band, Head West, when he was brought into the British blues band Fleetwood Mac in 1971. The band decided to hire Welch after a few meetings with him, without even hearing him play or listening to anything he recorded! Welch's debut album with the Mac was 1971's Future Games, and his second album with the band, Bare Trees, was released six months later. One of the songs recorded on Bare Trees was a Welch penned tune entitled "Sentimental Lady", which would later play a huge part in his solo career.

Bob Welch (center, in glasses) with Fleetwood Mac. Courtesy of ABC News

Three more albums with Fleetwood Mac would follow, Penguin and Mystery To Me, both released in 1973, and Heroes Are Hard To Find, which was released in 1974. However, the touring and the recording had taken its toll on Welch, who's marriage was failing and he had also felt he had reached his creative plateau with the Mac. Replacing Welch in Fleetwood Mac was a young guitarist named Lindsay Buckingham, who also brought in his girlfriend Stevie Nicks as a second vocalist. The rest, as they say, was history.

Unless you are a die-hard fan of Fleetwood Mac, it seems that the name Bob Welch has been forgotten other than being known as "the guy who was in the band before Lindsay Buckingham". Yet, the earlier material of the Mac was still quite good, especially from the era that Welch was part of, and it deserves a good listen. Unfortunately, when Fleetwood Mac was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Welch was not invited. Welch himself is quoted as saying in an interview with the Plain Dealer "My era was the bridge era, It was a transition. But it was an important period in the history of the band. Mick Fleetwood dedicated a whole chapter of his biography to my era of the band and credited me with 'saving Fleetwood Mac'. Now they want to write me out of the history of the group. It hurts. Mick and I co-managed the group for years. I'm the one who brought the band to Los Angeles from England, which put them in the position of hooking up with Lindsey and Stevie. I saw the band through a whole period where they barely survived, literally."

Yet, Bob Welch did find greener commercial pastures with the release of his first solo album French Kiss, which was released in 1977, and featured contributions from Mick Fleetwood, Lindsay Buckingham, and Mac vocalist/keyboardist Christine McVie. It was certified Platinum, reached #12 on the Billboard charts in 1978, and yielded three hit singles; "Sentimental Lady" (chart position #8), "Ebony Eyes" (chart position #14), and "Hot Love, Cold World" (chart position #31). In 1979 the album Three Hearts was released, which reached Gold certification and spawned another hit single "Precious Love" (chart position #19).

                                         Promo video for "Sentimental Lady"

                                          Promo video for "Ebony Eyes"

Welch continued to record and release albums into the 1980s, but developed an addiction to cocaine and heroin, which he was able to overcome in 1986 with the help of rehab and the support of his new wife. Welch then focused on writing music for others, but did return with an experimental Jazz/loop based album called Bob Welch Looks at Bop in 1999. He also released two albums where he re-recorded his material from his Fleetwood Mac days.

You are probably expecting me to say that things would continue to get better for Bob Welch, but sadly that was not to be. He had undergone spinal surgery earlier in 2012, but his doctors told him that he would not fully recover, which made him very depressed. He was in constant pain, and he didn't want his wife to have to care for someone who was an invalid. One of the sentences in Bob's nine page suicide note read "I’m not going to do this to you." Welch had watched his mother care for his invalid father for years and apparently didn't want the same fate for himself, or his family. So, on June 7, 2012, at approximately 6:00 AM in his family's Nashville home, Welch took a shotgun and ended his 66 years on Earth with a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

I remember when Welch committed suicide, because I was a Fleetwood Mac fan and I also remembered songs like "Sentimental Lady" and "Ebony Eyes" from hearing them on classic rock radio. So, of course I was saddened by it. It was not until recently that I discovered why he killed himself. He could not deal with making his family care for someone who would be practically helpless due to his spinal surgery being unsuccessful.

His issues made me think of my own back problems, and the possibility that I may end up in a wheelchair someday or worse, which would make my family have to wait on me hand and foot. That would be a hard load to bear, and I pray to God that I do not end up in his position. I don't want my family to just live to take care of me, especially if I was just lying around useless.

However, you have to also imagine that the loss of the ability to play music really contributed to Bob Welch wanting to take his own life.

People who aren't artists or musicians do not understand how much having that talent means to you as a person. You feel as if you were touched by God or a higher power to have a gift and to share it with others, to entertain people, to make people cheer and smile. Now, take that away from them...the Lord has just rendered you mute. You cannot share that talent with the world anymore. You cannot bring joy to people anymore. Add that to the fact that you have been rendered invalid due to disease, an accident, or a botched operation, it is easy to see how someone could be made to feel worthless.

I constantly worry about being one twist or turn away from a major spinal problem and ending up in a wheelchair. I constantly worry about losing my ability to play music. Losing that gift could be a blow that sends me over the edge like it did for Bob Welch. I just want to keep working to make sure that the day never comes where I have to lay my sticks aside for good.

I think people like Bob Welch or myself would benefit from a support group of musicians that are dealing with a disability. I think it would do a lot of good for musicians who are struggling with physical pain and/or loss of the ability to play like they did before. It would help to know you are not alone. Heaven knows there are days I just want to quit and throw in the towel and it would be good to have other musicians with the same struggles to reach out to.

Rest in peace Bob Welch. Thank you for the wonderful music you left your fans here on Earth. Like everyone who has died from suicide, I wish you had someone to help you out and someone to talk to when times got tough. I pray one thing I can do in this lifetime is help those who are hurting and in pain.



"Your Story Isn't Over Yet..Choose to Continue".

"And after all the violence and double talk
There's just a song in all the trouble and the strife
You do the walk, yeah, you do the walk of life
You do the walk of life"


Dire Straits- "Walk of Life"

People registering for the walk

After a slow start, participants began to roll in

During the walk (all photos are my own)

This year, it was time to take 20 years of sorrow and try putting it into action.


Anyone who knows me well is quite familiar with my struggles caused by the emotional trauma of my dad's suicide in 1998. The anxiety, depression, and fear of losing everything and everyone around me that was exacerbated by this incident has left a scar on my heart and my mind that may never heal. So, I won't go into details here. For years, I felt alone as if no one understood what I was going through. People who love and care about me would say to me things like "Learn to let go", "It's not your fault", "Time heals all wounds", "You need to forget about this". Please know, I am not upset at anyone for telling things like that to me. Y'all were just trying to help me feel better and heal and I appreciate that! However, unless you have seen what I have seen and dealt with, or went through this yourself, it is VERY hard to understand what is going on inside my mind and my heart. Therapy has helped, but it is not a cure. Medication has helped, but it is not a remedy. There are many times I still feel alone and misunderstood. I wondered if people like me, who lost a loved one to suicide, or struggle with depression and have attempted suicide themselves, have a voice.


Then I found out about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.


The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) is a voluntary health organization founded in 1987 by a group of families who joined with scientists to establish a source of support for suicide research and education. AFSP is now the largest private funder of suicide prevention research. It is headquartered in New York, with an office in Washington, D.C. AFSP has chapters in all 50 states, leading the charge in education, advocacy, research and support. One of their fundraising events are the "Out Of The Darkness" walks, and two took place in Central PA in September; one in Harrisburg, and last Saturday in Carlisle.


Finding out about this organization was a revelation. It was a realization that I was not alone. I knew that there were others out there who suffered because of the suicide of someone in their lives be it family, friend, co-worker or comrade in arms. I knew there are people out there who struggle with
their own demons. When you have a mind that is racked with anxieties, depression, and worry, you have no idea what could send you over the edge or what small trigger could make you decide to take your own life. It is a difficult thing to live with, and chances are even the closest people to you in your life will have trouble understanding what you go through. You sometimes feel like screaming out loud "DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND?". You take out your anger on your friends and family because you don't know any better and you are frustrated. With an organization like AFSP, you don't have to feel alone. One way or another, you will meet someone who will understand the pain you are going through and is willing to share their story.

Tribute ceremony before the start of the walk

During the walk

At the walk, I was talking with an Army veteran who had written a book about his experiences with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). He had served four tours of duty in combat in Iraq, 3 times during Operation Iraqi Freedom, and once during Operation Desert Storm. He said that you can never be completely cured of the symptoms and you can never totally say you are free. Therapy can help you deal with it, but the feelings will always be there and some days are better than others. While he has suffered much more than I will ever suffer due to his combat experiences, I did feel a connection to him and how this does seem like a futile fight on some days. Be it seeing your best friend killed in action or finding your loved one passed out in a garage because of CO2 poisoning, that image will stay with you forever and you can't erase it. The best thing you can do is learn to live with it.


I also met another cool individual, a local race car driver named Richie Dobson. His number 55x Chevy Monte Carlo street stock runs at BAPS Motor Speedway in York Haven, PA. His motto is "Racing For Awareness", and his main sponsor on his car is the cause of suicide prevention. His own father committed suicide a few years after my own father did so. Racing fan that I am, I took several pics of the car (very sharp machine!) and looked closely at the livery (sponsor & color scheme) on the car. Typical sponsors of local racing cars adorned the machine (like Shermans Creek Inn in Shermans Dale), but the most prominent sponsor was to raise suicide awareness, with a very moving motto..."Your Story Isn't Over Yet..Choose to Continue". Also, around the suicide awareness logo was a few names, which I found out were the names of people who have lost their battle to suicide. To raise money for AFSP, he sells space on his car for people who have lost loved ones to suicide to put their loved ones' name on the car.

Me with Richie Dobson, driver of the Double Nickel Motorsports 55x

Tribute plate to Richie's late father on the front of the car

Learning that was like getting hit with a ray of sunshine through clouds of grey. My dad was a huge racing fan and passed that love of the sport on to me. He used to work on a pit crew for a driver at Silver Spring Speedway and he was a huge fan of NASCAR legend Dale Earnhardt. What could be a better tribute for my dad than to put his name on an actual racing car? So, I happily paid the fee and signed his name to a list, a list that I hope does not get bigger, because I pray no one else has to go through the pain of losing someone to suicide.


Wherever my dad is, and I pray he is in heaven, I bet he was smiling.


Yeah, to some that might seem silly, but it helped a lot in lightening a heavy burden on my shoulders. Just finding a way to properly pay him tribute is a massive step down the healing road. Dobson's car is quite competitive and he is a capable driver, so it would be awesome to go to the track and cheer
him and the 55x to victory. Then I could say, my dad's name made it to victory lane.


Dad, I will love you always and forever. My prayers for you have never ceased, neither has my mourning of your loss. My only hope is that your soul is in heaven, which is God's victory lane.


Love, your little Augie, Matt.


To learn more about the AFSP, please log on to https://afsp.org/


To learn more about and follow Double Nickel Motorsports, log on to: https://www.facebook.com/DoubleNickelMotorsport/




Your Story Isn't Over Yet..Choose To Continue

Living with survivor's guilt

"Repentant tears wash out the stain of guilt."

-Saint Augustine

September 3, 1998.

What if I was at home that day?

What would have happened if I didn't leave the house to go visit a friend in Shermans Dale to hang out, drink, smoke, and blaze a few joints? What if I came home afterwards instead of driving aimlessly along the roads of Silver Spring Township, lamenting my loneliness and my bad financial situation and fearing any reprisals that would come my way from a father who just would not let me live the life I wanted to live?

I ask myself those questions every day of my life. I live with them. They keep me awake at night sometimes. They give me nightmares. They make me question everything, especially my purpose in life and my faith in God. I can play through every detail in my mind as if it was captured on video. Ask me what I was wearing that day and I could tell you. Ask me what I was listening to musically that day and I could tell you. Ask me anything about it.

Some call it "survivor's guilt", which is part of the PTSD spectrum.

According to Psychology Today: symptoms of survivors' guilt include avoidance, feeling on edge, vigilant, detached, and easily startled. Additional signs include obsessing over what happened, feeling confused, unworthy, or ambivalent about living, harping on the meaning of life, or being plagued by the sense that no matter where you go, you’re never really safe. The resulting self-condemnation and isolation takes a toll on health and relationships. I am certain that this has taken a toll on many of my relationships with family and friends.

Carrying the guilt that you feel over not being there for a family member, friend, or loved one that needed you in the case that said person has caused harm or fatal injury to his/herself is a very heavy cross to bear. It is a cross that I really do not want to carry anymore, but I feel I have to.

Why? I was not there for my dad when he needed someone. His death is my fault in some ways.

Now, a long line of people, from friends and family all the way up to my therapist, have said the same thing: "It's not your fault". For 20 years, all I hear is "it's not your fault". Yes, that is correct. On the surface, that is 100% correct. I do not disagree with that. Yet, you are not looking deep enough. Dig deeper.

I was very irresponsible in the months leading up to dad's suicide. I was writing bad checks, stealing money from my dad's stash to augment my meager salary from my nursing home job, spending lots of time away from home, and more worried about the next pack of Marlboros or the next paycheck so I could buy a drum kit and start my dream of being a musician. Selfish shit. I should have stayed home more, then I would have known my dad was spiraling downward and his relationship with mom was deteriorating. Mom did tell me a thing or two, but I didn't buy it. Not dad, not the guy who had the balls to get up on a municipal plow during a blizzard and demand the driver clear our road so a mother with a newborn could get food for her kid. Not the guy who could put the fear of God into me with one look. Not the guy who all the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of and respected, even if they didn't like me. Not the guy who carried his family on his back and built a successful business from nothing. Not him. Mom was just telling stories, I thought. Dad's got balls of iron, nothing can scare him. He's the toughest man alive. He'll always be around, and I will be forever under his thumb.

I was yearning to be out from under his control, everything so orderly and responsible. I was wishing that something would happen so that I would be free of his authority, so I could live my life, and do what my friends were doing, living on fast food and alcohol, being wasted, writing music, playing

drums, sleeping on the floor of crummy motels, living the life of a musician (or so I thought it was at the time!)!

So, you could say, the day he died, my wish came true. Yes, I was overcome with grief, shock, and loss (because I did not want him out of my life THAT way! I was thinking more of my own place or something), but also a sense of relief and freedom I never felt before. Also, and may God forgive me for saying this, or may He punish me eternally in Hell for this...there were times I was actually GLAD he was not around anymore. Lord, have mercy on me and forgive me, please. How I could have felt gladness at all after the death of a parent is an unforgivable sin, even if it was brief and my mind would return back to reality and mourn shortly after.

Now, if I was a good, responsible son, I would have been there for him. I would have talked him out of it. I would have saved the relationship between himself and my mother. I know I could do it. What parent would turn down the wishes of their child? I could have been the glue that held them together.

But I wasn't there. Instead, I was hanging with a wastoid friend, being a wastoid, while at home my parents threw away 25 years of marriage and dad threw away 45 years of life.

So yes, in a way, his death IS my fault. I was not there to stop something I know damn well I could have easily stopped. If I didn't stop it, at least I would have tried my best, and if there would have been a struggle and I died, it would have been trying to help my family instead of  dying for something selfish. No greater love is there than a man who would lay down his life.

Also, the fact that I felt relief and freedom and sometimes even gladness at times after he was gone is an abomination, something I cannot forgive myself for. I should have grieved for him ALL the time and never felt any joy or happiness in those days afterwards. Yes, I DID GRIEVE, I DID MOURN, but not all the time. Those times of relief are a millstone around my neck. No priest can forgive that sin.

So, after digging deeper, you can most definitely see why this guilt may never leave. The guilt a survivor feels is like a penance. It's his price for survival. You're gonna carry that weight a long time. Have you had a loved one who has killed himself? A mother? A father? A brother? A sister? A child? A spouse? A friend? If so, surely you have felt the same way and still do. It's OK to feel that way and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

It is not much different from the soldier who lost his buddy in Desert Storm, or the friend who lost their co-workers on 9/11. You wonder and wonder how things could have been different, if you could have done something, anything, to save someone close to you. Even if it isn't your fault, your heart and your head will always say that it is. The hardest part is learning to live with the burden and not letting it destroy you. Somehow, I do. This is going to be with me the rest of my life. You can't cure it, so you have to find a way to live with it, and on days like the early part of this month every single year, it is a living hell.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

Love those Wildwood Days, but do I love "Salt Life"?

"Singing to an ocean, I can hear the ocean's roar
Play for free, I play for me and play a whole lot more, more!
Singing about the good things and the sun that lights the day
I used to sing on the mountains, has the ocean lost its way"
Led Zeppelin-"The Ocean"


Salt Life.

I've been seeing these decals on the back windows of cars and SUVs over the last few years: Salt Life.


The mark of a beach person.


While I do enjoy to be beside the seaside as much as the next person, and I enjoy the beach vacations to Ocean City, Maryland I took with mom and dad growing up and the trips to Wildwood, New Jersey with my wife and daughter nowadays, I would not consider myself a beach person.


Is it the setting itself? No. I enjoy the setting. When it is quiet in the morning and tranquil, it is an incredible place to be. Few places match the natural beauty of a seashore. Crashing waves, the endless ribbon of sand along the coast, the smell of the salt air, the sound of seagulls...you feel like you are standing on the edge of creation watching everything come to life. The sunrises are absolutely epic, and the sunsets even more so. I enjoy seeing Lily, my 10-year old daughter, splashing in the waves with my lovely wife. I enjoy the food that is served by the many vendors along the boardwalk. I also am a fan of lighthouses, and Lily and I enjoy climbing to the top of them and marveling at the incredible views.


However, I do not enjoy being around "beach people".


Do I hate beach people? Goodness, no. I do not hate anyone. That is such a strong word, plus my religion forbids hating anyone. If I could use any phrase, I could say that beach people rub me the wrong way.


It could be a bit of envy, as you need a lot of money to live on the beach for even part of the year, and even as hard as we work, my family may never be that financially stable to be able to afford to own a beach front residence. So, maybe I sense a bit of a snobbishness coming from the people who live down there. It could be a misconception on my part, or a stereotype, but lets face facts: ocean front property is expensive and you need to be well off to be able to afford to live the "salt life".


It could be the party element that likes to populate the beach during summer months, the whole "suns out, guns out" testosterone oozing macho types that look like The Situation or the ditzy female types that resemble J-Woww and Snooki from Jersey Shore. The types that only care about beer pong, getting laid, and fist pumping...the whole Spring Break type crowd. It's never been my scene.
It could just be the noise and the craziness of it all. Beach towns swell up to almost twice or triple their population during the summer months. For someone who enjoys the area for the natural beauty and serenity that is supposed to be there, dealing with ignorant bicyclists on the boardwalk and loud and obnoxious carnies does not exactly make me want to return during the summer months.


Salt Life.


It's not my life, at least during the summer months. I would love to experience the shore in the off-season, after the weekenders have all gone home and the summer soldiers head back to Harrisburg and Philly to work their jobs. It is peace and serenity I crave at the shore, and I have a feeling I will get it in the off-season. No noise and no crowds.


Yet, summer vacations with my beautiful and wonderful wife and daughter make up for any of the faults found in beach culture and "salt life", as we create memories that last a lifetime. I love Andrea and Lily with all my heart, and despite hurting every single day of the vacation due to my chronic back and neck issues, I enjoyed it, and what meant more was their happiness over any issues I was having with pain.


See you next year, Wildwood, and see you next year, beach people.

I'm 42 for fuck's sake, not 82!

"The aim of the wise is not to secure pleasure, but to avoid pain."
-Aristotle


Goodbye youth, hello middle age. Goodbye invincibility, hello vulnerability.


Tuesday marked my passage into the 42nd year of my life. I rang it in with little fanfare. I just wanted to keep to myself. I have been troubled by back issues off and on during the past few years and they have gotten to the point where the pain has been chronic and even regular massages have not been helping. This should not be.


I'm 42, for fuck's sake, not 82!

So, last week I went to the doctor and got examined, and they recommended that I get some X-rays done. I was happy. Yes, they were prescribing me the usual cocktail of muscle relaxers and painkillers, but X-rays could tell the story of what was going on, and I wanted answers. Stop pumping drugs into me and stop turning me into a junkie. Give me answers. So, yesterday morning I had X-rays done and was told a doctor would be in touch with me. I went back home and decided to lay on the couch and watch American Crime Story: The People Vs. OJ Simpson on Netflix.


It was turning into a pretty depressing day, but then I thought, it is my birthday. I should go somewhere that I can give thanks to the Lord for letting me have 42 years of life, a wife, a daughter, great friends and family, and musical talent. It is also raining, and I felt like getting wet like I used to do as a child. So, I went down to Emmitsburg, Maryland and prayed at the grotto in the rain like I enjoy doing when I get the chance. Nothing like feeling the rain on your face as you give your sufferings to God.


After that, back home to await the verdict.


A few hours, later, my phone rang, and it was the doctor from my family practice with a verdict:


Degenerative Disc Disease. Well, that answers a lot of questions, and I was happy to learn the truth.


I thank the Lord for finally answering a few years of questions and curing a mountain of anxiety. However, of course, me being who I am and the curse of having the mental ilness of anxiety/depression, new ones are creeping in. Should I go through the possibly excruciating pain of physical therapy, or cure everything in one fell swoop by going under the knife?


Unlike former Chicago Bears All-Pro Dan Hampton, pain is not my friend. We don't get along very well. Give me a little bit of pain and I want to weep like a baby. In the last few months, the back and neck issues are chronic. Every day. I want to lay down all the time. No energy. Sitting behind the drumkit was something I used to enjoy, now I dread it because I am in pain after only a few minutes of playing. I cannot live like this. I don't want my family having to put up with a slug who can't be active because of this, and I don't want my musical career to end.

My doctor gave me two choices: physical therapy or an orthopedic surgeon.


Surgery should always be a last resort, no doubt. However, if a condition is "degenerative", that means it will continue to get worse over time unless action is taken to slow it down and/or stop it, right? I have lots of questions about the benefits of physical therapy because exercising an area that is in severe pain does not seem very smart. It's almost like trying to heal a cut on your arm by making the cut deeper. Also, while it might most definitely help muscles and joints, it's not going to help my bones, which is where the problems seem to be. So, no doubt about it, any physical therapist I have will be getting lots and lots of questions from me. I am not looking forward to being stretched to my breaking point and probably being in even more pain.


Sidebar: I was getting into exercising regularly a year or so ago, but these back issues that were just creeping in along with some knee problems kept me from fully realizing any goals from working out. Plus, I found that I was in the "p" word a lot: PAIN. I do not like pain. I am not a masochist. Like Aristotle said, the wise avoid pain. I do not claim to be wise, but pain is not something I like being in. There are many things I avoid just to keep from possibly going through some kind of pain, emotional or physical.


So, dear people, do not criticize me too vehemently. I try to think logically. Follow me:


I walk down a country road. A car is coming. The car could hit me and kill me. I move out of the way.


I'm walking in a big city. An angry mob throwing rocks and bottles is coming up one end of the street I am walking on. I run the other way.


I step outside my house. It's cold. I put on a jacket.


So, how does working out a part of the body that is in pain and putting it in even more pain help it become healthier and stronger? As Mr. Spock would say, "it is not logical". It's like telling someone to avoid a left hook by leaning in to it, or hit a home run by not swinging the bat, or win a race by finishing last.

Yet, surgery concerns me a lot as well. There is always the possibility of something going wrong and ending up paralyzed. Then, there is the recovery time if it is successful as I cannot be on the shelf too long. I have a family, a job, and a band that needs me. Also, it seems like whenever you have a surgery done on a problem area, it is not your last. For an athlete, a knee surgery or a back surgery is usually the first of many.


Confession: I've always hated sitting up straight as I have found it uncomfortable. It's always been more comfortable for me to recline. Even seeing someone sit bolt-upright causes me to wince in pain. You're not in school, you're not in the army, you're not at work. Relax.


I spoke to my doctor a little bit ago and asked to be scheduled with a physical therapist, yet I will have a plethora of questions for him/her, not because I doubt their expertise, but because it doesn't seem logical to fix pain with more pain. One thing I do know, is that more pills is not an option. Opiod addiction is a death spiral for many and I will not go down that rabbit hole. I just want to be free of the pain and have confidence again that my back can hold up to carrying Lily on my shoulders, or playing softball, or playing a 2 hour gig.  
                                                                                                                                                             
I'm 42, for fuck's sake, not 82.

Love, Forgiveness, and a challenge.

"To love is to will the good of the other."
-St. Thomas Aquinas



Love.

We humans are so smart that we think we know what it means. Merriam-Webster Dictionary has the following:
1 a (1) : strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties ·maternal love for a child
  (2) : attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers.
  (3) : affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests
 
 b : an assurance of affection ·give her my love

 2 : warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion

 3 a : the object of attachment, devotion, or admiration

b (1) : a beloved person : darling —often used as a term of endearment  (2) British —used as an informal term of address 

4 a : unselfish loyal and benevolent (see benevolent 1a) concern for the good of another: such as   (1) : the fatherly concern of God for humankind  (2) : brotherly concern for others 

b : a person's adoration of God

5 : a god (such as Cupid or Eros) or personification of love

6 : an amorous episode

7 : the sexual embrace : copulation

8 : a score of zero (as in tennis)

9 capitalized, Christian Science : god


However, I think the simple quote of St. Thomas Aquinas defines the word "love" even more poignantly and to the point: To love is to will the good of the other. If you define love that simply and succinctly, it does make it easy to love even your "enemies". To be honest, who among us has "enemies" in this day and age? Unless you are part of a gang or in the mafia, chances are you don't have someone following you around trying to hasten your demise. So no, none of us should have anyone we call our "enemies" in our everyday life. No, the dude who cut you off in traffic today is not your enemy. Ignorant, yes, but not your enemy. The customer who swore at you over the phone is not your enemy. Their anger is with their situation, not you personally. The person you have been holding a grudge against for months because of something they may have said or done is also not your enemy. They might have had a bad day or their mouth went faster than their brain, but that does not mean they deserve your hatred. Even an argument is not a sign of hatred. If you are passionate about an issue, of course you are going to be emotional.

Remember, no matter what your race, creed, or color is, you are made in the image and likeness of God. Read it again. Read it 10,000 times if you need to. We are all made in His image, which makes us all brothers and sisters, no matter how dysfunctional we are as a global family or how many borders separate us or what religion we are. If you are reading this, whether we have broken bread together or have never met, you are my brother or sister.


At the end of the day, what does hating or disliking others get us? What does holding onto grudges get us? It makes us the winners of a jackpot of a lifetime of pain. That is a jackpot you do not want. Due to many traumas that have taken place in my younger years, be it physical or sexual harassment (read what I wrote last week), seeing one of your parents take their own life, constant teasing and torture, and trying to repair a bond between mother and son, I held on to a lot of hatred for a long time. All it did was put me in misery and make me feel worthless. I am learning slowly to let that pain go. I'm not perfect at it, and still have days where it gets me down, but I learn to let it go because I know holding on to pain and anger is no way to live your life. I wish no hatred or ill will towards anyone who wronged me. I just pray that those people have learned lessons in life that have helped them change their ways for the better. I wish them nothing but the best, and the will to do good.


At my job lately, I have been pushing myself to the max to show everyone that I am no longer a surly person who feels like the office owes him something just because he is there. It has been getting results as well, and I have also been building a better relationship with everyone here. Look, the good Lord says to "Love thy neighbor" and to love your enemies. I have been trying hard to not hate or dislike anyone, even if they bug the living hell out of me. Why? I am a Christian and my faith tells me so. If we call ourselves Christians and hate people, we might as well give it up because we would be liars and the truth would not be inside of us. Faith also tells you to give the best of yourself to the high calling of our daily work. The Shakers, a Christian community that lived in Lancaster County, had a saying "hands to work, hearts to God". I have been doing the best I can to do that as of late.

It has taken a lot of love and patience to transform myself here at the job. What you have to do is tell yourself that the people you work with are not your enemies, no matter how ignorant or inept they might or might not be. At the end of the day, you all want to go home safely to your homes and families. We also spend more time with them during the week than we do our own families, so show some love and try your best to make friends and make the best of it. What did getting angry all the time here get me? Lots of pain, misery, and sadness. You don't want that.


Of course, we are still going to get angry. Yet, we cannot let anger get the best of us. It only takes some effort to turn anger into love. The secret for turning anger into love is forgiveness, especially for the Christian, because that is what we are called to do. We must always be willing to forgive, because the lack of forgiveness leads to grudges and hatred, and wars have been fought for less than that in our history. Yet, no matter what our beliefs are, we must always be willing and ready to forgive. We must always be willing and ready to love. We must always be willing and ready to wish the best for others and that they are willing to do good.

I have a challenge for everyone who reads this today: Reach out to a person you might have a grudge with. Talk with understanding about what might have caused this grudge to occur. Be willing to listen and learn. Then, forgive. Mend any wounds that might have been caused. Then, move forward. Bury the grudge with a shovel and then bury the shovel. Don't make excuses. Who knows what friendships, relationships, and even marriages could be saved and reinvigorated if we could just learn to talk things out and forgive! Call me naive, but what is wrong for trying to find the best in others and finding the good in others? It is a lot less painful than trying to look for the worst. So heed my call and take this challenge. You have nothing to lose but your anger and your grudges.


A little bit of love can cure a little bit of hate, but a lot of love can wipe hate out.

Story of survival

"And from the wreckage I will arise
Cast the ashes back in their eyes
See the fire I will defend
Just keep on burning right to the end"
Asia-"Sole Survivor"


I think I will either regret or be thankful for what I am writing today.


Before I begin, while I would appreciate if everyone would read this, there is one thing I do not want from anyone: sympathy. I do not want it, and I do not ask for it. How you feel about it is how you choose to feel. If you want to speak to me in private about it, my door is always open and my ears are
always open. I am also a phone call away if you want to call me. However, I do not want sympathy. I don't tell this story to provoke an "aww" or an "oh my God!", but to hopefully give others courage and to not let it affect your life if it happened to you.


I have locked the more vivid details away in the deepest darkest parts of my soul for years, a little over 25 years. I knew none of you back in those days. After my dad committed suicide in September of 1998, I have endeavored to split my life into two halves: before he died, and after he died. There
were many things that happened in the years 1976 to 1998 that caused me great pain and have caused me to adopt strange emotions and reactions as defense mechanisms that still bother me to this day. Many of those events I have shared. Some, I have not, because I wanted to forget they even happened. Yet, no matter how hard I try, I have to realize that it all DID happen, and the most important thing is that I survived it. Despite it all, I am still here, still standing, still surviving, and I have a wonderful wife, an amazing daughter, a great home, a decent job, the band of my dreams, and the best friends and family that anyone could ask for. I am blessed.


Thanks to therapy, I have summoned the courage to face past traumas head on. It has been a harrowing fight. A fight I thought I haven't had the courage to win. Yet, by just facing them head on, I am winning. It also opened my thoughts to happy days and happy times, like my best friend growing up and my memories of playing in the dirt by the tree in my back yard and walking to my first day of school splashing along in my yellow slicker. Happy days. The bad times made me want to block out all the happy ones. There was one thing I admired a lot about my younger self: I decided the world was not for me, so I went and created my own world, where I made the rules and decided what made me happy and what was fun.


Remember, do not cry for me. Do not feel angry for me. Yes, I will write with emotion and feeling, but that is because I need to write that way. I can't write the way that Joe Buck calls a baseball game; with no excitement and no drama. I have to write with color. I want you to feel the wind in your hair and the rain on your face with my words.


Before I get to the bad memories that spawned this entry, I did see my old friend/neighbor by chance in the elevator at my work. We embraced and I regret that we could not talk longer. If my old neighbor and friend reads this...I miss you and love you my friend. Come see me and my family. You live close, just hit me up. Lots of laughs and tears need to be shared. We have years to make up and families of our own that need to be met. I have always prayed for you and will never stop.


School days, school days.


By 1990, the happy memories of splashing through the fall rain to my first day of first grade were long gone. First days of school were now days of terror, because I knew that beatings would be dealt to those who weren't cool, like myself. For a while, I had managed to avoid being teased on a
regular basis by keeping a low profile. Yet, by the end of my freshman year, I was tops on many people's beat-up lists.


Yet, physical confrontations of that manner can be dealt with and can be brushed off. If I knew then what I knew now, a fight I would be involved in would look like an ECW match, because anything not nailed down would be used by me. No matter how big you are, a chair shot to the head puts you down.

Physical confrontations of another nature can mess you up in the brain.


When I was in my early to mid-teens, most of the guys I knew were into video games or sports or music. A few had started getting interested in the opposite sex. I wasn't too interested yet in the matters of relationships. I didn't care. Due to my lack of girlfriends (none) during those years, many
of my schoolmates and some friends thought that I was a homosexual. I was teased unmercifully with slurs because of it. Other guys would try to forcibly kiss me on the lips. Some tried to "jokingly" forcibly violate my rear end. Some would smack my rear end when I walked by because they said
it looked like a woman's. One time, a guy tried to kiss me and I shoved him away, only to be punched in the face several times and have my head slammed into a desk. Due to this hazing and abuse, I never took a shower after gym class. I stopped bending over to pick things up, and instead kneel down to do it. I still do that to this day due to being "programmed" by that treatment by my school mates.


I thought about going to a teacher or principal and saying I was sexually harassed, but was warned of reprisal from others. I also didn't want to be called a "pussy" (forgive me for using that word. I hate using it, but had to so I could illustrate my point). Besides, I'm a guy, not a woman. Guys don't get sexually harassed, I thought at that time. I could never understand why anyone would do that to me. I never had any sexual feelings towards the same sex.


This treatment caused me to have a very unhealthy view towards same-sex lifestyles for a long time, because I thought many of them (people in same-sex relationships on the male side) acted the way these assholes acted towards me, but as time went on I realized this was just very extreme hazing bordering on sexual harassment from "macho"heterosexual males who wanted to prove how alpha they were by picking on me. It wasn't a representation of the truth, it was a bunch of idiots getting their kicks by picking on me in a perverse manner. After my mom revealed her bisexuality to me in 1998, we had a long talk about issues I had, and I have to say I have had no prejudices since then.


I refuse to call myself a victim or say "me too". For me to do that is an insult to anyone who has truly been sexually harassed, who is a survivor of domestic violence, or is a victim of rape. I was on the receiving end of a very sadistic and cruel form of hazing that I cannot find the right definition for. How do you define a heterosexual teen boy been hazed by other heterosexual teen boys who thought he was a homosexual just because he didn't have a girlfriend or even think about girls in a
relationship manner until later in his teens? There's no definition for it.


Thanks to my therapist I have learned that it is not something to hold me down. My life and my family are a testament to that. I went through those times and I survived them to have the best family anyone could hope for. It has made me do a lot of thinking though, and caused me a lot of introversion as I battled these horrible memories.


I haven't mentioned anything about it with this much detail until now. I didn't feel comfortable enough to say anything in more detail in public until now. Men like Terry Crews deserve all the credit in the world for talking about harassment they experienced. It doesn't make you less of a man to admit it. So, I have to thank Terry Crews for his courage, because he gave me courage too.


I also wish no ill will towards those who mistreated me in school or sexually hazed me. Holding grudges and seeking retribution is not the Lord's way. I just pray that they have reformed their ways and treat each and every person they meet with respect.


So please, do not cry for me or pity me. No sympathy is needed. I just hope you read this and it gives you courage that you can win your fight.

Sometimes we need a pat on the back, or a "job well done".

"If you do a good job for others, you heal yourself at the same time, because a dose of joy is a spiritual cure. It transcends all barriers."
-Ed Sullivan


My two favorite forms of entertainment are music and sports.


I've been into sports since I was a wee lad just like many other typical American kids, same with music. Anyone who knows me well enough knows my dancing in the playpen to "You're No Good" by Linda Ronstadt. Sports, well, I was an American kid. As a small child, my dad usually had something sports related on the TV, be it NASCAR or IndyCar racing, Philadelphia Eagles football, Penn State Football, New York Yankees and Philadelphia Phillies baseball. I was treated to it all. I try to downplay my love of sports now due to being in a house ruled by ladies (even the dog is a girl) and not having any close friends who are into sports.


Being a sports fan might have also influenced my thinking, especially how to know when you are doing right as a person or a worker or a musician or whatever! Follow me down this rabbit hole if you will...


When you are an athlete or a musician, people have ways of showing their appreciation for your efforts. Ways that you can see, hear, taste, or touch. If you make a great play during any sporting event, you hear the cheers of the crowd. If you hit a home run on the baseball field or score a touchdown on the football field, you hear the cheers, but also you receive hugs, hi-fives, fist bumps and the congratulations from your team mates and your coach. If you win an auto racing event, you get all the congratulations from your team and pit crew, but also a nice trophy and a chance to drink champagne (as well as spray it over everyone). If you are fortunate enough to win a championship with a team, you get mobbed by your team mates and celebrate all while holding a nice trophy and receiving a nice check for your efforts. I love seeing the elation on the faces of a team when they win a game with a walk-off home run, a last second touchdown, or a race on a daring pass in the last corner of the last lap. The best of the best get rewarded with being enshrined in one of the many sports Hall of Fames that exist. It is euphoria of the highest degree. I wish I could experience that feeling once.

As a musician, it is not much different. A great performance earns cheers from the crowd, a bump in album sales, fans worshipping the ground you walk on, and a place along side the legends who have walked before you if you are lucky. It's not that much separation from the life of Steven Tyler or Mick Jagger to the life of Joe Montana or Reggie Jackson. On the stage, I want to experience the same feeling that the Houston Astros or Philadelphia Eagles felt when they won their respective world championships. After a great performance, you get that same feeling of ecstasy and euphoria.
However, in every day daily life, it is much different, and much harder to recognize when you are doing well and when other people think you are doing well.


If you do a good job at work each and every day, you don't get a trophy. If you are a good spouse and parent, you don't get showered with champagne on a podium while your national anthem plays. If you do your best to be a good friend, you don't get the cheers of thousands. You do not get anything for the good you try to do day after day.


Please do not misunderstand me. I am not seeking compliments or trying to sound like I do not appreciate anything.


As someone who grew up watching sports and idolizing my heroes, it is easy to see when they are doing well in what they do. As for me, I don't know when I am doing well or not well unless someone tells me. That may be childish, but how do I know how I am doing as a person with no one to tell me?


Call me crazy, but I am someone who thinks we need to hear an occasional "atta boy/girl", "great job", "I love you", "I appreciate what you do", or "keep up the good work". I know for a fact my work and my personal relationships suffer without that. My work was horrendous for a while, but recently I did something that garnered great praise and appreciation from my bosses. I needed to hear that! It has inspired me to work harder and be my best.


I think we hear too much of when we are doing a poor job as a person or a worker. I personally never know I am doing badly before it is too late. It always hits me out of left field. Why? Because no one has the heart to tell me. I have no chance to improve. Be honest with me. If I am doing well, tell me! If I am stinking to high heaven, tell me! I respect TRUTH and HONESTY more than anything.


In fact, I have gotten into so many arguments because I had no idea I was not doing a good job in my family life or my work life. How was I supposed to know? You didn't tell me that you were unsatisfied with how I was doing as a person, a spouse, a parent, or a worker. There's no umpire or referee in real life to do so.


Unless you tell me, I won't know. I hope more people get the pat on the back. It would do wonders for many people who are depressed or suffer with anxiety. It would also make other people happy as well as yourself. Don't be afraid to show appreciation for those around you. Many do not hear it enough. I can lead to feelings of being taken advantage of, and not being recognized for who they are.
     

Another demon to kill...superstitions.

"Very superstitious, nothin' more to say
Very superstitious, the devil's on his way
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass
Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past
When you believe in things that you don't understand
Then you suffer
Superstition ain't the way"
Stevie Wonder-"Superstition"


Step on a crack, break your mother's back. Don't walk under a ladder. Don't let a black cat cross your path. Don't open an umbrella indoors. If you spill salt, throw it over your shoulder. The Boston Red Sox didn't win a World Series until 2004 because they traded Babe Ruth in 1919. The Chicago Cubs didn't win a World Series from 1908 until 2016 because someone didn't allow a billy goat into a game. The Montreal Canadiens have not won a Stanley Cup since 1993 due to the trade of Patrick Roy.

Boston Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner misplaying a ground ball hit by Mookie Wilson of the New York Mets in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Ray Knight of the Mets scored the winning run on the play. The Sox lost game 6, and eventually the World Series. The misplay was attributed to the "Curse of the Bambino". Courtesy of Fox Sports.

What do all of these things have in common? They are all superstitions.


I know someone who is very superstitious even though he doesn't like to admit it: Me.


Yes, I have some very strange superstitions. Some of them are a cause of anxiety and stress. They aren't the classic "seven years of bad luck" superstitions, but they are personal ones.


I plan to outline a number of my superstitions here for public consumption. I have a good feeling that y'all might find them strange.


1. I will listen to music ad nauseum until something bad happens in a day or at a particular moment in my life. Example: I haven't listened to some of my favorite albums since an argument happened after I was done listening to it, due to it bringing back bad memories and worried that playing them would cause bad things to happen again.


2. I used to listen to music to and from work. When I would do that, my day would be a mess and lots of misfortune would happen, so I stopped. Now, it's boring talk shows on the way in and on the way home. Yawn.


3. If I am watching something on TV and something bad happens in my life, I can't watch it anymore. Example: Due to my father killing himself the day I watched it...I cannot watch the Sharon Stone movie The Quick and The Dead anymore, and that's a kick ass flick, or the Bad Company album Here Comes Trouble.


4. I don't listen to music on the way to gigs I am in anymore due to a bad performance I had the last time I did so.


5. I try not to let myself get too happy because it doesn't hurt as much if something terrible happens. The last few times I had an extremely positive attitude about anything, something eventually happened that was bad which made me fall very hard. Makes me think I am being punished by God for being too prideful or too content with myself.


6. If I wear a t-shirt or other article of clothing when something happens that is bad, I refuse to wear it again. Probably why I own so many different t-shirts.

A broken mirror can lead to bad luck, the superstition says.

Those are a few of the biggest ones. There are others that are smaller but don't cause me much consternation. These above mentioned superstitions hurt me the most because I feel they are the silliest, and are also the ones that cause me the most sense of pain and loss. I've given up so much I enjoy due to being worried about bringing up old bad memories or triggering new bad memories. I have favorite shirts I haven't worn in years, albums that once lived in my CD player now collecting dust, things I once enjoyed I am not able to enjoy anymore out of fear and anxiety of re-opening old wounds or bringing back old demons.


I know, it is absolutely silly, isn't it? Aren't I a buffoon?


That's why I am working so hard to kill these monsters and slay these demons. My therapist and I have a major uphill battle because these things, as silly as they are, are difficult for me to overcome. I am someone who likes comfort and not giving anyone a hard time. I try my best to be a loving and caring person. I work very hard trying not to anger anyone. I love my family. I love my friends. I love my band. I love everyone who is a positive person in my life be it near or far. Why would I want to do anything to anger them? Why am I so STUPID to do anything that would cause them anger?


I hope I can beat this. There are many simple joys and things in life I am missing out on due to the anxiety caused by these triggers or whatever. Pray for me that I can beat them into the ground, so music can resonate from my speakers again in the morning and anxiety can die a quick death. I'm not the Red Sox, I am not the Cubs, I am not the Canadiens. I am ME. I am not a superstition. I want the only superstition in my life to be the excellent Stevie Wonder song.

I hate going out of my comfort zone, but I did anyway...

"I'm a member of a gamblin' breed.
And when the actions hot, it gets me all I need
So if you find me in our town, won't you lay your money down?
It's satisfaction guaranteed
You get heaven, you'll get hell
There ain't no way for you to tell with a gamblin' man"
-Emerson, Lake, and Palmer-"The Gambler"

I am not a gambling man, nor am I a person who fraternizes with fellow employees outside of working hours.


However, this past weekend, with great trepidation, I decided to join my supervisor and another co-worker on an outing to Hollywood Casino at Penn National Race Course.




Hollywood Casino at Penn National Race Course, Grantville, PA. Photo by Gaming and Leisure Properties.

I know many who read this, including my dear wife and some of my friends, would say that being able to fraternize with your co-workers outside of the office is something that helps to create a healthier and better work environment. Until a couple of weeks ago, I would have said you were all out of your minds. I was worried about any misadventures outside of the office with co-workers would lead to write-ups, disciplinary action, and termination.


In this case, I was going on an outing with my immediate supervisor. A boss. Not good. I'll really have to watch myself.


So, I was pretty nervous most of the day on Saturday until I left to meet up with the others. I kept saying to myself "what have I gotten myself into? Am I out of my mind?" Also, due to personal issues I have been fighting through the last few months via therapy and facing a lot of undead demons from my past, I have not wanted to be around people a lot this year other than my wife and daughter. I have been very introverted, so introverted for my liking that you would not believe it. Yet, I'll be hanging out with people that I have never been with outside of work hours.


We're talking major going outside of my comfort zone here, and I hate doing that! I said to myself "this will either be the biggest mistake or best move I may make in my work life". Maybe, just maybe, if I get along personally with my supervisor, it will open inroads into new career opportunities. It also could end up just being a colossal waste of time.


I meet up with my supe and we drive up Route 443 on the way to Grantville, a small town on the border between Dauphin and Lebanon counties. I am leaving my personal story for a bit to talk about casinos in my home state.

Slot machines at Hollywood Casino (don't play slots...they suck. No fun.) Photo by Getty Images.

Driving up Bow Creek Rd, it is hard to miss the huge gates that lead back to Hollywood Casino at Penn National Race Course. The race track has been a fixture in the area for many years and many top horses and jockeys have run races there. However, with the advent of slot machines and legalized gambling in New Jersey, Maryland, West Virginia, and New York, our horse racing industry was in a severe decline. In the early to mid-2000s, Pennsylvania decided to move out of the middle ages and allow slot machines at our horse racing tracks (called "racinos"), and eventually table games were added. Many of the old-timers and graybeards who live in the Keystone State grumbled at the decision, but as someone who loves his home state, I am happy to see our money staying here instead of going to New Jersey, West Virginia, or Las Vegas. If the casinos make money, the state makes money, and that is good for all of us. It means jobs. It means bigger purses and more prestige for our horse racing industry. Also, why spend thousands of dollars on a trip to Vegas when you can go to a casino right here? It's a no-brainer. It's all the fun of Vegas right here in your back yard. Also, instead of your money going to benefit mobsters and hustlers in Vegas or Reno, it will benefit the people of Pennsylvania and help create jobs for the local people and boost the local economy.

Do you suppose they call it "craps" because you say "Aww, crap!" if you lose? Image by WPMT Fox 43

I was never huge into horse racing. I would watch the Triple Crown races (Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, Belmont Stakes), but other than that, not much else. It's not a sport that lends itself well to television. I figured it was a sport mainly for old people, and figured the track would be festering with people waiting to break your legs if you did not give them a share of your winnings.


When we got to the casino/racetrack, I felt like I was walking into a movie. I thought Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci were going to walk by. But first, we went up to the grandstand area of the track, which was fully enclosed and air conditioned. It was in beautiful shape. We made an error by going far too early for the live racing, which I really wanted to see. I didn't want to leave the track without betting on a horse. Still, we had a few beers and had a good time as we walked the casino floor.


As we walked the floor, it was obvious that the commercials you see on TV for the casino are a bit of a misnomer. Instead of young, beautiful people and high rollers, it was full of older people smoking cigarettes and playing the slot machines. I blew 10 bucks on a slot machine and decided that slots weren't my game. Yet, I did enjoy watching people play the blackjack table. It seems that the table games attracted a more contemporary clientele. The dealer also offered to show me how to play, but I declined as I wanted to go home without putting my family in hock. I felt like I should have been walking around in nice threads and lots of jewelry! Next time, I might play a craps table just for shits and giggles.


We did go back up to the track to place some bets on the simulcast races from around the country. Since we weren't going to be there for the live horse racing, I decided to place a bet on one of the races at Belmont Park. It was just a two dollar Exacta on the 8th race at Belmont, which only had 5 horses in the field, so the payout was not going to be good. But, the horses I bet on finished 1-2 and I can happily say I won my first bet on a horse race! I won 60 cents lol! Still, it was a win! It also taught me how the sport worked. When you are watching a race where you or a friend have a bet down, it is a lot of fun! Also, the horses are amazing to watch in action as they are incredible and beautiful animals.

Horsies! The little child in us all loves horsies! Annnd, they're off! Photo by Eric Kalet

All in all, it was a wonderful time, and I enjoyed hanging out with my co-workers. It was great to bond with them as you almost spend more time with the people you work with than your own family and friends. You might as well do the best you can to make the most of it with them.


I actually feel very loyal to my office now, even though for a while I have been trying to get out of it. Not anymore. I have people who like me here and my best chance for a promotion is in this office. My co-workers and I go to war every day in a very high stress position and we have to be able to have moments of release and if we bond as people, it will make the tough ride easier when you have good people to shoulder the burden with. In my band, I consider my two bandmates brothers for life and I will remain eternally loyal to them, no matter what. I feel the same about my friends here at the job. Loyalty is a quality that is sorely lacking among many people these days. Some people will want to drop you from your lives for the most stupid and petty bullshit. I'm not like that, I don't give up on anyone. My faith will not allow me to, and my moral code will not allow me to. I am eternally loyal to my faith, my family, my friends, my band, and the people here at this job. I have a future here and I want to see where it will take me.


So, 2018 remains the year of exorcising demons, and even though it has been a slow and painstaking process, another one has fallen and another goal has been met. Now, to deal with the biggest monster in my closet...unresolved child hood traumas I have been running away from for years. I feel that monster will be the toughest to slay.

Minivans are cool, dammit!

"Thank you, driver, for getting me here (too much, Magic Bus)
You'll be an inspector, have no fear (too much, Magic Bus)
I don't want to cause no fuss (too much, Magic Bus)
But can I buy your Magic Bus? (too much, Magic Bus)"
The Who-"Magic Bus"


My father was a major petrol-head and it is safe to say that it rubbed off on me.


I was playing with Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars before I could walk. If it was summer and the TV was on, a NASCAR or Indy Car race flickered off of our cheap television. My mom drove a '66 Pontiac GTO while she was pregnant with me, so I probably felt the need for speed even when I was in utero. I could spell the names Richard Petty and Cale Yarborough before I could spell cat. I had a slot car track. My dad took me go-karting and to Saturday night races at Silver Spring Speedway.


Cars were always the coolest thing to me.


However, while muscle cars, race cars, and sports cars will always be a four wheeled work of art to me, I can appreciate a good car or vehicle just for what it can do and what tasks it can accomplish.


Yes, I do enjoy regular cars.

When you work the kind of jobs that my wife and I do, where your take home pay barely takes you home, you grow to appreciate regular cars, because that is all us ham and eggers in the working classes can afford. Since we have been married our driveway has had several different cars to our name. In the last 9-10 years, it has been the same two: a silver 2009 Chevrolet Aveo, which is just a Chevy in name only as it is a rebadged Daewoo (Korean marque), and a 2006 Chevrolet HHR. We've been down the roads many miles in both of these cars and have been through good times and bad in them and planned to hold on to them as long as we could. The Aveo is still with us, and even though it's air conditioning is broken and the seat belt warning light flickers on and off EVEN WHEN I HAVE MY SEAT BELT ON, it continues to potter along 105,000 miles and counting.


But the HHR is now in car heaven, or the scrap heap. A few weeks ago, a careless driver turned into the side of the HHR while my wife was driving home from work. Andrea was OK, thank goodness, but the HHR was totaled.


I am sad that we had to say goodbye to our faithful little retro wagon, but in retrospect it was a mercy killing. While the engine was as strong as ever, the radio did not work, the mirror kept falling out of the sun-visor, and the interior did not hold up well. It was starting to look pretty worn and it was time for a change.


So, with the help of cars.com, we located a 2008 Kia Sedona minivan at Faulkner Subaru in Harrisburg. My hopes were deflated at the moment, because I wanted a fun little hatchback like a Ford Focus or Fiesta. My inner Jeremy Clarkson was depressed. A minivan. BORING! Clarkson once said that a minivan was for someone who has done their breeding and has served their biological purpose, and was now waiting to die.

However, as much as I love him, I am not Jeremy Clarkson. I have my own mind and can speak for myself, and I say I FUCKING LOVE MINIVANS!


For a middle class family like ours, a minivan is a magic bus! A party wagon! Fit up to seven of your closest family and friends in comfort. You get a cup holder, you get a cup holder, everyone gets a cup holder! Dual zone climate control, baybay! Even if you are in the back, you get your own air conditioning. I'm in a band, so for the boys and I this is a godsend. Plenty of room for us, and the back can swallow all of the gear we need! No more stuffing drums in to a small four door sedan for me, thank you very much!


One of the best things about it is the fact that unlike the HHR, you can see out of it! Acres of glass and windows that aren't restricted by gargantuan pillars. I feel like I have room to move and breathe. Plus, there is a little table between the front seats that can hold all of our food when we hit a drive-thru! The radio works! Yes!


This will be the perfect vehicle for long trips, grocery runs, band gigs, and fitting the whole gang in for an outing. Also, when you have a minivan, be prepared for people to ask you "Hey, I have this new desk, and I need to pick it up. Can I borrow your van?" Yep. If a friend has moving day, be ready because you will be volunteering. You have a van. You can carry stuff.


Sure, it's 10 years old. Sure, it's not the latest model. Sure, it doesn't have an aux jack or USB ports. Who gives a flying shit? I don't care too much about all of that tech crap anyway. I listen to CD's. I have a Garmin. Yes, tech gizmos are cool, but they can't get you there from here. Also, all newer minivans seemed to have shrunk. The ceilings are lower and they are lower to the ground. That means you can do less "van stuff" with them. Our Kia does not have this issue.


We love it, and that is all that matters, and we look forward to a long and fun relationship with our Kia Sedona. Yet, I am sad that we can't paint one of those bad ass murals on the side that vans in the 70s had. One can dream, though.


Now, who wants a ride in our magic bus?