Derek Porterfield's Blog, page 2

"Hair-do" is stupid and so are you

The word “hair-do” is objectively terrible. The structure, the spelling, the weird hyphen. 

I hate it. I hate all of it. 

This particular piece of American vernacular is emblematic of issues that run to the core of what this country is. I hear you asking: What is this country, Derek? 

Glad you asked.

It’s lazy and stupid. 

I stand by that as I myself serve as a pretty fine example of the thing I criticize. See? Now it’s okay because the insult includes me. Now let’s dig into “hair-do”. 

The first known use of the word “hair-do” was sometime in 1932. That’s right, smack dab in the middle of The Great Depression. The one so big they capitalized it. As though nationwide poverty wasn’t enough, some idiot had to create this nonsensical appellation to describe someone’s freaking hair style. Know another word for the way someone fixes those odd strands of keratin sprouting from our face box? “Coiffure”. 

Tell me that word isn’t the most badass way to talk about running a comb through your mane. You can’t, because it’s awesome.

Coiffure was first used in the 1600s, so there’s really no excuse here. That dumbass in the thirties really screwed with the natural order of things.

Let’s get to the spelling.

There’s several ways that we as Americans could have chosen to immortalize this unpleasant bastardization of language in the dictionary but we settled on: hair-do.

Why is this bad? Well, if you were to comment on someone’s hair-do, the hair is already done. The tense is wrong, the strangeness of this should be apparent when you speak. Their hair isn’t a “hair-do” anymore than Donald Trump’s steak is “well-do”. The hair is done and his steak is burnt, but the point is this: our words matter.

Other potential spellings elicit thoughts of feces (doo) or bills (due) so I assume this lead to us settling on the hyphenated monstrosity you know today.

The crux is this: There’s no reason for this word to exist. It’s superfluous and therefore needs to provide a more commanding reason for its presence on the 278th page of the Merriam Webster’s great book. 

Look at the apoplectic Karen.

Look to the never humble, “apoplectic”. It’s a stand in for “angry”, but look at it on the page. Go back! Look at her. She’s gorgeous. Her syllables roll from the tongue and elicit the heart of the ideas she was meant to convey. Bang on. GREAT word. 

Karen wasn’t mad when Olive Garden forgot to bring the second basket of breadsticks. No. Karen was apoplectic, by God, and that high schooler struggling to make ends meet and pass his classes definitely understood the shades of difference in those two words.

But let’s talk about hair. You want to make fun of Donald Trump’s physics defying follicular stylings, but you aren’t sure how to reference it without “hair-do”. It’s okay. I can help.

Call it “hair”.

Nice, right? Doesn’t that feel good? More over, doesn’t that feel as though it’s correct? 

We are better than this 1930s holdover from an age we all might rather forget. 

What’s that? Oh yea. The thirties also gave us:

Scotch Tape

Frozen Food

The Analog Computer

The Jet Engine

Polaroid photography

Drive in movies…..

Okay, we don’t have to negate the era, but please, for the love of what is left of this nation, stop using “hair-do”. It’s dumb. And so are you.

Thanks for reading.

Sneak Peak at Godless!

It’s exciting to be so close to releasing book 2. Below are the first couple of chapters and I hope you dig em.

You can pre-order here and that helps a TON. If you have questions, want to hear more about this book or the publishing process or whatever just hit me up in a comment or DM. Thanks for reading...heart emoji.

Here’s the book:

CHAPTER 1 - AXIS-

At the place where your vertebrae meet, between the Axis and Atlas (C1 and C2), when someone skilled takes hold of the jaw and shoulder and twists, there’s a crack. It's so subtle, you couldn't hear it in the quiet of a room. Less intrusive than a whisper. Soft as the dripping of water from a faulty faucet in a distant bath. But that sound, that almost imperceptible snap, is important. Because it's the last thing Lord Bantham would hear as the life drained, sudden and simple, from his eyes.

Addeleigh smirked, looked down at the journal entry she’d been writing and then crumbled it, tossing the paper into a pile near the disposal bin. Her smile faded slightly as she looked around the sparse room carved into the mountain she now called home. Her eyes fell to her flightless mute-cat, Bruce, resting on her bed and looking inquisitively back at Addie.

“Okay, it's not much of a plan, without all the details and stuff but that ending, the cracked neck of Bantham? Come on.” 

Bruce yawned and stretched out his paws before circling twice on the blankets and falling asleep once more. 

Addie was only two weeks into her new training and the general weight of what she was trying to accomplish lay heavy on her shoulders. 

Less than a month ago, she was employed by the church. She attended classes and had the sort of friends she had always assumed she would have in the later stages of youth. The only mark on an otherwise decent existence was the knowledge that she couldn’t keep up with those friends. She had believed completely that she was just human. Boring, un-modified, weak. But now, a few terrifying weeks later, she had learned that she was perhaps less human than machine, that she had blank spots in her memories and was intended as some strange experiment by Bantham, the most powerful man in their world and leader of The Holy Order. And now, she was supposed to use whatever machinations they’d baked into her, modifications unlike any other that she couldn’t even control yet, to...what? To lead a revolution? To start a war? To kill the most powerful people in the world?

She laid down next to Bruce and sighed, petting lightly between the animal’s wings, enjoying the vibration of his purring. Every part of her ached from the intensive training under Persephone. Her teacher was harsh, frightening even. But she had a reputation as the best. Tonight, Addie’s shoulders bore the worst of it. Perhaps from stress, perhaps from the impact of the training sticks.

There was a knock at her metal door and she sat up, anxiously expecting her instructor as though summoned from her begrudging thoughts about the woman.

“Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Zel and Shane, followed closely by Kel and Cam. A reluctant Jesse was bringing up the rear.

“Hey! It’s way past Kel’s bedtime isn’t it?” Addie remarked, ushering the group inside.

Zel pulled out a small misshapen cake covered in chocolate icing and some poorly written lettering spelling out “Happy Birthd Addi”. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” Kel said smiling.

“I wrote the letters but there wasn’t much room,” Jesse said apologetically.

Cam pulled out several small incendiary spikes with a flourish and placed them among the misshapen letters on the cake.

“This is my favorite part!” Cam said stepping back and smiling.

“I…” Addie smiled, stumbling a bit on her words as she took it all in. “Thank you! I’d kinda forgotten. How did you even..?”

Shane slapped Cam on the back. “This guy has too much access to government records and spends too little time doing the daily chores. He gave us a heads up a week or so ago.” Shane smiled. “Which is either sweet or creepy, depending on your perspective.”

“Light ‘em up!” Cam shouted, moving behind Zel as a shield.

“I don’t think I’ve had candles like this before.” Addie looked apprehensively at the explosives sticking out of the chocolate icing. ”Aren’t these lock pickers? Like what you use to blow up door locks?”

“YEAH! See, Jess? She has seen ‘em!” Cam lit up as he spoke. “The fuse is tough to blow out, gotta get all three before they pop and blow up your cake. It’s for good luck!” Cam explained. He spoke in a perpetually excited, proud sort of way that always made Addeleigh smile.

Zel pulled out a small lighter and raised her eyebrows at Addie. “You ready?”

Addie nodded and watched Zel light all three explosives in one motion of her hand. The small group chanted as Addie tried to blow out the fuses.

“Another year passes

You’re getting so old

Please put out this cake

Before it explodes”

Every repetition of the verse got faster and less coherent as Addie blew harder and harder on the fuses. She got one out and moved to the next.

“Another year passes!” 

Her lips were numb and she felt as though she was practically spitting on the cake.

“You’re getting so old!”

A soft flicker and the next was out. 

Two down, she focused on the third exploding “candle” and frantically glanced at the group singing faster and watching her go.

“Please put out this--!”

Bang! Addie was covered in chocolate and smelled of gunpowder.

“YES!” Cam jumped up and down and danced around the room as Kel handed Addie a towel.

“Ya did good. My first cake, I didn’t even get one out.” 

Shane brought out a second cake from his backpack and cut it into slices. He handed small pieces out to the group.

Bruce was entirely unimpressed with the noise and had moved from his bundle of blankets to a dark spot beneath the desk in the corner. He was licking tentatively at some icing that had landed near his left paw.

They spent the remainder of the evening catching up and enjoying mountain ale, rich chocolate cake, and small gossip from around the compound. Cam was flirting with a girl in his marksman class and thought it was going well. Zel had heard someone talking about a satellite group that was living in Aberthene and relaying news back to the mountain on some weird project in the Church. Jesse complained that the cafeteria food wasn’t any good and everyone agreed. 

Through all of it, Kel was quiet and ate his cake in peace. It was a contented silence. A passive, noiseless appreciation of the moment. He hung behind after the others stumbled away to their own rooms in a contentedly drunken state.

“How ya feeling, now that you're an old woman?” he asked.

Addie smiled. “My spine is killing me, and the price of butter is too high. These damned kids and their late night parties keeping me up at all hours. It’s absolute purgatory, Kel.” Addie made a jokingly pained gesture holding at the small of her back.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Kel said, “It gets much worse.” He smiled at her and reached into his jacket to pull out a small, neatly wrapped package.

“What’s this? You shouldn’t have, Kel,” Addie protested but was quieted by Kel’s raised hand and a smile.

“It’s no trouble, kid. Open it.”

She pulled at the ribbon and tore away the paper beneath revealing a box of the type you got at fancy department stores in the upper districts. Inside was the most perfect dress. It was an emerald green material of a richness she’d never even seen, much less touched with her own hands. The sleeves were a sheer lace with small jewels accenting the pattern. The layers of green cloth draped around in soft folds with a tapered base that was the fashion in the upper levels. It was the most elegant article of clothing she had ever owned.

Addie looked at Kel, and her eyes filled with tears as she hunted for the right words of gratitude.

“Don’t go tearing up on me, kid. It’s a damn dress,” Kel said as she hugged him tightly.

“Thank you, Kel. How’d you even get this all the way out here?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy and that guy knows a girl with better taste than me. Pulled in a favor and had it brought out. There’s more.” He pulled out another box and handed it to Addie. “This is from everyone. Designed by Zel, but the gang chipped in to have it tailored out here.”

Inside the second box was a dark black jacket. So dark it was as though no light was reflected from it at all. It was as though the material itself was made of night sky. The outside was startlingly plain in contrast to the dress but inside it was lined with a fine quilted cloth and so many different compartments that Kel couldn’t quite remember where they all were hidden.

“There’s a spot in there for two kinds of money. The kind you carry on the road and the kind that you need to keep from being found. Some pockets are easily accessed and others are hidden in some ways I didn’t fully understand. You’ll have to ask Zel about it. I know this one,” Kel motioned to a larger inner pocket, “is for ol’ Bruce there.”

Addie put on the coat and spun around briefly smiling. It was perfect. Bruce stirred a bit from his sleep and Addie beckoned him into the larger pocket.

“Kel, it’s perfect. Thank you so much!” Addie was beside herself. They didn’t celebrate birthdays with any sort of fanfare at the church. It was hardly acknowledged, as the practice might distract from single minded focus on God...or something like that. A few hours ago she’d forgotten her birthday completely, and now she was wearing one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone had given her.

“The other’s would have stuck around but they said something about it being weird to watch people open gifts.”

Kel and Addie sat for a small comfortable silence as Bruce explored the other pockets he couldn’t fit in and some that he discovered he could.

“How’s training going?” Kel asked.

“It’s been great,” Addie lied. 

In truth, the training had been miserable. She hadn’t once been able to reach the God State that allowed full control of her augmentation. In fact, she felt even worse than she had when she believed herself to be a no-mod. Now she was limited only by herself. She had all the requisite tools and was still failing.

“Well, good. I’m glad to hear it. I heard Persephone was tough, but I know you’re tougher.” He punched her lightly in the arm as he stood up. Kel still struggled with expressions of affection and his discomfort was amusing. “I’ll let ya rest, kid. Happy birthday.” 

Addie hugged Kel tightly and watched him leave. She ran her hands down the lapels of her new jacket smiling at the contours and feeling the material before hanging it on the rack near the doorway. She went to lie on the bed near Bruce and looked at the ceiling, smiling and content. It was a happy birthday. And for the briefest moment, the weight of her responsibility, of leading a rebellion of young children against the vastness of the church-state, was lifted. For a moment, Addie was an eighteen year old girl, with amazing friends and all of the resplendent joy that comes in knowing you are loved.

Chapter 2

The training hall was magnificent and reflected how deeply valued combat was to the people living in the mountain fortress. It sat one hundred meters up, carved deep into the rock face, and provided a grand view of the desert landscape beyond as the students went about their routines. Unlike much of the mountain city, the ceilings were artfully carved away in decorative patterns rather than left as plain, rustic stone. The floor was painted in muted colors and was only worn away in the very center of the room, where they held weekly tournaments to see who performed best across a wide range of skills.

Today, the girl that taught knife work was facing off against three boys. She was perhaps fourteen years old and her hands moved with the deft speed of someone who left the womb bearing a blade. They called her Edge, and Addie deeply admired the girl’s talent. 

Most grit their teeth and contort their faces when they fight. The concentration necessary for combat manifests in the way that pain would. But Edge made it look fun. Her smile was easy and her movement more akin to dance than brutish exchangings of blows. Watching her fend off several of the boys at once was exhilarating. Addie stared as the young instructor ducked below one of the wooden training blades and moved her leg almost imperceptibly closer to a boy’s left foot causing him to stumble as he shifted his balance. He toppled into a larger kid that had his staff raised above his head and their bodies tangled beneath the girl as she turned on her heel towards the largest kid, who was swinging an axe with menacing speed while running towards her. She ducked an arc that, even with training weaponry, would have seriously damaged her small frame. She moved with an almost disinterested bending of her waist and used a small rope, worn like a belt, to lash out around the assailant’s feet and sweep him to the floor. Three attackers were on the ground in less time than it would take to say their names aloud.

Edge helped each of the boys up and offered kind words of guidance about their performance. 

“Center yourself before you swing, Taft. If you aren’t in control, you can’t hit your target.” She turned. “And Branton, you had your eyes closed again while you were swinging. We’ve talked about that.”

Addie admired the way the girl spoke to and treated her students; she was jealous of the kindness. Past the instructor and the three boys, Addie moved towards the small section of the facility that was run by Persephone.

It was decided that she should be trained in private so as to encourage complete focus. The dojo was closed off from the rest of the training hall and was bereft of the sunlight and the inspiring view that the others enjoyed in the main atrium. 

The room was a circle and the only light came from a dozen candles surrounding the outer edges, providing an ominous flicker to the sessions. 

Each morning started with a circuit of bodyweight exercises. Pushups, pullups, sit-ups, and planks. Addie would then squat and hold the stance throughout a recitation of the warrior’s code. The code was roughly one hour long when read aloud. The first time Addie had attempted to hold herself static for the duration, she collapsed halfway through, which resulted in a repetition of the entire circuit for the remainder of their day. She had gone home sore and angry, but  admittedly, much stronger.

Persephone was pacing in the center of the room when Addeleigh arrived.

“It is four minutes past the hour. Is there something more important than my training?” Persephone was calm as she spoke the words without turning to look at Addie.

“No. I hadn’t realized the time…”

“Two weeks, Addeleigh,” Persephone interrupted. “Two weeks and not once have you activated the God-State. My previous students were able to do it in only a few days.” She turned to face Addie directly, “Had I not already trained these others, I might be able to believe your failure was a reflection of my teaching, but,” she glared into Addie, “no. The failure is yours.” She motioned to the wooden training stick in the center of the room, “Grab the staff.” 

Addie moved quickly to pick it up, suddenly self-conscious.

“Hit me,” Persephone said, staring through Addie. Her eyes were an icy cold blue.

“You don’t have a…”

The instructor moved closer and whispered, “I asked you to strike me with the staff, Addeleigh. Surely this is within the grasp of your meager faculties. Or is it that you can neither arrive on time nor be bothered to swing your training staff?”

Addie swung hard in an upward motion toward Persephone’s gut. Her eyes closed, anticipating the impact, but the staff continued through the air, connecting with nothing as her teacher moved sideways and hit at the back of Addie’s legs hard, sending her to the ground.

“Up, Miss Simmons.” Persephone was speaking quickly, “Hit me.”

Addie moved from her knees, swiping wildly out with the staff. 

Her teacher casually moved away, hands behind her back.

“I’ve seen eight year old children swing harder than that. You lack strength and commitment.” Something was different. Persephone was always difficult, but today she was cruel.Tilted.

Addie struck out again, attempting to make use of the forms that she had been practicing in her rare moments of free time. Her right foot planted firmly in the soft dirt and the dust kicked up, briefly illuminated as dramatic motes of particulate in the candlelight. She swept her left foot in a soft arc behind her and used the momentum to push the staff at the midsection of Persephone. The world was in clear focus and she felt the power behind the swing radiate through the muscles in her back. 

It appeared as though the rod would connect, but Addie watched as her teacher lightly jumped, the toe of her foot pushing the rod into the ground, and in a half second, Persephone’s foot kicked the side of Addie’s face hard, sending her into the dirt. Through blurred vision, Addie could see her teacher walk away with her hands still clasped together behind her back. 

“Again.” Persephone didn’t turn around.

Addie started to get up but lost her balance in the now spinning room and collapsed back to the dirt. Her breathing was heavy.

“I…” Addie touched lightly at her ribs. At least one was broken and she struggled to breathe “I can’t.”

Her teacher turned and walked closer, kneeling next to Addeleigh.

“I know.” Persephone’s words were a blade through thick air.

There was an icy stillness and Addie looked confusedly into the eyes of Persephone.

“Come back to me when you are committed and ready to be taught.” Persephone walked out the door and left Addie alone in the candlelight.

THANKS FOR READING. I PROBABLY LOVE YOU

Pre-Order: AMAZON

Let's Talk About WAPs

I’ve seen so many people post about WAP in their homes or even in the workplace and wanted to weigh in.

Some of you are happy with the WAP you have and I think that’s great and wouldn’t want to steer you in another direction. Ben Shapiro seems particularly upset and I wanted to clear up a few big points:

A WAP can be confusing and MANY people struggle to work with them, even if they’ve had a lot of experience with WAPs in the past, it doesn’t always translate to a new WAP.

Functionally, WAPs are similar but there’s a lot of options out there and many people can feel tricked when relying on their friends and family for WAP judgements.

Sharing a WAP will lead to issues across the board and I generally don’t recommend it, especially from a safety and security standpoint.

Always protect your WAP and consider picking a safe-word or special phrase you can remember.  This makes sure everything in your house stays safe.

So what WAP do I recommend to Mr. Shapiro and those like him that are dissatisfied with their current situation? Simple:

Cardi B is holding two Ubiquiti WAPs

My favorite wireless access point is the Ubiquiti UAP AC Lite (Amazon). It has fantastic coverage, can be adopted into your existing home network without much fuss and can be found for less than $100 on Amazon. They have bigger options with even more coverage and multiple WAPs can work together to create a seamless network without any lapses in coverage. It’s been fantastic in my own house and I’ve put many in business networks to resolve pre-existing WAP issues.

Are there other options for you, if this WAP seems too complex? 

There are a slew of routers available that have very respectable radios included. They tend to be pricier but can provide very similar coverage in an admittedly more user friendly package. I like this TP-Link quite a bit and it’s most often under $200 (Amazon)

No matter what you choose, remember to pick a good password, don’t share your WAP with people you don’t trust. Don’t always listen to your friends in regards to what WAP you like. It’s you that has to live with it. 

Wireless Access Points are an important part of life and I hope everyone continues to stay educated and seeks help if they continue to struggle.

And Ben, if you want a professional to help with your WAP, I have pretty reasonable rates.

Why I Hired Eleanor - An Audiobook Story

After finishing my first book, I had a long, internal debate with myself as to whether I should spend a bit on having it narrated for an audiobook. There was a moment in which I even considered reading it myself. You know, like Neil FREAKING Gaiman. 

I am not Neil Gaiman.

My voice is the harsh grating of a chair leg on ceramic tile. Five hours of that would turn anyone away from my novel. Hell, it might turn them away from reading.

The thing was, I recognized the crazy ask in handing a book over to someone. I’m saying, “Hey, I haven’t written anything more than song lyrics before this, but please spend several hours of your free time reading about this pretend world I made up.”

More than that, I struggle to find time on my own to read books from authors I know and love. I haven’t even been able to keep up with my own backlog, but I’m asking friends and strangers to invest in my work. 

My album can play in the background of any situation. When you go to Wal-Mart to buy Preparation H, I can be your soundtrack. And I am forever grateful for that memory we make together. 

But a book is different.

It’s a lot of time, and I’m thankful for those that took a chance and dug into the world I’ve created. You all freaking rock.

That said, I wanted the ability to reach people that are like me. People that read almost exclusively through audiobooks while cooking or driving because life feels too chaotic and stressful to sit with a book and experience anything other than frustration at the inaction of it.

I know, I know, millennial joke.

Once it was decided that, yes, I’d splurge on an audiobook, I went to ACX to try and decide on who would fit this world the best.

There’s so many narrators across the widest range of budgets that it felt overwhelming. I could hire someone that had audio samples from their iphone. They would charge me about $200 for the finished book and it would sound like those audio memos you make when you’re driving to Home Depot for mouse traps but have a great idea for a business selling plastic replicas of roman statues on Instagram. Or whatever your memos are about.

There were also people that had back catalogs of pretty famous books that charged thousands of dollars for a novel the length of mine.

Cool, but my wallet shivered while I looked through their work, so we moved on.

I combed through hundreds of profiles. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating.

I knew that I wanted a woman to narrate, as the primary arc is that of a young girl, but I felt overwhelmed and tired every day that I went through more audio samples and narrowed my price point.

Finally, I stumbled upon Eleanor Caudill. If you’ve listened to the audiobook, hers is the voice you will hear. I listened to some of her previous work and immediately knew that she was a perfect fit.

She has a calming tone and easy command of disparate voices. Her cadence was never too slow or too fast and she read the story as I always hoped it would be read: like it was a movie playing out through stereo speakers. 

Even after the book was finished Eleanor continued to help promote and even reached out with helpful resources and suggestions. (Most of which will appear in a future blog outlining what worked best for me in self-publishing and what you absolutely should avoid.)

Because of Eleanor, I have a fantastic and easy entry point to my series. If someone is worried that I suck, they can spend one measly audible credit and check out the world of Aberthene without as much concentrated investment as before. And I think that’s key.

I want as many people to read this book as possible. Reaching them is an uphill battle...or some other cliche saying...I don’t know. It’s a pain.

Eleanor’s talent has ensured that the first impression of Addeleigh Simmons is a great one. And for that, I am very thankful.

So if you’ve written a cool book and you’re debating investing in the audiobook, I would absolutely recommend it. What’s more, I would recommend considering Eleanor as your narrator. She’s super professional, her turn around time was crazy quick and she gave me an end product that I’m so immensely proud to share around.

If you want to check out her work, I’m linking her facebook and ACX profile below. If you’d like to hear her read my book, shoot me an email and I will try my best to get you a free code. I can’t wait to hear what you think.

I’m bad at wrapping up blogs, but I guess my point is this: Don’t stop after you’ve created something. That’s just one part. Continue to invest and promote and to make sure that you are putting out the highest quality product that you can. Books, art, music, plastic replicas of roman statues for instagram...whatever. Believe in yourself.

And hire Eleanor.

Thanks for reading.

Eleanor’s Facebook (go like it): https://www.facebook.com/eleanorthestoryteller/

Her website for booking: https://www.eleanorcaudill.com/audiobook-narration

My audiobook: AUDIBLE

Even if it kills me, a biased review

Things have felt a lot tougher than usual lately. I’m not alone in feeling this way and I’ll admit that the existential dread serving as a constant companion throughout 2020 has made for some generalized lethargy.

Or I’m just lazy.

Regardless which of those is true, my friend has written a phenomenal book that I sincerely hope you pick up as a pick-me-up. Especially if you happen to have stumbled onto this while doomscrolling. You deserve a break, and Doni can give you one.

Just trust me.

I bought “Even if it Kills Me” expecting it to be a fun little story about the man, the myth, the legend, Doni Darko….er, Blair. What I did not expect or prepare for, was the inspirational rollercoaster of a journey his story took me on. I’ll expand on this but the tl;dr is BUY THIS BOOK NOW. Simple. It’s so much more than a typical rock star memoir.

At its core, this is a book about a musician. A successful musician at that. I love music. I love books. This is obviously right up my alley.

Like any good superhero origin story, we learn about Doni’s upbringing and struggles as a punk teen through his always witty and often hilarious prose. 

The honesty he brings to the page is refreshing and brutal. This doesn’t read as a self-aggrandizing embellishment as much as a survival story. His love of taekwondo and pursuit of his passions on a road to eventual success is a hard fought journey. He’s grown not by luck and timing as much as grit and perseverance. It’s a story that throughout its short 175 page length repeatedly reminds you that you are capable of incredible things. 

You’re 30 and wanting to learn a new skill? Read this.

Lost your way in this misanthropic existence we call life? SAME. Pick this book up.

Feeling undermotivated and tired of Netflix asking if you’re still watching? Yea, this book is for you.

If you set down this blue covered talisman and don’t immediately start to chase your dreams, you lack soul. 

I wanted to read a book about a musician I like. I wanted stories about the road and touring, and I got all that, but so much more. The wealth of extra wisdom hidden in these pages brings this autobiography to an entirely new plane. I want EVERYONE to read this. If you hate music and taekwondo and don’t even realize Doni is the best damn bassist this side of the prime meridian, you will STILL find this book to be enriching and motivating and important.

I cannot over-hype this story. It is remarkable what Doni accomplished with this book and I hope to see more autobiographies emulate his candid, gut wrenching, honesty. You owe it to yourself to buy a copy, and if you know a punk teen that might be in need of some direction in life, this is the very first thing they should read.

Amazon link: https://amzn.to/3cDVPUQ

Doni’s Music: https://open.spotify.com/artist/2uoJJ5tMrGRmbWEd15S7vP

Our fathers were our models for God

I’m lucky. 

Extraordinarily so. 

I’m a dad.

I have a daughter who still thinks I’m cool despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. She still asks me questions, instead of google, because she believes in her heart that I’m a better option than the computer speaker in her room. She likes the music I show her, trusts me to choose movies and generally makes me feel like a much, much cooler version of myself.

She’s remarkable. And thankfully not yet embarrassed by her old man. 

Today she made me breakfast in bed. 

I’m lucky. 

“Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?” 

That’s a line from one of my favorite books/movies, Fight Club.

It’s true. 

Before our kids are able to stumble through their own rough conceptualizations of spirituality and an afterlife, they are given us:  flawed, under-educated children, masquerading in adult body suits, as their first deity. 

And the importance of that parental role cannot be overstated.

I say “parental” role. It may be “father’s day” but that has NEVER meant your biological sperm donor. 

Maybe your bio dad was great! Good. Embrace that gift. But if he wasn’t, that’s okay too.

Maybe your mom raised you by herself and did her best to fill in the empty spaces. If you’re able to read this, she prolly did alright. Wish her a happy father’s day.

Maybe your dad sucks. An uncle, or grandfather or friend filled that role. That’s good. And that’s worth celebrating. Happy father’s day to them too. 

Maybe you can’t think of anyone that close in your life. Maybe instead, it was a teacher, a coach, or a boss at a highschool job somewhere. Celebrate those wonderful people.

Today is about those formative models for God. That impossible role, that with hindsight, you can empathetically appreciate. 

There’s a scene in Guardians of the Galaxy 2 (*SPOILER ALERT*) where Yondu has just saved Star Lord  (which is weird to type out, but hang with me) and this man is flying Star Lord into the sky. Yondu raised Star Lord in the absence of his own dad and honestly did a horrible job most of the time. But he really did try, he made an effort. An effort that Star Lord’s father never did. Yondu says, in reference to Star Lord’s biological dad, “He may have been your father, boy, but he wasn’t your daddy.” (*END SPOILER*)

I hope that anyone out there who struggles this time of year can pause and remember someone that may not have been your father, but still filled the role of “dad”.

Don’t let societal expectations of fatherhood change the way you celebrate this holiday. Be thankful for the people in your life that were “daddy”. 

Or put a way that involves less snickering on the internet : 

Our fathers were our models for God. Celebrate the good ones.

Happy Father’s day.

Ten Days

My album comes out in ten days. If you follow me anywhere, you’ve seen the posts. I hope they’re super annoying by now. 

But the frequency and energy of my posting comes from a place of excitement. This record was just a monumental effort to put together and to get out into the world. Almost none of that is because of the global pandemic and economic instability we’ve been chilling with the last few months.

Rather, the delays and the struggles were wrought from my own self doubt and a seemingly endless stream of new ideas for the same songs. Once you’ve played something that you’ve written enough times, it grows dull and the parts that were once exciting to play sound shitty. You come up with ways to change it and make it interesting again, almost like that coat of varnish on homemade furniture. It adds enough to the underlying structure to feel fresh. Every musician that I know does this. I consider it the first step in writing a good song (which I very much hope to do someday). 

Over the course of 2018 and 2019, I wrote a bunch of music. 

Alot of it was terrible.

 And I tried my best to chronicle some of that process on my instagram and in this blog. I was sitting in my office, and playing on the same acoustic guitar, with which I had written the last four albums, and I was sounding tired. The words were reflective of some of my most difficult internal struggles and yet, the instrument wasn’t matching up with those feelings. 

The dichotomy was difficult and resulted in me setting aside a bunch of songs and just not playing them enough to get past the initial draft.

Then, as luck would have it, NPR had a contest thing and I was encouraged by my buddy, Broderick, to submit a video. We did this:

And it was a BLAST. I was playing with a relatively new electric guitar that I’d just picked up, and was enamored. I have wanted a Fender Jazzmaster ever since I found out that Brand New’s Jesse Lacey played one. The sound I was able to get from it filled the hole that echoed so loudly and terribly in the songs I’d been writing. 

So when working with this new energy and learning how to goof around on an electric guitar, I listened to ALOT of good stuff on a pretty steady rotation. I wanted to share some of the songs that got me through what was a truly difficult couple of years and inspired big chunks of this album. I hope you enjoy these artists as much as I do. The Front Bottoms in particular were cathartic and a welcome reprieve as I drove around aimlessly for many depressed evenings.

Thanks for listening to me, and I hope you dig the album. Pre-save it here: https://show.co/Qxt4E6p

That link unlocks the music video for Lumineers, the first track on the album. I’ll have another blog about that video and stuff soon.

ANDDDD

Here’s the playlist if ya want to give it a listen. These tracks helped me a ton, maybe you’ll dig em.

In ten days, I drop the record. I’m very thankful for you all.

Silhouettes and Strange Shapes Review

I’ve been following what Taylor Hutchison has been doing with “Antjae” for a while now. Some of you may remember “Seasick Lullabies”, a thirteen minute EP that immediately made me feel all of the energy and hope of a Thrice concert. With cleverly distorted guitar tones and heart thumping drum beats that give way to some very cool breaks and headbanging, it thumbs the heartstrings with abandon. All this, immediately before melting away into ethereal sweetness on it’s second track allowing a breath of air. But, as soon as you feel lulled into comfort, he dives headlong into anguish and thrash again. 

If this sounds jarring, you need to give it a listen, as it’s handled beautifully and serves as a great introduction to a story that Hutchison is telling.

This instrumental project has seen 2 Eps and 3 full length albums, each of which has it’s own emotional flow and unique approach. (ChaoticState in particular delving into some very cool synth work.) I say all this because I want to preface how excited I was to listen to his most recent work, “Silhouettes and Strange Shapes”. I went in with high hopes and Hutch didn’t disappoint.

I always try to decide the best place someone could listen to a record. Some beg to be heard while driving empty streets late in the evening, others are party jams meant to be shared with friends. This record begs to be listened to with good headphones on a comfortable couch with a  well-made cocktail at hand. 

There’s a dreamlike quality to the production that will spin around in your brain as the story unfolds. Take a sip of your manhattan at the 1:30 mark of “A Separate Peace”, just before the lead line grows quicker, and tell me you don’t get what this guy is doing.

My personal favorite track is actually the opener “They Walk”. It’s discordant nature hits the jazz elements I so much enjoyed in my early twenties, sipping cheap scotch out of coffee mugs and listening to vinyl with my best friend. It’s nostalgic and hopeful, and more than that, it works so well as a lead-in to the second track.

I highly encourage you to give this guy a shot, and I would even recommend starting with the earlier work, then moving towards this most recent release, as I feel like the growth of this project is a large part of what makes it special. Check it out, and let me know what you’re drinking. Thanks Hutch.

I Can't Breathe

I’m so angry with everything that it’s been difficult to properly form my thoughts. 

I’ll try anyway.

The whole world watched a cop slowly murder a man. 

The whole world watched another cop kill another black man.

Nine minutes of footage and it took 4 days to charge the murderer. 

In that time,

A black CNN reporter was arrested during coverage of the fallout from this murder.

In that time, rioting started. 

In that time, Donald Trump tweeted 32 times.

Most of those tweets were directed at Twitter’s CEO, who was going to begin fact checking him.

The 33rd tweet was 3 days later, criticizing the “weak Radical Left Mayor” of the burning city.

Please pay attention.

If my child was killed by a cop, I hope to god you would help me burn down that precinct. I hope to god you realize that it was someone else’s child this time, but it could be yours next if you don’t act.

I watched a cop shoot pepper spray paintballs at reporters on live tv. 

I saw the president retweeting calls to violence against democrats.

I watched a man jogging get shot by two white men in a pickup.

Those men went free for months.

I see a country where black death only matters if it goes viral.

I see all this, during a global pandemic that has everyone living in fear.

I feel guilty.

I feel guilty for bringing a child into this hellscape.

Guilty for not knowing how to help.

Guilty for not being louder.

I’m lucky that I’m white. 

I’m lucky I don’t have to be scared when red and blue lights flash behind my Kia Soul as I’m speeding down the highway.

I’ve never once feared that a traffic stop would lead to my death.

That’s privilege.

And that’s why you hashtagging “all lives matter” is bullshit.

“Blue lives matter” is bullshit.

Kaepernick didn’t disrespect the flag, he called attention to this problem and lost his career and had the Vice President negate his peaceful protest with dramatic flair by walking out of a game.

He wasn’t disrespectful. 

But maybe disrespect is something we need more of. 

Maybe no one listens until the Target Super Store is burning and profits are dropping. 

Maybe the cops that kill these people need to start being held accountable. 

Maybe they need to die.

I want to help affect change but don’t know how. I want to burn down this world in the hope that, from the ashes, something better can emerge for my own child.

Burn the precinct. 

Burn them all. 

The peaceful revolution was ignored and it’s past time for violence. And when the dust settles and we look out over whatever is left, I want to tell my kid I was vocal and took action against the racists and the pieces of shit emboldened by this president. I want her to question a system that routinely abuses a badge to exert force over those in socioeconomic struggle and wonder how we let it go so long. 

I don’t want things to continue as they have been, because if they do, she’ll ask different questions.

She’ll ask why I didn’t do more.

I don’t condemn riots. I condemn murderers. You should too.

Wowie Zowie Okey Dokie Review

Do you ever hear a band and immediately know that you HAVE to watch them play live? There’s a specific kind of energy in a great live performance and the opening riff to Wowie Zowie, the latest release from Wassail Bomb, sounds like falling in love at an indie rock show. 

I can almost taste the PBR and acrid bar smoke while absolutely rocking out to this twenty minute banger of a record. It made my heart ache for the times I’ve spent at The 806 or Golden Light dancing and jamming out to Mount Ivy, and Native Crowds and Rain Division. More succinctly, what Josiah McMullin and crew have done with this record is a nostalgic trip that I sincerely hope to see performed loudly and energetically very soon.

Start to finish, this album elicits some of the montage moments from manic pixie dream girl movies, with it’s quirky emotions and clever guitar parts. I could picture Zack Braff prepping for a date or chasing the girl amid quick cuts of scenic vistas and perfectly centered Wes Anderson shots over top any of these tracks.

Tell me this doesn’t fit “The Tournament”.

This has a distinctive energy that really leans into film in my head and it definitely deserves to be enjoyed from your car speakers while driving too fast on the highway at night. This record is youth, in all of it’s awkward and wonderful beauty.

The guys  play well and stay tight throughout. I love how they keep things interesting and no song runs past it’s welcome. The kids are gonna eat this up, great energy and very dance-worthy production.

My personal favorite was tightrope and I like where it sits in the record. The punctuated vocals with snare backing felt cool and that almost organ sound in the break mid-verse fits in nicely. 

Right now, alot of people are talking about what they miss most from before the pandemic. For me, it’s absolutely live music, and as soon as this is all over, I plan to be at the very first show at Golden Light, and I hope to hell and back that these guys are there, rocking this record. Check them out at the links below:

Spotify link: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5t3aIdm5sslajgZUR2ECkU

Social: https://www.facebook.com/WASSAILBOMB/