In a dramatic turn of events, Son #2 recently decided to operate in a bi-pedal fashion under his own power. For those of you following the developmental saga of Son #2, it’s no surprise that he’s always been behind the power curve and operating to some unknown schedule of growth. Whether it was breast feeding and switching to hamburgers, skipping children’s books in lieu of video games, his one-day lead on his due date, or this whole mobility sham, Son #2 does things his way. In the matter of 48 hours, Son #2 went from needing adult assistance to navigate from room to room in an upright position, to bracing himself against a wall or solid object to traverse the periphery of a room, to pushing off and waddling like a drunk old lady from room to room wailing with laughter and pride along the way. Let’s set the stage:

My wife left on a mission to sell direct sales items to other culinary-obsessed female customers. That left me alone and unsupervised with our two kids. Son #1, all he wanted to do was play Lego Indiana Jones while his mother was away. Son #2, he’s merely looking for an open door or gate to escape through when no one is looking. After we escorted their mother to the door and saw her on her way, we turned back to walk to the living room. And then it happened, with the largest unescorted distance to that point, Son #2 pushed off the wall and followed us into the living room. He walked past Son #1 and I and directly to the bin which holds the Wiimotes. Video games = valuable incentives at any age.


What makes this story all the more interesting was the fact that Son #2 recognized that Son #1 and I were going to fire up the Wii for a little mind numbing entertainment. He took it upon himself to let his maiden voyage greater than two or three steps to be across our dining room, around the corner, and into the living room walking over to the Wii accessories. I feel honored that my laziness and addictions inspired my youngest son in to mobile freedom. Maybe I shouldn’t have set such a high level of expectation.

The magnitude of the moment was definitely not lost on Son #2. He shrieked the entire way. Of course, Son #1 and I were literally shitting ourselves we were so happy with the outcome. Our antics, lack of volume control, and hysteria only continued to feed Son #2 and the blood curdling yelps of pride and satisfaction. Despite the inability to hear for a short term after the event, I couldn’t be any more proud of that little guy. We joke about his development or lack thereof, but he took a large step (pun intended) away from being our baby and toward becoming our little boy.

In the following days, he’s become more confident in his drunk-like meandering through the house. Now he picks objects up and relocates them in other rooms. Are DVD's missing? Check under the couch. Where’s the TV remote? Check the cupboard. In the instance of bi-pedal freedom, he changed. Now I look at him and I don’t see the little baby, a diaper bag, and a stroller. I see a little boy full of trouble and joy. I see a little boy on the verge of having his own dreams. I see a little boy becoming a man. All of this is premature because he still craps himself, can’t walk for more than 30 feet, and requires an arsenal of snacks and supplies to leave the house. But I’m starting to see the future for him and I’m starting to worry, just as I did for Son #1.


Now it’s not a question of growing up or developing on the average percentile for growth. It’s about growing up too quickly and putting this small minutia of development far in the rear view mirror too soon and watching as he moves away to college and dates trashy girls. Feeling now like my life is on fast forward, all I can do is watch and try to take in everything, write down thoughts, capture that emotion in a bottle, and remember everything just the way it is right now before it’s gone. This is the last time I’ll see my youngest son walk for the first time. Ever. And that makes me sad. But it makes me hopeful for the next big thing in his life.

For the first time in both of my sons’ lives, I’m afraid for them to grow up. Some of it’s the obvious; the apples didn’t fall far enough from the tree. But the remainder of it is that my days of protecting and providing are now running against the sands of time. I’ll always be their dad, but there are a finite number of days until they are on their own and don’t need me to intervene when they fall or wrestle the Wiimotes from them. I wanted Son #1 to grow up to me my best friend and wanted Son #2 to always be my little baby. Now, I just don’t want to lose them or lose the emotional satisfaction that seeing their accomplishments deliver.

It never fails. “New Music Monday” always seems to sneak up on me when I least expect it. I’m sure there are a ton of excuses for my inability to prepare for this. I’ve discovered over the last few entries that life continually seems to get in the way of my best laid plans. No matter the excuse or reason, here we are again. And while I pride my self in being able to meet deadlines and stick to schedules, I find I’m scrambling to come up with something to write. The silver lining is that this entry forces me to stop what I am doing, planning, or even waiting for. The goal here originally was to review, but on a more esoteric level, it’s become my reason for unplugging life for a small moment and plugging in my headphones.

Considering that it’s life getting in the way, it only appropriate that this review is a byproduct of the day experienced. Son #1 goes to pre-school at a church and occasionally his studies and songs are showcased on Sundays during service. Most people recognize that I’m not drawn to the constructs of practicing my beliefs with the formal structure of a building or denomination. I’m confident in my relationship with my spirituality. But today, Son #1 was singing songs at church. In attendance, I realized during the sermon about the poignancy of recognition of life’s nuances. Son #1’s smile when he sang and saw me take pictures of him, the pastor’s message about being soulfully alert to your surroundings, Son #2 and his lust for pizza, a bike ride with Son #1, a cold refreshing beer with my wife, a blue Subaru driving by, and a tearful memory of a surprise party. All of these are the fabric of existence and the afterlife which are intricately intertwined.


On that note, I started thinking about the artists that tend to make me consider the nuances of life. The Classic Crime is one of those very bands that does just that. I stumbled on to them only five years ago in one of my ways of discovering new music. Given the ‘mental state’ I was in and the message from the lyrics, TCC and their music anchored themselves to my soul. Since that day, The Classic Crime has released one acoustic album and three studio albums; the latest Vagabonds, on April 6th, 2010. For me, this album was hugely anticipated as I’ve grown to be quite a fan of the local Seattle rock group. One could argue that TCC is a Christian rock outfit. However, I’d estimate that they merely explore how they feel and question what they believe.

Get the new Vagabonds record here at Lala.com

Vagabonds is a much more mature sounding album than I was expecting. At first listen, I was fairly disappointed at the result. I was looking for something catchy. A rock riff, an emo sound, and message that I could rally around. All of which were present but existed at a much deeper level than expected. A few more listens began to uncover the complexity of the themes on the album. It was uniquely TCC but the arrangement was more exploratory and less predictable. All of the sounds sound vaguely similar but I believe that this phenomenon happens on everyone’s record. Every artist or group has a brand of sound. Vagabonds takes the sound the band developed on last album and expands on it, creating smooth and mature rock and roll ballads with several melodic surprises. I’d surmise that there are three songs which musically and lyrically embody the spirit of the entire project.

Solar Powered Life – This was the first single off the record and interestingly enough, it is the most non-TCC song on the album. It really relies on an old school guitar riff. Still driving and anthemic like typical TCC songs, but this song is far more stripped down and pays significant homage to simplistic driven rock songs about women. But instead of the old objectification, this is metaphorically about a woman pulling her power and moods from the sun.

My Name – Simply explained, this track soars musically and lyrically to a peak over the life of the song reaching its peak moments before the end. Listening, you feel like it is climbing a sound mountain. As you close the distance between you and the peak, the music and message increase in volume and urgency. Lyrically, the song is about definition of oneself through faith. As the music fills out with more sound and complexity, you can begin to ‘feel’ that no one can define your existence but you and your Faith. Then, there's the addition of a church bell in amazingly appropriate places. If you only listen to ONE TCC song in your lifetime, listen to this one.

Everything & Nothing – This is a quintessential TCC song and it is what I remember about hearing that very first single five years ago. Driving hard melodies and lyrics about belief. What is real? I think a listener could easily find multiple meanings in this tune. It could easily be universally complex as looking for a sign from above for something more or as simple as needing to be advocated by a loved one.

At first listen, I didn’t really like the album. I had unattainable expectations. All of the anticipation led up to a let down as is true with most things. Instead, I gave it a couple of chances to earn back the entertainment performance I had hoped for it. It just took me a few listens to unearth the innate poignancy of the music. It’s about blatant honesty, maturity, and truthfulness. Clearly, the band is defiant of the formulaic drivel available in the industry. Vagabonds is a rare album in which the spirit behind the music—that of remaining true to oneself—is mirrored in the lyrics. And even more importantly, the band donated all of its pre-sales of this album to its personal relief efforts in Haiti.

In an exercise of futility, I’m going to write about something inconsequential to most people. Something fickle yet something enjoyable. Where this all started was with another entry where I wanted to bad mouth my employer because of recent and repeating let downs. At the beginning of that entry, I was pissed and had good motive to rip the company and the idiots that work there. However, my mood improved. And while the concept was still fresh in my head, the emotion was lost and unfortunately, I felt like I wouldn’t do the entry justice.

So I moved on to the next topic; Son #1. I’ve been working on the next entry about this fool. However, it was unfinished and once again, I lost steam and felt like I’d be doing a disservice if I kept writing and wasn’t feeling it. So on to the next topic, and that’s still not even what I am writing about here.

My wife has chosen a life of direct sales to fulfill her need for female socialization and monetary sustenance. While preparing for her next party, I opted, or was coerced into helping her prepare her wares and pitch. No, I won’t by writing about any of that either. What’s the common theme in all of these? I’m sure you are all wondering where the hell this entry is going. Hold that question; I’m going to the bar to get another drink. Why? Because this entry is going straight like an arrow toward my topic; gin and tonic.

My apologies to let those of you down who are looking for the next esoteric and inspiring entry.

Let’s start with a common denominator here, I love gin and tonic. Why? It goes back many years to Pullman, Washington. Any earlier timeframe would incriminate my very pure and pristine image with my family. You can trace back the origins of gin and tonic to Wednesday nights at Shermer’s in Pullman. You see, Wednesday nights were dollar well drinks. And for those of you who have never spent time in Pullman, there isn’t much to do on a social scale. When you realize that the most opportune activity is drinking and that you are a struggling college student on a budget, you focus extracting the most economic and social value out of your activities. And thus, we drank on a budget. Gin and tonics are cheap.

The next step is where gin and tonics became closer to my heart. Damn Snoop Dogg. Every fucking white kid from the suburbs like me wanted to be a gangsta. As soon as Snoop dropped “Gin and Juice” we all realized that we didn’t need to be gangstas, just throwing house parties, inviting girls, and playing Snoop’s jams were enough. So gin was increasingly embedded in to my intoxicating beverages because Snoop said I would get chicks. We tried for years. Strangely, it never really worked out the way the song did. Must have been the wrong type of gin or something.

So let’s fast forward to my semi-adult type life. My wife would argue that I’m not an adult but my Washington State driver’s license suggests that statistically, my age ranks among those of which are adults. At some point, there’s a defacto rule in place in society that you become an adult even if you don’t pass the test. So here we are.

Generally speaking, I hate hangovers. Some would say that maybe I shouldn’t drink or I should drink less in an effort to remove my antipathy against hangovers. Whatever. Because of the depth and quality of my collegiate education, I realized that there’s an unbalanced chemical reaction in my circulatory system leading to my next-morning inabilities to accommodate living. To overcome that imbalance, I decided to counteract these affects by ingesting complex and inebriating molecules which can be efficiently broke down by the body and reduce the unwanted affects of a hangover. Simply said, I wanted a drink that would get me drunk in a limited amount of time, on a budget, and mitigate the affects of a hangover. There’s nothing to it; alcohol and tonic water. I won’t go as far as saying I drink it for the health benefits, but I do drink it for the limited residual effect that it has.

So here I am tonight, I have this WSU Cougar mug that you can freeze and use for liquid refreshments. Being resourceful and opportunistic (and out of beer), I decided to use this chilling apparatus to chill a large concoction of gin and tonic. I’m watching my wife prepare for her next direct sales activity while enjoying several (read: six or so) finely crafted well drinks. And instead of forcing an angry mood to work on an entry about my disgust with my employer and its blindly directed strategy, I chose to write about liquor. What really inspired this entry was the feeling that I had. I felt gravity, a vacuum effect of being sucked into a chair securely. I felt supported and comfortable. The direct effect may have been that of piece of mind from the great day I had with family or that of which I received from the chemical alteration from the gin. In any event, the feeling was that of comfort, solace, and introspection.

And now for the soulful introspection that I try to incorporate in each entry, it feels nice to uncouple the stress of relocating, a dead-end profession, and a loss of personal direction with a temperately altered and collegiate branded mug with chemically inebriating contents. It just happens to be gin. I could sit in this chair all night and think about this stuff. I would never come to any answers or any cohesive conclusions. But that isn’t what tonight is about. Tonight is about unloading, getting perspective, and recharging.

I am thankful for my boys. They keep me focused and creating a better tomorrow. I am thankful for my wife. She makes me feel needed. I am thankful for a job. I need the money to make changes. I am thankful for my parents. They accept my issues and foster my growth. I am thankful for gin. It creates a creative gravity which binds me to this chair and enables me to write about ridiculous topics while my wife works on here next event.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve become a little predictable in my behavior and decision making. However, I’d say my emotional instability is still very volatile. But one thing that has remained innately consistent is the loneliness I feel from time to time. It exists as a numbing agent but the degree of its inflammation varies from minute to minute. It’s been six years. And they say, with time, all will be healed. Wrong. You don’t heal, you don’t mend, you don’t accept. You tolerate. You tolerate the pain and the heartache. You tolerate the fact that you can’t change the inevitability of the loneliness after the loss. It’s an impairment that no physical or emotional therapy can remove or subdue.

“Here I am alone, broken by my ghosts. Will they always haunt me when I’m drowning?”

You can’t help but wonder “why?” even after six years. It’s definitely easier to ignore the loneliness rather than tolerate it. Unfortunately, the memories stoke the embers of loneliness into a full blow blaze on days like this. While six years in the physicality of our world is not the ruler of measurement where he is at, I’m governed by its structure and measure the days I miss him, weigh the gravity of the loss, and count the moments where I wish he was here.

But the memories are good. I have the memories and the pictures. Some days, I can convince myself through business that there is no loneliness. I can forget it for a short time. But I can’t, and won’t, forget the memories. So I guess after six years, and maybe even after a lifetime, you play the memories like an old slide show in your mind. And just like an old slide show, there is graininess to the quality of its projection. The visions aren’t perfect, they aren’t totally clear. They’re slightly discolored after the years. But the one thing that weathers the fading and the pale colors is the feeling of the moment. For some reason, the memories of the feelings are crystal clear.


It’s really the simple, obscure memories during the slide show that choke you up and make you want to pluck that person right off the screen. I can remember when we took cardboard boxes and taped colored construction paper to the sides. We used electrical tape to segment the colors on each side. The result? Rubik’s Cube costumes for Halloween. Also, there were two trees in my parents’ front yard. One his and one mine. With sheets and clothes pins, we built forts in each tree. And then there is Mossyrock, Washington and camping with our grandparents. I don’t know how many times I had him pedal his little bike behind me to find the next skate spot. Then, he’d sit by and take pictures of me practicing tricks on private property. Years later, I remember picking him up from junior high. We’d head back to our house and play pick up basketball against the neighborhood. Most of the memories involved very little dialogue. In fact, he said very little to me in regard to popular opinion. But it was so obvious to me when I damaged our relationship. He absolutely hated a chick I was dating at one point. He never said anything about it, but it was just so uncomfortable in the room. Not much for public speaking or the lime light, it was a step out of his comfort zone to be the best man in my wedding. The toast, while the context is blurry, the vision of him controlling the audience as he talked is strong. Seeing him, I had so much satisfaction that day. While simple and irrelevant, I can still see the vision of my little brother shoving a guy back into the mosh pit at a concert we attended. That memory is the last one I have where we were in the same place together while he was still alive. The last. But I knew I didn’t have to fight his battles or protect him from the world. At that moment, I knew he’d be all right. No matter what. While others don’t have the pale slides of memories or have forgotten him, I’ve remembered. And every time you cry, you are reminded that you are alive and you miss them so much.


“This is a request; crawl out from graves of regret. This is a request; don’t waste your time tonight.”

The other day, I was listing to the typical return-home-commute programming, Jason Ellis. Interestingly, his tone was incredibly somber. He was discussing his family and its collapse after his little brother died years ago. His rough Australian tone and rugged vocabulary started to crack. I couldn’t help to begin to relate to what he had to say. Not so much in the collapse of the family structure, all though you could feel the tension between us all. Communication was very strange, almost like I wasn’t even their child anymore. It’s tough to say how it got there. Maybe it was because I was an adult now and my relationship with my parents had become more peer-like. With the loss of my little brother, I so wanted to go back to being their little boy, sheltered from the pot holes of life. Now, I was now an only child. Something I had never been before.

I really related to the bludgeoning effect of the personal loss Ellis had. The pain and heartache after the loss were real. He talked about his other brother, his father and his mother and how it affected them each individually from his own unique perspective. But what I found the most poignant is how he looked at himself after the loss. The main point was that he believed his brother would have wanted him to be happy and successful. We all talk this concept when we lose someone valuable in our life. Of course our loved ones would want us to move on and be happy. But it’s far easier to write those lines here in text than to actually live out those words.

He continued on that it’s not disrespectful to be happier now than you’ve ever been in your life after someone has passed. He spoke about his professional successes, his sobriety, and more importantly, his love for his wife and his little girl. He’s tolerated the loss in a rough-Outback-like way. And while the articulation of this feeling was profanity-laced with an Aussie accent, he conceded that he’s in pain with the loss but knows deeply that it has changed him in to something stronger and happier. His brother wanted these changes for him. The lost want that for you. They don’t want you to regret and stand still. They want you to push harder and succeed more and be happier.

The affect of the broadcast is something that cannot be perfectly explained in this context but it’s about living life with no sense of regret because your lost loved ones want that for you. It’s not disrespectful to be happy in your life despite them not being physically present other than in a picture. It stops here, he said. Today is the day where you take charge and make yourself happy and won’t live in the heartache. He wants me to move forward and succeed and create something beautiful for me and my family.