What I’m learning while busy performing superhero-like airframe saving activities is that if I don’t shoehorn my vacation into the corporate schedule, I’ll never get a moment to enjoy my summer, or even wipe my own ass. Over the last month or two, I’ve squinted more due to the screen of my laptop more than the glare of the summer sun. All that being said, I forced the hand of the Man and took time off to spend the day with my children.

With my wife out of town, I relied on my parents to cover for me while I was shackled to my desk. However, I was able to get Friday off from the office. I had big plans for the boys and me. We never really get that uninterrupted alone time to be together. Some of it is that we typically do functions as a family unit, I’m generally overworked, and Son #2 is a chore to take out in public when he’s awake.

On Thursday, I had the honor of waiting until about midnight until I fully knew I had Friday off. Fortunately, things lined up and I was able to spend some absolutely great time with my two sons. Good thing too because I had all ready thrown down the opportunity to my oldest son to go to the Museum of Flight. As I loaded both boys in my car that morning, I worried about the youngest because this could have been on hell of challenge if he made his mind up that this wasn’t where he wanted to be.

I packed the stroller for Son #2 because it effectively works as a wheeled personal immobilization device. I could keep him contained if shit got crazy. Both boys, especially Son #1 were in awe over all of the aircraft in the museum. Son #2 was even let out of his containment device to climb on aircraft and spread his proverbial wings. We had a blast checking everything out. Son #1 really liked the WWI aircraft and the children’s section where he could fold paper airplanes. Both kids really enjoyed the experience so much that they were bummed when I suggested we leave. I could sense the fatigue in them and to avoid a cosmic meltdown, I suggested we go to the gift shop and then on the lunch.

The gift shop only cost me two die cast aircraft, an AA DC-10 and the Space Shuttle. The lunchtime decision from Son #2 was for chocky milkshakes at McDonald’s. Of course, I’m very focused on nutrition so I made sure these shakes were complemented with French fries and chicken nuggets in all of their deep fried goodness. We opted to transit through the drive thru and head back to the grandparents’ house. To this point, everything was great. Obedient and content kids. A patient father. As we approached the point of ordering, I made one request of them, “Don’t get into combat in my backseat when we have to order. I want to be able to order without the threat of nuclear war.”


Consider that last sentence in to foreshadowing of what happened next. No sooner did the drive thru jockey say ‘Welcome to McDonald’s’ when Son #2 let out a blood curdling scream. I was sure Son #1 did something to him so they both got a love tap. So I ordered lunch for us all but couldn’t hear one word that the dude on the other end of the intercom said. To make matters just a little bit worse, I told Son #1 since he made his younger brother scream, that he wouldn’t receive lunch. I suppose that didn’t help the moment. Ultimately, we all calmed down and drank our milkshakes and ate our French fries.

On to the next day, where we had a lesson on how to pour a new concrete slab for the patio in the backyard. Both boys contributed by staying out of the way and not stepping in the wet concrete. The only moment where there could have been an emergency room trip is when Son #2 decided to hang on the side of the wheel barrow full of rock which caused it to tip. As it tumbled over, we had a near miss of the little boy. The whole experience scared the shit out of him but we had no casualties.

Later that night, the three of us hopped up on the couch and watched a bike movie. I’m always blown away by how intensely they watch my bike movies. As we watched, we talked about our upcoming vacation to Whistler. It’s a week away and we’re all really excited. Especially me. Son #1 is counting down the days just like me now. And as predictable as rain in Seattle, Son #1 was hungry. When asked what he’d like to have for dinner, he emphatically answered, “TOSTADAS!”


Even Son #2 was on board too and excited for tostadas. Over dinner, we talked more about the upcoming vacation. But the real conversation revolved around how we really love tostadas and these were the ‘best’ we ever ate. Because they were so good, the conversation took a turn to how many tostadas either of us could eat. While Son #1 never explicitly declared a quantity, he made work of about six Son #1-sized tostadas. Not bad work. Because of his championship eating pedigree, he chose to challenge me. As I walked back in to the kitchen to prepare another for myself, Son #1 stepped up his game and told me that there was no way I could eat ‘infinity and beyond’ tostadas.

That sounds like a challenge. But little did he know that despite his overzealous challenge to his old man, he didn’t clarify a time to achieve such a lofty milestone. I’ll hit that mark, even if it takes forever.

It was a great weekend with my boys. It’s hard to be a working dad and have the energy to pull off fun and guidance when you’re buried in your day to day work. You bring that stress home and it consumes you to a point where you are nearly blind to the subtleties of life’s little miracles. I was lucky this weekend to impede my obsession with monitoring my work. I focused solely on them. And the one thing I noticed over the past days was that Son #1 monitors me, my actions, what I say, what I do, and where I am. He’s getting to be a little boy that needs more of ‘me’ in his life. And while I’m always here and around him, it’s more about the guidance and confidence a father can give a son. He’s much more in tune with who I am these days. That being said, it made it even more powerful to be with him this weekend and have so much fun.

For this "New Music Monday," let's talk about consistency. In a world where there’s constant motion and nothing is ever the same, it’s nice to have an old predictable standby now and then. The group Bad Religion, despite having a fluid lineup over the years, has been the model of consistency musically for the last 30 years. Formed in 1979, the group has done things their own way and on their own terms.


An independently ran band on a self started label both which have grown in the face of constant worldly change. 15 studio albums and a handful of live records later, the recipe remains the same. Sophisticated, socially responsible lyrics with soaring three part harmonies (oohs and ahhs). While musical ‘staticism’ is dangerous for most acts, Bad Religion has hung its collective hat on a way of writing and playing their music. And it works.

30 years is a long time to do the same thing and not get tired. “The Dissent of Man” is the fifteenth studio album from Bad Religion and coincidentally aligns with their 30th anniversary. And while it isn’t all that much different from stuff produced a decade or two ago, it’s kind of comforting to have a reassurance in something you have always known. Is it their best? I don’t think so but it is a solid addition to any Bad Religion fan’s library.

I’d estimate overall that “The Dissent of Man” has clear evidence of the Bad Religion sound, driving guitars, and pissed off lyrics. But I would say that there are tunes on this record that are clearly filler. Most of the songs are slower than the typical ripping anthems created in the past. That’s not bad or good. Just a little different. I wouldn’t say that there are definitive songs off this album. It’s one of those punk records you just let play because of a mix of standouts and filler. Bad Religion has always addressed the important stuff in their songs, social consciousness, political thoughtfulness, and existence. Greg Gaffin has that distinct voice of punk and has led hi band through the years of change and maturity while maintaining a truthfulness to his objective

Only Rain – Prototypical BR. A ripping beat, ultra fast guitar riff, oohs and ahhs, and metaphoric lyrics about judgment and the end of the world. Listen to this song if you have never heard BR.

Someone to Believe – BR has always run contrary to the grain and questioned beliefs of the masses and the need for people to follow a flock. Musically, it’s a punch in the stomach while the lyrics are about self awareness and confidence found in oneself rather than a pulpit.

Cyanide – Ah the analogy of lost love is like kissing cyanide. We all know the feeling. This is a little folksier, bluesy, BR. The melodic hardcore roots are there but its tempo is slower for the average listener

Bad Religion is one of the all-time great punk bands. They’re one of the premiere melodic hardcore bands, blending hooks and smooth vocals with hardcore music. After 30 years, the band is still touring and releasing new albums. As a matter of fact, Bad Religion appeared at the Showbox in Seattle several nights ago. They’ve always been a politically charged band behind the “oohs and ahhs”, and their new album is no different. If you are a fan of genre defining acts, Bad Religion is just that.

After three decades, the band can still hash out new material. "The Dissent of Man" is not a masterpiece by punk or music standards. However, the handful of distinct Bad Religion-true songs on the record make this album a worthy add to you collection. Furthermore, this is an album that will definitely satisfy BR fans and punk fans alike. To continue forging forward through the winds of change and the fickleness of the music industry is a major accomplishment. Can you do the same thing and remain relevant for 30 years? Not many of us can without reinventing ourselves. The element of punk consistency does not disappoint in "The Dissent of Man."

One thing my wife and I have talked about over the years is the need for a person to exist in a ‘comfortable’ place. And when I say place, I don’t mean physical surroundings. I’m referring to the metaphysical place of existence for spiritual beings. Comfort in your skin, if you will. For example, we all grow up change clothing styles, change our hair, try to be preppy, try to be a jock, try to be Goth, whatever. We changes friends, change cities, and change our thinking along this path of discovery of self identity. We’ve watched this in both ourselves and our friends. Self identification is a funny thing. Most people don’t like who they are so they stay in constant motion to try and become ‘who they are supposed top be.’ I’m not being judgmental here. I’m no different.

Over the last five years I’ve been inarguably returning to my inner teen. If you are following on the calendar, this directly coincides with the knowledge of the impregnation of my wife with our first born son. Now, my wife would have you know that I’ve always been grounded in a little immaturity, both in appearance and in behavior far earlier than that. In fact, we stopped at a bar in our old neighborhood of Belmont Shore a few years back. The bouncer imperatively asked, “ID?” My wife was flattered until the happenstance of this event actually registered with her that it was me, and not her, that was being requested of said ID. In her defense, our ages are not significantly different. Yet, my board shorts, Fox tee shirt, and backwards cap may have had something to do with the inquisition.

All appearances aside, I typically gravitate toward more youthful interests. It’s just my thing. But I think this characteristic is a function of what I’m speculating at here. It’s that we all gravitate toward the comfortable points in our lives. We’re always trying to find who we are, and along the way, the light clicks on and its beams are shed on that period where you felt the most comfortable in your skin. Strangely enough for me, it was when I was an angst ridden and confused adolescent skateboarder.

As my interests and behavior come full circle and settle back into my early teen years, I find old memories resurfacing and a need to resuscitate some of the old me. It’s not that I had it all figured out then (or now for that matter). It just felt good to be alive. Now in this phase of my life where I’m a father figure, I’m channeling the old spirits of me to validate this new existence. Not to misconstrue my feelings on my current life, what makes it great is that the past spirits are actively involved in this new existence. I’ve settled back in to the punk rock skater that defined me as a youth.

As you re-embrace old interest/habits/vices, it’s important to have a supporting cast. My wife has been hugely supportive in my excavation of the early teen me. She advocated my purchase of a new skateboard five years ago, smiled as I skated off to work and laughed under breath, and she snapped pictures of our boys standing on my board as they grew. More importantly, she patiently listened as I blasted kids these days trying to skateboard, not understanding the history and the sacrifices, and using it as an image.

In that early teen stage, skateboarding was my basis of existence. Everything revolved around the next hand rail, launch ramp, or shred session. School, homework, girls, family, and even eating were behind skating. I have so many great memories from that era of my life. As cliché as it is, these memories are a coming of age story where I was learning about how the world viewed me. In the mid 1980’s, skateboarding was not fashionable. We were outcasts and defiant youth. That got us in to trouble but it also strengthened our resolve. We didn’t need to be ‘accepted.’ I learned early on that peoples’ dismissive thoughts were nothing more than their perception and not my reality. As long as I was honest and committed to myself, the world would begin to comprehend the true identity of my existence. Skateboarding gave me an outlet and irrefutable evidence that I can define my own identity and not have to exist in a predetermined rule set categorized by detractors.

So my new thing, while rediscovering my comfortable self, is trying to obtain the old skate decks I rode over the years. However, this is no small order as both the industry and the world have changed. I’ve been casually looking around and have come up pretty empty handed. There are two big challenges here: One, I can’t remember all of the decks I’ve ridden. And two, how can I find decks that are from an era long since past? Is this really a value-added activity in my home? Probably not, but it is yet another reason to create an elaborate spreadsheet to capture research information, availability, and pricing.


While my excavator efforts in reclaiming the depths of my action sports history may have no relevance on your life, I caution you in prematurely writing off my madness. Take a step back and consider what I am suggesting here. We, as adults, have settled in a ‘stage’ that is reminiscent of a life in our past. This postulate may not be entirely true for everyone. Some people just grow old and become curmudgeons who wear Birkenstocks and socks and whine about the youth of today and their parents. Those folks just try to avoid being happy anyway. But most of us, the free thinkers, the livers, and the vibrant souls, have grown up but not old. We have found something at our core that brings us peace and we treasure that. It’s a small thread of a great woven fabric that makes up our existence. It’s why there are cougars. It’s why grown men wear professional sports jerseys. It’s why adult women read teenage vampire stories. It’s why 35 year old boys skateboard. There is a piece of purity and immaturity in all of us from years back that we embrace.

Over the last two weeks, I have been inundated with and overly excessive amount of daily work activities which have kept from even thinking about my next entry here. It was one of the first times in my life where I was completely unable to fabricate some small piece of time to outlet a little creativity. For the most part, I have been pretty unhappy with how demanding life has been recently. There has been no shortage of obligations, commitments, and responsibilities. The incredible vacuum like sound of time being sucked right out of life has become the topic of discussion here.

This entry will definitely be more of a plethora of thoughts and happenings that have bestowed both positive and negative inspiration on me these last few demanding weeks. Based on pre-described rules I’ve mentioned in another post, I can’t discuss the near nazi-like, soul-clenching, life-draining demands of employment. Needless to say, the activities in the office have put a strangle hold on the neck of creativity for a many days. Just the amount of time needed in the day to meet deadlines was so excessive that I couldn’t even approach a topic shyly like a twelve year old at a junior high dance. To make matters worse, there was what is called a ‘Reduction in Force’ in the work place. Despite being worked like a pack mule, we were all waiting for our one-on-one meetings with management only to learn of our no longer needed useless skills sets. There is strange irony in working your ass off only to find out your position is a ‘surplus.’ To make a long story longer, I wasn’t reduced. This comes as both good and bad news. There’s a piece of me that needed the ultimatum to be reached. Then there is the responsible side that has the voice of my mother whispering in its ear about playing along and appreciating that I have steady income and healthcare from a global conglomerate.

Now that I’ve broke that rule, on to my next topic. I’ve mentioned that I am now the proud father of a soccer player. Son #1 is on a soccer team for four year olds called the Pandas. The name alone inspires fear in the masses, or at least scares the shit out of bamboo trees. To date, they have had a total of four practices which range in the volume of focus by the players and the amount of water breaks given by the coach. I have to keep reminding myself that these kids are only four years old. But I feel like we needed an hour (or ten) more of practice to explain some of the subtleties of teamwork and, I don’t know, maybe the game of soccer. So I volunteered to assist in keeping these hellions focused, enthused, and running. The first game has come and gone and if we were keeping score, I would estimate that the final score was 4-0. Pandas on the losing end of it. But because this is for ‘fun,’ we are not keeping score. I will say this based on my observations: While tough to communicate field boundaries, direction, teamwork, passing, competition, and the overall ‘feel’ of the game, the one thing that transcends and is totally understood is the purity of fun. Smiles. It is obvious in the Pandas’ smiles.



Next up: wedding anniversary. As a husband/male you are bound by some sort of rule set or societal obligation to fulfill some sort of ‘Oh he is such a sweetheart’ comment issued by your wife’s friends. I hate this pressure. When I am planning something for my wife or out shopping for her, I am constantly playing the ‘What did he do for you?’ track in my head. Because if your wife can’t answer this question with a beaming smile and equally beaming piece of jewelry or latest in fashion couture, you’re worthless drudge of slime found under the salty docks of the tide flats in Commencement Bay. Believe me, I’ve been there literally and philosophically. In the weeks leading up to our anniversary, I repeatedly thought about traditional and modern gifts and how I could assemble something meaningful that would successfully answer the above womanly questions, score me points with the wife in order to build credit toward my next two-wheeled purchase, and ultimately eclipse others and shine the light of inadequacy on the significant others of my wife’s friends. Good plan, right? Well, I had intended on multiple research and shopping days to execute on this plan. The Man got in the way with professional obligations, meetings, projects, and the general exercise of killing your creative soul. Needless to say, I nearly ran out of time but I was able to squeeze some research in on one day and then made five total stops during my lunch break and after work the next day. I couldn’t show up to my own anniversary without a gift(s). Crisis avoided. Wife happy and the anniversary was a good day.


The overarching theme here is about time or the lack of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so consumed with every second of the day. They feel like they are just slipping through my hands. Think: cliché sands of time through your fingers here. I have always felt like I could handle everything thrown at me no matter the volume of responsibility or level of commitment. I would always find ways to milk a little more time out of the day. It’s like the enacting the Toyota philosophy upon my schedule management. For those of you who are not engineers or geeks like me, this is a reference to the Toyota manufacturing Lean philosophy of removing waste (not poop, but extra processes and useless handling) from the manufacturing system. As I grow up, I realize that it is a little more effort to manage the ever-slipping time resource. Man, where has the time gone.

By nature, I have a limited tolerance for people. This makes it challenging to be a father of two radically different, yet defiant boys. Considering that, at times I have been unreasonably hard on Son #1. It’s hard to look at him and not see a youthful, passionate version of myself glaring right back at me. So much of his personality and behavior are identical to my own. My wife says I am horribly impatient with him and alternately, I am all goo-goo-ga-ga with Son #2. She may be right on with this assessment. Son #2 doesn’t talk back to me. I think it’s hard at times when you are aware of your own deficiencies and see those in your child. You want with every fiber of your being to shake them and explain to them that those attributes will get them no where. But you can’t. For one, the ‘authorities’ seem to think that shaking your kid is inappropriate. Second, nature has to run its course and evolve in your own offspring.


I suppose I’m writing this entry because of my guilt and pride in an ever conflicting combat to find balance. Son #1 is a daredevil, a go-getter, and an exhibitionist. But he is also impatient, introverted, and in fear of failure. He wants so bad to impress, succeed, and be considered great. This is nothing like me (sarcasm). It’s easy to take for granted how special he is in our life. He’s a product of the pain and suffering of the past and the fortune and the future for a family that needs stabilization and a something to gravitate its last remaining positive energy. The pressure of this on his soul is unfair.

“I never tell you how much I think about you. I have so many hopes and dreams for you. But there are two things that scare me. The first is like any young father, I live with a fear that I’ll never be able to provide an environment where you can extend yourself and attain your dreams. I scratch and claw at everything to enable you to have a peaceful childhood. The second fear is much more difficult to explain. My expectations are so high for everything and get easily disappointed when they are not met. I have this vision for you that is fairly nebulous with no hard boundaries or distinct outcomes. It worries me how hard I could push you to push yourself to reach these levels and alienate our relationship.

I don’t want any elements of intolerance to morph into resentment. I really worry that I could be the oppression in your life that I have always fought against. In an effort to get the feeling out there, I want to simply explain how proud I am of you right now. It’s pretty easy to lose focus on the aspects of life that are most important. Cars, bikes, evenings out with friends, jobs, and vacations are just a couple of things that distract us. I don’t want to lose that focus on you. I am trying to do my best at taking stock in every moment with you because our days together are finite. For over five years, the vision of you and what you mean to me has carried me through some of my darker thoughts. You’ve given me a lot of hope.

My mornings are rough before work, and everyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person. Some people need coffee, I need punk rock. But each morning, I wake you up and take you to the bathroom to pee so you don’t have an accident. It has been months, and I could probably stop this routine in my before-I-go-to-work procedure, but I find that there’s something peaceful about being annoyed by waking you up EVERY morning. Here’s why: I woke you up this morning and things were no different than normal. You rolled over, rubbed your eyes, and sat up on you knees throwing your arms out signaling me to lift you up and carry you to the bathroom. You went about your business and walked under your own power back to your bed. I pulled the covers over you and gently rubbed your shoulder and told you ‘good job’ as always. Then, like one million times before, you smiled at me. And that’s it. That never gets old.

Moments like that remind me that no matter the setback or the accomplishment, I’ll always love you for everything you are and everything you are not. I may not always want to hear you ramble about the toys in the sandbox or the fact that your one billion Lightning McQueen toys are building a trail in my living room. But I’ll always want to see your smile and will always take stock in you being my son. I am hard on you because I know you are every bit of me inside that little body and behind those blue eyes.”

Son #1 is on to his next activity. Soccer. I’ve always felt it was the sport for the paraplegic because you didn’t need arms to play. But I have a new appreciation for the sport with the Sounders being in town. I’ve been watching the games, asking questions, and even attended a match. So I’m learning. My wife has been explaining to me that soccer is a great sport for learning teamwork and camaraderie. So is the Hitler Youth Brigade. I just see a lot of running and I have one rule about that. Only run when you are being chased by the cops. September 19th I will be a soccer dad. I’m kind of stoked about this and I’m now wondering what it would take to be a coach. Probably knowledge of the game, more patience, and less tattoos. I can work on the first of those. So maybe I set my sights a little lower and volunteer to assist the ‘real’ coach. No worries, I can still work with the players to carry a swagger. I’ll even supply some temporary tattoos for the kids (since they are not of age) so we can give them all sleeves. They’ll look like hooligans and we can scare the opposition into pissing themselves.