Tagged: family
Thoughts On Metallica’s Denver Shows
I stood in awe on Night One when they entered Mile High. And I never sat down again. The professionalism, the polish, the poise—it’s perfect. I do not attend many concerts (mostly Metallica and various symphonies) but Metallica is doing something other musicians aren’t. Which leads me to my next thought.
Is it time? Can we finally admit that Metallica just writes better songs? Their songs are just better. That’s why their fanbase is among the largest ever amassed.
Night One, as I said, I stood the entire show. I was in section 309–essentially the fifty-yard line—half-way up the section. Pretty great seats. At times, between songs, I spun around to see how the crowd was doing and was surprised to find them all sitting. “Oh well. No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just motivate them.” And I did. Metallica was down there giving us their all, the least we can do is give our all. Some, not all, got the memo.
Night Two (last night), after Pantera, before they took the stage, I felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around to see a man signaling the lady two rows up is who wanted my attention. As my eyes continued the journey, they landed on what we all would’ve recognized as our high school Algebra 2 teacher. Undeterred from having a good time, I immediately said, “Are you ready!?” She gave me a, “Yes.” And then she proceeded to describe to me how horrible it was on Night One because I stood and blocked her view. Naturally she followed this speech by asking, “At least on a couple songs could you sit down?”
Wow.
Given the movie that recently released, and using the 10% truth rule of Air Force Performance Reports, I asked her, “Did Metallica save your life?”
She didn’t seem to get it.
The other fans were only mildly interested in this back-and-forth. I listened for longer than any heathen fan would have and dryly concluded, “I will be standing.”
She continued to lament to all around her in a whiny, relentless, disbelieving manner (partly ashamed she had asked such a thing, I had to imagine) and I turned to acknowledge her again—again, trying to show respect for her effort. This time, because it was loud, I randomly found myself making the “sorry” ASL fist circle over my heart, which drew a laugh from a mom my age, there with her husband and their teenage daughter. I can’t be sure she “signs” but I think she could “feel” the moment and appreciated my attempts to respect this Miss Nelson, or Mrs. Tietz as it were if memory serves.
“Metallica is Metallica.” Integrity in the flesh. That might sum my thoughts up best. They don’t pretend. They are just simply the best band on the planet, writing the best songs—the definitive band. We can all learn from Metallica. We all owe Metallica. The influence of Metallica is worldwide and enduring.
Was that it? That’s my only question. Will I ever see them perform again? Lars was more vague than normal on his, “Denvah!! We’ll see you again not soon enough!” farewell.
I don’t enjoy the thought that that was it for me. But I do think the world will witness something unlike it has ever seen when the actual end comes for them. What king, what leader, what celebrity has ever accomplished so much for so many?
No, ma’am. People don’t “sit for a couple songs”. When people have taken full account of their lives, people stand for Metallica.
(And for the “W” see this clip from after the show and after the lights came on.)
The Idea: Keep My Kids Out of War
How best to accomplish this?
My method is simple. I will teach them of the utter madness of most wars. If I am successful, then my kids will be so distrustful of the concept of destruction-based-improvement, that they’ll only engage in it when it is absolutely the best decision.
Why this post? Because I am not certain my simple method will work.
What say you?
Our Betters
You know those semi-recent additions to highway signage? The huge black digital signs?
Well, last night, my windshield wipers were going so fast and making such a racket that I almost couldn’t read the message some of our betters felt necessary to share with me: “Rain and Wet Roads. Caution.”
This is as bad, probably worse than, as texture-less braille on the sign at the local park.
Parental Bliss
Your 4 year old is eating a watermelon wedge.
She loves it.
And you love watching her bite diligently closer and closer to the rind.
You turn away to talk to your spouse.
You turn back and there is no more watermelon. No red part. No rind.
Behind the empty plate on the table is nothing but your little girl wearing the satisfied expression that only comes from a job well done.
That is bliss.
“Had I Known”, The Game
I have all sorts of analogies for why I read—current favorite is, “Books are the map of life; find yourself.” But when I read something totally new—Vietnam War history in this case—I find myself continually considering, “Wow. Had I known this earlier in life, I would’ve…” and then a fun imagination game plays out.
How about you? What information have you read which forced you to play the game, “Had I known…”?
I just ordered a “F%#* Communism” flag, probably for ceiling of garage, because of my reading. (The one created by Paul Krassner and John Francis Putnam in ‘63.) I share this so y’all won’t think I only read for its mental fitness.
It was mentioned (as a sign, not a flag) in an article about the “defoliation” AF squadron whose classically AF Pilot wit-filled motto was, “Only YOU Can Prevent Forests.”
I can hear you now. “Why?” And, “Don’t you have toddlers?”
Because as much delight as this game provides, I don’t want my kids to play it regarding such a pivotal war.
Seriously though, do comment below with any instances that have initiated the “Had I Known” game in your mind.
My Fellow Americans, Do You Know Who You Are?
Here’s a passage from James Fenimore Cooper’s Afloat and Ashore, circa 1840s. (We would call it a YA adventure novel.)
“So I will concede that money is the great end of American life—that there is little else to live for in the great model republic. Politics have fallen into such hands, that office will not even give social station… (Italics mine).”
This is from a speech made by the main character, a 17 yr old.
My point is this: Do you honestly think MAGA or AOC is capable of increasing your opinion of politicians? There is at least 180yrs of evidence to support the idea that you’re a fool if you do.
The disdain you feel for politicians is in your blood no different than your blood is in your body.
Larry David Eats His Own. It’s All That Can Be Done to Bill Maher.
I’m not going to make it childishly easy, but I have a fantastic anecdote for why the Left’s constant use of Hitler will never work.
When my Ethiopian step-son first had an opportunity to get me a birthday gift after coming to America and joining his mom and I’s family, he got me a T-Shirt. The shirt was black and on the front had a bald eagle, mid-flight, and a rider. The rider was a superimposed George Washington, taken from presumably some famous painting.
I loved the shirt. I loved the gift. Most of all, I felt heard.
“Not bad,” I thought.
The first big opportunity to put the shirt on full display was the county fair. We’re talking small town Minnesota. This was during or around COVID and so everyone was already bursting to get outdoors cause a ruckus. Or I was. Like all small towns in Minnesota, there was a wildly disproportionate amount of Somalis and they were sure to be at the fair, for the proper American reason: boredom.
Imagine the scene for a second. I proudly walk out among this multicultural crowd, wearing GW riding a bald eagle. I am checking out the other whites’ shirts, and, as expected, they were mostly about how they would kill anyone who tried to take their guns.
The Somalis, like all immigrants, wore Puma brand gear. (I remember having like one Puma brand item as a kid and being terribly embarrassed by the non-Nike, Reebok, Adidas gear.) No matter, these kids are Generation Puma, through and through.
Now, reader, let this scene play out for a bit. I keep walking and scanning shirts. I also scan eyes to see if any ignite with patriotic sparkle and joy when they see my shirt.
None do.
You can imagine my disappointment.
Finally, while ordering dessert before leaving, a youngish white girl that was serving—likely a veteran’s daughter—said, “I like your shirt.”
I am not going to tell you the answer to the riddle, because I don’t believe you’re stupid. The point of my anecdote is to give a BIG clue as to why Larry David can only further evidence why the Left and Democrats are limited to reinforcement of their incompetence when they bring up Hitler. It can never take their intended effect.
Do you see?
The Good Fallout From The Space Bimbos’ Expensive Selfie
Before they had their fun, would you have been aware that there is a formal program called, “Commercial Space Astronaut Wings Program”? I hadn’t given it much thought, as on this topic I am generally awestruck immobile by yet another instance of uncanny synchronization of unrelated technology jumps. Can someone please explain how virtually every human being is able to view, in stunning HD, videos of the now weekly commercial rocket launches? Using Resurrection Sunday as a backdrop, we might say that it seems like physicists care more about letting others watch their work than religious zealots ever did.
I digress.
Regarding “astronaut” more broadly, it was always obvious to me what this meant, because as a former USAF pilot, I went to training with a guy that had a career goal to become an astronaut. Given my then (and still) adoration of AF pilots, his goal didn’t seem out of reach—indeed he seemed to be completing the exact right steps at the exact right time. If anything, I learned that I would never be an astronaut because I hadn’t even believed I was in the running until, after meeting him, I considered that if I was in the same training as him, surely I was at least had better chances than everyone else not in USAF pilot training.
So the definition for Commercial Space Astronaut Wings Program is: “Crewmembers who travel into space must have ‘demonstrated activities during flight that were essential to public safety or contributed to human space flight safety.’”
And that is still pretty weak as definitions go, imho. (And the bimbos would, under the most generous definition of “human space flight safety”, need to say, “I earned my Commercial Space Astronaut Wings!” Under no circumstance does the English language allow for them to be called Astronauts.)
But now we know. And that is a good thing.
Completing Blacks’ Translation of Blacks to Whites in a Way Only a Literate White Could Do
So this HS Track stabbing murder is still on my brain. There is a YouTube channel which consists of Black twin brothers reacting to the passing scene. In effect, they are comedians who specialize in highlighting the constant, loud, but relatively small, tom foolery of the Black Community.
Most recently in this murder case, the attorney held a press conference. As the thing unfolded, the Twins began to recognize and highlight what anyone would recognize—that it was essentially a paid advertisement for some new johnny-come-lately BLM type group.
Here’s the particular additional factor that I, and only someone with my resume, can add to help even these Twins understand more fully what we all witnessed taking place.
The reason the attorney repeats the name of his organization four hundred times throughout the press conference is because the Black Community, as a group, is still operating on oral tradition. If his intended audience doesn’t memorize the name of the organization in that moment, he will never see it blossom into whatever he believes it should and can become.
I know, I know. You want to tell me that Whites or Western Civilization aims for memorability too. But that is not what I mean. What I mean is that when these things happen, we’re (literate Whites) watching Old Testament or pre-literate or illiteracy in action. They are not just “us” but “different”. They’re actually not us. They are actually different.
The reason I write this is I believe only once we understand this fact have we obtained the almighty truth without which we have no foundation from upon which to act.
How An Old Eagle Scout Gives A New Eagle Scout A Knife
I don’t really have a relationship with my nephew who is a graduating HS senior. Without directly asking my sister why she got him involved in Boy Scouts, I imagined the answer to be fairly obvious and plain: she saw how it helped me in life, both with enjoyment as a kid and professionally in acceptance into USAF Pilot Training and ability to complete it successfully.
Her son is riding fairly high right now, with several notable achievements under his belt, including Eagle Scout and acceptance into a unique college program. When I visited recently for his birthday, I directed the concept with him to knives, just for fun. I was surprised that he knew a bit about metals being used these days. He also surprised me by an earnest delivery of how he was super practical in being content with cheap knives that got the job done. Being the uncle who was consistently tardy or absent on birthdays and Christmas his whole life, I figured I would take a moment and a rare handful of cash and get him a knife he would never buy for himself—and likely never use. I also wanted it to be one that he would forever associate positively with Uncle Pete.
To my shock and dismay, when he finished opening the gift, my sister and mom took turns nastily cautioning him about the dangers of bringing it to school. Essentially they warned him that he would lose many opportunities that are available to him today over such a thoughtless mistake. They both then looked at me with apprehension, bordering on respect, a kind of, “I hope you know what you’re doing” attitude. I credit them for not “disagreeing” or “revoking” the gift.
Keep in mind, this was only a week or two before the black kid murdered the white kid with a knife.
How did I, the Eagle Scout uncle, caution the newly armed man?
Later, and one-on-one, I homilized, “I had no idea that your mom and grandma would react like that.” This opening keeps me credible and trustworthy. “On the topic, I just want to say this.” This establishes that the sermon is brief and likely worthy. “I got you the knife partly because of all these recent achievements of yours.” This is a compliment; hard to not like a compliment. “But please know that if you were to do something stupid like ignore reality and bring it to school, besides the consequences, by my thinking, it would mean that all the achievements were counterfeit.” This was the respectful and powerful punchline.
He blushed hard and seemed hurt.
Then he shed any maturity he had just revealed unintentionally, if winsomely, and smiled and nervously giggled in what I supposed must be counted as a teenager’s acknowledgment of unsolicited guidance.
Captain’s Log 