Roll Call

I get paid to write.  And I love to write, and I can write about just about anything, which is convenient, because currently I'm writing about testing and coding software, and I don't know a lot about that.

When I arrive to work each morning, I generally have to not write, even if only for few minutes, so that I can remember what I'm lucky enough to get paid to do, and that I better start doing it. This morning, September 11th, 2012, I decided to see who was best covering the tragedy that struck New York City, and the rest of this country eleven years ago.

DrudgeReport forcefully blared a giant photo of an exploding tower, CNN delicately showed Barack and Michelle standing silently, and Fox News, good old troublemaking love to hate 'em Fox News, provided an easy to spot link to stream this year's memorial, live from ground zero.

After a finger-wagging from me for making me sit through a full 30 second commercial before viewing the live stream, I began watching a crystal clear clear shot of people holding photos and large poster board signs, as former and current government officials began to arrive.

Three and a half hours later, after the final notes of "Taps," I put my computer to sleep, and went to eat lunch alone, outside in my car.

To my coworkers, or bosses that find this blog entry - no, I didn't just kill 3 hours while you all worked, I minimized the window and only listened as I wrote about UDIDs, Anonymous, Apple, and the FBI.

I vaguely remember the first anniversary of 9/11, which I was in New York for, trying to find an apartment for my newlywed wife and I to move into. I read somewhere that all 2,700+ names of the people who died were read aloud individually, and I thought it was a really nice gesture. It wasn't one that I expected to see networks televise year after year, it takes a long time to read that many names, and, I don't know, it just doesn't seem the major networks' style.

As the first names began being read, and the two women who began them both began to choke up, I found myself praying that no one tapped me on the shoulder, forcing me to remove my headphones. Partly because my eyes were welling up, but mostly because at only 10 or so names in, I'd already challenged myself to not miss a single one. 

Sorry to kill the suspense, but due to the fact that by 8:30 this morning I was already on my 4th cup of coffee - I did have to get up to pee two times during the roll call, but that was it.

As the first two women reached the end of their list, one of them said "And my husband..." stated his name, and then told a story about how she missed the breakfasts he would make for their family each Sunday morning, and how he would always use their finest china. I was a little taken aback in that the lady kind of went on for a while about her loss, and the lady by her side only said "And my cousin" then stated his name, and the pair walked from the stage. I wondered if the first lady had taken more time than she was allotted, but I understood. Who is going to come out and remove someone so grief stricken from the podium, someone who lost a loved one 11 years ago, and is still so upset at their loss.

Through the next 2,700 names, mothers & fathers, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives, and children...approached the podium and read the names of those that they never knew, and the name of someone they did know. Or in the saddest cases, the name of someone who they were too young to know - 11 years ago today.

Between connecting the similarities of the recent rash of people making false hacking claims, and the rise of cyber-terrorism in the Middle East, I hastily jotted down the memories that stuck with me the most:

"You were my big brother, my hero."

"I love you to the moon and back"

"And to my two sons..."

"In case you can't see them, your brothers are at the cemetery drinking their Budweisers like they do every year"

"Let's love each other, just a little bit more."

"You would be so proud of your wife, and she's raising your sons. They emulate you more and more every day."

"Your crazy Irish spirt lives on, Ma."

"And my boyfriend..."

"May we never forget, nor forgive those responsible."

When the names were finished being read, a young chorus sang a song I'd never heard, "Taps" was played on trumpets to a silent crowd, and then I heard an off camera producer say "Permission to cut 1,2,3" and the stream stopped. I put my computer to sleep, grabbed my lunch, and walked quietly out of the office.

As I sat in my car, I placed my head on my steering wheel, wept, and begged for the strength, the patience, and the opportunity to mean so much to the people in my life that I'm blessed to be around today, and the gift of each day forward.

I'll be listening again next year, and I'll hopefully be lucky enough to attend the roll call in person someday. You should, too.

10 Years of Salad Days

This will be the 4th time that I've started this blog. I've blamed previous throwaways on "I'm tired" I've got too much else to do" and "I've been drinking." Tonight, all of those things are true, but in less than three hours, I will have been married to my unbelievable wife for 10 whopping years.

Stick around, everyone. She's worth the read.

10 Reasons for 10 Years

1.

I met my wife under less than pleasant circumstances, ones that I don't need to go into great detail about, because I don't have to, or want to. Outside of the events surrounding us, and much to my assumed dismay of some of our peers, we found ways to laugh, and flirt, and travel the Southeast in search of fantastic concerts and strong drinks. I would marvel at the relationship that was forming, nightly, as we stomped through Charleston, turning our backs to the world while shouting from the tops of parking garages, gorging ourselves on brie and wine, and listening to records at every volume and time of day possible.

2.

Kelly and I trounced through New York City, wildly in love, and disgustingly broke. On paydays, we ate at the Indian restaurant that gave free appetizers and desserts, and on the 13 days between them we shared cans of soup and deli sandwiches, and I never, not once, wished I had more money. We walked everywhere, freezing our asses off, and always hand in hand. Modeling allowed me to have, ohhh, nearly every day off, so we ate cheap slices of pizza during her lunch break, which was always the highlight of my day. Our nights were spent sweating to death in our basement apartment without any control over the heater, which the landlord above us ran without mercy. Entertainment, most evenings was sharing a single papasan chair, and playing Tumble Bees and Word Worm on a nude thigh burning laptop. 8 months after  moving to New York, we excitedly moved back home to the South and our love never missed a beat.

3.

I couldn't count the number of times that I've cried in front of my wife, and it's hardly the least "manly" thing I've done in her presence. I don't know if I cry easily, but I know what does make me cry makes me nearly choke to death as the tears stream down my face and into my mouth. (They don't really all go into my mouth, that would be ridiculous.) From dealing with the death of my father, parting ways with my beloved bloodhound, failures in the workplace, four trillion job application denials, money woes, car breakdowns, (wow, I do cry a lot) - she has always, no matter how much she wanted me to buck up and be a man - let me cry it out, and remained in my corner.

4.

If Kelly stopped eating meat, I wouldn't care, I really wouldn't. She was a vegetarian when I met her, but lawdy be, she ain't now. From tuna tartare to bloody (I mean BLOODY) steaks, my wife eats meat and looks beautiful doing it. My best friend puts his ear to steaks that arrive to his table at a restaurant and smiles while saying "Ahhhh yes. Stil mooing." Kelly lives by the same philosophy. While she doesn't need meat, and could give it up any day she wanted to - when she does eat it. She eats it. And it is good.

5.

I can't say that Kelly and I just started being honest with each other, because we've always been completely comfortable with each other, but somehow in the last year, the honesty has reached a "frightening to anyone outside of this marriage" level. The things that I know, and good Lord, the things that she knows, are secrets that we'll probably take to the grave. I cannot believe the things that I've realized about myself over the last ten years, and the things that I've admitted to her. When she reveals the same levels of incredibleness to me - I just tell her more.

6.

I spend part of each day trying to find out how to love my sons more, and there is no one more responsible for their existence on this earth, and therefore the level of happiness that I have - more than her. I couldn't thank her enough for them in a thousand lifetimes.

7.

Comprised of a core of really great friends, and my doting mother, I have a group of people who routinely praise my writing, thank me for writing, and ask me to keep writing when I go into hiding.  I need them, I really do. Not for some superficial level of gratification, but just to remind me that I do enjoy writing. When my wife asks me to write, it means so much more to me. I was a self-proclaimed writer when she met me, and it's taken me 10 years to become an actual professional writer today. And it took 10 years of her encouragement, her compliments, and her reminders to turn off the TV, put down the PlayStation controller, and get back to  doing what I love.

8.

My wife gave me a family. A family that I never knew that I wanted, and one that one day I thought I had no use for. I grew up as an only child, with a father, a grandmother, and an uncle who died during that childhood, and others who died before I was ever born. Without a sibling, or cousin in the world, I learned to entertain myself, and stretch out across the far corners of my unsharable bedroom. The immense size of my wife's family terrified and confused me, even as they welcomed me to countless events. As my guard came down, and the invitations from my relatives continued, alongside my previous disinterest in anything they had to do with - I truly began to see their unbelievable value, and each day I spend with them, I not only love them more, but I've grown even closer with the few members of my original family that I'd also grown to shun over the years. This day, I'm relying on my in-laws more than ever before, and they've done nothing but let me know that the level of kindness that they're willfully giving is simply what this family does.

9.

My wife is...so blindingly hot, I just don't even know how to deal with it sometimes. She's grown hotter every year, and that's not a lie, or something I have to say. I say it because it's true. Whether she's wearing a jaw dropping bathing suit, a stunning dress, or even one of my retired dress shirts, I am proud to join the lucky husbands of the world who can say with confidence "How did I land that? I gotta hit the gym."

10.

I don't know when I first heard my wife use the expression "the salad days" but I'm pretty sure it was shortly after we married. It has always made me smile. Until just now, when I just looked it up for the first time, I've always taken it to mean "when times were good" and "when times were easy." But it doesn't mean that at all. I had no idea. The actual definition is "the period when one is young and inexperienced." It's not at all what I thought. My wife and I have spent ten years recalling the salad days, usually recalling a period of time before it took so long to pack before a trip to the beach, before spending months trying to find the perfect school for our children, and before having to spend so much money each week on organic milk.

But it's not when times were "good" or "easy." It's now. How refreshing it is to know that the salad days are still upon us! We've always referred to them in being in the past, but they're here now. We are young, and we are inexperienced, and that's not just okay - it's wonderful. Our experience grows at a snail's pace, right there alongside our age, but our happiness, and our relationship as a whole left trivial matters like age and experience in the dust years ago. The salad days were always a time to harken back to, and it was enjoyable to do so, but for the next ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years, I get to look forward to being just as much a part of them as I've always been. Every...single...day.

I love you Kelly Wurst. Let's no longer count down. Let's count forward.

I Was Too Young

I was listening to the latest Black Lips album for the first time earlier this week and I came across the song "Spidey's Curse" (you can hear it above, I suggest you do, it's tragically beautiful.)

It initially sounded like a simple enough tribute to Spiderman, which fits into the Black Lips loose criteria for a song, but after only the first verse, I had major questions.

Peter Parker's life is so much darker than the book I read
'Cause he was defenseless, so defenseless when he was a kid
It's your body, no one's body, but your's anyways
So Peter Parker don't let him mark ya, it's so much darker
Don't let him touch ya, he don't have to stay!

I agreed with the fact that Peter Parker's childhood was dark; a lot of superheroes had dark, or at the very least, eventful childhoods.  Then I got to

It's your body, no one's body, but your's anywaysand
So Peter Parker don't let him mark ya
and
Don't let him touch ya, he don't have to stay!

and after say, oh I don't know, 40 consecutive listens while I sat at my desk, I grew more and more curious, and more and more afraid of what the song meant, all the while feeling so duped by spending so much time pondering and worrying about the lyrics to a song by a group of guys who were known to spit into the air and try to catch back in their mouths, pee on stage, shoot fireworks off in small clubs, etc.

I looked the lyrics up on Google and went to the always rich with pop-up advertisements "SongMeanings.net" and nearly had to run to the bathroom to throw up when I read one commenter's remark that:

The song is actually about a sex education booklet they got in school when they were like 12. Spider Man was used to teach them about sex ed.    
I don't know who else got that comic book in school, I did, and it absolutely scared the shit out of me.



And then later, Spiderman takes the tragedy to another level.



I can't remember what age I was when we were handed this in school, but I remember barely even being able to turn the page from being so terrified at what the next panels were going to show. I'd never heard of sexual abuse, inappropriate touching, anything like that before, not one time.  And here was Spiderman telling me all about it, so naturally I wholeheartedly believed that it was a real danger for kids like me, but I was also old enough to immediately acknowledge that Spiderman wasn't real, and wouldn't be crashing through my bedroom to save me from whatever sexual predator made his advances on me.

My parents told me to not talk to strangers, but that's where it ended.  Just don't talk to them.  I was 4 years old when Adam Walsh was abducted and killed, and I remember my parents using that horrible story as an example whenever I would think about running off in a department store.  So I knew that there were people that would kill me, but I was never really afraid of that, because I would stay by my parents' side.  But in this comic book - these were people that were trusted to be around their children.  Baby sitters, friends of the family, or family member themselves.  It was horrifying.

After reading this commenter's opinion of the meaning of the song, I became obsessed with the comic online as I hadn't seen it since I owned it, which was at least 20-25 years ago.  I found it, in its entirety, here:

http://www.ep.tc/problems/fifteen/01.html

and I recoiled at how vivid my memory suddenly became after seeing only the first page.  As I clicked each link to see the next panels, I knew what they were, what color the character's clothes were going to be, and when I saw that image of the little boy riding the babysitter like a horse, I trembled as I reached back into my childhood brain and remembered being so worried when I read this comic that this had either already happened to me, or was going to, the next time my mom went out with her friends.  Even though I found trips to stay with my grandmothers incredibly boring, I could at least trust them more than some daughter of one of my mother's coworkers, or some "nice man" from church.  I don't think that I would even allowed my mother to leave the house with some "stranger" left behind to watch over me.  I surely would have run away the second I had the chance, rather than face the nightmare of being a victim of sexual abuse as a child.

I'm so protective over my children today, and I don't mind being that way, but as I look back at this book, I almost wish it had been given to my parents, instead of me, so that they could have processed the information, and I could've been asked by them, and not Spiderman, to make sure and tell my family if anyone ever behaved inappropriately towards me.

I was too young to get be given this information through an idolized superhero, and if this commenter is right, and this comic book was the inspiration for this song - a song the artists wrote at least a decade after they,too, were exposed to it - then perhaps they were too young as well.

States' Rights

 

"States' Rights"

-Steven Noel Wurst 5/12/12

The artist made numerous attempts to convey that he was leaving the hustle and bustle of the city of Atlanta, GA for the laid back retirement States-rights of Jacksonville, FL through the written word that he was comfortable with - but he scrapped them all for this equally self-inflating self-photo, complete with 3rd person explanation.