In the interest of full disclosure I'll share why I had an off kilter posting schedule this past weekend.
I was out with the better half to visit my parents in Wisconsin, having not seen them since our wedding. It was a fantastic time, lots of good food, a spin in their boat down the river, we all hung out and watched a movie together. It was a really great, relaxing trip out there, although I would have like to stay longer. The place they have is where I spent the majority of my high school years and the off time during college. I have a lot of memories of watching movies late at night in the basement, rehearsing with my band in their garage and generally trying to make the most out of living in the country despite not being the outdoors type. In hindsight I took advantage of the solitude and tranquility of the location, the fact that living where they do affords privacy and peace. This lies in sharp contrast to living in the middle of the city in the heart of Uptown, surrounded by rabble rousers and nightlife. Neither one is better, I've found, just different. I could see myself enjoying the isolation, given the proper circumstances.
I know the grass is always greener, but you never really can go home again. There was a lot in there house that reminded me of who I was and where I've come from. I flipped through old yearbooks, found old dressers with some of my clothes, even walked some trails I used in high school to sneak the odd cigarette when I was young and stupid. While the memories would flood back in, they were accompanied by equal parts nostalgia and saudade. I could delude myself and say things were so much better when I had fewer responsibilities and the freedom to be a teenager but I know that I was unhappy with who I was then and feel like I had to experience what I did to become who I am. I can go back and visit my parents, even sleep in my old room and read the same books, but I can't call it home. I haven't lived there in a long time. It was a strange experience but I enjoyed it, despite the unstoppable progress of life, realizing a chapter has closed. Still, a new one has opened.
As we were winding down one night, I started playing an episode of the late great Jackass on my iPad to amuse my better half before bed. As we watched the first episode of the series it occurred to me that just a month short of ten years prior I had watched the exact same episode in that house with my dad and two brothers. Suddenly this whole part of my brain lit up as I recalled where I was at that time in my life and what I had been doing. I also recalled how hard my dad had laughed at what turned out to be a surprisingly long-standing series. My whole family has always had a strong sense of humor and this show was a real lightening rod for it. Only years later would I be able to hit the nail on the head on why I love it so much - to quote someone whose name I can't recall, "Its like a live action version of Looney Tunes, only more visceral for the post-Fight Club generation." That pretty much summed up my feelings on the show when I first saw it - it was something more than just dumb stunts - there was an underlying sense of danger tied in with a cartoon sensibility. This dichotomy was a breakthrough in the way that I saw the world. It also introduced a new chapter in my life where elements of the Jackass culture and crew would influence my life's path. For example, the music of CKY featured in the first episode.
The song playing behind Bam Margera and co.'s shopping cart antics is '96 Quite Bitter Beings' by CKY, a band fronted by Deron Miller with Bam's brother Jess on the drums. The track, with it's distinct riff and oddly howled vocals, was unlike anything I had heard at that point in my life. I was obsessed with the ominous tone, which I always thought was vaguely Halloweenish. Because of the time of broadcast I'll always associate it with fall and the cool air and leaves on the ground. A year or two later I picked up Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 for PS2 which also featured the song. It was fall then, too. I played it way too much after soccer practice that year, winding down and blowing off stress by working my thumbs to the bone, that song playing too often in the background. A year later I went to college and my best friend, who lived across the hall in the dorm, exposed me to the whole CKY videography and discography. I was hooked on the bizarre, incredibly unique and super-heavy sound. Again, in the fall. When we got tickets to see the band in Minneapolis he introduced me to a friend of his with whom he thought I would hit it off. I was smitten, but I barely registered on her radar. Months later we would reconnect and start dating. Two months ago I married her.
I'm not saying the song '96 Quite Bitter Beings' is the best song in the world, nor is it the most poignant, romantic tune to spin your life around. For whatever reason, call it synchronicity or just coincidence, this song has always factored into my autumns and kept turning up, like a bad penny. Being in my parent's house and hearing this song, while sitting next to my wife, I was struck by how strangely full circle it all felt. Maybe I listen to too much weird music. Maybe we make connections where we want to see them, mind always seeking order from chaos. Regardless, fall is pretty much here and I heard the song again. It might be inescapable, but its still a great song with a memorable riff. Funny how music gets associated with memory. There are other, more romantic songs that symbolize my relationship with my better half, but this one is more of a personal one, a song that has snaked it's way from a decade ago right into the weekend. Strange, huh?
I was out with the better half to visit my parents in Wisconsin, having not seen them since our wedding. It was a fantastic time, lots of good food, a spin in their boat down the river, we all hung out and watched a movie together. It was a really great, relaxing trip out there, although I would have like to stay longer. The place they have is where I spent the majority of my high school years and the off time during college. I have a lot of memories of watching movies late at night in the basement, rehearsing with my band in their garage and generally trying to make the most out of living in the country despite not being the outdoors type. In hindsight I took advantage of the solitude and tranquility of the location, the fact that living where they do affords privacy and peace. This lies in sharp contrast to living in the middle of the city in the heart of Uptown, surrounded by rabble rousers and nightlife. Neither one is better, I've found, just different. I could see myself enjoying the isolation, given the proper circumstances.
I know the grass is always greener, but you never really can go home again. There was a lot in there house that reminded me of who I was and where I've come from. I flipped through old yearbooks, found old dressers with some of my clothes, even walked some trails I used in high school to sneak the odd cigarette when I was young and stupid. While the memories would flood back in, they were accompanied by equal parts nostalgia and saudade. I could delude myself and say things were so much better when I had fewer responsibilities and the freedom to be a teenager but I know that I was unhappy with who I was then and feel like I had to experience what I did to become who I am. I can go back and visit my parents, even sleep in my old room and read the same books, but I can't call it home. I haven't lived there in a long time. It was a strange experience but I enjoyed it, despite the unstoppable progress of life, realizing a chapter has closed. Still, a new one has opened.
