The Kid is Alright

Well it's been quite a while since I posted anything, so I figured it was time to get back in the swing of things. And here's a disclaimer: if you get tired of hearing me talk about my kids then stop reading now. I'm not sure why the hell you would even consider reading in the first place if that's the case, of course, since that's about all I do, but you have been warned.

Our boy Nelson started Middle School this year (which is 6th grade around these parts). Kristi and I were filled with trepidation as he made the transition from Elementary school, where he was in the same class pretty much all day, to what I remember as real school, where he has to get from one class to another all by himself. He was going to have separate books and folders for his classes, and the homework was going to increase by a ton. Of course he would also be swimming in the sea of hormones that is 6th and 7th grade, and this was already getting tricky, at least a little bit.

I suppose this is nerve wracking for any parent, but we had another reason to sweat the transition. To better explain what that reason is, I should talk about a very difficult time for him. He was in 4th grade, and just having a terrible time - he wasn't able to pay attention in class or at home; he had a hard time just not fidgeting...he literally could barely control his movements at times. Our kids attended a Montessori school at the time, and the one teacher they had for the 4th through 6th grade kids was a truly lousy teacher who had neither the skill nor the inclination to work with the boy and help him succeed. She, and some of the administrative staff, labeled him a sporty kid (not necessarily good in that environment) and a troublemaker, and he spent a ton of time in the equivalent of the Principals office. We had already made the decision that he (and his sister) would begin attending the public school in our neighborhood the following year, but somehow we had to get him through this one.

I'll bet by now any of you that don't already know this are guessing what happened next: we took him to his doctor and after a number of evaluations he was diagnosed with ADHD. It's funny now to think how so many people we knew were really concerned and saddened to hear this, and all we were thinking was that we were finally able to help our kid! By this point he was convinced that he was stupid and a bad kid. He hated that he couldn't do what he was supposed to, or what some people told him he was supposed to do, and he told us on many occasions.

There were a couple very stressful months where we tried different dosages of medication, and anyone who's been through that can appreciate how difficult that period is, until we finally found the right one for him. Then everything changed....by this time it was Summer, so there wasn't any school, but all of a sudden he could read! Well, he could already read technically, but he couldn't sit still and concentrate enough to actually comprehend anything other than a comic book. We were overjoyed, and he was beginning to feel OK about about himself again.

Here's another disclaimer: anyone who ever makes the mistake of telling me they don't believe kids should be given medication for ADHD will look back on that event as a truly unhappy moment in their life. If you can hear your 9 year old son tell you that he hates himself, and he wishes he was dead, and not do anything and everything in your power to fix that...well, you are an idiot and a shitty person.

Nelson had a great 5th grade year at the local Elementary School....his teacher completely got him and knew exactly what to do to help him succeed. It didn't hurt that she has a daughter who also has ADHD, but that wasn't the reason it went so well - she was well trained and the school provided a ton of support for her and for us, and most importantly for the boy. And then, after this great transition.....The Big One! Off to Middle School....

So, as I said at the beginning, we were very worried about how all this would go. He had made so much progress and we were worried that all the added stimuli would be too much for him, especially with the new prospect of girls! Yep, they were always there, but now it was different, although he's not planning on admitting that anytime soon.

Things got off to an OK start, for Middle School, and we interacted with the teachers and counselors quite a bit. Nelson worked very hard. Then in October it was report card time, and check this out:




Holy Crap! The boy worked his ass off for that, and we thought it was just awesome. And not just the GPA either....the fact that he feels great about it and now knows that he's smart and he can do it! He enjoys Math and Science and his teachers routinely compliment him on his enthusiasm and his desire to do well. He just brought home his 2nd quarter report card and, while he just barely missed the 3.5 mark, he was even more proud than the last one. And so are we.

I assure you that I would not be bragging on the boy's grades if it wasn't for what he had to go through to make them. The medication is only part of the story....so much of what he's doing now is because he has worked incredibly hard to do it. Also, we had a ton of help and support from so many friends - in everything from navigating the waters of getting the school support to just helping the boy take that first pill.

So I hope that if you were around during these times you can take some satisfaction from this story that you were part of a cool thing happening to a great kid. I also hope that if you or someone you know is going through something similar that you will share this story with them, and let them know that sometimes it really does work out OK. Because it can.

Green River, The Fluid, and Why Rock 'n' Roll will never Die

You may or may not know that this year marks the 20^th anniversary of Sub Pop records, a Seattle institution and the original home of one of the biggest bands of all time. This wasn't necessarily a big deal to me, but when they announced that Green River and The Fluid were going to re-unite to play a big anniversary bash it became a very big deal.

You see, I never saw Green River live, but was a huge fan back in the late eighties…their sound came to epitomize the Seattle experience to me even before I moved here, and once I did get here it made even more sense. Of course, they broke up long before that. And the Fluid, well, there has never been a more exciting live band, and I seriously doubt there ever will. The only downside was that this show was going to be during the day at a park…not necessarily how I'd like to see either of these bands.

Then Mrs. Frenchy heard of a "secret" show at the Sunset in Ballard, a tiny little tavern, that Green River would be playing. As a bonus, it was on her birthday! So I watched the website and soon the tickets for a show starring The Press Corps and "2 special guests" went on sale. I bought 4, as we had some friends who were going to go with us. I then looked up The Press Corps on the internets and found out that it was kind of a supergroup, and the singer was Garrett Shavlik…who used to play drums for The Fluid. Hmmm….what could that mean?

The day of the show I checked the Green River myspace site and found that, yes, the mighty Fluid would be playing! And then the excitement began in earnest. Emails were flying all over the place…excited phone conversations were taking place, discussing the bands, music, and all kinds of stuff…plans for meeting up were made and changed…"Rehab Doll" was getting a lot of play in my office and many others.

Do you remember that feeling you'd get before a big weekend show, the one where you loved the bands and all your friends were going to be there? That's what was happening (even though only some of our friends would be there) and it was even better because I would be celebrating the birthday of my lovely wife at the same time.

We met up with a bunch of folks at the Bal-Mar, a classy joint in the middle of trendy Ballard, owned by our friends, and bar hopped for a while until finally it was time to hit the Sunset Tavern…the secret location. It was crowded, lots of old schoolers there of course, but not too crazy. My friend Chris and I staked out a spot about 4 feet from the PA speaker on the right side of the stage and soon Green River took the stage.

They had the whole line up on stage, with early guitarist Steve Turner as well as Stone Gossard and Bruce Fairweather, which was kind of surprising, but also a pretty cool & classy move on their part. I'm not great at recounting a set by a band that I dig song by song, because I completely geek out and get all immersed in the music and the show and shit, so all I can say is that they launched into a blistering, incredibly loud set and really tore it up. I think that the presence of Turner may have held them back a bit on some of the more metal tinged songs (the ones that are my favorite), but not that much. The big revelation for me was what a bad ass lead singer Mark Arm is…I'm used to seeing him in Mudhoney, but without the guitar he stalked the stage with a burning stare and just belted it out, channeling Iggy the whole time. I love the way he sings, and he was in fine form for sure, even when he ventured out onto the bar (the mic cut out, but if you were close enough you could hear him scream!). Awesome. I finally got to see Green River, and they were fantastic.

The Press Corps played next, and, well, they were pretty bad. And long. Enough said, I think.

Then the Fluid took the stage. Damn, I wish I could remember the first song exactly, but, like I said, I just dive in and I can't really think straight after that. It might have been "Black Glove", it seems like it was anyway, but whatever it was, about 2 seconds after the whole band kicked in it was obvious that something special was happening here. The whole club was instantly in motion…heads bobbing, eyes closed, singing along with John Robinson, who is still an absolute Rock God. His voice is as good as it was back in the day, and he looks like he's in his 20's, the bastard.

The Fluid always had one of, if not the, most powerful and inventive rhythm sections anywhere, and they have not lost a step. Shavlik pounded the skins as hard and aggressively as ever, and Matt Bischoff was with him on bass every step of the way, still flashing that goofy grin at his bandmates as he looked around the tiny stage. James Clower and Rick Kulwicki blasted out a towering wall of guitar as if they had never stopped playing.

I wish I could find the words to adequately describe their set. Transcendent would work, I think, as would devastating, but neither tell the story. At the end I walked to the back to catch up with Mrs. Frenchy…I was covered in sweat and grinning from ear to ear, and that grin remained for days (as did the ringing in my ears). It was her birthday, but I got a present too!**

The next morning the missus and I had a late breakfast in the hotel lobby and noticed that the Sub Pop flag was flying off of the top of the Space Needle. I don't know, I've never spent much time thinking about that label itself, but it was kind of moving to see it up there. I mean, without them I probably would have never moved up here, and so would never have met Mrs. Frenchy, and missed out on a lot of awesome rock too. I guess it really was a big deal after all.

**Yes, I got her a present as well…the evidence of that will be in my photos soon.

The Rusty Duck

I wanted to write a little something about my dad... I realize that Father's Day was last Sunday, but I was busy with, well, fatherly things, so I'm only now posting this. I've mentioned my dad in a few blogs, and many of my friends here on the myspaces have had the pleasure of meeting him over the years, but I thought this would be a good time to talk about him a little bit.

I should mention that, if you didn't know, my dad passed away back in 1995...just a bit less than 2 weeks after I married Mrs. Frenchy. This was, of course, a very difficult time for me. My dad was my closest friend, and that friendship was hard won, as we were too similar for our own good for a while which resulted in a couple years where we didn't even speak. We managed to work our way through that crap to emerge closer and more connected because of it. But his passing doesn't define my dad, now or ever, so I want to tell a story about him now, for Father's Day.

The year is probably 1985 or so. I was heavily into the Alarm, the Cure, and any other band with giant hair and earnest or gothic leanings. And really, I think the giant hair was probably the most important. My sole means of transportation was a 70's era Vespa scooter, and I had big, fucking giant hair. At this point I would use cans upon cans of Aqua Net Extra Super Hold, and rat the hell out of it, for sort of a huge pompadour effect, just a little more messy. I had a bunch of friends with scooters and motorcycles as well, and we'd ride out to Club Can't Tell or even Dansepark (sp?) in West Sac all the time.

One day I was riding around with my friend Woody, who was preparing to head out on an epic trip through Europe and points east, eventually working on a kibbutz in Isreal (I think). He was getting his last check at the Rusty Duck restaurant over by the river, and I was sitting on a bench in the lobby waiting for him so we could go get beer afterward. It was lunch time on a weekday and my dad happens to walk by with a bunch of folks on their way from a business lunch. My dad was a plant manager at the rice mill in West Sacramento (which is now the River Cats stadium, I believe), and so did not necessarily travel in the most enlightened of circles.

It took me a couple seconds to recognize him, and by that time his group was heading down the stairs in front of the restaurant. I jumped up, went out the door, and yelled "Hey dad!". The folks in his party turned around, absolutely horrified, and then he said "Hey Kid!", and hopped up a couple stairs and gave me a hug. I really can't describe the looks on the faces of the dudes with him, but they ranged from disgust to absolute fear. We talked for a few minutes, and then he headed out and I went back up to wait for Woody.

I didn't think a whole lot about this until my dad told me later, between fits of laughter, how his co-workers (and vendors) had joked with him as they walked by me by saying "Hey Dick (his name), there's your kid!" There was plenty of LMFAO by all, but my dad never actually looked over, so he didn't even see me. Once they figured out that I actually WAS his kid...Oh man. My dad couldn't even get this far in the story without doubling over in laughter. It never occurred to him to be embarrassed about it...he thought they looked like idiots for thinking it mattered at all. He grew up in the country during a time that looking different definitely wasn't cool, and he dug what my friends and I were doing, and bragged about it to his buddies.

So I told this story at his memorial service, and, of course, it went over quite well. There were a ton of people there, and, as it turned out, one of them had been in that party at the Rusty Duck all those years ago. He came up to me afterward and talked to me for a while, telling me how uncomfortable he was at first after it happened (my dad was a big and pretty intimidating guy), but how impressed he was with how neither of us seemed to give a shit about it. He told me that my dad, and the Rusty Duck incident, taught him a lot about the kind of father he wanted to be.

And I guess I have to say now that I know exactly what he meant.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

The Rambler & The Surge

I'm a car guy. Not like a nut that invests lots of dough into buying or building bad ass cars, but more someone who really wants to get into the car that I own, or that I want to buy. This hasn't always worked out really well (like the '83 Camaro Z28 that I owned when the boy was born), but sometimes it has. This is a story of one of those times.

In early 1989 my buddy Marco and I decided we were going to move to Seattle to play music and such. We would need a vehicle, and we decided it would be a 1969 Rambler American station wagon – I don't really know why, but that's what it was going to be. After a surprisingly short search, we found a baby blue example of this very vehicle for a paltry 600 bucks! I don't have a picture of ours, but here's a pretty decent facsimile:

Ours had the same blue paint color, although much more faded, and this weird blue velour type upholstery that kind of looked like a beat up old bathrobe, no radio (that worked anyway), and passable tires. It also had a bad head gasket, though we didn't figure that out until after we bought it. We bought it and had a great time hauling folks around during our last summer in Sac, after we installed a shitty Audiovox tape deck in the glove box, which pretty much played an endless loop of Go, Dog! Go and Junkyard tapes. Marco and I even did a valve job on it, with the help of a friendly mechanic and the use of our friend's garage.

So in September of 1989 we loaded all of our remaining stuff into it and headed to Seattle, to the great unknown. We were terrified that the head would blow right out of the fucking hood the whole drive…we never exceeded 55 miles per hour and we pulled off at pretty much every rest stop to give it a breather for 15 or 20 minutes. We would also have beers, because we deserved a rest too, right? But you know what? We made it! The Rambler, valve job and all, held out and delivered us to the Pacific Northwest to begin our new lives.

Sure, the heater never did work, and the engine smelled funny pretty much every time you drove it for more than 10 miles, but that goddamn Rambler drove us and our band gear all over Seattle, as well as to and from work for quite some time. That's right, Marco and I worked together for quite a while, which is a story of shared incompetence and lousy work ethic, but for another time.

So it's 1992, and the mighty Sacramento Surge is dominating the World League of American Football! Yeah, you remember that… We were flying the flags of this exciting brand of spring football, which was, of course, a great reason to hang out in bars and watch TV, but also a perfect excuse for a ROAD TRIP! The Rambler was heading back to Sac, and we were going with it. Our friend Glen, who shared a love of football, Kiss, and beer with us was in on the trip as well…We picked up a few cases of Rainier and we were on our way…

We were shooting for a one day trip, and things were going well until we hit Red Bluff, CA, specifically just a few miles past the city center. A loud "Pow" was heard, then an impressive plume of black smoke combined with a consistent knocking. This, of course, was followed by a complete loss of power. The black smoke was actually oil that was blowing out the giant hole in the side of the engine block and fender…a rod shot out that way and was eventually located on the other side of the freeway quite a ways back. The engine was gone.

While it would be a great loss, surely this classic had some value, right? Well, the tow truck driver cheerfully informed us that our beloved Rambler was going to make a great…trailer (because of the spindles, you know)! After that he dropped us off in downtown Red Bluff at the bus station that had closed about 2 hours earlier. We checked in to a lovely motel after a fucking sketchy walk down the main drag, where the glares of the local populace informed us that longhairs with rad bell-bottomed pants were not necessarily appreciated, much to our surprise.

The next morning my dad picked us up in his truck, with my brother driving. We sat in the back polishing off what was left of the Rainiers and getting psyched about the game, when the Surge would take on the woeful Ohio Glory (don't worry, they at least had a fan in Glen). A stop at the fabulous Louis Cairo's in Williams was in order, of course, which was highlighted by my dad convincing everyone there that we were a kickboxing team from Seattle on our way to a match…we received a hearty "Good luck in your match!" from the whole bar on our way out!

Well, the game was great for us (Surge 21, Glory 7!) and probably pretty crappy for anyone within about 15 feet of where we were sitting. The subsequent evening was fun, of course, and the next day was spent floating in my mom's pool. We rented a car for the return trip (though I'm not sure how we pulled this off, as I doubt there was a credit card between us) and moved on, without the Rambler. But if you're ever in Red Bluff, please take a minute to drive by Hess Brothers auto wrecking and salute the Rambler, which is probably a flatbed by now, and your own ride as well. And maybe tell me about it while you're at it…

Just Another Trip To The Dentist

So I've been traveling a bit for work lately. I'm in operations, so my travel isn't of the high falutin' wining and dining variety, as you would no doubt expect from someone like me. My day typically ends with meatloaf from the local sports bar and maybe a soak in the hotel hot tub...

I don't sleep so well without Kristi next to me, so one of the things I'll do when I would otherwise be sleeping is check out blogs...mostly of people who are friends of my friends here on myspace. I have to say that I've been surprised and a little bummed out by the amount of old school racial/sexual/class stereotypes that are espoused by some folks out there in cyberspace. I read one recently that decried the abuse of welfare, state medical, etc by all those lazy bastards out there, and it brought to mind something that my family experienced not too long ago.

About 2 years ago Kristi and I learned that 2 children of a relative, aged 6 and 10, would be coming to live with us due to some instability in their current home life. We had about 2 hours to prepare for this, and we had no idea how long this situation would last. We set about to make them feel comfortable to the extent that we could in our relatively small 3 bedroom house...we bought bunk beds, started looking into schools, went clothes shopping, and that sort of thing. And we discovered that the youngest really needed to see the dentist.

Now we're not wealthy people. Sure, if you look at my pics it would appear that we're living high on the hog, but the fact is that we're just regular folks, and that meant that we would need the assistance of state medical to ensure that the kids get the care that they deserve. So we embarked on the task of finding a dentist who accepted state medical. I spent the better part of a day calling dentists to find out if they accept it (there isn't a list, you just have to call until you find one) - I called around 30 of them before I found one that would accept it and take a new patient.

When I inquired about setting up an appointment the receptionist told me, verbatim, "we don't make appointments for state medical patients...you come in at 10:00 a.m. and wait until we have an opening". Sounds pretty demeaning just reading it, right? Well, it was stated by this woman in a way that left no doubt as to how she felt about it. When I told her that my wife and I both had jobs and it would be difficult to just leave for the whole day (I had started a new job 4 days prior to this) she didn't even answer...just silence. I then asked if there was at least a guarantee that the child would be seen; the woman said that there would be no guarantee.

Finally I asked if they would schedule an appointment if I could guarantee it with a credit card. The woman brightened and said "Of course!", and an appointment was scheduled quickly. She then told me that "those people" often don't show up for appointments, and that is why they no longer schedule them. I reminded her that I am still one of those people, I just happen to have a credit card, and she laughed and said she understood. And I was pretty sure she didn't.

So, all in all, crisis averted, right? I guess so, in one way. But...what about that single parent who doesn't have the advantages that we do, but they just want to get their kid's teeth taken care of? Say they're in an hourly wage job with an attendance policy that they're held accountable to, and they've got to take an entire day off in the hopes that their child gets seen? Take a minute and imagine the choices they're having to make...and how it makes them feel.

There is nothing more fundamental to a parent than the need to take care of their kids. So you put your head down and show up that day, and endure the derision of the people who work there, and hope your kid gets the care they need. And you hope you don't get fired. And if you do, well, the hole just gets a little deeper.

I did some crying that day, as the reality of this really hit me, but I feel grateful for this experience. I've always said that we live in a society, a community, and we have an obligation to that community, particularly those who may not have had the opportunities or success that we've had. And I really did feel that way too...but until this point I didn't actually understand it in the way that I do now. It's amazing what a different perspective can do for you...

Twenty Six Hundred Bucks

5 years ago, in February to be more exact, I broke my ankle in a colossally stupid accident at work that was in no way comparable with the amount of damage I did to it. I won't go into details except to say that after the fall my leg and knee were pointing south and my foot was pointing west. It was disgusting. And there was a shitload of therapy and all that crap that followed for 8 months or so. Then, after the L&I claim was closed, I got a check in the mail that I wasn't expecting.

Not ones to look for a savings opportunity, Kristi and I immediately embarked on a mission to spend the newfound loot. Sure, we bought stuff for the little monsters, and even paid off some credit cards, by golly, but we wanted to buy some big shit too! That's when the inspiration for the tent trailer struck.

We go to a resort town to hang with Kristi's family every year - they all camp and we'd either stay in a hotel or hang out at their sites in a tent, which wasn't really doing it for us now that we're old, we have kids, and we're not wealthy. Also, I grew up camping...in a trailer with the grandparents and out in the wild with my pops, so I had the nagging feeling that I needed to do something like that for my own brood, even though I knew that the backwoods stuff just wasn't really my bag.

So I started looking and before long I found a 1996 Camplite by Damon tent trailer, with a slide out dinette (!) that was in pretty much perfect condition. The folks that owned it didn't use it much and obviously didn't know what they had, so I ended up getting it for 2,600 measly bucks, which was about $1,500 less than what it was worth at the time. We took it out for the shakedown trip a few weeks later and have been camping ever since. We're usually good for at least 14 nights a year in the trailer, and if I had my way it would be a heck of a lot more than that (our jobs, however, are useful for paying the mortgage and buying gas, and other stuff, so we do what we can).

We just got back from a 4 day trip to the Washington Coast, one of our favorite places. This was probably our 6th trip to this particular campground, and it was really fantastic. Some of our oldest and best friends joined us for most of the trip, along with their 2 year old, who is just a great, fun, little kid. Our munchkins had a great time showing him the ropes!

Our campsite backed up to a wetlands area where there were a bunch of trails, and on this trip the boy discovered his inner explorer...with walkie talkies in hand he and I ventured out to find out where the trails led. He was the trailblazer and I hung back, keeping watch for chipmunks and garter snakes, all the while we were keeping each other constantly apprised of our "20" (location) on the handhelds. When I caught up with him in the tall beach grass we happened upon a clearing in the berry vines, and I showed him the flattened spot where an animal (deer, bear, who knows?) would have rested for a while...his eyes were wide and his tone hushed when he said "Cool!".

We finally popped out of the grass and wind blown birch trees onto the beach, and the boy was amazed at how we got there. He was sure this was the first time a person had done this, and was justifiably proud of our achievement, and was sure to tell everyone at camp about it in detail when we returned. He led an expedition comprised of everyone but me down the same route the next morning as I completed the painstaking task of taking the tent trailer down and securing the top, and is now the official trail guide of the family!

When we got back from our expedition I found the baby girl playing with a new friend across from the site in the center of the loop, in a big sand pit. They came over excitedly and adjourned to the camper to play with their American Girl dolls, as if they had been friends for years. It constantly amazes me how cute little girls are when they play together...so cooperative and inquisitive (and independent). I poked my head in to the camper to make sure that the new friends parents knew where she was and she said they did...and thanked me for asking! I stopped by their site just to make sure, of course, and all was well. The baby girl later said that she was happy to make a new friend, even if they won't get to play at home, because making a friend is always a good thing.

Kristi and I have always worked to put family first in any way we could, and we did plenty of family activities prior to buying our little tent trailer, but I really think that these trips are beyond compare. Twenty six hundred bucks is a lot to us in pretty much every case, but in this case, well, I can't think of a better bargain.

My Part in Stimulating the Economy

I’m so excited about the new addition to the family that I decided to really geek out and post a blog about it…with pictures! There’s a little story here too, hope you enjoy.

Way back in 1988 I decided to start a band. The reasons for this decision can be found in various blogs that I and assorted friends have posted, so I won’t go into all that, but the big thing was that I had never been in a band and couldn’t play an instrument.

Luckily I had a bunch of friends that were up for helping me out, and before long the mighty Ladyjugsaplenty was formed. I may blather on about that at a different time, because I think it is a good story, but it’s not the point here. At some point I decided that I didn’t want to go on stage as a "lead singer", so I figured I’d just learn how to play guitar. The rub, of course, was that lessons would require 2 things I didn’t have: Money and patience.

I knew a bunch of folks who could play and I shamelessly hit them up for advice on how to at least get good enough to play the simple songs that we were playing. Among others, Marco Rodoni, Timm Freeman, Chris Harvey (roomie at the time), Eric Bianchi, and Skid were more than generous with their time and advice. At one point either Timm or Chris (I don’t remember which at this point) convinced me to take a lesson at a music store called the Fifth String, which was at the east end of midtown. The store focused on acoustic instruments, and Timm/Chris used to go there and watch or participate in these informal bluegrass jams they would have on the sidewalk in front.

I did end up taking 2 lessons – the only ones I have ever taken. If you have heard me play this would not be a surprise to you, unless you were surprised that I had ever had any instruction at all. During my first visit I was stopped in my tracks by a beautiful sight: protruding from a row of stately acoustic guitars, all of which probably cost about as much as I made in a month, were 4 black points! I didn’t really know anything about electric guitars at the time other than I was going to need one and it had to be pointy…and here was a pointy guitar! It was destiny, for sure.

I put a down payment of $17.50 on it (10% of the $175) price tag, with no idea how I would ever come up with the rest. Seriously, I was making minimum wage at the time and between rent, beer, and ramen I wasn’t exactly putting anything away for a rainy day. I had mentioned this in passing to my dad, who was really excited about the fact that I was getting a band going (my dad was pretty cool), but we hadn’t talked much about it other than that.

A couple weeks later I was at my dad’s house and he asked me about the pointy guitar. I shrugged and said that they’re still holding it for me but I didn’t have any dough for them at this point. He pulled $10 from his wallet and said, "Why don’t you take this to make a payment and you can pay me back when you’re famous". Laughs were had by all. I went there the next day and when I told the guy at the counter I was going to make a payment he looked at me all funny and told me it had already been paid for they were just waiting for me to pick it up! My dad had gone in and paid for it as a birthday present, and set up the whole payment loan thing. Pretty fucking cool, I’d say. From that point on he referred to the guitar as the most expensive present anyone in North America ever bought for anyone else (that line still kills me to this day).

That guitar is a 1983 Ibanez Destroyer – the one that the guy in Def Leppard (guitarist, 2 arms) used to play, with not 1, not 2, but 3 humbuckers! It’s ridiculous! Well…see for yourself:

Honestly, considering it has 3 pickups, the tone isn’t anywhere near as burly as I would like. It was great for the way that I played back then because it’s so dirty that you really have to fuck up pretty bad for anyone to be able to tell. It also never went out of tune at gigs, and it weighs about 75 lbs so once I strapped it on it just wouldn’t move at all.

Fast forward to 2008…I’ve got kids and I want them to play an instrument, and I figure I should be a role model for that. Then one of my favorite bands ever, Go. Dog, Go! decides to have a "reunion" show at a party in Sac – the pictures are awesome and Paul sends me a CD of all their stuff. I’m officially inspired! I need a guitar that is a bit more versatile, and one that I can play while sitting down without throwing my shoulder out of joint. So…

This is a 2004 Ibanez Iceman...it was a display model at a music store and is basically brand new. It plays amazing and has a great tone, both distorted and clean. I love it! Of course I’ll never get rid of my Destroyer, but I’m pretty sure this one is going to get played a lot more often...

And yeah, I know we haven’t received our "stimulus" checks yet, but...consider the economy stimulated! Wow, this is a really long blog, sorry about that, but like I said, I’m excited. And if you have any long winded (or short winded) stories about your instruments, musical or otherwise, I’d love to hear them.