Four Decades of Love and Vinyl

I'm not sure I have it in me to write the way I used to but I'm going to give this a shot because I need a distraction from the plethora of one-sentence stream-of-consciousness status updates I do on Facebook.

For the past several weeks I've been seriously into vinyl records again and rediscovering some old classics that I had when I was in my teens. It's bringing back a flood of memories.

Music has always been such an important part of my life. In fact it was the most important part until love came along and bumped it into the #2 slot.

It really amazes me how much the world has changed since I was a teen. I always had a number of pen pals -- mostly in Europe. We would exchange letters and occasionally cassette tapes so we could speak to each other and share music. It was a slow process and is positively archaic in this day and age when I can connect with Europeans, or anyone else, in real time.

During the 70s I had a friend in the Netherlands who gave me my first introduction to Queen. I came to love the band and quickly had collected their first 6 albums -- News of the World from 1977 being the sixth and my least favorite thanks in no small part to the opening tracks "We Will Rock You" and "We Are the Champions." The two prior releases, A Night at the Opera and A Day at the Races were hard to beat.

In 1978 I left home and went off to college with a stereo system and crates of records in tow. The University of Arkansas had a radio station on campus and one day I noticed they were in need of some DJs. I went to a meeting which was sparsely attended and was given the opportunity for 2 hours per week during a night shift, from 12a -2a if I recall correctly. This was such a great experience! I had access to a vast library of music and being able to share what I wanted to play with a lot of other people was a dream come true. (OK, so the reality is there were probably not more than 15 or 20 people listening to the station! And even though it was FM, they were not even broadcasting in stereo at the time.)

Prior to each shift, the DJs would go in early and start assembling the records for their playlist. New releases would arrive frequently and those were always targeted. I will never forget sitting there at a table flipping through a stack of albums and suddenly my heart stopped for a second. There it was: the new Jazz album by Queen! I have no recollection of which song I played from it though.

From 1979 into 1980 I was discovering punk and new wave music. And I'm not sure who wrote the rules, but I was under the impression that all old stuff had to go to make room for the new. It was no longer cool to be a fan of Queen, Deep Purple, Rush, Jethro Tull or the countless other icons of the 70s. All of that got unloaded and suddenly I was starting over with bands such as the Ramones, Gang of Four, Sex Pistols, and Siouxsie and the Banshees. And I eventually had a collection that would rival what I had collected during the 70s!

Little did I know while I was spinning records over the air in 1978, in five short years my musical tastes would have changed drastically and I'd be living in London working at the HMV Shop -- one of the world's greatest record stores -- on the 3rd floor though, where VHS tapes and computer hardware & software was sold, along with a couple of racks of these new things called "compact discs."

I bought my first compact disc there before I even had a CD player! Scores of LP records were also purchased. Suffice it to say that whatever I was earning at the store was getting pumped right back into the tills and then some! I didn't actually have a hi-fi system in London so all the LP records were just being accumulated for when I returned to the States. However, I did buy a Phillips CD player (in 1984 that was $400, by the way!) into which I could plug headphones and get my music fix that way.

Right before I left London, I acquired a top-notch amp and set of audiophile speakers to go with my CD player, and arranged to have this shipped to my home in Arkansas. There it was united for the first time with my turntable and I had the best of both worlds.

By 1986 hard rock and heavy metal were making their presence felt in my soul again. (Lord, do I even need to go down this road?) Suddenly I was losing interest in so much of the music I had been collecting since 1980 and was fondly remembering all the records I had collected during my youth and wishing I had so many of them back such as the early Led Zeppelin releases.

It was a strange era as I was still straddling the technology fence. I still had a lot of vinyl I knew I'd never want to get rid of, and I was also buying new releases in the CD format when I could find them.

In 1987 I set up a big yard sale of LP records and CDs, as well as my London-purchased CD player since I had recently acquired a new one. The technology was still relatively new at the time so most of that stuff sold pretty quickly and for a decent price. I raised enough money to fly back to London for a couple of weeks and visit the old stomping grounds.

By this time the HMV had expanded their CD selection considerably! In fact, vinyl records only comprised a small section on the ground floor!

I look back with some level of embarrassment at my actions through the years. It's fine to get rid of things if you are sure you no longer want or need them, but in so many cases I was unloading music because I didn't think it was cool to own it, not because I had really lost interest in it. (I have never regretted selling the Controversy CD by Prince; that I can assure you.)

After 1990 I had found love in the form of another man, and music started to ride in the back seat. Not long after we met, when we were still living in our first apartment, my beloved audiophile amp got spiked during a rare electrical storm in Hollywood. Not having the funds to replace it, I bought a basic run-of-the-mill SONY all-in-one tuner & amp. That probably wasn't the best pairing with my $1500 speakers but it worked. And I was strictly in the CD realm by this time, and did not own a turntable. Yet I clung to 400 vinyl LP records like they were family jewels. Thankfully I never had to move them much since we only moved twice in Los Angeles before coming to Austin in 1997.

Another revelation was hitting me during the decade of the 90s: it's OK to like multiple genres of music. Wow! You mean, no one is going to think I'm uncool because I like punk and jazz, hard rock and Joni Mitchell? Even a little country here and there? The CD collection was soaring and probably surpassed my vinyl LP collection during that time.

I'm thinking it was around 2000 when I started hearing a buzzing in one of the tweeters. My prized audiophile speakers from London were dying. I can't help but wonder if this wasn't in some way related to me pairing them up with that SONY amp/tuner for several years.

The man who lived for music was suddenly reduced to listening on a Bose Wave desktop CD/radio or on the CD player with this surround-sound system used with the television. And it seemed OK since I'd already lost my high-end amp a decade earlier.

A couple of years went by and I decided I wanted to take steps to get back to the original audiophile sound I had enjoyed so much from 1984 - 1991. Being unsuccessful at getting the English-made components repaired in the US, I bought a new amp and a short time later a new turntable, both made in England like my original setup. This did not get used as much as I expected because I was still lacking speakers, and this setup was not compatible with the Bose stuff. I would occasionally put on headphones and listen to a record or a CD, but that clearly was not the end result I was so desperately craving.

It's been less than 2 years since I finally bit the bullet and ordered two high-end speakers to complete my heavenly system. So to put this in the proper perspective, I, Mr. High Fidelity snob, had gone from 1991 all the way into 2009 without an optimal listening apparatus! And it was even more astounding when I was able to compare the new system with the sound that was coming from the Bose system. I had no idea how much sound I'd been missing! To be fair to Bose, that system is just fine for movies and other television programs; it just wasn't delivering the music as well as I wanted. (I've since completely disconnected the Bose system and I'm even running TV programs through the hi-fi speakers now.)

From 2009 until the present I was enjoying some of the vinyl from my collection but I was mostly still playing (and still buying) CDs because of their "superior sound" and because no one makes records these days, right? After getting the new speakers, I did splurge one last time and got a truly high-end CD player. You can argue amongst yourselves whether that was a wise move, and whether the sonic difference is detectable versus a $100 unit. If nothing else, it'll likely last a lot longer. And I'm a high-fidelity snob, remember? How would I ever impress another audiophile snob if I had a fantastic system hooked to a $159 Onkyo 6-disc CD changer -- even if it features Vector Linear Shaping Circuitry?

The real irony here is that I've also become reunited with the act of purchasing vinyl again, and not just used vinyl, but some new releases. Among my recent additions are: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix by Phoenix, the debut by Vampire Weekend as well as their Contra LP, The Chemistry of Common Life by Fucked Up, and some oldies such as a reissued box set of the first five Grateful Dead albums, Hemispheres by Rush, A Day at the Races and A Night at the Opera by Queen, and Alice Cooper's Muscle of Love. How's that for uncool diversity?

Thanks to vinyl I have also added another genre to my favorites list: rap/hip-hop! Some NWA and Public Enemy that would absolutely be among my top-10 albums of all time! I have more to say about this but will save it for the next post.

And did I mention I just found an original issue of Queen's Jazz? Sadly, it was missing the big original poster of the naked fat-bottomed girls preparing for the bicycle race, but we can't have it all.

They all sound positively mind-blowing on vinyl. In fact, I may never buy another CD if at all possible. What a long strange 40 years of musical transformations this has been.

Falling From Religion

I'm not sure why I spent so much time earlier in my life searching for a religion that was right for me. In my 20s I basically explored every aspect of Christianity before abandoning that altogether.

As I entered my 30s and got my first real job in the advertising industry 20 years ago in Los Angeles, I worked for a company whose founder and several employees were involved in the Hindu religion. They were great people and were passionate about their religion.

I attended a few events and ceremonies in an effort to give that a whirl. It seemed like the last best chance. The spiritual leader would swing through town two or three times a year and I looked forward to attending a service in his presence.

The first time I saw him I was rather surprised at his child-like qualities. At one point during the service he unexpectedly began throwing candy at the devotees. And I don't use the word "throwing" lightly. I mean he was hurling candy at us like there was a large cash prize for any injuries sustained!

After a few more weeks of careful consideration, I decided to opt out. There were too many rules, too much obsession, or devotion, if you want to call it that. Clearly, it was not right for me.

I like to attribute my departure to Ella Fitzgerald. One evening as I was driving to a satsang, I had the radio set to my favorite jazz station and heard Ella. It wasn't the first time I'd heard her sing, but the particular song resonated with me in a way that few songs do.

At that point I decided I'd rather do a U-turn, skip the satsang, swing into Tower Records, and buy that CD! And then I went home. I have never had a calling for any particular religion again since that night.

There is an Austin connection to all this. The owner of the ad agency was a major figure in this group, and was a key financial contributor as they acquired land outside of Austin and began construction of the temple. She also established a 2nd advertising agency in a building on the temple grounds. Devotees at the Los Angeles agency began their exodus to Austin in the mid-1990s.

As I was getting tired of the LA rat race, txrad and I made the decision in 1997 to take positions at the agency on the temple grounds and we moved here. We bought the house we live in today primarily because of the proximity to the temple. It was a short 9.5 mile commute to work.

That agency is no longer around and I've had 5 other jobs in advertising since I left there. I've also seen a number of my friends who were hardcore devotees drift away during that time which I thought was rather surprising considering their earlier intense feelings about it.

Maybe they had a hunch that something was amiss with the guru. I don't know for sure, because I've never discussed it with any of them. Let's just call it a "touchy" subject.

God Bless Ella!

When Babies Grow Up

Life is full of surprises. My favorites are when you learn something rather special about someone you knew long ago...just one of those simple "oh, wow!" moments.

Yesterday I was chatting with a friend on Facebook about the school we attended in the early 70s. I dug out some old photos from the era and sent them to her. She then relayed an interesting tidbit.

The woman you see pictured below on the left was one of my teachers in junior high. I took that picture of her in May of 1974. Two years earlier she had given birth to the woman on the right.

The daughter's name is Laura Day, and it seems she went on to make quite a life for herself, including a national television debut as a designer on Trading Spaces.

Laura's journey from Southeast Arkansas to Manhattan has been filled with interesting twists and turns. She was born on August 28, 1972 in Pine Bluff, Arkansas and was raised in nearby Dumas (farm country of the Arkansas Delta), later moving to Little Rock. Growing up, she rode horses and spent most of her time outdoors. Laura has traveled extensively through Europe and Asia and lived in many U.S cities like San Francisco, New Orleans, Martha's Vineyard and, of course, New York City. You'll find traces of the places she loves in her colorful and unusual takes on design.

Very cool.

By the way, that triangular arm you see on the left happens to be attached to my mother.

This Blog Is 4...Only 4?

How old is that in blog years?

Honestly, I feel like I've been maintaining this thing for something like 10 years. That's not to suggest I don't enjoy it. As with life, there are days and weeks when I've been very excited about it, and other stretches of time when I'm so busy and uninspired creatively that I can't do a post for days.

It has been an important and much-needed outlet for me to get things off my chest from time to time as well as to share some humor, and express a little creativity from time to time. Entering the world of blogs as I did in early 2006 was also a great step which enabled me to get to know a lot of truly wonderful people. I must give credit to two blogs for inspiring me to start mine: Shakespeare's Sister and Pam's House Blend. Shakespeare's Sister (which has since evolved into the blog "Shakesville") particularly could be considered my inspiration point and the place where I met the bulk of my circle of virtual friends, starting with those who were contributors to that blog at the time, and many Shakers in comment threads.

That flash point of excitement for me seemed to stretch for a decade. And yet, the reality is that it lasted maybe 20 months before all kinds of shit started to hit the fan. But I value the friends I have made far more than I can adequately express.

Other highlights for me during this span of time include being asked by Pam Spaulding to guest blog with a few other Blenders during a time when Pam was out covering a political event, if I recall. Honestly, I was nervous as hell having the keys to the coffeehouse and hoped I'd do a great job and not let her down.

It was also a tremendous honor being asked by Melissa McEwan if I wanted to be a contributor to the Big Brass Blog. And I was blown away by the support I received from many after being nominated two years in a row for a Weblog Award. Never won in voting, and knew I wouldn't, but it was a memorable blast!

All of this happened within the first year of my starting this blog. But by 2007 I was going through a major job change after not being able to keep my own business operational. I had to focus a huge amount of energy that year on an overwhelming workload and responsibility with the new job.

By the end of 2007, I was unemployed again after a major client moved their advertising to another shop. It wasn't until the summer of 2008 that I landed back on my feet and the time between then and now has been a blur. Maybe that's why my four years of blogging seems like so much longer: there's been a lot happen and a lot going on during that time! In some ways, I feel like the 12-year-old child actor who got one starring role in a film, and got caught up in the excitement and the attention, and then it vaporized. The real world requirements trumped the superficial newness and glamor very quickly. However, I still get a feeling of excitement whenever I'm linked to by Crooks & Liars!

Gone are the days of Weblog Award nominations; gone are the days when I thought I was trying to build a major blog, or even a minor one. (Also gone --as in deceased-- are a few bloggers with whom I had the pleasure of working.) This blog is simply a personal diary now for the most part. But if you want to stay along for the ride, be my guest.

I am looking forward to year #5 and I promise, next year, I won't eat most of the cake before I post it.

Kona's High School Reunion

My high school reunion is today. For me and my graduating classmates, it marks 32 years. Hard to fucking believe.

I almost wish I was there. Especially if it could be like this.

Somehow, I suspect it would be way less glamorous.

And a tad fake with a lot of effort...

But if I really wanted to make it like 1978 never was...

I'm kinda glad I stayed home.

Tell kona all about your high school reunion horror stories!

You Oughta Know

OK. Here we go. My brother was born damn nearly 13 years before me. And then I was a "surprise" baby. (A mistake, some would say.) Now here's my question. How did my parents in the 50s avoid having more children (and not intending to have more than one, and I have to commend them on that)? They weren't exactly what you'd call birth control fanatics (assuming that was an option in the 50s on SE Arkansas), and I would stake my stock market holdings on the fact that my mother never would have had abortions, so how did they do this? Did he pull out a lot or did they just not have sex?

Come on, I need to hear from my peeps about how this shit works!

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Back when txrad and I first moved into our first apartment together in Los Angeles, I was working and he wasn't. (Gee, kind of like now!) Our apartment manager must have had some connections to the film industry because she got him involved as an extra in an Ice-T music video shoot. He ended up on the cutting room floor.

In the late 1980s when Mike Nichols was shooting Biloxi Blues in Fort Smith, Arkansas I went to a casting call for extras and got selected. I was living in Little Rock at the time so it was a long haul over to the site of the shoot. I may have stayed at a Motel 6 for a day or two. I can't even remember.

My biggest moment in the film was during the theater scene. I was running late that day. When I showed up, all the other extras had already been transported by bus to the site where filming was taking place at Fort Chaffee, a military training facility just outside Ft. Smith.

I was kicking myself for lack of punctuality and thinking I'd really blown it. But I did have full unrestricted access to the snack table of various fruits and other goodies, and I suspect that was for the principals, not the extras.

Soon I was escorted to a room to have my hair buzzed again. This happened a week or two earlier when I was selected to be an extra in the film, but apparently my hair had grown enough to require re-militarization. There were only three other people in the room besides me: my groomer, and another groomer who was working on the actor seated behind me, and that actor happened to be Matthew Broderick. I was about to shit myself. He was having fake five o'clock shadow applied to his face.

After this we were both transported to the room where the theater scene was being shot. As we arrived, all the other extras were present and seated. It was a big room filled with extras. I expected, being late, that I'd be in a back row. Instead I was escorted down to an empty seat near the front about 2 or 3 rows behind where Broderick was placed. I've always wondered how the hell that happened.

In the film, I am clearly visible for several seconds as the camera pans back and forth in the theater scene. I am munching on popcorn.

Anyway, what brought all this up was that I just asked txrad about his experience as an extra. He thought the Ice-T video was low-budget and not very well coordinated. They didn't give them any detailed instructions on what to wear or anything. And I said, "Oh, you should have been an extra in a decent budget film like I was."

Upon selection as extras, we were taken to a big old army barracks building where we had to dig through boxes of military attire -- and I'm specifically referring to garments that would not even be seen on camera. Like....underwear. Yes, I had to pick out an army green wife-beater to wear under the shirt I was given to wear. Can't remember the socks but I'm sure those were in character as well. Crazy.

It's kind of weird knowing that you are out there, and a few million people have probably seen you, and will continue (in decreasing numbers) long after you are gone. When I'm watching any film, I tend to notice extras because of my experience, and wonder why they got involved, how they got involved, whether they did anything else film-related, or just went on with their lives?

Which leads me to a Question of the Day. Who saw Biloxi Blues and did you have any idea you were having a konagod moment? :-)

I probably would have been given a speaking part in the film, if only I'd been fluent in Italian Spanish. (Yeah, Litbrit, I studied both, but you'd never know, would you?)

Countdown to Extinction

I was thinking about life today and probably wasn't in a very good frame of mind while ding so since it was during work hours. But I decided that life is just a waste.

Kids are spending an insane amount of money these days, going into deep debt just to get an education in order to be productive members of our system, paying taxes, and contributing to our growth, which incidentally is probably going to stop at some point.

Between the time they graduate college and start seriously approaching retirement age, they will only participate in four census counts, or to put it another way, vote in ten presidential election cycles. And they should consider themselves lucky to still be alive by then. And if they are really lucky, they'll get another two census counts and/or four or five election cycles after that. And then presto: that investment dissolves and nothing is left behind but memories and money. If they were wise and successful.

Speaking of the census, I first started digging that after the 1970 census. I became obsessed with population data and could reel off exact figures for many cities during my teen years. Ever since then I have eagerly awaited the next census to see how cities have grown or shrunk.

We have one coming up next year, and it's only the 4th one since my obsession began in my teens. By the time the next one rolls around, I'll be retired, if I'm lucky enough to be alive. And I will have voted in 3 more presidential cycles.

I keep wondering if anything is ever going to change in a positive direction in that regard. I think not.

What a waste.

Anyhow, I plan to be counted as a Travis County resident in 2010. One in a million or so.

The Autumn of My Disco Tent Discontent

It has been awhile since I've had the creative spark required to write a post of any substance whatsoever. Several events of the past few weeks have caused me to become very introspective. My 85-year-old mother's health is up and down with several visits to doctors in the past couple of months, and another one scheduled for next Monday.

My brother, who is 62, is saddled with a lot of debt and having his workshop and residence foreclosed upon this month. I have no idea what he's going to do. We've been doing a lot of communicating via email and I suppose there are things he wants to share since we're all getting older -- things like my grandfather being gay. That was a bit of a shocker.

My grandfather died while my mother was pregnant with me in late 1959. My brother would have been 12 at the time I guess. His first wife (he went through three of them) was my grandmother and during my growing up years, she was something of a magnet for gay men. Apparently, that was not something which just suddenly developed in the 1970s. It would have been interesting to have known my grandfather had he lived long enough for me to retain any memory.

My father was very much into photography and passed that hobby to both of his gay sons. He had a darkroom set up at our home for developing pictures which was quite a long and drawn out process involving the use of negatives, and then a light source to project the imagine onto special paper. The image was still not visible until it was placed in a tray of some noxious chemical liquid which would allow the image to develop on the paper. Once the image had reached the desired level, the paper was then transferred to another tray of liquid which would stop the developing process. The photo was then hung to dry and he'd move on to the next negative and repeat this process. This really makes me appreciate digital cameras although aesthetically, the quality of my father's black and white photos was astounding.

He would later purchase a slide projector and a projection screen and we all began buying color slide film which had to be shipped off to be processed. Through the years I snapped a lot of pictures. I took my camera on many trips to Europe and my one trip to Israel and Jordan and captured many slides.

A few years ago my brother gathered up all the dozens of boxes of slides which were stored at my mom's house and took them to his place. He bought a slide scanner and managed to get quite a few saved digitally by 2004 -- photos from the 60s and 70s, but none of my trips overseas yet.

I have been in a state of heightened anxiety about the fate of these slides now that my brother is facing eviction. Last week I was planning a drive to Arkansas to pick them up. Unfortunately my brother was going to be out of town on some work project so I had to cancel my plans. And in a way I was quite relieved at being excused from a 9-hour drive to Little Rock, and then another 3 hours the next morning to the northeast corner of the state. Instead, he's going to keep scanning while he's still living there, and presumably, will box everything else up and ship it on to me at the last minute.

Aside from all that, I've had some sporadic back pain which I know is partly caused by stress, and also by an improper seating arrangement at my desk (which has been corrected), and probably by a mattress which is not suitable for me. It cost quite a bit of money to improve my seating comfort while working. It may cost even more to improve my sleep situation. But hey, I spend 8 hours in the bed and another 10 hours at my desk. It would be money well spent to improve my life in those 18 hours a day.

It's Like Christmas Eve

And Santa Claus is coming tonight... not to give, but to take away. George W. Bush will be moving to Dallas (aaack!) and we will be living under a new administration after 8 years of pure hellish tyranny. I can hardly contain myself.

Back in 1984 in London, I bought one of these black sleeveless shirts which Bono wore. Mine had "U2" plastered across the back of it. Yes, I was a slave to marketing I suppose, even though I bought it in a counter cultural flea market, not a corporate chain. Not sure that makes a difference. It was still buying into something, elevating a mere human band to a level of adoration which I suspect did not benefit the band at all.

A few years earlier I'd driven from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Kansas City for a U2 concert before they were really big. It was in a venue known as the Uptown Theatre if I recall. And it was an old theatre. I walked in, and stood near the front of the stage until the band appeared. At one point I reached out to Bono and he grabbed my right arm at the elbow, and his sweaty slippery hand ran down the length of my arm to my fingertips.

I'm ready to get this show on the road. Enough with the honeymoon. Let's make some change happen. And if it doesn't, or if it's not the right kind of change, let's raise some hell.

Punk & Shallow

That's what I used to call pink and yellow when I was a kid. At least one of my favorite colors. And maybe two.

innocence mission

Question of the Day

Did your high school class take a senior trip and if so, where did you go and what was the freakiest thing that happened?

I don't know why I had a sudden flashback to this while eating lunch yesterday. There were at least a dozen of us piled into several vehicles for the very long drive from southeast Arkansas to Orlando. I'm not even sure why I went except that it was a chance to get away and maybe have some fun.

There's actually very little I do remember about the trip. I honestly can't even remember if we went to Disney World. I remember riding down there with a guy named Bobby in his Trans Am. I remember drinking quite a bit. I remember having a Tequila Sunrise.

At the time I was very self-conscious about my appearance and didn't think wearing glasses was cool. The glasses I had were definitely NOT cool, so I was wearing contacts.

Any younger readers here may not know this, but back in those days (1978) contact lenses were made of the same shit as aircraft windshields. They were hard and they were not comfortable. They would sometimes pop out if you blinked, and they dried out very easily.

After a night of drinking and partying well into the wee hours of the morning, I could not wait to pop those things out and rinse them with tap water just for some lubrication. I wasn't at the hotel so I had to pursue the only available option. There was so much crusty yellow stuff around my dry, bloodshot eyes, I had trouble even getting them out, like they were glued in there. And I swear I think there was even a trace of blood in my tears. One of my friends took one look at me and said something like, "Dude, did you drink too much because you look seriously fucked up."

But this wasn't even the freakiest thing that happened.

We were sharing rooms to cut expenses. Two beds in the room, two guys per bed. Now before all your minds start roaming, let me cut you off right here: nothing happened between us. I found the guys in my class to be such a turn-off sexually I didn't even want to sleep in a room with them, let alone in the same bed with one of them.

Now, early one morning I was trying to get some sleep and the other three guys were yacking about something, other people were banging on the door, some coming in, some leaving, girls and boys alike. It was a little awkward for me because what if I needed to get up? I was just in my underwear. So were the other guys who were up but it didn't seem to bother them.

As I lay there with my eyes closed I felt the bed rumble as someone got in it. Then I heard a rather husky girl's voice, trying to get me awake. I pretended to be too groggy to open my eyes even though I had been fully conscious for at least 20 minutes.

At this point I felt a hand pulling my underwear down to my knees, and that got me on the move! It was Charlene, one of my classmates. I pulled my shorts back up and bolted out of bed in a flash, grabbing a shirt and my jeans as I ran to the bathroom.

It's kind of funny how much more you learn about people when you spend some time with them (not to mention alcohol consumption) far away from parents and school. And I wonder how many suspicions about me being gay were confirmed right then and there.

Flashback 18 Years

It was on this day in 1990 when my life would change forever. However, at this exact moment 18 years ago I was a single guy still looking for the love of my life. Little did I know, my wait would only be another six hours or so.

I had only been living in San Diego about two months. But I knew I agreed to move there with a friend because I had a hunch I'd meet my soul mate on the west coast. I was getting a little antsy after 2 months because I've always wanted instant gratification.

My mood was so-so as I got ready to go out with my friend to a dance club called Metro in the Hillcrest area. We got there, had a few drinks, I danced for a bit, and then I sat down at a table alone on a dark side of the bar. I was facing a dark wall. I wasn't having a lot of fun. I just sat there nursing my drink until I happened to notice a person standing very close to my table.

I must have looked up at some point to see his face and had eye contact. I looked back down at my beer as my heart began to race. He was cute! And he was standing close enough to touch. His hand was dangling at his side close to where I was holding my beer. I reached over to touch his hand and he did not recoil.

Our pinkie fingers entwined. At that exact moment, I remembered why I moved to San Diego. And I had found what I wanted.

In Santee, California. September 1990.

And 18 years later, I'm still single in the eyes of the law. Just thought I'd mention that fact.

Crossposted at B3

Joe Just Emailed Me

And I thought, "uh-oh, he read my blog." This is not so far fetched. Back when I was a teen I wrote a rather scathing letter to the editor about a senator in Arkansas (he was appointed, not elected, to fill out the rest of a term) and I insinuated he must have been bribed somehow for a vote he cast. I won't go into details because this was back when I was a hardcore Republican and thus, a pretty stupid 16 or 17-year-old.

Lo and behold, the phone rang on our farm one evening. My mother answered and then passed the phone to me. "It's [the senator]," she said.

My heart jumped into my throat. I don't remember most of the conversation but he was trying to figure out what the hell would put such thoughts into a teen-age head and how could I make such accusations. But I didn't let him intimidate me. And I stood my ground because at the time, I believed I was right on the issue.

I was dead wrong on that one.

That, my friends, in no way diminishes the fact that senators and representatives are facing such "bribes" on a daily basis from corporate lobbyists pushing their agendas. But I digress.

The email from Joe was simply to pass along this video, and to say "I'd like to thank you for the warm welcome I've received as the newest member of this campaign."

Obviously, he didn't read my blog.

In the name of unity (and hopefully the obliteration of the McCain/Whatever ticket), I'll pass it along.

God, I Love Texas

Before you think I'm drunk, or that I've flipped out and joined the Republican Party, let me assure you neither scenario is true. It's just that I've been doing some research.

Those of you who have followed this blog closely for the past year or so probably remember a post here and there about credit card debts which happen to be delinquent and have tarnished my once stellar credit rating. Since I am embarking upon another post on the subject, I want to review a few facts so nobody thinks I'm one of the people who ran out and bought too many shoes, or a Ferrari, and now refuses to face the music.

Prior to starting my own company in 2004, my credit was impeccable. Back in the 80s I did clearly live beyond my means which wasn't hard to do considering my means at the time were a string of unsteady cashier jobs in university bookstores, or whatever. By the time I "grew up" and got a job as a data entry clerk in 1991 at an advertising agency, I was probably swimming in $30,000 credit card debt. I wasn't behind on payments, but I was certainly struggling. I'm sure my mother was helping fill in any financial gaps which is why I was able to make minimum payments.

My data entry job in advertising quickly turned into a career after a few shorts months and soon I was making a $22,000 salary instead of $18,000, and not long after that, it climbed by another few thousand. It seemed to take forever but I eventually paid off that credit card debt.

For the sake of brevity, I'm leaving out a few details -- like the time I had nearly paid everything off and then fell off the wagon and started spending again. But with a higher salary it was easier to pay it off quicker.

I still cursed myself by buying things I didn't necessarily need. And even though I got the credit card spending under control, that didn't stop me from buying a BMW 330i in 2001, nor did it stop me from trading it in for a 2003 model because I didn't like the sound system in the 2001 model!

What's important here is that I accepted my problem, my taste for quality goods and services, and I paid my debts. They were my personal obligation.

Things were great in 2004 when I started my own agency after being approached by a client who wanted to do business with me. It was a busy year and I was happy I had finally done the ultimate. I utilized my experiences in the ad biz and went out solo. By 2005 I had paid off the car loan and my only credit card bills were being paid in full each month.

Unfortunately, this great big-spending client was starting to spend less and less. I had essentially taught them what they needed to know (or so they thought) for them to begin easing the purchase of television advertising time into their own business, thus cutting me out of the picture.

They were not my only client, but they were the only one that made the venture remotely profitable. And I use the term profitable very loosely. It paid a meager salary for myself and txrad which combined was probably not much above the average household income in Austin.

This other client was a chronic late payer. I was having to purchase the media for him, and wait sometimes 6 weeks or longer to be paid for it. This goes against the mantra in this business which is CASH IN ADVANCE. Anyone who deviates from that policy will sooner or later face a calamity. But he wasn't the actual client; he was just a middleman between me and the client who was advertising the product. And his arrangement with the client was 30-day net terms, not CIA. And that's all he could offer me, and because I was desperate to keep any business, I went along with it, all the while hoping another big piece of business would come through the door. There were a lot of decent leads over the course of a year but none of them came to fruition.

I was also engaging in some highly risky behavior involving what is known in the business as a "pay per inquiry." It was important to have a variety of media inventory on hand for the current client(s) but they were not obligated to approve it. And often, they might approve it and then disapprove it just a few days before it was scheduled to go on air. In that scenario, I have two choices: let it air and not be paid by the client, or tell the station I can't air it and therefore will not be paying for it. Neither option is very good if you plan to keep a viable agency up and running. The stations could get pissed off if this becomes a trend and they won't agree to work with you in the future. Because they have to resell the time, close-in, usually at a loss because it's what's known as a "firesale."

I didn't want to turn this post into an advertising seminar so let me just say I was between a rock and a hard place very often. My way out was to keep the time period and offer it to another agency as a "pay per inquiry." They agree to pay me a fixed amount for each lead generated and I have to hope like hell it's enough to cover what I paid for the time period. Sometimes they would pay out quite well. It's too bad I wasn't keeping closer tabs on this because the majority of the time they weren't paying shit.

Now you may be wondering how I was funding all of this, paying our salaries (which I had now cut about 30%) coupled with a client's increasingly delinquent payment schedule. My agency was a class C corporation. I specifically formed it as a corporation to protect my personal interests against any number of nasty things that might happen when you are in a business situation with other clients. Again, sooner or later, somebody gets sued for something. It happens all the time in this business.

My solution to funding my business was to apply for company credit cards, and you can imagine I was getting a lot of offers in the mail. $20,000 credit limits were being dangled in my face by various banks and I took them up on the offer, often applying for the cards online. One of my big mistakes was assuming that the corporation was solely responsible for those debts since the corporation is a legal separate entity from konagod. A big hint to those still reading: read the fine print. And who reads fine print, especially when doing something online? I needed money and fast.

This went on for many months and by 2006 I had not only cash advanced every dime I could get from the "company" credit cards, I had begun getting large cash advances on my own credit cards (and one of txrad's) to loan the company. Once in awhile, we'd have a good spurt of luck, the client would send a check for $5,000, maybe another $5,000 the following week, and I was able to make some minimum payments on the cards and still fund the company. During the last quarter of 2006 I think I could see the writing on the wall and I began having the company pay back as much as it could afford on the loans I had made on my personal credit cards, but there simply wasn't enough coming in.

From November through December of 2006 not a penny came through the doors of our agency. And I had stopped paying our salary as of mid-November. The client told me his partner had disappeared and cleaned out their joint business bank account. This did not bode well for us. I was in denial through the holidays and into New Year's Day. But I distinctly remember waking up on the morning of January 2, 2007 and saying to myself, "this company is done and we are fucked."

I had not been able to make payments on the corporate credit cards, and any amount I had been able to pay was probably at the expense of another. And here I was holding about $40,000 in debt on my personal cards which I had to stop paying because we had no income.

The next two weeks were spent trying to piece things together and wondering what to do next. By the middle of the month, I had received a tip from a friend who worked at a large ad agency in town that they were looking for someone to work on an account, basically doing what I had been doing on my own, except I wouldn't need to worry about the accounting nightmares, I wouldn't be paying the bills, and they would pay my salary! So off I went to interview.

As you might suspect, this is the job I had from January 29 until I was laid off on December 21, placing advertising for that large telecommunications giant which I shall not name. It paid well and I thought I could at least make payments on my personal credit cards which had piled up so much debt from my loans to my agency.

It was a "temporary" position, not a permanent job, so I had no benefits, vacation accrual, or any of the regular perks. Just a great hourly wage. I didn't know if it would last 3 months or 3 years but I was thankful to have it.

I made minimum payments on those credit cards for 2 or 3 months until I got a call one day from a representative of a bank which had issued one of the corporate cards. She wanted to know when I was going to pay it and I informed her the company had basically had to shut down and I wasn't sure when or if it would be up and running again. I told her it could end up in bankruptcy if I could not collect the past-due funds from the deadbeat client.

Then she dropped a bomb on me. She said, "you are personally responsible for this debt" as indicated in the cardholder agreement....fine print...blah blah blah....

I was going into a daze. Here I was thinking my personal debt was "only" around $40,000 when in fact, if what she was saying was true, it was far worse. And this time I would not be able to pay my way out of it. I contacted another financial expert ex-colleague who confirmed that was probably the situation with each of the "company" credit cards.

So here I was, a guy who had always paid his debts in order to maintain a trophy credit rating, facing the obvious. I wasn't sure what I was going to do but in the meantime I decided to stop paying the minimum payments on those personal card balances. I figured if I'm liable for all of them, I have to look at it as one massive debt that I cannot pay right now. No sense in trying. I made this decision last August. We are approaching the one year anniversary of our delinquency.

Something else happened last August to cement that decision. That's when I learned the telecommunications giant put the media account up for review, meaning it was probably going to depart by the end of 2007. Money that would have gone to the credit cards began going into my savings account. And honestly, I do not feel guilty for doing this. I have to look after konagod and txrad first.

Shit hit the fan at the end of the year. txrad (who had also become employed at the same agency with full benefits in March of 2007) was laid off in November. I was laid off in December. I was hoping this was all just a big misunderstanding and the client would come back with their tail between their legs and we'd get hired back again.

I had saved up enough money in those 5 months to not be concerned about the immediate future. We could coast for awhile until we found the right jobs, and we were collecting unemployment. I began hearing rumors in February that I might get hired back to work on a different media campaign if it came to fruition as expected in March. But this kept getting delayed. March became April, April became May, and then maybe it would happen in June or July. Or not at all.

It gave me enough hope for the future that I felt comfortable spending our nest egg on home improvements: the new roof, windows, and painting. Because if the job didn't materialize, we'd probably need to sell the house and move. And yes, I could have split that money up and paid each of the credit cards a fraction of what I owed them. However, a new roof was essential and honestly the windows were maybe a year away from essential, and who knows if I would qualify for credit to borrow the money to pay for that project. Logic dictated I spend the cash and get it done.

Meanwhile a different position opened up at the agency in May -- the one I took and started on May 12. The pay was far less than I have usually made when in the employment of others. It barely covered the most basic monthly expenses we have. And txrad is still unemployed. Needless to say, this is why I felt I had no choice but to take the job I accepted and started on Monday of this week. It covers all our overhead (which is a HUGE relief) but very little more.

Could I afford now to start paying $500 a month on the credit debt? Probably.

But here are a few reasons why I'm not (yet anyway). It would take 25 years to pay off the debt at that rate. I'd be paying it off when I'm 73. And something about that idea makes me extremely angry. Angry enough to write a blog post this fucking long.

This is all tied in with a corporation and a lot of bad stupid decisions by a corporate executive and a bad decision by konagod to loan the corporation money. This is far different from me personally going out and racking up a $10,000 credit card debt on a much-needed vacation and a few trips to the Crate & Barrel.

Besides, why should I pay through the nose for bad corporate decisions when I see corporate executives at many Fortune 500 companies basically getting by with bloody murder and often getting dismissed with a nice severance package. They get in their 750il and cruise on home to their mansion in Westchester County.

So, I may have digressed a bit from the title of this post. Why is it exactly that I suddenly love Texas?

One of my biggest concerns is that one of these banks is going to sue me and garnish my wages. And instead of having a job that covers my overhead, I'm back in the same leaky boat I've been in for the past 3 years. I suppose I can cast aside that worry.

The Texas Constitution prohibits garnishment of wages for payment of debts. Certain property in Texas is also exempt from collection in an effort to satisfy debt. Our house cannot be taken, my car cannot be taken as long as I only have one, my IRA account cannot be seized. I'm sure there's not much else of value around here that could be seized. No diamond necklaces, no speed boats or yachts that I can see, they can't seize the four shirts I bought today from Goodwill for $21.61 nor can they seize my cats. And as long as I don't have more than 120 chickens, they can't touch those either.

And this does not make me a bad person. If I had an extra $170,000 sitting around here in a shoebox perhaps, I'd more than gladly pay those debts, and take the tax-deduction for my personal losses on the loans to my company. It'd be worth it to get these annoying fucks to stop calling my cellphone 18 times a day. Which, by the way, I could put a stop to when I'm so inclined.

And they have started calling the phone I had put in just barely a week ago for business. That IS going to stop.

I could put a stop to them mailing me letters as well. But I don't care about that. And really I don't care if they keep pinging my cellphone. I don't want them to feel like I'm completely unreachable because that's when they might decide to speed up the legal action.

In the meantime, I also learned today that Texas has a 4 year statute of limitations on legal action related to such debt. After four years of delinquency, they can't sue you. I have three left.

Unfortunately, you can bet your ass those banks are aware of Texas law. Whether they want to incur the cost to sue me remains to be seen. They are more than welcome to have these 4 four-drawer filing cabinets filled with old agency paperwork.

If they are wise, they'll just wait until (and if) I have the means to pay them. The last three years have been tough. The next three might be tougher for all of us, and them.

Blister in the Sun

True change begins when we can reshape the horrendous attitudes possessed by some of our youth, and of course that's a direct reflection of the parents in most cases.

I caught a few minutes of Bridge to Terabithia tonight and I can honestly say it reminded me of the attitudes of many Americans, especially voters.

In other words, one particular kid in the classroom annoyed the hell out of me.

Leslie Burke: What if you don't have a TV?

All: [laughing]

Leslie Burke: My dad says that TV destroys brain cells.

Scott Hoager: Your dad doesn't know anything. We watch TV like every day!

Leslie Burke: I rest my case.

Mrs. Myers: Well then Leslie, you could write a report on something else.

Scott Hoager: Yeah, like how to live in a cave!

Some people just never grow up after adolescence. That was but one example. There was another annoying little red-headed brat that needed a good thumping.

txrad and I started talking about school and he mentioned that study hall in his school was a reward you had to earn. Wow. What a contrast to the pathetic little all-white Christian academy I attended.

Study Hall: It's what you do to the kids when you don't have time or resources to teach them.

Then I brought up university life. Not all colleges are equal; that's for certain. I spent a bit of time bouncing back and forth between the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and Little Rock trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with myself. College was a bit of a jolt for me. With each campus having well over 10,000 students, life was different. The adolescent behavior which was present throughout high school did not exist here. (Well, not in the classroom; dorm life and frat houses were another matter!) Suddenly I bore responsibility for my life. Everyone, including myself, had to make new friends.

What I really wanted was to experience some life outside of Arkansas for a change. So one semester I had applied and was accepted at the University of Denver. What a colossal mistake. I'm not saying it's a bad school but dorm life was a big contrast to my previous experience. My roommate was this New Yorker, the son of a cop if I recall, and he had a bad-ass attitude. And he smoked pot.

If you are wondering why I'm complaining about that, keep in mind that I was still emerging from a very conservative upbringing and I was still trying to make of myself what I thought other people expected of me. I had no clear directives and felt adrift. I realize now what I was looking for was less responsibility; I wanted to be guided and I wanted a strict environment that would not allow me to deviate. I had also dragged along some conservative emotional baggage from home and I wrongly assumed that since the University of Denver was affiliated with the Methodist Church, it would be a place far from home yet familiar.

Not only was I unpleasantly surprised by my first impression of the students I met upon my arrival, but the cafeteria food sucked. And that was the last straw. I called my parents and told them I had to leave, and I painted a rather unflattering portrait of the school in an effort to diminish any resistance I might face from my parents. I can't imagine how many thousands of dollars they had to scrape together to get me enrolled.

I packed my stuff, got in the car and headed back to southeast Arkansas. I will never forget the sense of relief I felt as the Denver skyline faded from my rear view mirror, and later, the front range of the Rockies would fade, leaving me in the barren rolling plains of eastern Colorado and a whole lot of Kansas ahead of me.

When I arrived back at home with my parents I felt lost and faced a lot of uncertainty. It was late in the first week of January and the prospect of a wasted semester fueled my anxiety. As luck would have it, and I use the word luck very loosely here, the University of Arkansas at Monticello wasn't starting their spring semester until the following week and getting admitted there was pretty easy. Best of all, the campus was only 30 miles from where I lived with my parents, so I could commute each day and save money on housing costs.

I was not thrilled with this outcome because this was not a large school -- probably about 2,000 students -- and the majors offered were very limited. But since I was still a sophomore and taking only basic required classes, it didn't matter.

My first week of classes was an eye-opener. Talk about a contrast! If what I wanted to find was the familiarity of high school, I hit the jackpot. The students here all seemed to know each other and many of them didn't seem that serious about college. The professors were also noticeably more like the high school teachers I'd known.

It became clear to me that one semester of this was going to be quite enough, and in the summer or fall I'd return to either Little Rock or Fayetteville and try to get serious again. I don't remember which campus I went to first, but as before, I bounced between the two of them before finally getting the easiest possible degree in Liberal Arts, with the least amount of effort, and after nine years of being in and out of colleges. My parents must have been proud of me after squandering so much money on a degree which was worth about as much as the parchment on which it was printed. (It's in a drawer around here somewhere.)

To cut a long story short, all of this was flashing through my brain last night after catching a few minutes of the aforementioned film which, ironically, we shut off in order to watch another high-school themed film, Rocket Science.

It was just last week that I mentioned having seen The History Boys and loved it. In the comments, Minstrel Boy recommended Rocket Science.

There's nothing like the feeling of seeing a film and immediately looking forward to a 2nd viewing. As one who was definitely an outsider in both high school and college, I could relate to this film on so many levels.

It's also just quirky and offbeat enough to score valuable bonus points which will rank it pretty high in my list of memorable independent films. And the use of music was brilliant. If you have seen the film, I'm sure you'll understand why I selected the title of this post, even if it took me a while to get to the point.

Have We Got Our Freedom? No, No, No.

This blurb in Saturday's New York Times surprised me. Seeing Deep Purple’s 1973 hit “Smoke on the Water” at the top of a poll of greatest guitar riffs of all time was a shocker.

Don't get me wrong. I was a huge fan of the band... HUGE! But it started when I was about 12 or 13 which is not always a good omen (a couple of years earlier I was really into the Partridge Family and during the Deep Purple days I was fanatical about Three Dog Night!) and I always thought the band appealed to me for some inexplicable reason aside from simply possessing talent. They had what I thought was a pretty unique sound at the time. Raw, gritty and tribal. I also think the very heavy use of the organ set them apart from most of the other bands I liked.

One thing about Deep Purple that always made me categorize them as a 2nd tier band was that I wasn't equally fond of every album they released. If I recall correctly, Machine Head was the first album I bought, and I remember where I bought it: in the very small album rack at the "dime store" in my home town. I think I paid $4.97 for it. I just remember being thrilled to see something in the rack that I wanted as opposed to something like The Carpenters.

I'd heard earlier Deep Purple music on the radio and I'm not sure if I'd even heard "Smoke on the Water" when I bought the LP. That would soon change of course, and it was never my favorite song of theirs by any stretch of the imagination. I was frequently a bit befuddled by which songs on an LP became "hits" and rarely did it sync up with what I considered to be the best. I guess that's one reason why my record collection never included any "Greatest Hits" LPs although one could make the argument that Fleetwood Mac's Rumours was a collection of greatest hits even if it wasn't marketed as such. But I digress.

I later expanded my collection of Deep Purple LPs to include Fireball, In Rock, Burn, Who Do We Think We Are, Made in Japan, Come Taste the Band (absolutely hideous album art!), and Stormbringer.

And honestly, I can scarcely remember any tunes from any of those latter five albums. In Rock was pretty good but again, it would not have ranked in my list of desert island faves. Which leaves us with Fireball.

Great balls of fire that was HOT! I loved every damn song on the album, had to listen to them from start to finish as if it were one long piece and I would revisit this album in my college years and fall in love all over again.

The title track which was the first track on the LP came on so hard so fast it would always cause the needle to skip on my crappy turntable. I finally learned to put a penny on the tonearm to help steady it -- a technique which sometimes, but not always, worked for the opening track on Alice Cooper's Killer, a tune called "Under My Wheels." (Drums might be the culprit.)

Anyhow, after reading about the music poll of greatest riffs in rock & roll, it got me thinking about my favorite Deep Purple album and I found a video clip of them performing "No, No, No" live in 1971. As a young teenager I was dismayed that I never got to see any of my favorite bands so it thrills me now when I find a vintage clip.

"Looking at them all it feels good to be a freak."

Crossposted at Big Brass Blog

I Have Flair

I've been thinking of doing this post for awhile and it crossed my mind again this morning. Then after checking out Jennifer’s post today I decided we should start a trend. (You can click to embiggen.)

Show Me Your Flair!

I only have 13 pieces. Clearly I am lacking.

Do you have more than 15 pieces of flair? You do want to express yourself, don't you?

The Innocence of Children

I find it quite odd the things we remember doing as children and the things we should remember but don't, even as we're older. The innocence we all had is fascinating to me. However, I suppose if we had known in detail all the things going on around us we might have suffered trauma.

There was a girl in 2nd grade who would sometimes stick her tongue in my ear. Later she was out for several weeks due to an "accident." When she returned she had a scar across the bottom of her throat from ear to ear. She told us she fell against an open over door and burned herself. We believed it, because we were young and innocent. I often wonder what really happened. Did she try to kill herself or did one of her parents try to kill her? Who knows. Maybe she really did burn herself. I doubt it.

The tongue situation struck me as odd when it happened and I often reflect back on the sexual situations I was exposed to at an early age and wonder if that was normal, or did I just attract it. And there were a lot of sexual situations. In the same classroom there was a small double shelf for books at the back of the room. On one occasion another boy in the class came back there and stood beside me as I was looking at a book. Without saying a word he proceeded to unzip my pants, slid his hand in there and began fondling me. This was going on while the teacher was at the front of the room. I guess she didn't notice what was going on, and since we had our backs to her we assumed she and the rest of the class probably wouldn't be aware.

My parents never talked to me about anything regarding sex, or what would happen when I went through puberty. Without help from outside sources, I’m not sure when I would have figured everything out on my own. I guess it would have just been accidental discoveries, like when I was seven and discovered the pleasure of climbing the tetherball pole at school. I didn’t know what was going on; I just knew it felt good. Aside from that, I had help – lots of it, and at an early age. That makes me wonder what was going on in the lives of my friends who seemed to know a hell of a lot more than I did.

One of my cousins and his family were visiting us from out-of-state when I was seven. My cousin was the same age and we shared a sleeping bag on the floor in the den so the grown-ups could have all the beds. I don’t remember what he and I were talking about, but he reached over and began masterbating me. Either I was simply naïve to the ways of the world or else a lot of kids were way ahead of where they should have been.

I remember my mother used to take a bath with me in the tub when I was very young, probably not much more than 2-years old. She would make a guttural noise while mumbling the word "relax" -- only she would stretch it out, like "relaaaaaaaaxxxxxx." This was probably to try and get me to be still so she could relax.

It's odd that I remember this given my young age. I also remember my complete lack of interest in her body. She was my mother and that was the extent of my interest. Sure, I remember seeing her naked body, but I never recall any feeling of shame for being in the tub with her. It seemed natural, as was her body.

I never felt any shame with my own body, even as a few more years passed. I was notorious for playing out in the yard in only my underwear. And often I wasn't even wearing that much.

What a difference a few years can make. Something definitely goes awry in those five short years between 2 and 7. By the time I started 1st grade I was well on the way to discovering all sorts of things. Without a doubt I was aided by friends who had their own set of influences shaping their "values" at the time.

I distinctly remember being in the school yard at recess with a friend and we were taking turns getting down on the ground and looking up the teacher's dress as the teacher was having a conversation with someone. Obviously the teacher may not have known what was going on since her back was turned to us, but the person with whom she was having the conversation most certainly would have been aware.

At that age, I supposed we weren't thinking things through in a logical manner. Our focus was on the teacher and not getting caught, and I'm not sure it ever entered our minds that the other person was surely watching us. Wow.

I know without a doubt this was not something I would have thought to do on my own and by myself. I don't remember which friend it was who instigated this but I have a really good idea. But it must have seemed like fun staring up into that mysterious world where sunlight was filtered through her dress to reveal a pretty clear sight of some panties. Whatever. We were like daring explorers seeking out new adventure. For me, it just seemed like a funny thing to do. I certainly was not getting any other nefarious pleasure from looking at my teacher’s crotch from an unlikely angle. I’m not so sure about my friend though.

Aside from this unsavory incident, I was still pretty innocent about anything sexual but I was definitely reaching a point in my life where I was about to become more aware of my body, and my sexuality. I had actually gotten both of us in a bit of trouble when my family was over at his for dinner one night, and he and I were playing with toys in the bedroom. His mother came in, probably to announce that dinner was ready, and we were both completely naked and running around the bedroom, just playing. I will confess: I'm pretty sure I'm the one to blame for that episode. We both got a spanking and I really didn’t know why. What was so wrong with my naked body now?

He was a bit of a brat. And he is the one I'm quite sure was involved in the aforementioned glancing-up-the-dress incident. It's just the kind of thing he would have done. He also taught me a few new words I'd never heard used before, and I had very little idea what they meant, but I suspected my parents would not approve. Then one day he did something completely unthinkable.

We were playing out on a dusty road in the cotton field and he told me to come and hide with him in the cotton at the edge of the road. He asked me to pull my pants down. Both sets. And he proceeded to put his mouth around my penis. Let me remind you of our age: we were both seven.

This was perplexing to me. First of all, I'd never in my life conceived of such a thing or why anyone would do it, or want to do it. I'm also not going to sit here and lie to you by saying there wasn't some miniscule amount of pleasure involved, but it was far overshadowed by the shock and surprise of his action. I will never forget what I said to him: "You need to wash your mouth out with soap when we get back to the house."

That leads me to question -- where did I get the idea that my penis was dirty? It was probably from my mother always telling me to wash my hands after having a "tee-tee" as she called it.

It would be years before I would reflect back upon this and wonder how he had so much more advanced knowledge of things than I did. I am sure it can be partially attributed to having a sister and a brother just a few years older than him. My only brother was considerably older than me and I'm pretty sure had already moved out by this time, or was about to leave. He would have been 20.

My friend and I remained close friends for several more years. I would sleep over at his house some weekend nights and he would sometimes sleep over at mine. And sexual activity was rarely off the table. It might not have happened immediately after the cotton field surprise, but it wasn't long afterwards.

I became his.... um... bitch for lack of a better term. We both enjoyed fooling around and exploring our sexuality, but he always seemed to have the upper-hand when it came to knowledge of certain things. When I slept over at his house, we had separate twin beds, but we always ended up in the same bed. And he always assumed the dominant role, and it was my job to play the part of the girl.

I'm guessing by this time we were closer to 11 or 12 in age due to the fact that I was now getting erections during this "game" he would play. I was told to lie very still, and he would slide his hand around my crotch area, and then would do some technique with the tip of my penis that was absolutely not pleasurable, sort of like popping a cork off a beer bottle with his thumb. He referred to this as "ripping out the Kotex." And sometimes he seemed to take great pleasure in making it as painful for me as possible. I will note this was probably the only aspect of this game I really didn't enjoy. And I came to dread this inevitable removing of the tampon. I didn’t even know what a tampon was until this experience.

Even more shocking to me as I reflect back upon this is that both his sister and brother would be sleeping in adjoining bedrooms, and they had to have heard some of this transpiring. In fact, when all this first got started I do believe his brother’s bed was in the same room.

While I never blocked any of this out of my mind through the years, I certainly never dwelled on it either until recently. I started wondering why our early lives were so vastly different. Why did he have so much more knowledge than I did? And why did he need to create all these elaborate fantasies when I would have been perfectly happy if we had just rubbed our bodies together?

I'm no expert in child psychology; never even studied it. But I wonder if there may have been some improprieties of some sort on the home front while I wasn't around. Maybe he had suffered abuse from an early age. Maybe there was some sexual abuse from either a parent or his older brother.

His brother was a bit of an unstable individual with a tendency toward violence. Their father was a nice enough fellow around the dinner table, but I suspect he may have had a temper as well. In retrospect, he reminds me of that military character in American Beauty, Colonel Frank Fitts, played with brilliant and frightening precision by Chris Cooper.

My friend and I drifted apart as we entered our teenage years, and went to different schools. Within two years we were scarcely friends. My parents had enrolled me in a private school when I was 12 and that precipitated our drifting apart. By the time I was 14 we were never seeing each other and I was transferred to another school for my high school years.

He was enrolled in the private school where I attended around the time we were 16, but we had completely changed, and barely spoke. He was into the cowboy schtick and hung around the tobacco-chewing crowd, flirting with the girls and being involved in football activities. I was in a different clique entirely.

Eventually we graduated and went on our way in life. From time to time through the years I’d hear about him with second-hand information from my mother. He had married, had a child, then divorced and possibly married someone else. I’m not sure but I don’t think that marriage lasted either.

Apparently he always asked about me and supposedly once said he missed the friendship we had as children, and that he really loved me. That was kind of a strange thing for a macho cowboy to say after ten years had passed, including four years of high school in which we never had one single conversation. I’m sure he wasn’t using the word love in the sense of being in love, but rather the love you’d feel for a close friend or brother. Still, it was strange.

On my recent trip back to my hometown, I was driving around the town, realizing just how much smaller it really is than it seemed back then. As I drove past a few of the now-crumbling and neglected houses where friends and cousins had once lived, I was flooded by memories long forgotten, of events from 35 years ago which seem almost alien to me, and many troubling questions which will never be answered.

konagod: starmaker

Or maybe I was just a catalyst. Or maybe I was just an accessory to a catalyst.
I don't want anyone to think from the title of this post that I'm seriously taking credit for anything; this is a philosophical humor piece.

Last night we were watching an incredibly entertaining Motown documentary: Standing in the Shadows of Motown. In fact it was so good I stayed up until almost 11:00 watching it. That's way past my usual sleepy time.

Aside from dishing out some good history of Motown and the players, there were some very lively performances by Bootsy Collins. Meshell Ndegeocello and Joan Osborne got quite a bit of time on the screen as well as Ben Harper.

Near the end of the documentary though was a performance by Chaka Khan and Montell Jordan, who is probably best remembered for his hit, "This is How We Do It," back in 1995 and earned him a MTV Music Award nomination as well as a Grammy nomination in that year.

Back around late 1992 I was moving into a supervisory position at my advertising agency to lead a department which was responsible for tracking calls and product orders from infomercial 800-numbers and other "direct-response" commercials which also utilized the "order now" approach with a toll-free numbers to push goods and services. We were also hiring new staff at the time to help with the workload and one of the people we hired was Montell.

I was also interested in production and since we had a department dedicated to that function, I managed to get my foot in that door for a brief period. One of our clients at the time was Def Comedy Jam and we were doing a production for several commercials to promote videos of some of their rising comedians. That was probably the only pleasantly memorable experience from my brief time in the production department. I got to dabble in a bit of scriptwriting for the spots, a few lines of which may have ended up in the final creative, give or take a word or two.

It was fun because I HAD to watch a lot of video footage and I was a big fan of those very funny (but not workplace safe) folks. I also got to spend a bit of time in the editing studio as the video footage was being assembled for the commercials. I even got to meet Stan Lathan who was the director of the Def Comedy Jam and was overseeing the production for the commercials.

While the video editing was lovely, the voice-over person was not up to par. I was in the edit bay with a colleague from our production department. I'll call her Miss R. She was supervising the actual edit and I was there as a backup and as a second set of eyes.

Stan asked Miss R. if she had any recommendations for a voice-over talent as we were in a time crunch and needed to get this done soon. Miss R. thought for a second and mentioned Montell. She looked at me and asked, "Don't you think he'd be great?"

I agreed. We got him in there to meet Stan and do some quick auditions. The deal was done. He was perfect.

It wasn't very long after that when Montell left our agency to pursue his music dream. I often speculate about whether that coincidental blip in history which introduced him to the director of Def Comedy Jam helped propel him into meeting Russell Simmons, the co-founder of the hip-hop label Def Jam, and ultimately (and quickly) into an extremely successful record deal less than 2 years later.

When Montell left, we didn't have any idea if he would make it or not. It wasn't until he showed up in the Billboard charts that we knew for sure.

Those coincidental introductions and the proverbial forks in the road have always been fascinating to me. We all have them, but not all of us have such a driving motivation to recognize the right move and capitalize on it. And few of us will ever face a crossroad of such startling contrast. Luck and talent do count for something. So does having clarity and focus -- knowing what you want from life.

Just wanted to share that little bit of history. Now, about that Bootsy Collins...