The Most Responsible Irresponsible Decision I’ve Ever Made

So this happened…

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Yep.  I’m the proud owner of a Rickenbacker 360 in a beautiful Fireglo finish.  Of the Rickenbackers you’re likely to Google, it’s the popular (and more expensive) one.  And here’s how that happened…

I saw the Bottle Rockets do an in-store performance of their new album “South Broadway Athletic Club” at Vintage Vinyl on the same day the album came out.  Brian Henneman (the lead singer and rhythm guitarist) was playing a beautiful Ric 360 in Fireglo and also a Ric 12 String.  I fell in love with the tone.  I was surprised by that, as Rickenbackers always suggested early Beatles and/or Byrds to me.  Both great bands, but I never envisioned myself playing with that tone–it didn’t seem to fit me.  Brian’s tone that night showed me the error of my ways.  It sounded amazing.  I wanted a Rickenbacker.  (Also–spoiler alert–that record is going to be #2 on my Top Ten List this year.)

Then I started pricing them.  I’m not comfortable saying the number you’re most likely to see on the 360.  Google it, if you have to know.  But suffice to say, it’s a lot.  I assumed it wasn’t going to happen, but looked around enough to find the Ric 330–a slightly lesser guitar with a similar look and a safer price-range.  I thought maybe I could get that one, so I started pricing it and planning for it.

I’ve been saving up to pay off a Guitar Center credit card for a little while.  Been making monthly payments, but as a treat to myself in the new year, I was going to pay it off completely, then put a Ric 330 on it and end up just making the same payments and not feel much of a difference in my day-to-day life.  Still…the 360 nagged at me.  It’s got rounded edges and those classic Ric triangle-shaped fret markers that are so iconic (the 330 has standard dot inlays to mark the frets).  I could be happy with the sharp edges and the dots…but had to know…how much WAS the difference at my local store?

So tonight, I went to Guitar Center.

Had the 360 been on display for its standard price, I would have looked, said, “Okay, it’s that much more…” and walked out of the store.  But that wasn’t the case.  This guitar–I shall call it the Derekenbacker–was hanging on the wall for LESS than what I was planning to pay on the 330.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know how.  But that’s what happened.

I asked to play it.  I was planning to talk myself out of it.  They unlocked the harness (guitars of this level, they keep locked in a harness) and handed it to me.  I was left alone in the “platinum” room and I played it and played it and played it for a half hour.  At every turn saying to myself, “It can’t happen until the New Year.  The responsible thing is to pay off the card.  It’s still a LOT of money, that you really shouldn’t spend.  Christmas is just around the corner…”

I finally put the guitar down and walked back out into the main part of the store.  Paul, the associate that unlocked the guitar for me, said, “So what did you think.”

Brief pause…

“Well…damned if I could find anything wrong with it.”

We both chuckled.  I then stated the asking price to him.  Paul said it back to me.  I asked if it included the case and he said yes.

Christmas is just around the corner…the responsible thing to do would be to pay off the card…I should at least THINK about it a while, right?  …but that price was a number that if I passed it up and then paid MORE for the lesser instrument in a couple of months, I would have kicked myself for the rest of my life.

“I don’t know how much will go on my bank card…but let’s give it a shot…”

And the sale–inexplicably–went through.  Paul shook my hand and said, “Congratulations on your new guitar, Derek.”  I thanked him–a guy I’d just given more money than I usually see in a pile–and put the guitar in the car.

And that is how I made the most responsible, irresponsible decision I’ve ever made.  Guitar-wise, that is…

————

Side note: When I saw that the snowflakes are falling on my blog again, I clapped my hands and said out loud, “Oh the snowflakes are back!”  I set that to turn on several years ago.  They turn on and off automatically for the season and I forget about it every year.  It makes me happy to see it–Christmas and all that.  I hope it does the same for you.

Rest in Peace, Keith McCaslin

Professor Keith McCaslin was the Homiletics (Preaching) professor at St. Louis Christian College for longer than many of the people reading this have been alive.  He retired after 43.5 years of teaching–I wrote about that here.  I was lucky enough to be one of four generations of students to have him as a teacher.  I was even more lucky to have him as a colleague after I graduated.  And luckier still to have him as a friend.

Today, Professor McCaslin died.  The man who could never tell the Biblical story of Balaam’s Donkey without laughing is now experiencing full joy in the presence of the Great Shepherd.

As appropriate as it would be to simply write “Well done, good and faithful servant,” I want to do more to share Professor McCaslin with you over the next few paragraphs.  He was a man of words, so I want to spend the time to craft some in his honor.  Please join me in celebrating a wonderful preacher, teacher, and friend.

I. Professor McCaslin was a Preacher

If you knew him for more than a moment, you knew he was a craftsman of words.  Even in conversation, his words were measured and effective.  I have more than once had my opinion on an issue completely changed by Mr. McCaslin waiting until the right moment to patiently say the right words.  This was a man who made a study of how to say things.

He told me once that in part, he became good with words because he used to have a potty-mouth.  (I know that struggle myself.  I’ve just given up on mine.)  When he was a young man, he swore–those who were his students probably can’t imagine that!  When he became convicted about  his speech, he had to start choosing his words more carefully.  His words became measured and he had to find new ways to make his language stronger.

Seeing Professor McCaslin in a pulpit was like watching Rembrandt paint. Rembrandt was known for painting right up to the edges of the canvas and getting everything he could out of each of his paintings. If those paintings were sermons, they’d be signed “McCaslin” in the corner.  He thought through his subjects and worked diligently to lead the listener toward celebrating the glory he was proclaiming.  He was as well researched and well supported as he was well-spoken.  He was a wealth of information, and you could see the joy he got from sharing it–especially what he knew was the Truth of the Gospel.

It would be very easy to just talk about Mr. McCaslin as a teacher or as someone respectable.  But to really get a sense of him, you had to hear him speak the Gospel.  He preached every sermon knowing it might be the difference between Heaven and Hell for someone who was listening.  He didn’t lose sight of that–even when he knew he was preaching to the choir.  Thankfully, he made every effort to instill that into his students as well.

II.  Professor McCaslin was a Teacher

I stated already that I was a student in Professor McCaslin’s classes.  I came to SLCC in a second-semester transfer–I was something of an oddity in that way.  I hadn’t been through the first-semester classes with the rest of my class and was just the new guy in the room.  The very first class of my very first semester at SLCC was “History of Israel II” and Mr. McCaslin was to be the professor.

He missed the first day of class.  I was new, and the first class I had on my first day had a substitute.  Professor McCaslin, we were told, was out sick. I’d like to think that set the tone for the rest of my college career.

I didn’t know what to expect of any of my teachers, least of all someone who would teach “History of Israel II.”  When I finally did meet Professor McCaslin, he struck me the same way he must have struck many of his students on first impression.  He was older, with a Northern accent that had just barely faded after years in St. Louis, and I assumed he would be the stern, out-of-touch, fogey that he had earned every right to be.  What I got instead was a man who genuinely CARED about his students learning.  A man who was kind, compassionate, and whereas he expected you to do the work and gave you the grade you EARNED, he wanted the best of you.  He had to deliver a disciplinary address in one Chapel sermon and he began by saying, “I think some of you think of me as a father figure…or maybe GRANDfather figure…”  And he was right.  He was grandfatherly–kind, but you knew if he laid down the law, he meant it.

Professor McCaslin had a grading practice I greatly admired.  When he gave a test (or as he called it, when we had a “party” in class–each test was a “party”) he had the students sign the back of the paper instead of the front.  That way he could grade without bias–if he did not see a name at the top of the page, he could not give preferential treatment to any one student or grade any other any more strictly than the previous.  As a teacher, he was fair.

And maybe I just liked the guy, but I found him pretty easy to learn from.  Even on stuff I didn’t care about, I did better than I might have under a different professor.  We had to label the 12 Tribes on a map in one class and I was completely unprepared.  I had forgotten we had a “party” that day and didn’t study at all.  I didn’t even remember who the 12 Tribes WERE, much less their locations.  I think I wrote “New Jersey” on there somewhere…but I still got six of them.  Even unprepared, six of them stuck.  That’s not just a good teacher; it’s a minor miracle.

The greatest lesson I ever learned from Professor McCaslin, though, combined his preaching with his teaching.  I was in a class called “Church in the Scripture” and there was a session on the doctrine of justification.  For that session, he directed the class to take no notes.  “I’m not concerned with you getting the grade, I’m concerned with this changing your life.”  And it did.  I had already thought myself a student of grace, being familiar with the writings of Brennan Manning…but that day, in that room, upstairs in the Keystone Complex, for the first time I understood…  I am absolutely guilty of being every horrible thing I’ve ever been.  God knows I’m guilty.  God SHOULD send me to Hell–I’ve worked hard and EARNED Hell…  But Jesus steps in-between me and Hell.  Jesus as judge makes his ruling: “Your sentence is suspended.  I have justified you before the Father.  Your guilt does not matter anymore.”  Still guilty…but saved.  I am glad that I took the time to tell Professor McCaslin what that meant to me.

If you get nothing else from this post, dear reader, please take that with you–I’m not concerned with you liking this post, I’m concerned with it changing your life.  If I can relay any of the words of a man I knew as a great teacher, I would like those to be the ones.  That YOUR guilt does not matter anymore.  Some of you probably need to hear that.

I think that day was the day I decided I wanted to know Mr. McCaslin well.  I started taking his classes at every opportunity.  The one and only night class I ever successfully lasted in at SLCC was one of his.  When I graduated, his was really the only hand I was interested in shaking on the dais.  He pat me on the shoulder when I went by.  I didn’t see him do that to anybody else.  For some reason, he had taken a liking to me.  He believed in me.  He encouraged me.  He had high-hopes for me in ministry.  He became more than just a professor to me…

III. Professor McCaslin was…my friend.

Up until this point, I have been writing in the same format I was taught in Professor McCaslin’s Homiletics classes. With the above heading, I hope you will understand why I will now be abandoning parallel construction, etc, etc, and just writing…

So…

Keith.  I never called you “Keith.”  Until the day you died, I never once called you by anything other than “Professor” or “Mr. McCaslin.”  Despite the fact that we’d become colleagues.  Despite the fact that you regularly talked to me about personal situations in my life.  Despite the fact that I was even in a management position over your wife at one point!  I remember the meeting where you took me aside and said, “Derek–you’re not a student anymore.  You can call me Keith.”  And I said, “I want to, but I can’t.”  You laughed and understood.  For me it was a sign of respect to call you Professor McCaslin, or Mr. McCaslin.  That respect is still very present…but today, I call you Keith.  Today, when you face glory and answer to only the call of your savior…today for some reason, I can call you Keith.

You were there for me when I doubted myself.  You were there for me when I didn’t think I was going to pass Biology.  You were there for me when I lost five friends in the same car accident.  You were there for me when I lost my job at the college.  You and Liz were there for me when I had my goodbye lunch.  You were there for me when I needed a laugh or needed encouragement after a rough day or one meeting too many.  We did not see much of each other these last years–time does that–but I know that if I had called, you would have been there and pointed me to Christ.

I would say that it isn’t fair that you’ve gone before I got the chance to talk to you again…but I can think of nothing more fair than for you to be in glory with Christ.  You’ve earned the peace you now have.

It would also be wrong to say the clichéd, “The world is a poorer place without you.”  The truth of the matter is that because you were here, the world is a far RICHER place than it ever could have been without the legacy you’ve left.  You told me once that you could justify not preaching by knowing that you were helping to make other preachers…but then confided that with the low rate of people STAYING in ministry, you sometimes wondered if that wasn’t just a copout.  Speaking as someone who didn’t stay in ministry, if you had any doubts…if you ever felt like what you did didn’t matter…  Let me use one of your favorite words…  HOGWASH.

You mattered.  A lot.  To a lot of people.  I wish you could see the Facebook posts tonight.  I wish you could hear the shake in my voice the first time I said out loud that you’d passed away.  I wish you could hear that shake in everyone’s voice the first time they’ve said it–it’s happening all over the world, wherever your students have landed right now.  You changed my life–OUR lives for the best.  I am a better person because of you.  I am a better Christian because of you.  I think you know how much I respected you.  But, I regret it if I never also told you how PROUD I was to know you and number you not among my teachers, but among my friends.  There is no world in which you and I SHOULD have been friends!  Only Jesus could have done that.

I do not yet know when your funeral will be.  If it is open to visitors, I will move Heaven, Earth, and my lunch break to be there.  I’m sure I won’t even get through the door before the opening hymn…

Well…

Thank you, readers, for indulging me in this post.  Less than two days ago, I had glibly written on Facebook that I have had some rough Novembers.  Last year on the 22nd, my friend Becca died.  A few years previous on the 23rd, my college roommate Derrick died.  Today Keith McCaslin died.  But this is different.  If I had my choice, I would have opted for it not to be so sudden, if only for Liz’s sake…  But knowing Keith is in Heaven is a point to celebrate, even in mourning.  Though moved to tears of sadness, some of them are also of joy, knowing he has reached his place on the dais, where I hope one day he will pat me on the shoulder as I go by.

Rest well, friend.  Job very well done.

On (Peter Jackson’s) Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit

I went to Best Buy today thinking I would buy the new Rush CD/Blu set that came out, because as noted, I’m a big Rush fan. Found it, but it was only the DVD copy and I wanted Blu, so I wandered around the store a little, thinking about if I wanted to compromise on that.  While I was wandering, I made the startling discovery that the three Hobbit movies have been released in a single set for about $60–including the “appendices” discs!  So I bought that instead.  Figured it was close enough…three of something…they’re all great…epically long…etc…

I’m at the “barrel” scene in “Desolation of Smaug” as I’m writing this.  You know.  The really fun fight scene that features one of the best laughs in the whole series?  That bit.

I love these movies.  And by “these movies” I’m also referring to the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, since it’s the same world.  I find a lot of joy in these six flicks and the behind-the-scenes stuff.  I have the LOTR series four different times, in fact.  Once on DVD in the theatrical version.  Once in the extended series.  Once in the extended series, but with DIFFERENT behind-the-scenes discs.  And finally in Blu-Ray.  And when-ever the next format comes out, I’ll buy them in that, too.

The Hobbit films, so far, I’ve only bought in the one format.  (Although I was also gifted the theatrical version of the first movie on DVD.)  I hope to keep it that way.  I didn’t mean to get LOTR so many times–it just sort of happened.  I’m hoping to only have to re-buy the Hobbit when a new format emerges…

Like many of you, I have an over decade-long relationship with the franchise.  The Fellowship of the Ring came out in December of 2001.  Think of that.  9/11 hadn’t left the headlines yet.  (Come to think of it…has 9/11 left the headlines YET?)  I can’t speak for the rest of the world…but I’ve been through a lot since December 2001.  And for every down mood, every bad experience, every rejected date, friendship-ending fight, week-long illness, term paper due the next day, sudden tragic loss, deep descending doubt, and every day that I’ve just needed a smile; I’ve done a re-watch of at least one of the movies.  These flicks have been there for me and helped get me through some stuff, man.

There are those who vocally state that the Hobbit movies aren’t as good as the LOTR flicks.  I don’t see it that way at all, but I see why they feel that way.  It’s a different tone, but I maintain it’s the same world.  (We can talk all day about the stuff they changed from the book or the additional characters added, and my argument will always be that they did exactly the same things in the first series of flicks that everybody joyously shits themselves over.)  I won’t dismiss somebody for liking the first three flicks better–in some ways they ARE better, or even if not they’re at least the first time you saw this world, and that’s special.  I get liking the first three movies better than the Hobbit movies.

But I like the Hobbit movies, too.

I almost feel like the two different series function to mark two different stages in my life.  I relentlessly devoured the first trilogy between 2001-2003.  I was in college for the first trilogy.  I had an almost completely different set of friends then, too.  I was at a different church, different job, different haircut, different everything.  I think about that time when I see those movies.

And the Hobbit…  2012-2014…  The present, mostly–but it’s wrong to call it that, too.  A lot has happened since 2012.  And a lot happened between 2004-2011, too.  A lot of loved ones lost.  Some new loved ones born.  A handful of the old friends…a whole bunch of new ones.  But even still, they do feel like they’re marking “NOW” for me.  It feels like we’ve got a long road ahead together–in fact I haven’t even seen the extended version of the last movie yet!  That happens tomorrow at my dad’s place!  It’s kind of a cool experience to see something and KNOW it’s one of the things you’ll be using as a benchmark.  “Oh, right…I’d just seen “Smaug” when that happened…”  It’s nice to know you’ve got something to get through stuff with.

I don’t think it’s a secret that in recent years, I’ve not been as happy a person as maybe I was in the early part of the century.  When the new series started up, knowing how much I loved the previous trilogy and all it had gotten me through, I wasn’t sure if I had high expectations or low ones.  Then I walked into the theatre and we were in Hobbiton…and if I didn’t cry, I meant to.  Because there it was…there was that world that helped me graduate, that helped me get over broken hearts, that helped me believe that good wins in the end and sometimes the BEST good comes in small packages…  There it was…  And then again in 2013.  And then again in 2014.

And here it is on my coffee-table in a collector’s box.  And Stephen Fry is on screen, and Stephen Colbert’s cameo is about to go by…  And I’m happy, watching it.  And it’s going to get me through some stuff and be something that makes me happy, even in the middle of it.  Because that’s how this franchise works for me.  Whatever I’m going to go through in the next 14 years, these flicks are going to be there, just like the original trilogy was for the previous 14.

…and after that, someone’s going to have to make The Silmarillion, I guess…

————

Current Listening:

  • Replacements – Mix of stuff from “Let It Be,” “Don’t Tell A Soul,” and “Pleased to Meet Me”
  • Slayer – Repentless
  • David Bowie – “Nothing Has Changed” three-disc set

Current Reading: “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath.  Which I’m mostly reading because it’s referenced in a Jason Isbell song.  Enjoying it a lot.

“Most of my whole life… I’ve lived in a city with a French king’s name…”

The title of this post is a self-referential bit of nonsense…  It’s part of a lyric I wrote in a song on my “Ink-Stained Fingers” album. That line starts verse-two in “Give It Up.”  The chorus is, “You’ve got to celebrate what you’ve got even if there’s more you want.  Anything else is a slow suicide.  You’ve got to give it up.”

At this time last night, it was still sinking in that a bunch of people in Paris went to a rock concert expecting to see one of their favorite bands.  A handful of crazy motherfuckers calmly gunned them down, reloaded, and shot again.  Elsewhere, suicide bombers did their horrible work.  And the City of Lights turned the lights on the Eiffel Tower OFF.

I have been to hundreds of rock concerts.  They aren’t supposed to be scary places (unless you’re seeing GWAR or Slipknot).  They’re supposed to be celebrations.  Moments of joy.  Someplace you’re happy, or even if you’re not HAPPY, you’re at least putting it all aside and uniting with everybody else in a shared joy for a few songs.  Music is supposed to get you THROUGH something like this, not be interrupted by it.

And yet here we are…the first thing I can think to write beyond a Facebook post is quoting a lyric.  Albeit my own…  Because music is bigger than this evil.  So we keep singing…

I’m not going to claim to be a scholar of the country of France…  But I do live in a city with a French king’s name.  And I chose French as my foreign language in high school.  (I tell people it was to impress a girl and it didn’t work, as a joke…  The truth is I just preferred it to Spanish.)  I also enjoy several aspects of French culture–I’m a big Les Miserables fan, until recently had a fondness for many of their wines, and I even like Jerry Lewis.  I’ve never had a particular urge to go there…but a lot of what has come here from there has appealed to me for a long time.

In 2003, I was in a small town in rural Indiana with a group of friends.  We stopped in at a local diner for lunch.  This was when George Bush’s phony-assed war on terror (which, as we can see, TOTALLY worked!) was in full-swing and France had opted to do what was right for their country at that time and sit it out.  This was a time when–God help us–small-minded restaurant owners in small-towns in Indiana changed their menus to offer “Freedom Fries.”  I went out of my way to ask what they were and after listening, asked them to bring me some FRENCH fries and consider changing their menu back to something less petty and offensive.  The rest of the group was uncomfortable…but I’d like to think they’re thinking of the story this week.

Terrorism always was and always will be a threat.  As shocking a concept as it may be to some Americans, terrorism did not start on 9/11/01.  As long as there have been people, there have been people systematically working out ways to kill one another–and most of them picture major headlines before they do it.  These sons of bitches got them.  But a headline does not tell the whole story…  We have songs for that.

Sing loud, France.

“Turn him from an enemy into a friend. Then, when he’s not expecting it…bam! The old fork in the eye.” – Moe Szyslak

Sorry about not blogging at all in October.  I know in the Internet world if you’re not creating content, you’re forgotten.  Even if the content you put out is terrible, at least it’s SOMETHING.  That’s probably why fart jokes are so prevalent…

Anyhoo…  There’s some serious shit I’m in the middle of that I can’t write about (or at least it would be in poor taste to do so), which of course makes it the ONLY thing I want to write about… So I’ve been writing nothing at all.  Sorry about that.  To start fixing that, here’s one of those “everything/nothing” posts I do with the Simpson’s quote in the title.  I like those.

  1. Before anybody worries, when I say, “serious shit” no one’s dying or on drugs or anything like that.  At least not to my knowledge.  Just can’t talk to people who aren’t involved.
  2. A Drive-By Truckers show came and went without me writing about it.  It was a good show and a lot of fun.  Went with Dad and Dave, per usual.  Ate tacos and got coffee beforehand.  Band was great…etc…
  3. Did I write about going to the Bottle Rockets in-store at Vintage Vinyl?  It was on the release date for their new record “South Broadway Athletic Club” and they played the whole album in sequence.  My brother put it best that night when he said, “This just became one of my favorite records of the year and I haven’t even played it yet.”  It’s a great record, it was a great performance, and they’re really nice guys.  And they played Rickenbacker guitars.  And now I want one.  Bad.  Like I’ve been actively pricing them and figuring out just how much I actually **need** to spend on Christmas this year, bad.  If anybody wants to loan me like $500-1000 to help me out on the thing, I’d really appreciate that.  What’s that?  Fuck myself?  On it.
  4. POLITICS!!!  – Trump scares the shit out of me, but would more if he were an actual candidate and this wasn’t just a publicity thing.  Carson scares the shit out of me for real.  Hillary’s going to get the nod.  Bernie DESERVES the nod.  The end.
  5. My church is meeting at night tomorrow.  It’s a sort of “trial run” before making the switch full-time in March.  So I’m not going to church tomorrow.  I might not go back the next week.  This is starting to feel like a “quick, like a Band-Aid” situation.  We’ll see.
  6. I ate just the BEST gooey-butter brownie cake from a local grocery store.  I don’t think they’re even chain-wide, but oh my God.  Like…have you ever wanted to have sex with a cake?  It was that kind of cake. Sexy-good.
  7. My friend Doug wrote a book called “The Irony of Teaching Truth” that is more or less the story of his experience fighting against the sexual abuse scandal that has swallowed up First Christian Church of Florissant and also St. Louis Christian College.  I hope it will be released publically soon and that it will be read as a textbook on what NOT to do as a church/parachurch organization.  I don’t have a horse at FCCF, but I did at SLCC…  Please note use of the word “did.”  I’m saddened by how things have gone.  I don’t know what can fix it…  I don’t want to speak ill…but I believe in the truth.  The truth is the only thing that matters.  And in this situation, sadly illness is the truth.  I’ve opted to be a little more quiet about my feelings on the whole thing than I might’ve thought I would–mostly because I’m something of a black-sheep that isn’t using his degree and bounces back and forth between Gaither-level faith and Slayer-level doubt…but the truth has a way of coming out.  Even if I’m not in a position to speak it and be heard, the truth WILL come out.  And the Christians here in Florissant should be scared shitless of the day it does.  (Or maybe they should be praying for it. Not sure.)
  8. Boy, cats are weird, huh?
  9. Still working on Dave’s solo record…  Hit a couple of delays.  I was hoping to have guitars done by the end of October, but they’re not yet.  I’ve made a good dent in it today and I’ll be doing more tomorrow (probably).  Starting to sound pretty good, I think.  It’d sound better on a Rickenbacker, though.
  10. Looking forward to Thanksgiving.  I’ve had some bad Novembers lately though, so I’m holding out hope that this one’s eventless.  Here’s a wish of luck to all of us.
  11. I’m presently re-watching a 12-part series on the origins and evolution of Heavy Metal.  There’s something weird and amazing about being a Metal fan.  It’s a brotherhood you don’t find anywhere else outside of organized religion.  Fierce loyalty to certain bands, mixed with “well that’s fucking cool–who is that?”  Loud and dangerous.  Angry and powerful.  I’m going to use the word POWERFUL again, but in all-caps this time…  I think that’s what draws me to it.  I hear Metal and I feel strong–how can you not?  The only reaction is either to feel strength or FEAR, and if we’re a brotherhood, then there’s nothing to be afraid of…  Except for Mayhem.  Those guys were fucking nuts.  (For those who need to know, I lean more Thrash and Power Metal–particularly the British stuff–but do enjoy some of the Industrial/Shock stuff too.)
  12. I think I overuse hyphens.  Right?  Anybody else notice that?

Well…that’s it for now.  See you next…week? ***shrug***

Current Listening:

  • Michael Penn – Mr. Hollywood Jr 1947
  • The Replacements – Discography on “Shuffle.”