These Go To Eleven

I can easily say 2010 was the most interesting year of my life. It was definitely a year of polar extremes. I found out where my rock bottom was, but at the same time, it was the happiest year of my life. It was a year of change: two of my basic ideas I had about the direction I wanted to take my life flipped (a relation to my happiness). There were things and experiences in my life I never planned on happening, and now I want these things more than anything. It was a year where I saw my relationships alter. I made a lot of new friends, a few of which I am now very close with; I had a few friendships tested, seeing just how strong the ties we built were, and we either became closer or we slipped; and sadly I lost a few friends, either by choice, deception, or the natural fade into the oblivion.

After looking back at what I hoped to accomplish in 2010, I feel I did a pretty good job.

1) Run a marathon.

I have spoke at length about this in two prior posts, which you can check out here and here. I still can’t believe I ran one, and as I write this (and hopefully you read this) I am nine weeks out from marathon number two. I ran a few other races in there, a half-marathon, a few 10k’s, and a 5K or two. I am happy to say I am in the best shape I’ve been in since college.

2) Break my routine and try new things.

Check number two. Thanks in part to someone very important, I was taken out of my comfort zone several times. The biggest way I did this was by moving out of The Hotel. I got my own one-bedroom apartment, still in Venice. I was really scared to move out; I have never lived anywhere else since I’ve moved to Los Angeles, but I knew it was time. My biggest fear lies with the fact I have never lived alone. I have always had roommates, had someone to bullshit with when I came home from work. I wasn’t sure I could handle the silence. Strangely, after about two days in my new place, it felt like home. I still have moments where I get a bit of cabin fever and reach out to anyone I can find to talk to, but for the most part, I’m enjoying my own space.

3) Stop taking the beach for granted.

Well, this one could go either way. I only made it out in the water a few more times than last year, but I definitely made sure to utilize more than the ocean. I ran along the beach as much as humanly possible. I went and walked the boardwalk and said hello to friends at the skatepark and friends working at the bars and enjoyed what little nice weather we had. And I drank up and took photos of as many beautiful sunsets as I could.

4) Learn a musical instrument.

This is one I added by accident last year. I had an acquaintance teach me the basics about reading tab and I’ve been slowly teaching myself to play bass guitar. I had to take a few weeks off when I got hit by a car while riding my bike. I’m by no means a musician, but I can play a few songs start to finish, and it’s a cool way to kill some time.


2011

This past year I was definitely pushed to the extreme, both mentally and physically. I only hope what I learned this past year about my self, and the world around me, will help me grow in this coming year.


1) Make it back home more.

Sadly, with the price of flights and the airlines doing everything possible to make it awful to travel, this isn’t something I can start doing on a monthly basis. However, it would be nice to make it back more than just at Xmas. I’d like to make it back in the spring, maybe for my sister’s birthday or for the Dad Vail Regatta. It would nice to be in Philadelphia when the weather is nice out. There is also a “Row For The Cure” in October, which a few of my college teammate participate in. I do “Race For The Cure” every fall, and it might be cool to raise money for breast cancer in a different way for a change.

2) Cook more meals.

I got in the habit of eating healthy over the last few years, but sometimes that consisted of cooking simple meals. Last year I started off cooking a few nights a week very healthy meals for Lindsey and myself, and I loved it. Towards the end of the year, I slacked off in the good meal department. I already started cooking good meals, with veggies and proteins, and damn I missed cooking. I love cooking, and I like to think I am damn good at it.

3) Stick with the not drinking.

Part of what I think is keeping me as healthy as I am, is my lack of alcohol intake. I slipped a few times and I paid for it. My addictive personality kicked in and boy howdy, was it bad. I did a few stupid things again, and I don’t want to do that ever. I like who I am without booze, and I know I am a better man without it. Being the designated driver is a pretty good time; another way I can make sure I put my friends first. Also, I really don’t miss having hangovers.

4) Stay positive.

I got down on myself a lot this past year, and those of you closest to me know why. I’m at heart a very positive person, and as much as I tried to keep my personal shit from affecting those around me, somehow I don’t seem to very good at it. I need to take whatever is negative in my head and transform it into a fire up my ass.

5) Super secret resolution.

One last thing I want to do this year is something I need to tackle on my own. It’s not like an inner demon, nothing of that sort. I’ve taken a great deal of myself and put it into something this past year, something I believe greatly in. I need to figure out how to deal with it, whatever that means.

Watch it all change and watch it go away… Watch it all never be the same again… Watch it all, all be nothing like we thought before…

If You Need Bail Money, Give Me A Call

In the last few weeks, I began posting on Facebook something called a “Random Start”. It’s an idea I stole from Riley Breckinridge’s blog Hermitology. Basically, my reason behind beginning this mostly-daily ritual was three-fold: to hopefully reintroduce myself to some of the music on my iPod I may have become estranged from, to maybe reintroduce some of my friends and followers to a band they have forgotten about, and finally (and maybe the most important reason) was to get myself writing again. I’ve slacked a bit in the creative writing department this year. (Honestly, I think somewhere along the line I lost my muse.) I noticed how RB writes a little bit each day about his “Random Start,” and thought it was a good way to get my creative juices flowing, even if it’s merely a quick little thought.

Since I began, twice (haha Thrice) Pearl Jam started my day. When “Faithful”, the second Seattle wake up call happened, it brought me back to my first Pearl Jam concert experience.

It was the summer of 2005 and I had recently begun working on Hack, my first paying job. The show took place at Hershey Stadium, and my good friend Suzanne was my partner in crime.

I have a strict concert policy I like to follow: No alcohol in my body. I don’t like to drink at shows. I get enough of a rush feeding off the energy of the live show and I want to remember every inch of what happens on stage. When I attended punk and hardcore shows, I didn’t want anything to impede my coordination as I crashed around in the pit. Suzanne begged and pleaded for me to go and buy some booze. After an intense verbal struggle, against my better judgment, I gave in and we went and bought 40s. See, Sue was a month shy of her twenty-first birthday, so I was the one of responsible drinking age who could legally make the purchase.

Hershey used to allow the occasional tailgating. I, trying to keep things as low key as possible, made sure were came prepared to the parking lot. We had opaque Y100 plastic cups and kept our bottles in a small cooler under a blanket on the floor of the backseat of my car.

We had a great time hanging out in the field turned parking lot across the street from the stadium. While we were drinking our first 40, we noticed a group of high school kids across the lane having a grand old time with a beer pong. At one point, two of the boys ventured out among the cars, presumably to track down other friends. Upon their return, Sue yelled to them, asking if they were two of the guys with the bong. They confirmed her suspicion and invited her to join. She declined, but not before a bicycle cop rolled up on the situation. Now is where the fun begins.

The cop makes the four of us line up and present our IDs. I, being legal, handed my driver’s license over no problem. They came Sue’s turn. I looked over and she was almost in tears. Damnit, I forgot: a month shy of turning twenty-one. The two other guys admitted to being underage right off the bat. Now, to the competent observer, you could easily draw the conclusion those two guys were not with us. They were yelling at us from several cars away. But no, this cop [read: pig] completely ignored the facts and began to ask me, rather condescendingly, why I would buy beer for my extremely young friends. My reply was simply the truth: “I don’t know those guys at all and I didn’t buy them anything.”

Officer Shitdick, “Bullshit, Don’t lie to me. I’m a cop. You know them.”

Oh, so we’re gonna play that game. I explained to the officer several times I didn’t know them, never met them, and in fact, still don’t know them. Literally seconds before he rolled up on his high horse, I didn’t even know they existed. Hell, I never even spoke to them. He didn’t buy it. Sue tried to explain it to him. The two high school kids explained it to him. Nope, still didn’t believe us. Finally, a second, female, officer rolled up on the scene and butted in. Lucky for me, she was a very nice woman who listened to my side of the story, and believed me. I think she assumed Sue and I were dating and wouldn’t be hanging out with younger kids anyway.

Seeing he was temporarily defeated, the first cop pulled me aside and began in on me again.

“Now obviously you and this chick here are here together, and since she is under age, you bought the booze for her.’ I agreed with his statement. I figured he saw our licenses and would give Sue and me a free pass since she was so close to being legal. Nope, wrong again Mallick. I always forget how much the law enforcement in Pennsylvania loves me. He started to threaten me with a thousand dollar fine and the possibility of three months in jail.

Oh, look, it’s my turn to roll the dice.

During his threatening speech, my cell phone rang. It was Josh Richards. I proceeded to cut him off and told him I needed to take this call. He stood there in complete shock, mouth agape, just cutting him off. Josh had called me, forgetting I was home for the weekend and not around to hang out in Philly for the night. I explained to him the situation which was unfolding. He laughed, and said to me, “Well buddy, if you need bail money, give me a call.” What a great friend. Love that man.

I went back to the cop, who had reteamed up with his female counterpart, and he was explaining to Sue the consequences of her actions. The male cop asked me who called. I told him it was my boss. “I hope you don’t get fired for getting arrested.”

“Nah, actually he thought it was pretty funny. I worked in television man. I could get busted with a pound of coke, and no one would give a shit.” I was so over this guy trying to belittle me with his inflated head. I then proceeded to have a lengthy discussion with the female cop about my job, getting all chummy. As it turned out, Hack was one of her favorite shows. She ended up giving me what was left of the high schooler’s beer; like a case and a half of Bass (who bongs Bass Ale?! amateurs) and their bong. All while the male stood there, fuming.

I walked away pretty unscathed from the whole situation. I got fined a hundred and fifty bucks and was charged with, and I quote, “Creating a situation that served no legitimate purpose.” That’s actually something pretty funny to have on my record. Sue got the worst of it: a couple hundred-dollar fine and a loss of her driver’s license for six months.

The moral of the story: most cops are dicks, but there are those few, wonderful little loopholes, which let you go with a slap on the wrist. Also, it gave me another really entertaining story to tell people.

Belief in the game, controls that keep us in a box of fear… We never listen…

Failure Leaves Such A Bitter Taste In My Mouth*

“What would school have been like if you never had to worry about getting an F? Students at West Potomac High School in Alexandria, Va., are about to find out…”

A few days ago, I came across this article by Mira Jacob on Yahoo and it really got under my skin. To give you a summary of what is taking place in Virginia, school officials have done away with the standard failing mark, the “F”, and replaced with the letter “I” for incomplete. The argument the article is trying to address is if this is “…an inspired move to get those marginal students on track and learning, or just another way in which we’re coddling underachieving kids and hobbling the rest [.]”

I think we’re coddling the little fuckers. Failure should be an option.

Back in the day when I swam for the once glorious Mountain View Crawdads (my summer league team) there was a rule in the league stating if you team lost every meet, they were to move down a division. On the contrary, if you won every meet, your team advanced to a higher echelon. There has to be consequences on both sides of the spectrum to give incentive and make kids work towards goals.

There should be a threat of failure; no child likes to be left back. My junior year of high school, I almost failed my Honors history class; history was not my strongest subject by far. By the end of my first quarter, my teach informed me I should drop the honors class and take the standard Academic level course. I didn’t want to leave the entertaining and more advanced learning of the Honors level course, but at the same time, failing would have been a huge blemish on my academic career. This fear forced me to sit down and read my notes over every night; I rewrote every page of my notes until I remembered every word that was taught to me that day. I sat down with my folks and had them quiz me every night. It was probably the hardest I ever worked for any type of class in my life, high school or college. And by the time mid-terms came around, I was back on track, scoring “A’s” in the class.

By telling student if they fail, there is a chance to fix it, you’re teaching them a skewed life lesson. If I didn’t have the fear from my teacher, I might never have worked as hard as I did. I believe the notion of failure in a child’s development shows them life isn’t fair, that you have to work hard if you want to get ahead in this world. If students believe they don’t have to be their best to move on to the next grade, and there’s is always time to fix things, there will be no sense of urgency to better them selves.

If a student is really have trouble keeping up, the school should have different education levels. At Bishop McDevitt, where I did my time, there were three different tracks: Honors for the more advanced students, Academic for the average kids, and Basic for those who might have a little trouble grasping the material. I’m not saying one level is better than another. Everyone learns differently. This system gives students who absorb knowledge differently, options.

There is a flip side to my argument however, because of course, the world isn’t black and white. The problem is the threat almost gives you the feeling that if you mess up, your whole life is over. Parents and teachers like to stress that every decision and choice you make early in school has a rippling effect on your success in life and your career. This is obviously not the case.

I was asked at age fourteen, in my freshman Algebra class, what I wanted to do with my life. I needed to know, so I could plan the rest of my math and science courses correctly to be advanced enough before going away to college. I said I was interested in computers, so I had to make sure I took multiple math classes sophomore year, then I could take this other math class junior year, to make sure I was in Calculus and some other intense math class by my senior year. I hated math; I didn’t want to do that much math. So I said to my Algebra teacher, and I quote, “That’s a lot of math. Eh, screw it, I’ll work in television.” (Luckily, my teacher was a sexist drunk who had more heart attacks than letters in his name, so I didn’t get in trouble for saying screw it.)

You’ll never hear me say this again, but I think a little bit of fear does kids a favor. Learning from one’s mistakes and failure is priceless. The value of learning from losing is one lesson everyone should learn.

Be still and know that they won't lie to you every single time you're facing lies…

[*Easily one of my favorite song lyrics of all time.]

Within A Mile Of Home

The staff of The Hotel arrived in Venice five and a half years ago, during the summer of 2005. When it came time for Thanksgiving, the three of us decided it would be better to stay in Los Angeles for the holiday. We invited old friends and new friends and hosted our very first Hotel Homeless Thanksgiving – a celebration for all those who either couldn’t go home to family or decided against to sit down and eat a very large meal.

As a joke, I put together a call sheet listing the day’s schedule and what everyone was bringing, in case any of our attendees didn’t know what was happening that day. It worked out pretty well and the meal and the event was a complete success. Johnny and I basted the turkey a little too much, and the pan overflowed and caused the gas stove to smoke up something fierce. We couldn’t even see a foot in front of our faces the smoke was so thick. This began the tradition of Johnny, Roger, and I hosting Thanksgiving every year since (the call sheet has since gone the way of the dodo). Every year we have had different dishes, different attendees, and different after meal activities, but there was always one constant: one giant as turkey. Johnny hunts down the biggest turkey possible, with no regard to how many people were actually going to partake.

Traditions begin and end every year. Grandparents pass away, children move, relationships change – there are many reasons why traditions are born and die. For us, it was to save money since we had only recently moved into the new apartment. Tradition is a funny thing, especially when you watch one change. Every year on Xmas eve, my family eats the same seven-course meal. It’s steeped in Polish religious tradition. Sadly, once my grandmother moves on, the meal might not be cooked again, being replaced with different foods, with the single remaining bond being that we all sit down together as an extended family and enjoy each other’s company and gorge ourselves until we pass out watching ELF.

This was the last Thanksgiving with all three original members still living under the same roof. However, the tradition we all share, gorging ourselves to the point of paralysis, will most definitely continue on. Nothing can replace the fun we have waking up early to lather up a thirty pound bird with fake butter, sitting around watching football all day, baking dairy-free pumpkin pie, and making dirty jokes involving a thawed out turkey neck. The tradition may alter itself in someway, maybe the location, or one of us will have a family, but the central core ritual will always remain.

May your day be filled with a full stomach, the love of family, and company of friends.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

But take my advice; you'll have to bury me twice ‘cause the first time I won't rest easily… But don't let die still wondering what it was I left behind…

More Than Flashing Lights And Sound

(I started this piece back in September, but due to my emotional connection to this piece, it took me a little time to finish)

November 27, 1980 – September 19, 2001.

Nine years ago I lost my best friend – Alexander Randolph Spotts.

Around two in the morning, Alex decided to head home from a mutual friend’s house. He made a bad decision. He drove drunk. While on Devonshire Heights Road, he lost control of his Chevrolet Cavalier and slammed into a tree. The engine from his car was pushed up onto Alex’s chest where he slowly bled to death. He was pronounced dead at 4:58 A.M., dying less than a mile from my parents’ house. It is unknown if he was awake or unconscious during the hours the engine was resting upon my friend.

A few weeks before he died, Alex called with two tickets to see Stone Temple Pilots. Throughout high school, I rarely went to a show without him. This time I passed because I made the stupid mistake of going out on date with a really shitty girl. It was a completely forgettable person, and I say that because I honestly to this day couldn’t tell you her name.

I vividly remember the moment I found out about Alex. It was junior year of college. I was living in St. Theresa Court, which was at that point in La Salle’s history, the most “remote” part of campus. Around eight-thirty at night, I decided to call my good friend Suzanne to ask if she wanted to join me for lunch the following day. (Sue went to high school with me, so she knew Alex. She joined me at LSU, where I convinced her to join the rowing team. You’re welcome!)

Anyway, I called… When she realized it was me, she asked, “Oh hey, are you calling about Alex dying?”

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“Oh, you didn’t kno…” she trailed off.

I was walking out of the kitchen, where I froze mid-step. I was speechless. I lost all sense and went numb all over. I almost dropped the phone. I didn’t believe her. I spent the next hour calling every one I could think of to find out if it was true. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. It was.

As if the news and stories surrounding the passing of my friend wasn’t enough, when I got ahold of one of my best girlfriend’s Jenna (who was also a dear friend of Alex), I discovered her mom had passed away the same day. She went into the hospital for dehydration where she mysteriously passed away when her lungs willed with blood and she drowned.

I lost my best friend and my best friend’s mom the same night.

I spent the remainder of the night sitting on the couch, clutching my legs sitting upright in the fetal position. A 3 Doors Down concert was playing on MTV (I was in shock). Eventually I tried to get some sleep, but it was pointless. I laid on staring at the bunk bed above me, fighting off tears, trying to think of anything besides what had transpired that evening.

Not to push off any of what happened with Jenna’s mom, but I definitely felt the affects of Alex’s passing much more. In fact, nine years later, I still get upset each year as his anniversary begins to roll around. I'm still not over his death. I can't seem to forgive myself for missing out on that last chance to spend time with him.

Alex was an amazing friend because we always brought out the best in each other. He was the instigator; he was the spontaneous one and often made me do things very uncharacteristic of myself. (We used to get our folks to call us both in sick on the same day, and then when they left for work, we'd ride our bikes to the music store.) In his memory, each year on his anniversary I try to do something great, something which breaks the monotony of my life, something inspiring because he’s not with me to experience it himself. I also like to spend this time with someone, who is extremely important to me. I want them know how important they are to me; I would never want to miss out on the opportunity to tell those vital people the affect they have on me and my life.

I’m a lucky guy. I have a fuck ton of amazing friends in my life, and I always try to do right by them. My friends come first, and they always will.

Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal… Red light, can't stop so I spin the wheel… My world goes black before I feel an angel steal me from the greedy jaws of death and chance, and pull me in with steady hands…

Transcendental Consequence

It’s been a while since I’ve written. I really have no excuse; only I haven’t found anything I really wanted to post about. I was going to rant a bit about the evils of Las Vegas a few weeks back, but the piece I began writing somehow went missing, so I abandoned the endeavor.

I turned twenty-nine this year, a pretty random birthday for someone who spends a month celebrating this yearly landmark. This year, I had the pleasure of spending my birthday holiday with both my dad and my sister. I’m so close to being thirty, a major milestone in anyone’s life. I can’t wait to reach it. I did however take a moment, like I do from time to time, and look at where I am in the universe.

In a previous post I mentioned how I have finally discovered myself. However, during the last year, I seem to have forgotten who you are as a person is continually in flux. I know who I am at my core, but the person as a whole, will always be a work in progress. Obviously, the person I was in high school is not the same person I was in college, and that person is far from the person you meet now.

I’m a runner now. I’ve done a marathon, and continue to race any chance I get. I ran a 10K in Culver in June. I plan on doing a half marathon in October, most likely in Long Beach. If you would have asked me ten years ago if I even wanted to go for a run, I wouldn’t cringed. Now I go out for an hour and don’t think twice.

Among the personal changes I’ve discovered this past year is I realized something I believed very strongly in, has now changed. Stuff I've adamantly written about here I no longer adhere to. I like to think it’s a positive change.

The main revolution came when I met someone who I saw spending the rest of my life with, even wanting to marry. A situation I never thought I would find myself in, let alone even considering. (Although others apparently knew I wanted it all along.) I realized the option of marriage could be a possibility in my life. I also now understand opening yourself that much to a person, especially if things don’t work out, can really destroy you. It almost makes me want to guard myself more, even if it means holding back on letting a significant other in.

I hope I’m wrong about this situation, and I hope I can find happiness with this person again. I’ve always been of the school that if you believe in something strong enough, life will steer itself in that direction.

Last year when I settled on who I’ve finally become as a person, the person I always wanted to be, the person I am completely happy with, I guess I lost perspective and became lazy. I need to continue learning and striving to become a better person. It took someone else to remind me and reinvigorate me to explore life again. I’ve grown as a person a great deal recently, and I have this person to thank.

Sometimes it’s hard for people to forget who you used to be, and sometimes they don’t like the idea of that person going away. I know friends from home who always want me to be that lunatic who took on any dare, regardless of consequences. They want me to tell them every sordid detail of my relationships, while I’m the person who likes to keep stuff like that between myself and whoever I am with. Maybe I lost a little of my edge. Maybe I'm just growing up

I thought I knew who I was. I lived for myself, always strived to make myself better. If I only take away one thing in my twenty-ninth year, it’s that I learned to live for someone else and because of this person I grew exponentially.

In the great words of Abed from Community: “When you really know who you are and what you like about yourself, changing for other people isn't such a big deal.”

I guess it’s nobody’s fault now but my own...

Epitaph Reissues REFUSED: The Shape Of Punk That Came

The following is an article in today's LA TImes. Refused's "The Shape Of Punk To Come" is easily my favorite album of all time. Epitaph has seen fit on this great day in history, to re-release this seminal album with a whole bunch of extras. If you've been living in a cave the last twelve years, read this great piece by August Brown on the band and the album which changed the punk rock landscape.



Refused wasn't the first punk band to incorporate drum machines and synthesizers (that would be Suicide), nor the first to turn hard-core's regimented song structures inside out (that would be the Minutemen). But they were the first to very seriously suggest that both of those things belonged in stadiums of thousands.

Released in 1998, "The Shape of Punk to Come" was as sonically ambitious as its title was fantastically arrogant. The album didn't just make room for free-jazz breakdowns, glitchy sampler wrangling and scalpel-sharp guitar interplay alongside Refused's noise detonations -- they made them inseparable and necessary to each other. But even more unexpectedly, the end result wound up sounding absolutely huge, maybe even with the potential of a "Nevermind" to bring brutal, innovative music to a very mainstream audience.

A three-disc reissue of "Shape," out today on Epitaph, underscores that potential, sadly never fully realized as the band broke up soon thereafter. "New Noise" still feels like a jock jam for Marxist eco-terrorists, "Summerholidays vs. Punkroutine" takes the dry-cleaned guitar licks of ESG and gives them Fugazi's fangs. The great irony of hard core is that, at heart it's an orthodox, conservative genre, and Refused was one of the few bands in that tradition that could capably upend it.

But the package's extras add some necessary context as to why Refused was both special and sort of doomed. The accompanying live album finds the band just demolishing a festival in its hometown of Umea, Sweden, while the accompanying documentary "Refused Are F- Dead" has a title as prophetic as that of "Shape." Ambitions like theirs often comes in a difficult personality, and singer Dennis Lyxzen is as flinty in person as his band is on record (and the band's members seem to know what fate awaits them the whole time).

That said, let this completely essential reissue be a hint to Paul Tollett's reunion-alchemy department that they would be really, really nice to have at Coachella 2012.

A naive young secret for the new romantics... We express ourselves in loud and fashionable ways...