Strange days.

Current events: union fights, riots, protests, rebellions, dictators, overthrows, violence…
International, national, local.
Bodies in African streets from 16 year old “mercenaries”.
Entire American cities losing their teachers, their schools.
Hate, rhetoric, propaganda, lies.

It is at once terrifying and intriguing to watch a world in turmoil.
Map lines redrawn.
Historical directions so incredibly altered.
Just to watch this all play out can be at times overwhelming. I can not imagine the feelings in the trenches.
I remember the end of the Cold War, the Wall falling. The change of nations, states and leaders.
The end of the USSR and what that did to the ways of the world.
I remember 2001 and watching the news in horror; more so at the thought rocketing around my brain that nothing in this country would ever be the same again than at the repetitious images of terror on the screen.

My brother gets very upset at these moments. Times of impending possible apocalypse. We’ll talk about what’s happening, what to do, what to expect.
But in the end, there is nothing to do. To support those who deserve it. To stay informed. To help where help is needed.
Yes, these things are an important duty.
But in the end, day to day, all one can do is to get up each morning and go to work. Feed the cat. Drink your coffee. Pay your bills.
Watch the news.

Once, the Roman Empire fell.
During the centuries of it’s crumbling, how many citizens were just trying to feed their families?
And did it really matter…

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an all ages sunday matinee.

Just hanging out indoors on a snowy Sunday, watching old hardcore show videos and digging through my recently reclaimed record collection. Minus some sweaty dancing and a pigpile or two, it’s pretty much the same as my youth. Well, obviously not, but I’m not sure I have either the energy or the enthusiasm for finger points and stagedives.
It’s funny now to think that an all ages show would simply mean they’ll allow some of us over-30 crowd to hang out.
But I can’t help but still get wrapped up in a breakdown or emotional for a sing along when listening or watching these. And to be honest, given the chance to see some of my old favorites again, I’d be out there picking up change with the best of them.
I look back fondly to this era in shaping who I am now. I still hold true to most of the values and ideals. Still believe in straightedge and loyalty and a diy ethic. And as negative as a son of a bitch as I’ve always been, I still try to live a positive and non fascist lifestyle. I know I was very lucky to have fallen into the right scene in my youth. Lucky to have latched onto the right set of ideals and structure that many missed as they crashed hard into adolescence. I very much believe hardcore, specifically sXe hardcore, played a huge part in guiding me through life with nothing more than some sore jaws and black eyes.
I remember the arguments about late hours, loud music, odd dress and weird behavior. As parents from and era of heavy drug use and weird hippie shit, they couldn’t ever trust that all bizarre teen behavior wasn’t drug related. It wasn’t until much later in my life that my father ever acknowledged my difference in lifestyle.
Long after the thrown coffee cups and early morning screaming matches.
The tattoo arguments are another thing altogether.
Anywho, enough ruminating. Record pics to come. And currently in talks for possible podcast incorporating all of this, including some vinyl.
But for now:
Hardcore.
Straightedge.
Youth.
Go!

Burn.

Chain of Strength

Quicksand

Integrity

Turning Point

And yes, I know, not all sXe hardcore. Boohoo.

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Wintery windy Sundays and New England beaches.

I love snow and winter months but even I’m a little burnt out this year. After a seemingly endless string of weekly winter wonderlands, I’m feeling a little spent, highly cabin feverish and just generally exhaustedly apathetic. I lamented my need for something different, for change.
And was rewarded!
My friend got me out of my single room cave of frost and solitude and we shuffled off, bundled up and properly shoed, for an adventure on the far side of the bay.
First, breakfast in The Barn in Adamsville. Beautiful building in a very scenic locale. This place was good. Definitely a departure from my usual sunday morning haunting of the Liberty Elm‘s counter seats. Awesome french toast. Decent coffee. Super tasty red bliss home fries. All pretty decently priced, especially for Sunday brunch.
Now, comfortably full and only mildly drowsy, we were only relatively lost amid the looping back roads of Little Compton, home of the Rhode Island Red. Off to the beach. Out along a sandy point with a rocky strip jutting far out into the ocean, I remembered why I had gone back to grab my gloves and winter hat.
Wind, wind and more wind.
Blowing strong off the water, white caps on one side of the spit and dead calm along the other. It was everything one hopes a New England coastline to be in winter. Blustery cold and a bright shining sun, both forbidding and oddly alluring.
A need to stand atop rocks plastered with sea spray hardened to shimmering ice sheets, staring out across white tipped waves at emerald green nothingness until your face is red from the wind and the tips of your ears tell you to turn and go.
I love the West and its snowcapped peaks, but sometimes I really love digging boots into snow covered sand and remembering childhood walks along the shores of my youth. Long treks with my parents and the dog.
Empty moorings bobbing forlornly.
Snow drifts pushed up against the dunes.
All the things that an ocean deposits along its shore all winter long.

A long wintery walk, good food, hot tea and a good night’s sleep. I awoke today feeling a little less claustrophobic.
A little less urgent in my needing escape.


New boots!

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Meh…

I’ve done my usual “get out of the habit of doing something and never get back to doing it” thing. This blog has gone the way of working out, writing, sports, night time teeth brushing, musical instruments and taking my vitamins. I’ve allowed it to lapse long enough to drop out of my brain and now i’ve forgotten how to pick it up and plug it back in. habits are a funny thing. Easy to adopt bad ones and so hard to maintain good ones. I would love to blame a lack of inspiration or some sort of carpal tunnel syndrome, but, I am constantly inspired and excited about little things that I then lack the energy or enthusiasm to pass on to others. I have stared at the screen numerous times. Moved on to other things. Writing is an athletic endeavor that once must practice everyday or the muscles atrophy. I’ve withered.

But. It is Twenty-Eleven. A new year. Well, it has been for a couple months now. But yes! Twenty-Eleven! This year I will be thirty-five. High atop the pinnacle of the thirties. Preparing to march down the backside of this decade into forty.

What does this have to do with any of this?

Nothing.

Let’s talk about shoes.

I’m very excited to be welcoming into my life the annual shoe of summer! This year’s old school vans will be grey on grey with red inside. It is all very exciting and I’m very much looking forward to warmer weather and the many chances summer holds to destroy the crap out of these. A wonderful $16 spent.

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Thanks given.

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love it.

I was going through a friend’s old family photos recently and found this gem from around 1900.
I’m super into it. Wanted to share.

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Ten years later, it’s still funny.

All yours Andrew!

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