The path I’ve followed for the past seven years has left been an unpredictable spread of emotions that trying to map out would look like a buckshot blast across a moving target. There have been days where I wanted to bury my car into a jersey barrier convinced that I had nothing left but desperation. And on the other end of the spectrum, there was joy and elation where I knew that the story was incomplete but remained hopeful. And while it was missing one character that I thought was integral in plot development, I discovered that which seemed to be a trivial memory was so much more formative and defining. I began to understand how timeless and spanning memories are and that they carry on much longer than any one of us could ever dream.

Distilling the emotions down into something more compartmental was the only way I could get to a gripping point with how incomplete I felt after life turned that unexpected corner. Despite my comfort and overconfidence in how things should progress in my life, I was reminded in 2004 that nothing I expected, planned, or dreamt of could possibly be absolute. And with that dog leg in the path of life, I learned that the road dirt my clothing endured would be stained into my core and I couldn’t wash out the lessons that the loss taught.

Now down the road a bit with my shoes fairly dirty, I’ve become more matter of fact about it. Believe me; it wasn’t always this easy to talk about the variety of emotion that was experienced. So instead of moping around as frequent as I used to, I found that I want to talk about the healing process more and reflect on the lasting and timeless memories. I still struggle with the loss more than most people would ever be led to believe. And it’s a challenge to be alone at times. But I’ve come to a point where the spectrum of emotions is two distinct categories.


TORTURE
It starts with shock and dismay. The phone rings and on the other end is a somber voice telling you something that you do not want to hear. And in an instant, you’re confused. Your brother has been in a car accident and isn’t expected to live. You hang up the phone and scurry like a rat to pack your bags. You’re 1000 miles away. The phone rings again. He’s gone. It’s too late. You fall to the floor sobbing just like the movies. That’s how it happens. Unscripted.

He left without saying goodbye. I took it personal like a slight against my own existence. How could he leave forever without saying goodbye? I was pissed for a long time. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. I never had anything planned out but I just knew it couldn’t be like this. I guess I tried to deal with loss and loneliness by trying to blame him for leaving. It wouldn’t have been any easier or more tolerable if he would’ve said bye. Maybe it was the guilt. I didn’t talk to him the weekend before he died because I was ‘too busy.’ He went to a swapmeet with my father over that weekend and I was pissed he didn’t call that following Monday. The call I got wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t a goodbye.


TOLERANCE
But you gain a little perspective after driving down the road a bit further. At least then you can reflect back on the twists and turns and try to make sense of it. For me, I started looking at it like the neighbor with the annoying rice burner car. That is, it’s just the way it is and no matter how much you hate how loud the nasty ass exhaust is or how fast he drives on the side street, it’s just the way it is. It won’t change. And like that crude metaphor, losing my brother is what it is. By some sort of divine or prescribed intervention, we were left holding memories and not his hand.

Clinically, the quacks talk about ‘acceptance.’ Well, let me tell you something about that. It’s bullshit. I don’t know anyone who has ever accepted losing a loved one. It’s not OK. You don’t accept, you learn to tolerate the new landscape of life without them. You tolerate the pain. And down the road, you realize the beauty that’s born from the despair. And you worry about the guilt of being happy after they’re gone. I hate that I’m in love and have been successful. But my brother would want that for me. It’s OK to tolerate the loss and know that the path in front and behind you was defined by the loss.


I know there‘s nothing I wouldn’t do for my two boys. And I know there’s nothing more dangerous than a person who has lost their hope. For my brother, I can’t lose my hope. There’s a constant struggle with the reality that my boys will never know their uncle other than the stories, pictures, and an occasional visit to the cemetery. To me that‘s unfair. As articulate and emotional as I am, I just don’t feel like I could ever impress upon them how influential he was in this life and how important it is having that one person unconditionally believe in you regardless of poor decision you make at times.

I once heard, “You can live without Chaucer and you can live without calculus, but you can’t make it in the world without common sense.” As we get older, we understand the importance of this. Adulthood is nothing but a series of choices: you can say yes or no, but you can’t avoid saying one or the other. In the end, those who are successful and happy are those who adjust and adapt to life and the decisions they’ve made and make the best of them.

It’s been an uneventful musical month for me. Even though I’ve picked up a few albums by 'alternative' internet based means, nothing has really jumped out at me. So after feeling a little guilty for not feeding my musical needs for sustenance, I thought I’d peruse the internet and see what surfaced.

Because of my inextricable loyalty to Microsoft products, I find myself constantly looking for the next little games or app for my Windows Phone on Zune.net. And tonight was no different as I figured there was some useless free game I needed to download to entertain myself on mass transit to and from work. In that search, I sifted through the music to see what was compelling. On Zune.net, I found more commercially viable contributions to the music industry than I’m typically drawn to.

And tonight I’m surprised by a find in my drudging.

Bayside, an emo sort-of pop-punk, almost melodic hardcore band, released their fifth studio album. What does that have to with anything? Nothing much other than I’ve seen these guys perform before somewhere sometime when I lived in Southern California. And let me just say they were the opening band and they sucked balls. So why should this album even ripple the surface of the sea that is the music industry? Well it won’t but it’s worth a listen.


The new record, “Killing Time” is actually enjoyable to listen to. I’m sure I saw these dudes in the 2003 timeframe which would have made them relatively newly signed. This record comes after a label switch and some adversity. And apparently, this is the release that most critics were expecting from the beginning that just never came until almost 10 years later.

Since I really don’t know anything about them, I chose to do a little background check. Nothing relevant to write here that adds any value to this column. But I’ll say they’ve had their issues and that’s reflected in this album. It’s the typical ‘trying to find my place in the world while no one understands me’ release. And that’s OK at times. We all have that internal dialogue which pipes up at the most unpredictable times almost like it was a karmic sanity check the universe was providing.

“Killing Time” is actually a fairly tightly produced album which is musically stunning and very energetic. Is it original? Nope. But the guitar work is pretty cool. There are a ton of guitar slides and some sweet snare drum work. There’s definitely a maturity to the record even though a majority of the songs remain true to a calculated misery that comes with the emo genre.

Each song is not all that bad and has promise but there are a few that truly stand out.

“Already Gone” – Bayside couldn’t open with a better track; driving guitars and urgent lyrics. Sounds like the lead singer is tired of a dysfunctional relationship. It’s a dear john letter ending a toxic relationship. And oh yes, he’s angry, “I know it's cold but I will keep us warm with all the hate I radiate. We'll be walking hand in hand in hell.” Love it.

“Seeing Sound” – This is the best song on the record in my opinion. It has the bouncy aggressiveness and guitar of a Green Day song. Clearly an influence here. It’s a facetious song about the irony of life as the metaphor of a circus. The lyrics, “We'll go along thinking everything is wrong. Watch our lives from afar. But looking back is not so bad,” summarize it best.

“Killing Time” – Like the opener, Bayside couldn’t close with a better song. It’s heavy and unrelenting and the guitar is thick. I love the concept of the title track. Killing time is a metaphor for being sedentary in life. It’s kind of a carpe diem type anthem. The lyric, “I'm half way to happy now & I always mistake it for progress” typifies how we all feel when we downtrodden with emotion and setbacks.

If you took New Found Glory and Alkaline Trio and put them in a blender and added some Billie Joe Armstrong, put it on puree and blend away, you’d have Bayside. I do like the album but I should inform the reader here that I’ve only listened to it three times at the time of writing this. So maybe it would piss me off more and I’d get bored by its repetition with a few more listens. Overall, I think it’s a strong record with some catchy tunes. There is some great guitar work which is a blast to listen to. Additionally, the music is driving and the lyrics are delivered earnestly with an electronic violin type sounding voice.

Does Bayside have longevity? Well, it has taken a multitude of records to get to a mature sounding release. You’d like to think that their best music is in front of them. “Killing Time” is a decent product worth procurement by any means you feel are appropriate.

There are very few things in the world that intrigue and frustrate me more than childhood development. I have an analytical mind which follows a prescribed order of operations through a logical and predictable sequence of events defined by scientific proof and cause and effect.

And while there are thousands of ‘doctors’ in the world who profess that childhood development is a science and have developed theories and quantum relationships with the mental growth of children and published millions of papers and books on this very subject, I don’t believe there is any rhyme or reason to kids growing up. I’m a non-believer. I think there is more left to chance and how much you beat your kids rather than some sort of genetic makeup and a crusty old doctor’s thesis paper.


So before you call CPS, let’s launch into the next chapter of Son #2’s development.

If you recall, I mentioned how childhood development frustrates me. Let’s use this case study to discuss the method of communication Son #2 uses to connect with the world. Screaming. There was a small window where he used sign language to ask for things. But that brief moment has passed and now the only sign we get are him throwing his cup or hitting is arm while adorning a furled brow. While I don’t condone abusing one’s self and hurling dishes when you don’t get fish crackers, I do find the 20 month old ‘angry’ face wildly entertaining.

Back to the screaming.

It’s annoying, it happens ALL of the time, and is independent of mood and location. In the car, screaming. At a restaurant, screaming. While brushing his teeth, screaming (with toothpaste spewing out). While eating pizza, screaming. And it’s loud. So much so that I’m glad we don’t live in Belltown. The SPD would be issuing a noise ordinance violation for the sound pressure levels of Son #2.

The screaming gets so loud and frustrating you got to wonder at what point is he going to lose his voice. Ever? No? Then where are my ear plugs?

But for all that is annoying about this stage of his communication with the outside world, there is the sweet and innocent form of acknowledgment when he is able to indicate his interests. The intriguing development here is the point that Son #2 now has a vocabulary. And while the screams are indiscernible shrill tones of bombs exploding and limbs being ripped off of baby sheep, the innocent and sweet sounds of verbal recognition make you smile every time.

Communicating with Son #2 is kind of like the game of golf. It’s agitating yet with the addictive need to succeed. In golf you can have four or five horrible rounds. You keep going out for more, hoping that your swing comes back on the next tee. And when that one perfect swing happens, you are good for the next four or five shitty rounds. The tank is replenished.

With Son #2, all of the screaming equates to those nearly intolerable rounds of golf. And that one time, when he runs up to you smiling and says ‘wa-wa-wa’ with his tongue wagging left to right, you know he’s saying watermelon in Son #2 gibberish and that’s your ‘one stroke’ back into the round. His vocabulary is expanding and most of the words are much more obvious than watermelon. “Fish,” “cheese,” “juice” which coincidentally means beer, “guy,” and “bruba” for brother are just a few of the examples.

But the punchline is that the intriguing part of his development is his innocent acknowledgement. He’s so funny as he will walk up to you and point at the fan, say ‘gan,’ you acknowledge the fan and what he said, and in his sweet little voice minus all of the screaming, he will wave his tiny hand at the fan and say ‘hi’ in the most precious and innocent tone.


The sweet sound of his little ‘hi’ with the accompanying hand wave keeps you hooked no matter how intense the mutilated rabbit like screaming was only moments earlier. And just last night, Son #2 chose to trade sleep for screaming. He was inconsolable. A poptart, milk, water, a beating…well maybe not that, and nothing worked. I think eventually, he just wore out. My wife and I did. Ahh, the intrigue and frustration of childhood development. Is it a science? I think it’s more chaos theory than anything, which by chance, is science. Son #2 wears us out with the high maintenance attention and eardrum piercing shrieks of displeasure.

But like a horrible round of golf, his screams and tantrums are short lived compared to the sweet tone of his voice as he recognizes the world around him. “Blog” – “Hi!” (insert hand wave here)

For those of you who frequent the ramblings on this blog, you may remember that I deemed the last Monday of every month to be “New Music Monday.” My theory was that on this epic day, I’d incrementally increase the volume of our music catalog. Then, I would spend some time listening to the new addition, or additions, let the sound percolate and bounce around in my head, and eventually write up my own little review. What I found is that I am not patient enough to wait until the end of the month to buy new music. So let’s retool here. I am going to ‘try’ to write my review on the last Monday of each month and buy music whenever. I’m all ready late on my first issue. Shit.

September was a great month to be a music listener in my house. One word that describes how I feel about music: Substance. It’s like a friend you can always count on. Everywhere you turn, it’s there. I like that kind of reliability. I encountered a lot of new ‘friends’ in September. So getting to know each album was a daunting challenge. However, one record stuck out more than any other. The reason, as I will describe in further depth below, is because it encompassed many of the great things I like about music. I could hear so many influences on the record, artists and groups that also influenced me, so that I felt like I was listening to a family member talk to me.


The SoCal punk group Orange has been around for some time. There have been some changing of the guard through the years but the front man, Joe Dexter, and the vision of the band are still intact. Orange released its new album, Phoenix, on September 15, 2009. I wasn’t expecting it. As a matter of fact, my overall exposure to Orange was very limited. Like zero. However, I was listening to satellite radio when it got my attention and I scribbled the name of the band and song down on a post-it. Thanks to Lala.com and high speed bandwidth provided by the nation’s largest cable provider, I downloaded the latest Orange record.

Find it here: http://www.lala.com/#album/360569445168190460

So what is Orange? Do you mean the color? No, as I said above, it’s a SoCal punk band. It’s not as angry as Pennywise, as political as the Dead Kennedys, as comedic as the Offspring, or as fabricated as Story of the Year. Orange sits nicely in between these groups. It’s an entertaining almost-pop melodic punk that encourages the punk rowdiness through the music but lifts through its lyrics. No bashing the ‘Man’ here. Most of these songs are about feelings. So that makes Orange borderline emo on this record but the rest assured, the sound is confidently punk. I was giddy to listen to it as each track was upbeat and flowed into the next. The energy easily carries you through the record front to back. But there was no “Oh my God, this is the most amazing album I have ever heard.” It was more along the lines of being easily entertained by stories I could relate to or feelings that I have had. The songs, while not overly different musically from one another, allowed me to sit in the passenger seat of life for a minute and get an alternate take on the whole ‘feelings’ concept.

Phoenix has 12 tracks, covers a broad range of the musical spectrum, and draws on the diverse influences of the band. While I have listened to very little earlier Orange albums, I can say that Phoenix stretches the band both musically and lyrically as they try to develop their signature sound and mix genres. There is definitely a common Orange ‘theme’ through the record but each song pulls on its own uniquely creative strings. However, in lieu of time and wordiness, I am going to evaluate four of the songs which I feel give a fair slice of objectivity through the band’s recent release.

Standing Still – I would say that this is probably the most un-punk song on the album and was the first single off of it. This song has the most instrumentation of any of the other tracks. I personally like the whole xylophone action on it. I hear a lot of influence from the Cure on this song and I think musically that’s what catches me.

Everything I Need – This song just jumps right in like any good punk song should. You are immediately hit with a driving beat and guitar riff. The lyrics are introspective which is dangerously close to emo. The difference, no whining like a teenager who thinks they’re misunderstood. In my opinion, this is the best song on the record as the music changes direction multiple times and the message is right on.

Never Going Out Again – This song has such and east coast punk feel to it. It really reminds me of the Ramones. The chorus is an anthem and I can just visualize arms raised as this song is played in a club. Lyrically, the irony of not wanting to be like others but then following the herd is pretty accurate.

Catching Up – This song has the random chanting at the beginning that reminds me of a soccer game. I just want to slide tackle someone. The guitar work on this song is proto-typical crunchy SoCal punk. The lyrics are delivered with authority which reminds me of Rancid or the Misfits. I am sucker for SoCal punk.

If I had to set out must haves in a record, Phoenix by Orange would have hit most of them head on. The biggest one, does it keep my attention? The answer is yes. The big thing is that you can hear the diverse influences of the band. But it’s one thing to be influenced and it is another thing to copy. Orange does a great job pulling together their influences and using them appropriately in their music to yield an exceptional result. Most of the songs have outstanding choruses and all are anthemic and optimistic. Seems a little counter-intuitive for punk, right? Well there are several songs that are darker and there is even a cover of a Lou Reed piece called “Perfect Day.”

Overall, I would recommend Orange and their newest album Phoenix. It may not be innovative in its exploration of new themes or challenging when it comes to complex time or key changes, or even complex arrangements. But the music is energetic and the lyrics are encouraging. I personally like the fact that the band is not afraid to show an emotional side with a punk-type sensibility. I guess I can relate to this being the handful that I am.

Over the years, I have learned a lot about myself and my interactions with the world. There are so many things I’ve tried to control which were no where near being worth my effort. For the most part, I’ve learned that I don’t have these skills. While I am a systematic thinker, I am too emotional to see past my own heart. My emotion supersedes my logic unfortunately.

If I could paint a picture of what’s going on my head at any given time, it would be the image of a household junk drawer: The one-stop shop item that exists in every household around our planet that categorizes the uncategorizeable and organizes the unorganizeable (have I mentioned that making up words shows that you are creative?) Don’t act like you have complete order in your house, we all have junk drawers, just some are more organized than others. Today, my head feels like a catch all for all of the shit going on in my life. I’ve been asked recently why I’m looking for so much dramatic change in my life. I don’t think of it as change. I think of it as dumping the shit out of the junk drawer out on to the floor and then just walking away from it for a while.

I call it a change of perspective on the junk in my drawer. Think about it. You can easily go to Bed, Bath and Beyond or whatever retail outlet selling items to get the disorganized person now organized is still in business after this economic debacle we are riding through and buy a tray-based junk drawer organizer. We have one in our junk drawer. It’s a nice white plastic tray with bins for all of our crap and idiot proof stickers in each bin to show us where to put each paper clip, pair of pliers, post-it note, and rogue unusable key for something you used to own in the 80’s. Great, now I have a place to keep those three chartreuse thumb tacks for which I had no home. Probably going to need those someday.

Anyway, I need a tray-based junk drawer organizer for my head.

What it comes down to is that I’m exhausted with the concern of the risks related to every decision I make. Sometimes the magnitude of existence and responsibility wears on my soul so heavily I almost buckle under the downward pressure of the extreme weight of life’s reality. There’s this sense of being trapped into life’s catastrophe. I keep looking into my sons’ eyes and see the innocence of their hearts and the need for shelter from harm. I worry that I can’t provide it.

I guess I’m just trying to hold on to that little bit of sanity I have left and make the best decisions possible based on the chaos and the lack of my cerebrally-located junk drawer organizer. The web of life and its decisions have dramatically complicated the way I live each day. And I thought preschool was a challenge. With this entry, I am forcing myself to remain a little vague due to the complexity of the decisions and the web of their inter-relations. Otherwise, this would turn in the epic “War and Peace” of my blog-based ramblings. No one wants that. It’s hard enough for me to be brief as it is. What I have discovered about my complexities is that they affect my mental and physical health more than I was aware. This is where the real complication exists at its base. I’m struggling with making decisions, constantly evaluating the moving targets, doing my best to assess risks, and mitigating the collateral damage as it happens. But as I wrestle with this 1000 lbs. gorilla, I see that my behavior and the way that I cope with the world (read here: my family) become adversely affected. To break it down, that sucks balls. Everything I fight and make decisions for are becoming the target of my degrading behavior and worldly tolerance.

What do you do when nothing else has worked? Change your approach.

Call it the season or call it as just me whining to get attention. I feel like I would significantly benefit from a tray-based organizer that I could shove in to my head that could systematically categorize the clutter. I suppose there’s no Bed, Bath and Beyond of the mind so I am out of luck there. But given the state of the world and reality as we all know it, I just want someone to tell me it’s going to be OK and mean it. I am trying to believe this myself and I am having a very difficult time.

Life is always the most humbling when it spins something your way that you didn’t expect. Last week, Son #2 was fighting some sort of illness that made him cough and be inconsolable at times. This is an interesting point because I’ve been thinking that I haven’t written too much about him. Well, the culmination of his personality, sickness, and a trip to the ER warrant this latest entry.

Let me just say that Son #2 is NOTHING like Son #1. I mean, they both have similar attributes as they come from the same gene pool. But when it comes down to brass tacks, these two require a different style of parenting. The most basic need: Eating. Son #1 never had an issue taking a bottle. Whatever liquid you loaded in it, he would drink. There was a day where he even wanted to sip on some corn-squeezins. Son #2 on the other hand. Where’s the boob? He needs to have a boob in his face to eat, sleep, and relax. I guess at the lowest common denominator of genetics, all males want this. The point is, Son #2 wants the boob. When he refuses it, something is rotten in the state of Denmark. That’s a Shakespearean reference.

The other night, Son #2 didn’t want to eat, sleep or be held. This went on throughout the dead of the night, or so I was told by my wife. I don’t sleep much but when I do, you can easily drive an M1 Abrams through my bedroom and I wouldn’t budge. Strangely, I woke up for the show that night. The screaming had been going on for hours and my wife was at wits end. I took him and headed downstairs for a change of scenery. We wandered around in the dark while he screamed his little lungs out. My wife came down after gathering up the little composure she had left and decided to take him for a ride in the car. Driving around the neighborhood, he didn’t make a peep but was wide awake staring in the vast darkness of the early morning hours. My wife brought him back home and he started up again. At this point, as a parent you start to worry about your kid. A second child usually has to take the process much further than the first to get a rise out of his parents. We got to that place with Son #2 and my wife decided to take him to the emergency room. I stayed at home with Son #1 who was pleasantly sleeping through the entire episode.

Hours past and Son #1 woke up. I explained that his brother was sick and had to go to the hospital. We sat watching TV on a day I should have been at work and waited for that text message from my wife that said Son #2 was doing fine. Instead, I got a phone call telling me otherwise. While in the ER, Son #2 began vomiting. He hadn’t eaten much but there was enough projectile puke to concern the resident physician in the ER to place him on IV and take blood. My wife was frantic. She hadn’t slept in 24 hours, had been puked on by her baby, and was now in the ER with her youngest son with an IV in his foot. I guess I am not going to work. We made some emergency phone calls to get a friend to watch Ryan until my father could get there. I took new clothes, water, and husbandly support to my wife.

It’s humbling to see your 6 month old son on an IV and your wife completely disheveled in the ER. Suddenly work looked much more appealing. But Son #2 was now calm and sleeping. I took the opportunity to hold him while my wife changed in to fresh clothes not covered in baby vomit. We waited for hours in that tiny little room taking turns holding the baby while the other stepped out to call family and friends.

Neither of us had a chance to eat so a friend brought us comfort food from McDonald’s. One of the nurses in the ER nearly shit herself when she saw us devouring our fries. Apparently, bringing food into your room in the ER is evil. Nurse Ratchet went on to bemoan us by saying that McDonald’s is the worst offender because the smell of the food alone will cause a peristaltic chain reaction amongst patients launching an epic puke-fest. The smell of McDonald’s upsets other patients? Has this genius nurse not smelled the excrement slathered on plates being shoveled out of the hospital kitchen?

Eventually the blood work came back. All results were negative which were both a good and a bad thing. At least you know he doesn’t have swine flu. But then again, what’s wrong with him? After everything was said and done, we were told by the ER doctor that if a baby won’t take a boob that’s a bad thing. No shit. Son #1 was happy to see his brother when we got home. I felt bad because I was so short with him earlier in the morning. But Son #1 was a trooper through it all. The next day, our pediatrician looked over Son #2 and the blood work results. He found nothing of concern and reiterated that if the symptoms reoccur to take our little one to the ER at Children’s Hospital.

So there was nothing wrong with Son #2, he was just sick. While this is only a small blip on the radar of all the maladies both Son #1 and #2 will see in their lives, the whole episode remains hugely humbling. For one, it’s never cool to see an IV in your kid. It may be necessary given the state of affairs, but you always want to protect them. Second, you can’t eat McDonald’s hamburgers in the ER no matter how hungry you are. And lastly, you never like to see your little one suffer and not be able to calm them down. You want to be their sanctuary.

The flip side is this: Son #2 got our attention. There’s always a concern of the dreaded ‘Second Kid Syndrome.’ Interestingly enough, Son #2 never lets us forget that he’s around. He’s loud and makes his presence known.