From Beastie Boys to Beastie Men.

The very first cassette I ever owned was Licsense to Ill.

I wasn’t much past my 9^th birthday when we became one of the lucky few in my small town to have cable, thus we had MTV. And like most kids, I liked catchy fun lyrics and easy to follow hooks. You throws those things in a blender and add goofy charisma… you have the video for Fight for Your Right to Party.

To say the least, I was completely hooked on those three odd white rappers.

I stayed up nightly to watch Yo! MTV Raps hoping I would see it replayed. I bought the crazy collectable trading cards of same name.  If I would have found a plastic lunch box thermos combo with the terrible three… that too would have been bought.

It was at some point after weeks of rapper worship that my brother decided to gift me his copy of the cassette. He no doubt assumed that the ability to listen at my leisure would in some way halt me from camping in front of the living room TV every night.

That would be assumption fail.

Sometime around my 12^th birthday I found myself wrapped up in the world of skateboarding and would hang with my friend Scott for hours on end trying to catch air on a quarter pipe or grind a parking curb, believing that if I had their masterpiece Paul’s Boutique blaring in the background each trick could be more easily executed.  I am certain I bought or recorded a copy of that cassette in the neighborhood of ten or eleven times.

Around ’93 and due to a couple years of family turmoil and moving more times then I cared… I fell out of attachment to the B-Boys. It wasn’t until I stopped into one of the many outlet stores in Branson and found a “buy 2 get 1” deal on CDs, that I would own my first compact disc. Once again, I had my Liscense.

A couple of trips back would land me Boutique and finally Check Your Head.

Not much time later, I would purchase my favorite album from the terrible three… Ill Communication. This album resonates most because it was in ’94 that, thanks to an awesome mom, I would see the Beasties for the first time in concert at Lollapalooza. It was also the same year of Kurt Cobain’s death, making ’94 one the most impactful and shaping years of my musical makeup.

By the time Hello Nasty and To the 5 Boroughs were released, I was in and out of college and the Boys had long established themselves as my favorite group ever. Each album’s release was an event for me. I would go on to see them two more times in my life.

When ’09 rolled around I had already been two years removed from losing my mother to cancer and one year removed from losing one of my favorite artist to another form of the same disease.  And although it may seem silly to some, I took the news of having a member of my favorite group involved with their own fight rather hard.

I followed the press releases about the delays in tours and the release of Hot Sauce Committee Pt. 2. I waited paitiently to see if I’d ever get another dose of hip hops weird step brothers. Finally in April of ’11, I got more Beastie Boys. And with Hot Sauce came hope.

My wife will vouch that since Sauce’s release and their announced induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I’ve waited and waited on an announcement of a new tour. I thought surely a new album meant a new tour.

When I found out that MCA was not attending the ceremony, I made my own excuses justifying why. And while my wife (who also has lost her mother to cancer) seemed more realistic about it, both of us were still shocked today to hear that Adam Yauch aka MCA had lost his three year battle to cancer. I was driving my sales truck when it came over the radio, followed by my buddy John’s “RIP MCA” text.

I pulled over and cried a bit. I am not ashamed to admit that. I am tearing up as I type this.

I grew up with the Beastie Boys and they grew up with me. They helped me through a sometimes hard childhood. I spent hours searching for rare CD’s, vinyl records and bad VHS copies of Roadside Prophets. I was happy when my friend Pow gave me his copy of Rolling Stones magazine featuring them. I stayed up late while living in KC with my buddy Dusty to go to an AMC and catch Awesome I Fucking Shot That.

I am not ready to let go of the Beasties. And I know that the king Ad-Rock and Mike D are still with us and 

I know my grief is paled by theirs… but I’m a fan. And as a fan I don’t want to let go. So I will be watching tomorrow night’s airing of the Hall of Fame induction on HBO and there is a good chance that I will cry again when D and Rock read MCA’s prepared speech. My wife told my oldest daughter that we will be listening to the Boys all weekend.

She’s right.

I selfishly think cancer has a personal vendetta against me. I know how crazy that sounds, especially when I have friend’s that I love like Herb and Leeana fighting it themselves right now. It’s just the way I think when wallowing in sadness.  Every time someone I know, whether they’re famous or otherwise loses a battle to cancer; I’m going to cry then as well.

I’m always going to cry.

This weekend, I’ll keep my mourning all for MCA and keep all my smiles for those still fighting and still living.

So good bye MCA, we’ll all miss you. 

Comparing the Value of Social Updates

Let me give you a small bit of back-story to start this blog. A month or two back, as most of you iPhone users know, Apple released iOS.5. And with it, came the nice and handy "reminder" app. This all happen to coincide with my being promoted to salesmen over the metro eastern part of the greater St. Louis area.

The relevance of this blog has to do with my using of that app for appointments and what not. 

You see, my wife, knows that I need to check it daily. So the clever little minx got into it and put in a reoccurring alert that tells me to "love my wife" on a weekly basis (sneaky and adorable). Those of you that pay any attention to me on the social 'book, know that my status updates have mentioned this a couple or three times... including once today.

It's the "once today" that will finally bring me to the point.

The status I posted today was my subtle attempt at being cute and witty. An attempt that I feel was a success. An attempt to which none of you cared to respond or comment.

Then, a short time after, I added a second status update. One about narrowly avoiding pooping my pants. A disastrous near miss if you will.

And at the time of posting this, that status update had 10 comments and 5 "likes". Thus proving to me, the overwhelming majority of you prefer fecal humor over heartwarming little gestures of love.

Love vs. poop... a messy battle - J

Hard Knock Life.

Today, battered and bruised, Hayden found out that when life throws monumental obstacles for you to traverse and sometimes knocks you down... you've got to get up, dust off your Osh-Kosh's and keep on keeping on.

And she learned with a tear soaked smile.

Just one tough sixteen month old - J

Shamless Self Promomotion.

The sole purpose of this blog is to promote my new fiction serial blog Myles Barrett: Kung Fu Gumshoe.

So don't be angry.

I know that it's been awhile since I've posted anything remotely resembling something of worth. But look at it this way... if I get this other blog going, it'll get the ol' creative juices flowing and maybe that will lead to more here as well.

That's twice the wit! Twice the insight! Twice the fun!

So read both. FOLLOW both. And chat me up to everyone.

Thank you and good day - J

Small... But Very Manly Blog

This past weekend I had a heart to heart with my grandpa.

Keep in mind; he is of the old ways.

After "telling" my wife to get me some more coffee and her doing it, he said that he was very happy to see that of all his children/grandchildren... I was the only one that wasn't henpecked.

I told him the secret was this. I let my wife know that she has two options. She take me putting my foot down, or she can take me putting the same foot up her a$$.

Luckily for her she wasn't even close to being in the room at the time.

All man right here - J

“His disciples lead him in, and he just does the rest.”

There are people in this world that would have you believe that games such as pinball are based primarily on luck. These are the same people who subscribe to the same school of thought for Texas Hold’em as well.

I however, think that in both cases, those people are idiots.

If that way of thinking were true, I would’ve qualified for the WPT at least once. And at some point amidst my hundred or so games of silver ball this past Saturday night, I would have walked away with at least one or two high scores.

As it stands though, I didn’t. And furthermore, I found that I don’t possess the patience it takes for one to become a true pinball master. You would think you wouldn’t need much to play such a frenetic paced game, what with the multi ball feature and all. But in all honesty, it takes just that; patience plus dedication and determination. You have to be focused and pay attention to the game in front of you. None of these things I have… especially after a handful of PBR tall boys.

Also, I have a question, when did pinball become one of the chosen pastimes of stoners and drunkards? And how the f#%k are they so damn good at it?

I bring all of these points and questions to your attention because this past Saturday night I took part in a party bus trip from a Missouri bar called The Silver Ball Room (not located near a castle mind you) to an Illinois establishment called CP Pinball (which is a BYOB place). The trip itself, though less than desirable conditions (a$$ to elbow as it were), wasn’t at all a bad time. In fact, for the most part, it was my favorite part of the trip. I would have selected a different spread of booze (the aforementioned PBR plus Busch, his lighter sibling and some other random flavored beers); but what are you going to do… free booze people.

Anyway…

CP is this all you can play pinball hall with 60 plus machines, a couple of arcades and a few bar games. A normal person would pay ten bones to play for like four hours (roughly two hours longer then needed). For me, being a part of the wizardly bus pilgrimage and loaded to the brim with cheap booze and rocking out to 80’s punk rock, the evening ran about three times that... a price that normally I could easily recoup by devouring bad beer like Godzilla downs tiny Asian commuters. This night though, it was my duty to wear the hat of designated driver. A younger me wouldn’t have taken this responsibility very well. Luckily I am now older, more mature, and infinitely more capable of bearing the burden of such a weighty hat.

Mind you, compared to that younger me, I could only go up.

So after many hours of playing pinball and nursing those tall boys, we reboarded the same cramped shuttle and headed back to the good side of the river. After which I discovered that relatively sober, Taco Bell’s 4th meal is still amazingly delicious (BCB... just saying). Apparently liquor has little effect on the flavor of food past the stroke of midnight.

Who knew?

…

Since it seems that I lost the point of this blog, I’m just going to sign off and try to score with this hot mom to my right. My odds increase greatly when I put down the laptop and focus my attention on her.

Don’t go changing people - J

Saturday Funnies

I’ve always wondered what goes through my lil’ bits’ head as she plays.

I’d like to say this strip sheds some light on the mystery... but the truth is I’m not sure if she even likes late night talk shows. I can’t even say that she like to spew out the obscenities.

I can tell you she can change moods on you that quick.

You women get that early. Must be handed down from mom's.

I'm goin now - J

Accept No Substitutes!

N0 one has ever accused me of being “prissy”. I don’t have “refined ways” or “uppity tendencies”. I’ve also never been called "pretentious".

But!

I do posses possibly the most complex and sensitive set of taste buds of anyone I know. Some might say they're downright picky. So… taking THAT into consideration AND also that those kinds of thoughts have been stuck rooting around my craw for most of the weekend… you get the cathartic genesis of a blog such as this.

Previous blogs of mine have mentioned my disgust for impostor versions of the things that I find appealing. The Log Cabin blog comes to mind foremost (really it’s the only blog on the matter). I figured that for this blog I would take that topic and run. Also, very quickly you’ll noticed I stray from the digestive qualifier that spawned the idea. To be honest with you, I only used it as a paper thin vehicle to get to the meat of the blog, call it a means from getting from point A to point 3 (I'm certain I just recycled that joke).

So without any more ado then already given, allow me to share with you my Top 10 List of Things That PI$$ Me Off When Someone Attempts to Substitute a Like But Painfully Obvious Impostor Item!

It’s a bit wordy of a title… I apologize.

10. Dr. Pepper – Trust me Wally-World, your Thunder’s doctorate obviously came from a lesser school. Apply this witty play on names to almost any knock off flavor, the good Doctor doesn’t hold it exclusively.

9. Lego’s – Maybe it’s just a licensing problem, but throw in all the properties that it represents (DC Comics, Star Wars, etc.) and the diversity in themes… Mega-anything else just combines to do nothing but suck a$$.

8. Kraft American Cheese Slices – By far the best individually sliced cheese product on the planet. All impostors more closely resemble the taste of cardboard then that of delicious cheese. So there…

7. Chips Ahoy Cookies – I am a self admitted addict of chocolate chip cookies. So when I tell you that these are the best non-fresh baked cookies on the market and all others are better served as dry edible shurikens, you should take my word.


6. G.I. Joes – You could also throw in He-Man and/or Transformers (although The Gobots had their place)… but any kid that pawned off one of the knock offs as a birthday gift was, and rightfully should have been, escorted away from your party and never invited back.

5. Playboy – Say what you want about your thoughts on adult material and why you think men (or women… whatever) purchase them, but through a combination of top notch writing (on staff or featured) and tastefully done pictorials, this bunny has kept a fairly high level of class that its competition can never touched. After all… a person can only watch one woman urinate on another so much before it becomes a tad tedious.

4. Shoes – Nike, Adidas, etc. Now I am not snooty sneaker Nazi by any means; but you spend less than fifty bones on a pair of "kicks", after a month of hardened travel… straight bones is exactly what you’ll be walking on.

3. High end sports cars – This one is more a question then a statement… why the s#!t do car thieves steal Gremlins and Slug Bugs? The sentence for grand theft auto is indiscriminate as to the kind of car involved. Nut up already, in the theft world there should be no excsue for stealing a Datsun over a Diablo.

2. Johnsonville Bratwurst – Sure your local butcher has some high quality sausage… but for prepackaged and mass produced sausage, their Beer’n Brats are a can’t miss purchase. All other meat is just kidding themselves.

1. Log Cabin Syrup – Duh.

There you go. As always, I encourage you to argue or amend. Pleas your case, you’d be wrong if you do of course...

But feel free to give it a try - J

Super Rare Saturday Funnies... or TOTAL B.S.!!!!!

So the obvious joke is the hair.

But my lil' daughter's and my matching hair styles aside, those that have read me since the beginning know the true punchline I'm shooting for here.

And don't worry... the next one will be less veiled.

Hand to the heavens people - J

Paul Anak Probably Meant Something Else Entirely

Maybe I’ve turned into just an old married man. Maybe the years and countless “apology” presents for wrongs I’m still not sure I committed have soured me. Or maybe I’ve just taken for granted what it means to be young and discover new love. Whatever the case… seeing young love in action like I did just yesterday both saddens me and makes my heart melt a little.
 
It's great to witness a young man doing his best to impress his lady friend by posturing in the manliest of fashions. To watch him borderline prance to and fro as he walked. And I would smile as he lovingly teased her every chance he could.
 
I watched that same young man being driven crazy by that same lady. She would appear indifferent toward him one moment, and then like a giddy little girl the next. You could see her work him into a frenzy by the slightest movement. It almost appeared as if she was dancing for him, and no music was needed to keep rhythm.
 
The interaction between the two was almost comical. But still loving and a little moving. With each moment and interaction between the two, you could see how much they yearned for each other’s company. It was as if every glance in one another’s direction just made them happier just to be near each other.
 
Yeah, I would have to say it’s a safe bet that if my big retarded dog ever made his way into the neighbor’s yard… he’s going to hump the s#!t out her lady dog.
 
Hope she’s fixed - J  

A Small Blog w/Small Thoughts.

So my new body wash claims that it has a “Classical Masculine Scent”.

Personally I’ve always envisioned my scent as being more post-modern.

But hey… manly is manly no matter what genre it smells like - J

Public Enemy Numero Uno

Occasionally I eat doughnuts on my way to work.

When I do, I stop at the Quick Trip just before getting onto the highway and only usually when I need gas.

This past Friday, I needed gas and ipso facto… I got some “holy” goodness. (Pun)
My first act was to fill my truck to the brim, to the tune of roughly $55 worth of go-go juice. I then headed inside to get lunch for later in the day, a few doughnuts, and a large coffee; which added another $9 or so to my total.

When I went to the check out, the guy asked me “large or small?”

My response… “Three small”.

Now mind you, I base my large and small on the fact that some doughnuts are big and some are not. My ‘nuts were clearly the runts of the litter, thus my response of “three small”.

Apparently, the clerk’s proper mode of questioning my doughnut selection should have been, “holes or no holes”. Then I would have responded, “Two with holes and one without”. But as it stood, I didn’t.

And therein lay the rub.

For after I began my walk out the door; the lowly clerk gave me a yell to come back to the counter. This is where things began to get dicey. When I re-approached the counter the man said, “You said three small, that one is a large. That’s like trying to steal.”

I was all like, “Whaa-huh?”

He then began, and this is with a gas station filled with an ass load of morning commuters, to ask me to fork over an additional twenty-four cents (the price difference between the “large” and “small” doughnut). This is something I would have gladly done under ideal circumstances.

Telling me my intent was “like stealing” did not put me in a proper frame of mind to carry a pseudo intellectual debate of any kind or. So this circumstance was not ideal.

I responded…

“Twenty-four cents! Are you f@#king kidding me?”

I then added what I thought was a fairly logical counterpoint, “I just spent nearly $65 and you think I want to skip out on twenty-four damn cents from your Quicky Mart?”

Hand to god, this went on for nearly three minutes (an eternity in stupid speak).

Finally the manager intervened.

He asked for my side, I politely obliged. He then asked for an explanation from the rocket surgeon behind the counter. And in his defense, he told the honest truth.

The manager then turned and said, “Thank you sir, and have a great day.”

Many a wise men have said that you can’t argue with logic.

On my way out I asked smarty if at least got the correct number of doughnuts. I of course was asking under the assumption that his drop out level of education might not be able to handle simple arithmetic. This caused me to smile from ear to ear.

After I got in my truck and started my journey to work, I contemplated my next step in criminal evolution. After all, I had just successfully heisted less than two bits from a major gas and snack supplier… perhaps Hoosier homerun derby (mailbox bashing for short) or maybe mattress label removing.

Baby steps you know - J

Some More B.S.

What do you want from me? The kid s#!t on me twice in three days.

One can’t be too careful -J

Small Blog w/Small Thoughts

Last night we visited the building where the Kalenator will start her scholastic career. There were roughly twelve million kids running around unchecked.

The chaos prompted me to wonder at what point is it ok to kick start natural selection.

Anyone?

- J

Weekly B.S.

I know some of you have been wondering where this strip has been. In order to explain a little, I thought I would give you a peek inside my creative process.

As you can see, it isn’t very complicated. The ingredients are one part procrastination, one part blank slate, and two parts distraction. This strip is almost dead on accurate. Only I no longer have an actual drawing table, nor is our toilet that loud.

But other than that... dead on accurate.

I wish I could blame my lack of comic posts to the family and/or hard work. The reality is more like this strip. I will try and do better.

Now leave me alone, its ice cream social night in our household – J

“Excuse me life, I think you served me this anxiety by mistake.”

Stop Googling that quote, it was me… just now.

As a topic, it perfectly sums up my mood these past few days.

For the handful of you that have befriended both my wife and I on the social ‘book, you’ve no doubt heard that this past week our trusted babysitter informed us that she is moving and therefore no longer able to continue watching the Kalenator or start watching the baby Hayden. Since Melissa is set to return to the work force this coming Monday, you can imagine the panic that has crept its way into our normally somewhat placid lives.

We instantly began the search for a new sitter. All inter-resources have been exhausted. And there’ve even been a few hits here and there that have lead to some interviews tomorrow. But put aside the stress of searching and assume we find and agree upon one of the potential baby watchers, THEN I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that there will be a perfect stranger watching my baby girl.

This is where that miss-served plate of anxiety comes into play.

You see, I didn’t sign up for this. At no point along the way did anyone bother telling me that loving one’s wife and kids so much puts a terrible amount of uneasiness in your stomach. It’s enough to drive a person mad.

The rub is that now I couldn’t imagine my life without Melissa and Kalen… not to mention the most amazing little thing I’ve ever seen, Hayden. So with no other way to say it, I am stuck with these worrisome thoughts and this undercooked anxiety.

What if the sitter is a trickster? What if her/his ruse misleads us? What if they turn out to be d-bags? These are the things you have to deal with. And believe you me… it blows.

The only saving grace I have is that the institution of babysitting has been around for ages. And its practice is widely accepted. Oh, and I have a friend that can run background checks for me.

So that helps.

Now I just have to prepare for the next couple of weeks and the start of Kalenator’s school career…

If you excuse me, I’m going to go throw up - J

“There is nothing more thrilling than to be shot at without result”

Winston Churchill if you were wondering.

The relevance of that quote weighs primarily on this past week of work, Thursday to be specific.

Thursday I found myself in a bit of a shootout with a truck driver. This was not a planed fire fight. Nor was it dangerous. But none the less, the results of said unanticipated gunplay were note worthy and self entertaining enough that I thought to share it with you.

My job… not very glamorous.

Of late it is downright taxing (physically and mentally). But it pays decent. And from time to time, like Thursday, it can be somewhat laid back with moments of subtle hilarity.

Thursday, stuck with very little outgoing deliveries and equally numerous walk in customers, I found myself waiting on some sort of event to break the monotony. That’s when the trucker arrived with an inbound delivery.

On a blisteringly hot day, he began to exit his “rig”. After executing a properly safe and perfect three point dismount of his cab, he met my greeting with a smile, a nod. And then he drew.

From his hips, he raised his arms, made guns from seemingly innocent hands, and fired.

At first I was shocked. I didn’t anticipate anyone outside of the old west (or without being a cheesy sitcom character) to take shots at me with such high caliber finger guns. Luckily his aim was atrocious, thus allowing me to continue working and him to resume his trucker duty.

As I continued driving my forklift for the next thirty minutes or so, the humor in the grown man trucker’s twin hand pistols started to sink in. Never have I seen anyone do this and never would I expect to again. Knowing this, I had to seize the moment.

I had to engage him in all out finger gun fire.

So, after unloading his trailer and signing for the invoice, I carefully plotted for the perfect moment to be an epic level smart ass. It came, I pounced, and said, “Hey buddy. You just go on and have a good day.” I then drew my own two fisted finger six shooters and under my breath voiced a small “bang, bang!”

To my surprise, and dismay, the trucker was the model of cool. In fact he seemed to enjoy the return fire. And even more to my dismay, and as if to purposely steal my thunder… the son of a b!%@h retorted with a Fonzie like two thumbs up and he said…

“Aww-right man!”

I can only assume the gesture was some sort of a finger gun version of popping pins on two grenades.

In which case, the damn truck driver destroyed me easily and with no remorse.

Whatever, pretty great Thursday for me - J

Another Small Blog w/Small Thoughts.

They say the difference between a good friend and great friend is that a GOOD friend will try talking you out of doing something dumb before you spiral into regret. Where as a GREAT friend will tell you how pissed they are at you from the neighboring jail cell.

I'm just saying to the few of you that are my great friends... you need a body hid, I am your man.

Remember though, I scratch your back... etc. - J

Small Blog w/Daddy Day Thoughts

Today, while grilling dinner for my wife, I took a small trip from Mexico to Germany with a brief stop in Jamaica. All the while in the company of a tightly wound Honduran friend... in the form of a cigar contributed by the late Mike Foss before his untimely demise at the paws of the Murph.

The trip was made possible by a mix of beers (Dos Equis, Red Stripe, and St. Pauli Girl) from around the world gifted by my fantastically awesome wife… she is basically my raven haired version of Mary Jane.

And though I am not sure what the exact ratio needed. The smooth blend of booze, BBQ, and stogies almost always come together in one rich, layered concoction that make a man’s tiny mind run rampant with reflective thought.

It’s man science. You can look it up

As far as what thoughts… that is another blog. This one is called “Small Blog…” after all.

Duh – J

PS, Happy Father's Day to those deserving of such a title.

"Exaggeration, the inseparable companion of greatness."

Voltaire said that.

My daughter is awesome.

I am fairly certain that How Pow said that.

Although his exact wording may have been different. Thus the lack of confidence in adding quotation marks. And maybe I am just being a proud daddy, but with all due respect to the Baby Pow… MY daughter is the most awesome-est.

Now that my come across as a bit asshole-ish. But I am sure if polled, almost every dad with a new baby girl would give you roughly the same answer. As well we should.

As guys we also like to think our daughters (and sons I’m sure) can do things far better and far before any other kid. Maybe we are love blind. Or maybe this is what it takes to knock us off of our logic thinking pedestal and into the realm of emotional based assessments.

Take for instance that Hayden, right out of the womb, can raise her head up and look around. Her neck seemingly is close to being fully operational (I’m thinking a Death Star joke should have been used here). Last night Melissa placed her pacifier in her hand and I s#@t you not, she raised it to her mouth and put it in. We tried to immediately duplicate this last miracle, but clubbing herself in the nose was the closest outcome. Just last week I spent hours on hold with DirectTV trying to get my remote reprogrammed with the receiver. If I would have just waited a few days, Hayden could have done it for me.

Hand to god, she is that smart.

Now having said all that… my kid is not yet a rocket surgeon. She's more like a grad student. There's some room to grow after all. Regardless, she is pretty damn cool. And so far this dad thing s kind of a hip gig.

A fellow blogger (one I’ve credited more than once) told me yesterday that he likes my kids influence on the blog. He said it was nice to see that I can write with a softer tone. He was glad to see we (as a friendly collective) can do more than penis and fart jokes. Maybe that is true. But like I told my wife, we’ll see where the jokes go after a few weeks. After all, the new dad sheen still has a bright glow.

Wait till her poop really starts to stink. See what comes out of those blogs.

But for now, I have to jet... Hayden is practicing her summersaults – J