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?

Longing for the English countryside...I might have distant relatives there.

"Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox
Gone to ground
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer, making for the sea
In the lazy water meadow I lay me down
All around me golden sun flakes covering the ground
Basking in the sunshine of a bygone afternoon
Bringing sounds of yesterday into this city room"
Pink Floyd-"Grantchester Meadows"

The British countryside. I long to one day see it with my own eyes instead of just seeing it on television. It's dramatic beauty has touched my heart.


In addition, there is a strong personal reason to set off on a journey to England, but more on that later.

First, I need to say something.


I have nothing against city life and more power to anyone who likes to live that way. There are many advantages to living in a thriving metropolis as opposed to a sleepy country town. Yet, the disadvantages are many. Most notably, everything is packed in close together, there's lots of pollution, noise, and crime. Sure, it's nice to visit the city and get caught up in the adventure of it all. I could not live that way though, full stop. Noise and chaos versus peace and tranquility? Peace and tranquility wins, no question.

You don't see views like this in the States. Magnificent

Yes, I do love country living. I love the wide open spaces and the acres of farmland that bring us God's bounty. I love the starry nights and the sound of crickets chirping. I love sitting on the back porch with a cuppa and staring out at a patch of land that belongs to you. I love seeing my daughter play with her friends in the huge field behind our house. I love going to the local greenhouse and the local farmers market. I love having to use a tractor to mow our grass. Everything just feels more down to earth and real in the countryside.


There is a difference between country life in the United States and country life in England that makes me very jealous of our former motherland.


The baggage.


The pastoral lifestyle (pastoral meaning "country") in the United States is often ridiculed and maligned, and honestly, I can see why. Country folk in the USA are mostly seen as ignoramuses who drink beer all day and say "YEE HAH!" and are not very tolerant of different views and lifestyles. While I personally know that it is just a stereotype, there is a lot of truth to the stereotype. Dilapidated houses, auto parts in the front yard, news stories of people cutting off a man's beard and forcing him to eat it...you name it, it seems to have happened. The "redneck" stereotype has ruined the allure of country living in the eyes of many. Sadly, many "rednecks" wear that name as a badge of honor.


In England, the lifestyle is a complete opposite. If you are a country person in the UK, you are seen as a dignified gentleman farmer or landowner who takes pride in his crop, his family, and his community. Country towns in the UK appear to be elegant yet simple with family owned restaurants, simple but nice accomodations for travelers, and pubs that seem to put the nicest pubs in the USA to shame. In those towns, everybody knows everybody. Country life and sophistication go hand in hand.

I want to go to England and visit a country town and stay there for a few days. I want a taste of the sophisticated country life that I have gotten a glimpse of in the hit British mystery series Grantchester. I want to see the beauty that was captured in pastoral Pink Floyd songs like "Fat Old Sun" and "Grantchester Meadows". I want to take a walk to the village square, have a pint at the local pub while throwing a game of darts, sit in a field and listen to the cows mooing and the sheep bleating and the chickens clucking. I want to walk in a meadow and feel the morning dew on my fingers and smell the tall grass. I want to fish in the Cam. I want to take a trip to Cambridge and see the university and walk where intellectual giants once walked.

The Green Man pub, Grantchester

I want to see ancient castles, to be awed by the majesty of the White Cliffs of Dover. I want to touch and feel pieces of ancient history, to connect myself with my ancestors. Yes, my ancestors.


I never thought much of my last name, Bankes. For years, I have hated it with a passion. No one ever pronounces it right. Some of my longtime friends even have trouble with it. It was twisted into laughable terms by schoolmates who disliked me. Having a grandfather who was a fall down drunk and a father who was successful in his own business but could not escape his inner demons and ended up taking his own life made me feel that no one who has ever carried my last name amounted to a hill of beans. Hell, sometimes I think the fact that I have this last name is a curse towards the band I am a part of. For many a moon I figured this last name was the last name of mediocrity.


Then, one day, I Googled my last name and found out that a family with the last name of "Bankes" was an important family of aristocrats who lived in the south of England, most notably in the town of Dorset.


WHAAAT?


Yes. According to Wikipedia "The first (Bankes) family seat was in Corfe Castle which was destroyed during the civil war when the Bankeses, who were cavaliers (royalist followers), were besieged by parliament forces. After the return of King Charles II the Bankeses again rose to political power. Their new home, built at Kingston Lacy has survived until the present day, under the guide of the National Trust. The family vault is located in the Church of Wimborne Minster, not far from their Kingston Lacy estate. In the late 19th century the Bankeses built a summer beach house at Studland in Dorset. The manor house as it is named is now a hotel. A large pub in the village, frequented by beach visitors, is known as the Bankes Arms Inn. The family church, St Stephen's is on the far edge of the Kingston Lacy estate at Pamphill. The road up to the church is lined with a row of trees planted in 1846. The 19th century rebuild of the church replaced a decaying ruin of a church that had existed since 1229. The church has several monuments dedicated to the Bankes family, as well as a window and five pews decorated with the family coat of arms."


So, people with my family name lived in Corfe Castle, which was built by William The Conqueror. They controlled large portions of land throughout Dorset and were a prominent family for over 400 years. They built and lived in an extravagant home that is protected by the National Trust to this day, which is Kingston Lacy. A pub and a hotel bear my last name in this town.


Oh. My. Goodness.

Bankes Arms Hotel. My last name....always mocked, mispronounced, and made fun of...on a hotel?

My last name is not very common. I have a strong feeling that I could somehow be connected to this family by a very distant relative. I could come from aristocratic blood. After discovering this, I do not have the strong feelings of hatred and dislike towards my much mispronounced last name. I have a mission now, to get to England and visit Dorset and try to discover a part of my roots. It burns within me like a lust in my body.


So, you could say that making a journey to Dorset, England is not just an excuse to see the English countryside and seaside. It has become personal. I pray I can do this within the next few years, before I am too old. Yet, despite having a passport and having conquered my fear of flight, I still have a small fear of crossing an ocean in an airplane because at least over land you can set the plane down if you have a problem. I would love if my family could join me as well, because they have that name via marriage and my beautiful daughter has part of my blood coursing through her veins. Plus, my wife and I have always considered visiting England high on our list of European countries to visit.


No wonder the English countryside is calling to me! There could be a long lost family connection to be made and a history to be learned about, and a birthright to be claimed.

Testimony (Part 1)

"Did I promise you a sky
Where rain would never fall?
Or did you listen to a lie
Did you radio to base?
I waited for your call
But you left without a trace
But I could stop your plane (stop your plane)
From drifting out of range (far away)"


Threshold-"Pilot In the Sky of Dreams"


A few years ago, I planned to write a book about a very important milestone in my life, but I never got around to it. So, I feel like sharing the condensed version of that story right now. I feel the time is right to do this, and I feel anyone who reads this, even if they don't share my views, will still find it worth a read to see where I am coming from.


It's my testimony. You might as well cue WWE Hall of Famer D-Von Dudley saying "OHHHH TESTIFYYYY!"

D-Von Dudley as Reverend D-Von. TESTIFY!

If you are not familiar with churchy or religious lingo, testimony is when someone tells the story about their faith journey and what led them to their relationship with Jesus Christ.


As for testimony, I have given chunks of the story over the years, but never the whole kittenkaboodle.


You are reading a "diet" kittenkaboodle.


Here we go...


I was born on July 24th, 1976 at Holy Spirit Hospital in Camp Hill, PA, to Catherine and Anthony Bankes. My mother was raised by a strong Methodist household and my father was raised in a dysfunctional and down on their luck Catholic family. My mother's side of the family lived fairly comfortably in Wormleysburg, PA, while my father's side of the family lived in near poverty in Lower Paxton Township, PA, in a house that resembled a tenement. At the time I was born, my parents lived in Harrisburg, PA, near John Harris High School (now Harrisburg High School) in a two story apartment. Mom was employed by Dauphin Deposit Bank and dad worked for a roofing contractor, as well as part-time as a mechanic.


For years, I thought I was baptized as a baby into the Methodist church, but years later I found out from my mother that my parents never baptized me due to a small dispute over what faith I should be baptized in. My father wanted me baptized into the Catholic church and my mother wanted me baptized into the Methodist church. Because all of this happened when I was an infant, I obviously have no recollection of it, so it remained a mystery that I would not discover until 2007.


So, once my parents moved out of Harrisburg and into my grandmother's house in Wormleysburg, I was taken to church on Sundays to St. Paul's United Methodist Church on Front Street in Wormleysburg. My faith, or my first impressions of faith, were received in that old brick church. Those first impressions were not good ones. All I knew about church at that early age was that you could not have any fun there. My neighborhood friends went to that church too (other than the Church of God on 2nd. Street, St. Paul's was the only church in Wormleysburg, and it was the biggest), so I always wanted to play and horse around with them. Nope, not allowed. Just sit in Sunday School and learn about some guy named Jesus. Then, go upstairs and sit with your parents and listen to some guy talk about this Jesus guy, and stand up and sing the hokiest songs I ever heard. Even at that early age I decided that most church hymns were not my bag.

This book had some very lousy hymns in it. As a child, I hated seeing it.

Good night nurse, I hated church hymns with a passion throughout my youth and singing those flaccid lyrics as a child made me dislike church even more. The church building itself also lent to my dislike of going to church. It's walls were white on the inside, and the carpet was a deep dark red. The pews were hard and uncomfortable. The stained glass windows were simple, and it was a very plain sanctuary. It felt like a school or a prison and not a house of worship where all were welcome. The people who went to the church also did not help the cause. Everyone seemed so uptight and strict. One church member went ballistic when a few Sunday school students and myself rang the church bell just to see what it sounded like. All we wanted to do was play, and the people who went there looked like they never had a day of fun in their lives.


Then, there was this Jesus fellow. At around the age of 8 or 9 I started to question whether he was real or not. Even at that age I was questioning everything. How did Jesus do all of these amazing things? Why is he only documented in this book called "The Bible"? If he died, how did he come back from the dead? Why did so many people follow his teachings so blindly? If he was someone who believed in love, why did the church goers seem so joyless and strict? Why was the church against anything that us kids would call fun? This Jesus dude just seemed like a major sourpuss to me, and just reminded me of a rigid authoritarian who loved to whip his children into shape. Follow his teachings? Forget it. I'd rather watch MTV.


My parents were not avid churchgoers, but my Mom always held a staunch belief in God and hoped that her son would believe in him too. I never talked to my dad about faith, because the subject never came up when I was growing up. It was always sports and other things with dad and I. In fact, religion was one thing I never talked about as a child, because I literally had no interest in it. However, in a conversation I had with my mom at the age of 11 or 12, I recall telling her I did not believe in God because science could not prove his existence. After that, it was no more Sunday church services for me.


Yet, there was an influence in my life who never gave up in trying to get me to be a good Christian. It was my aunt Esther. She was probably the most devout Christian I had ever known, but a woman who seemed like she never had a day of fun in her life. When I stayed with her, it was prayers before every meal, even though I did not care. She insisted I go to Vacation Bible School classes during the summer, and at that age when an adult tells you to do something, you don't have a choice. She never married and I don't think she ever even dated. If there was a Methodist version of a nun, she was it.


However, even she did not succeed in getting me to tow the Methodist line. So, my family wisely gave up on faith formation with me. I was overjoyed. Besides, faith was for old people who had nothing better to do in my mind. I had too many other fun things to do, like ride my bike, play football and baseball, and watch TV. I did not need church, and I did not need this Jesus dude in my life.


Around the age of 13, I met a friend who swore like a sailor, but was a good dude, and I started hanging out with him a lot. We became like brothers. Me, coming from a background where my dad could swear a blue streak, made me want to talk like my dad. However, my mom forbade me from swearing.  So, I began cursing in conversations with my friends and I still do to this day, but I was really fond of saying "Jesus Christ" and "God Dammit". Now, when I would say those words around my friend, he would tell me not to say those phrases around him. That experience taught me not to say those particular curses at all, up to the point where even as an agnostic teenager I would tell people not to say those words around me. You could say that was the first time anyone "ministered" to me in a way I could understand, instead of telling me through some boring Bible story or a cheesy hymn.


I didn't really know anyone who was a strong, church going Christian in my age group. Most of the neighborhood kids were out causing trouble on Sunday mornings instead of darkening the doorstep of a church. It was a thing to me mocked, to be made fun of, because it was not fun and it was not cool. To me, I also think rebelling against church was a small way to be the rebellious and bad ass youth that I wanted to be but wasn't allowed to be.


Frankly, if all church was to offer was boredom and austerity, I did not want to be a part of it. While I had no open hostility towards Christians, I wondered how anyone could be so moronic and simple minded to believe in an invisible guy in the clouds watching over us. I felt bad for them. In my childhood, all things scientific were of interest to me, and there was no scientific proof of God, so he did not exist to me.


(Bear in mind, I am looking at past events with the gift of hindsight. Please do not be offended if you are a Christian at the strong language I use. That is me looking back at how I felt at that time.)

Don't be offended. This is how I felt at one time. I have to be honest.

Until I started attending community college, religion was not even a thought to me. It simply did not hold a place in my life. It was unnecessary, it was just window dressing. Other than a use of the word "God" in a news article I wrote for our school paper before graduation (and I have no idea why I used the word to begin with as I was not spiritual in the least. Maybe it just felt right for what I was writing as I was trying to write something poignant), spirituality did not mean a thing. It was an alien world to me.


In community college, more specifically Harrisburg Area Community College, I started to morph into the person everyone nowadays is familiar with. I started to grow my hair, became more interested in the heavier side of music, got my first leather jacket, started smoking, and became friends with the most interesting people I could find. I was able to start to be that person I always wanted to be. The bad ass. The rebel. I did fine in my studies for the first two semesters, but then I became more interested in socializing, so I was basically wasting my parents money.


However, in college, I would meet a few people who would introduce Christianity to me. A couple were solid examples, a few were not. A seed was planted though, yet it was a seed that would take a long time to be watered and an even longer time to bloom.


...To Be Continued

A typical work day...

"Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up I noticed I was late
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Made my way upstairs and had a smoke
And somebody spoke and I went into a dream"
The Beatles-"A Day In The Life"


What is a typical day?


Lately, it has been a struggle for survival and a struggle to keep your head above the water while fighting the tide.


I challenge anyone who deals with this environment day after day to keep a positive attitude. You can't. Unless you are injecting yourself with serotonin infused heroin I doubt anyone would be able to keep smiling after the day is done here.


So, what I have decided to do is to take you through a typical "day in the life" of a "normal" weekday. Maybe then, you will understand why it is such a challenge to keep a sunny disposition. You will get the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.




La la la la la.

4:45 AM. I wake up. Why do I wake up so early? Well, my Dad was always an early riser due to his roofing job and I guess it rubbed of on me. I get up early on work days so I am not rushing around and have some time to relax in front of the television. I cannot rush around in the morning. It is too
stressful. I have to have that "buffer time".


6:15 AM. After showering and dressing, I go upstairs to say goodbye to my wife and daughter, and our dog. Both are still asleep usually. I leave at this time so I do not have to fight traffic going into Harrisburg. While I love where we live now, the biggest thing I miss about living on the East Shore
was the quick commute, and no bridges to cross. At times of high traffic volume, bridges become bottlenecks and waiting 'til 7:00 AM to leave for work usually means arriving late, despite having an hour to drive only 7 or 8 miles.


6:30-35 AM. I arrive in the parking lot at my building. I sit inside the car for a little while listening to the radio. I used to listen to my favorite albums, but after I had a few days of bad luck at work and arguments at home when I would let myself relax and enjoy music, I do not do that anymore, so
it is usually a local talk station. Due to superstitions and bad things happening, hell, I rarely listen to rock, metal, or prog music anymore at all other than when I am playing it in my band or practicing. I so want to let myself go and enjoy music again, but I keep thinking what if this will be a bad day, or something bad ends up happening? Lord, please help me find a way to enjoy what I love again.


6:40 AM: I walk into the building. It is also difficult to keep a smile on your face when you see the group of people who come to work here every day. It also doesn't help that we have armed security guards at our building. These same people see our faces every damn day and recognize us, but still ask to see our badges. It makes me feel like a criminal. Honestly, I know they have to do it and it is their job, but still, as someone who is a strong believer in common sense and logic, it still annoys me. So, thank you Al-Quaeda and ISIS.


6:45-8:00 AM. I nap at my desk while listening to a podcast, usually a talk show I am a fan of or a wrestling podcast.


8:00 AM. I pick up secure materials from a secure area. The fact that I am the guy chosen to do this gives me a sense of pride. It means they trust me. It is also the beginning of the day, officially. (NOTE: Forgive me for being vague in certain things. I am doing that to protect my duties and what we do here)


8:00 AM-9:45 AM. This is the time of day I am the most productive. It usually flows pretty well until...


9:39 AM. Surprise meeting with no warning. Usually it is to discuss something pointless, like a fundraising campaign. Yesterday it was some "employee recognition" malarkey. We were all given stainless steel travel coffee mugs to show appreciation for the "good job" we are doing. To me, it's just another version of the cheap gold watch. Want to show us appreciation? Hire more people. Streamline the process. Give us a raise. If you are going to have a meeting: schedule it, so we can plan our day around it and not have our work pattern interrupted. As the 1980's R & B hit by The System goes, don't disturb this groove.


10:30 AM. I am handed something from the executive offices that needs done ASAP. I'm working on something important for a customer that really needs me to come through on. I have to shelve my important task to work on something "more important" because it is a "priority". I don't think it is right that another area can hold so much power over another to the point that we have to take their words as gospel and do their bidding immediately no matter what. Bye bye groove, hello stress.


Noon. Lunch. I usually take a nap or write during that time.


1:00 PM. Someone from another area comes up with a task that needs to be done right away because a customer is waiting for it. Once again, it seems like someone is getting special treatment. The other person waits and hovers over me until I am done, even though hovering over me makes me nervous to no end and reminds me of my school days when someone would sneak behind me and hit me or start to beat me up. To this day, I still jump a foot when someone comes up behind me. Now, I am really on a short thread.


Throughout the day: Customer phone calls. Many of them come from people who do not know how to clearly read instructions. Some are from people who are waiting for something and it hasn't came yet. Some yell. Some scream. Some threaten your life. Precious few are understanding. Even precious fewer are thankful for your help. All of them are stressful, and some of them are outright scary and nightmare inducing. I have had nightmares where an irate customer tracks me down and murders me, no joke.




2:30 PM. Our supervisor comes up to us and tells us to stop what we are doing, because management has a task for us that needs to be completed by the end of the day at all costs. It almost seems like the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Usually it is a mistake another area made that we need to fix. Did anyone in the other department have to fix it? It is their mistake, after all! Once again, we shelve everything we do just to concentrate on one thing.


4:00 PM. Frazzled and stressed to the point of madness, I finish the aforementioned task. No thank you, no job well done, no raise for going above and beyond, no recommendations for promotions. I'm drained and hating everyone by this point. Thank God 4:30 is the end of the day.


4:30 PM. I get in my car to fight the army of other commuters on the way home. Once again, I don't play any music like I used to because I don't want to give myself bad luck and have something bad happen on the way home or at home. God, I wish I could just relax and enjoy music again.


By the end of the day at home, I am totally drained of all motivation and don't want to see anyone but my family. I usually have a screaming headache and my neck is usually in great pain. This job has made me very introverted and not wanting to deal with people, even though I love meeting new and cool people.


After dinner, a few hours of enjoyment with my family is all I get, including an hour of "me" time where I practice, play games, or spin a record, until it is time for bed and the whole routine starts all over again. It seems like we spend more time at our jobs than we do with our families. That is wrong.


Some may understand and sympathize, some may not. But now that you know what a typical day is like, maybe you will at least understand. I hope that you do. This job has pushed me to the point of almost contemplating suicide, but it beats sitting in an unemployment line. If you want to know what makes me a happy employee, here it is: give me a task to do and leave me to it. Don't bug me or bother me. Don't micromanage me. Our old supervisor made us work hard, but never micromanaged us. We were so well oiled as a machine we could run ourselves. Now, we are micromanaged to the hilt. I'm to the point I think I need a stronger anti-depressant. I also think I need music back in my daily life, but then stressors and bad luck need to stop whenever I try to enjoy myself for me to spin lots of music again. Music truly makes me happy, so I can't associate it with bad moments in my life.


I also pray once again for patience. I do not like being this person that I become when I walk through these doors. Outside of them, I try my best to be friendly, caring, compassionate, quietly strong, and charismatic. Inside them, I am moody, temperamental, snippy, quiet, and guarded. I know God wants me to be the best I can in all parts of my life. That is why I hope I can keep trying to make a change for the better.


I am tired of drowning here in this sea of overloaded work.