I thought I lived in a nice neighborhood

A couple weeks ago I was biking home from a game night with some friends. It was about midnight in the suburbs–nothing to worry about. Or so I thought.

I was minding my own business just biking up a fairly steep hill on a street that led to the main road. Before I could get to the top there were two cars peeling out of the side street to the left just before the street reached the top of the main road.

The two cars stopped and somebody screamed. Doors slammed. I heard some bickering and what I assume was cursing and then the car in front sped out to to  top of the road and drove away.

The other car slowly made its way up as well, and I thought it was just going to follow the other car and go away.

But it didn’t move.

I had stopped my bike, but I forgot my flashing handlebar light was on.

“Hey! Who is that?” somebody from the car yelled back at me. I just hung back and didn’t move.

Then the car’s reverse lights came on.

And the car started to back up.

I felt my heart start to thump. What was I supposed to do? Where was I gonna go? I should have raced back the way I came, back to my friend’s house or at lease not where I ended up actually going–into that same side street where the two cars came racing out of.

The street was a dead end.

My heart was pounding even faster as I heard the car coming down the side street after me. I ducked behind a van and threw my bike on the ground.

I keep thinking of all the things I should have done, but I was panicking. I didn’t know what to do.

I called 911 and got a recording! “Please wait for the next operator,” it said. After what seemed like ten minutes (it was probably only one minute) a woman came on and asked me what my emergency was.

“I think someone’s following me.”

By this time the car had turned around in the circle dead-end and stopped in the middle of it. I could see it through the windows of the van I was hiding behind.

“Who’s following you, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know someone is following you?”

“They followed me down this dead-end street. I’m hiding behind a van.” I proceeded to tell her the story about how there were two cars at first and now one of them decided to tail me. She again asked for my location and I managed to name the street that I fled from.

“Why would someone be following you?”

“I don’t know!”

The passenger and driver doors to the car opened and stayed that way for a good minute or so. Oh shit. Three figures got out of the car.

“Let’s go beat his ass,” one of them said. It was a girl. There were three girls. Three girls in a car followed me down a dead end street.

Recalling this story to my gaming friend later he asked, “Were they big girls?” At first I didn’t know they were girls at all! All I knew was that there was a car following me down a dead-end street. I didn’t know if they had knives or guns or what-have-you!

“What are they doing now,” the 911 lady asked.

“They’re walking down the street past the van.”

“Do you have any idea why someone would be following you? Do you know these people?”

“No! I was just biking home when they followed me!”

The three girls (now I know it might seem silly to be hiding from three girls, but I was on a bike and they were in a car and I had no idea what their intent was, except to “beat my ass” apparently) turned around and came walking back towards their car.

“They’re coming back now. Please help!”

“You gotta give me a side street or something else to go on, sir. I need to know where you are.”

Two of the girls decided to walk on the left side of the van I was now on the other side of and the other girl, dammit, decided to walk on the right side of the van!

I bumped into her.

She screamed.

I screamed.

All the girls screamed.

“Who are you?” the leader said to me.

“Who are you!? You followed me down the street!”

The dispatch woman said, “Sir, I heard a scream. Did you do something to her? Did you hurt her?”

“No! No! No! They followed me!”

“I know, but I heard a scream, is she alright?”

“Are you on the phone with the police?” the leader chick said. It was becoming clearer that these girls were indeed just stupid girls and weren’t going to pose much of a threat to me. I didn’t see any weapons and they seemed more intoxicated than menacing. I was starting to feel silly. I was still scared. Who knew what they were capable of if they were stupid enough to follow some stranger on a bike?!

“This is all a misunderstanding.” The leader said.

“A misunderstanding?! You guys followed me down the street!”

“C’mon, SoAndSo, let’s go. He’s on the phone to the police.”

The other two girls and their captain clearly didn’t want any entanglement with the law, so they piled into their car and drove away.

I was still on the phone with 911.

“Did you get a plate number?”

“No. It’s dark.”

“What did they look like?”

“I dunno. Girls!”

“Are you capable of getting yourself home?”

“I think so.” I got back on my bike and started down the street to the main road and then on to my own house, all the while talking to the 911 lady.

“Stay with me,” she said.

“OK.”

I got home and threw my bike on the ground and ran up the back steps. I pounded on the back door.  ”Open the Door!” I shouted from the top of the steps, too shaky to use my own key to the house.

I explained the whole story to my wife and told her the cops would be coming any minute to talk to me about the incident. I was home and unharmed, but I was still shaken up.

Looking back on it now, part of me feels silly for worrying about a few chicks who really couldn’t do me any harm, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that someone had decided to follow me down that street. I’ll bet if I had kept on biking I could have pedaled right by them without any trouble, but because I stopped I triggered something in their heads that made them follow me.

I didn’t know they were all girls until they got out of the car, and by  that point my adrenaline was already pumping wildly. Part of me feels silly. Another part feels justified in running (biking) away and hiding behind that van.

The cops came to my house about twenty minutes later and asked the usual questions: Did I have a description of the women who followed me. “Did you attack her?”

“No! Of course not! I didn’t attack her!”

“No,” said the officer, “did you  get the TAG number?”

“Oh. No, I didn’t.”

Those chicks probably laughed all the way home or to whatever late night party they were about to attend and recount the night’s events.

One thing that’s been sticking in my head after all of this is this: what if I had had a gun with me? I’m sure brandishing that piece of iron would have made those girls get back in their car right away. Or maybe they would have pulled their own, more powerful piece of iron on ME. What if the gun had accidentally gone off when the one girl bumped into me.

“I heard a shot AND a scream. Did you hurt her?” the dispatch lady would have asked.

I don’t want this to turn into a rant about the Second Amendment, but I will say that I would have felt a lot safer if I at least had some pepper spray on my person at the time.

“Let’s go beat his ass,” they had said. “Oh. This is all a misunderstanding.” they had said.

I’m going to get myself some pepper spray and attach it to my key chain or at least have it hanging from my handlebars. I’m not going to let three crazy chicks scare me off my bike, dammit! I’ll still bike anywhere in this city, day or night. I have a right to the road just like any other traffic. Plus, on a bicycle, one is less likely to be pulled over by a cop after having had a few brews.

Yes, you figured out  why I was biking in the first place–to avoid a DUI. I’m sure there is something such as a BUI, but I doubt it’s enforced very hard. If a cop pulls over a bicyclist then they really need to rethink their priorities. There are folks getting raped and robbed in the city and Officer Friendly wants to pull over some schmoe on a bicycle? Not likely to happen.

Be careful out there.

More metal than thou

Maybe I’m just too nice a guy, but I’m not down with the whole elitist thing. I get upset when someone slags someone else for the music they like. Since when is a person’s musical tastes a reason to pass judgement on them?

I don’t get it when I hear a “trve” metal fan spit all over somebody because they like Pantera, for example. Is it because Pantera has been sooo bloody successful that they’re not metal enough anymore?

Am I the only one who is tired of all the rules metal heads are supposed to follow? Am I the only one who’s sick of hearing the words “hipster” and “poseur” tossed around like old newspapers so damn much?

I used to listen to Pantera when I was younger and I enjoyed it. I’m not as big a fan as I once was, but I look fondly back on the days I used to crank Cowboys From Hell and Vulgar Display of Power. Does that mean I can’t still justifiably listen to Death and Kreator? Or are those poseur bands, too?

Do the elitists only have other elitists in their circle of friends? That’s the impression I get from listening to them (or reading their blog posts).

I’ve got friends with widely varying degrees of musical tastes–one of whom is crazy about Abba of all bands. I’m not going to give up that friendship just because I don’t particularly like classic pop music. Why would I?

I guess I don’t understand the disdain elitists feel towards others not of their kind. I don’t understand why it’s so important to like the right bands. I enjoy much extreme metal (I’m listening to Dissection right now while I’m riding my exercise bike). I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let someone else tell me I can’t also like the new Van Halen album, for example.

Metal isn’t the only type of music I like either. It happens to be my favorite, but my Spotify playlists also contain music from The Cure, Barenaked Ladies and the Go-Gos.

Tell me if that makes me a poseur or a hipster or a faggot. Go on, if you’re a trve metal fan you won’t let me get away with a statement like that unpunished. But if you’re an elitist you probably stopped reading around the paragraph where I mentioned Pantera.

Why not just let everyone listen to whatever they want? Does it really matter that much to you what someone else thinks? Are you so preoccupied with that poseur standing next to you wearing the Lamb of God t-shirt that you can’t enjoy the show on stage right in front of you? If so, you really take metal music and yourself waaaay too seriously.

It’s so petty to think that way and I’m too bloody old anymore to play high school games of metal popularity. If someone tells me they listen to some band as shitty as say, Warrant, I say more power to them. That has no bearing on my enjoyment of music whatsoever.

Maybe elitists can’t comprehend how it is a person could have varying degrees of musical taste. It’s an all-or-nothing option for them, perhaps. I think it has more to do with the fear of being labeled a hipster or a faggot if their cd collection… scratch that… all vinyl metal arsenal doesn’t have the right bands in it.

I’m glad I don’t have that hang-up. I’m free to listen to whatever I want–even (gasp) Marilyn Manson–and still enjoy bands like Bolt Thrower. It’s very liberating to not conform to metal’s so-called rules.

As I understand it, being a poseur is pretending to like something in order to gain acceptance within a social circle of one kind or another. I don’t pretend anything and couldn’t give a rat’s ass what others think.

I don’t care if there is a bar to leap over to be considered metal enough. If I like a band I’ll walk right under that bar and not think twice (and then get my ass beat in the parking lot by a Goatwhore fan probably).

I challenge everyone who reads this to come out of the metal closet and declare your secret admiration for Down or the new Exodus or [insert guilty pleasure here]. I won’t pass judgement on you, I promise.

Nice guys mosh, too

I’m too old for mosh pits. The last mosh pit I was in was last year at a Sadistic Ritual show at Jack’s Pizza and Wings. The place is too small to hold concerts, let alone big mosh pits, but somehow it’s a great place to see a metal show. There have been more than a few times where there were folks spider crawling on the ceiling!

The last time I engaged in this activity, I was shoving and slamming and getting shoved and slammed like a pinball on a table someone was lifting over their head. I didn’t last long. One chick was beating the shit out of people (girls are allowed to do that, I suppose). I took a few blows to the back. Then I somehow managed to claw my way past the event horizon and hang back with other victims, er, fans. I had a blast.

Why would anyone participate in a mosh pit, you ask? Well, you know, one gets caught up in the energy of the music and one feels the need to do more than just dance or bang their head. A body needs to get out some aggression! It’s controlled chaos within an agreed upon space where people can rage without fear of reprisal. Does that make any sense?

There are some rules to moshing, even though, to an outsider, it may not appear that way. For one, moshing (or slam dancing, as it was originally called by the punks who invented it) is completely voluntary. Dancers collectively decide when a pit is going to break out. And one should never drag another fan into the pit who doesn’t want to be there. If you pull someone into a mosh pit who doesn’t want to mosh and they end up clocking you for it, you’ve deserve it!

There is, after all, the risk of getting injured, which is part of the thrill–knowing you just might get hurt. Hell, I’m disappointed if I don’t come out with at least a couple of bruises! My wife gives me that look if she discovers a new black and blue blemish on my body. “How did you hurt yourself?” she’ll ask. “Moshing.” Then I get the old eye roll that says, “you’re so childish; why do you do that?”

Another golden rule for moshing is to help that person off the floor before they get stepped on! People always fall down. It’s inevitable. Usually they fall after having crowd surfed for a few measures. Folks try to keep a crowd surfer from touching the ground for as long as possible, but sometimes gravity wins and the poor bastard lands on his back. But, he’s quickly back on his feet thanks to his fellow moshers and is ready to rage again.

Don’t practice your karate in a mosh pit. No one gets that. I sometimes see folks windmilling their arms around like a paraplegic on acid and no one gets near them. But, they stand there anyway, by themselves, looking like they’re doing high speed tai chi. It just looks ridiculous. When you’ve got a whole group of them doing their “hardcore” dancing they look like synchronized swimmers, all flailing their arms like cheerleaders in a Nirvana video or something.

But, I’m one to talk. I’m usually in the back row with a beer in my hand just nodding my head. It takes a really good show to move me to mosh anymore. I just celebrated my forty-fifth birthday last month and I’ve recently discovered that my knee has inherited my dad’s hobbling affliction. I’m old, dammit. I can’t rage like I used to. I was proud of myself for doing the “Toxic Waltz” (Exodus) on my fortieth birthday in Germany at the Rock Hard Festival five years ago. Nowadays I’m proud of myself for staying out past midnight!

So, will I be moshing at this year’s MDF? We’ll see. I definitely won’t be moshing durning the sets of any black metal bands. That’s another rule. One does not mosh at a black metal show. It’s serious business, after all (can’t you tell by all that make-up the singer is wearing?). But it never fails: there’s always one or two folks who start up their own vicious tango in the middle of the black-clad cloud of black metal worshipers. Half the time the out-of-place moshers get their asses beat by those annoyed fans around them. But what do you do when the black metal band encourages moshing at their shows, like 1349 did at the Atlanta Scion Fest a few years back?

I say let those who want to mosh mosh! There are too many rules in metal as it is. Just give those dancers some space and ignore them if you don’t like it. Why should the actions of another hamper your ability to have a good time or enjoy the show? If you can’t enjoy the show because a couple folks are slamming into each other, then I think you take metal and yourself far too seriously.

I just had a thought. What am I gonna do when my kids get into this music and want to slam dance? Should I tell them that I almost broke my arm at the Waldrock Festival in the north of the Netherlands in the late 1990′s when my arm got caught between a stage diver and the wooden barrier? Should I show them videos on YouTube of bloody noses suffered in mosh pits? Do as I say not as I do? Well, I’m not sure I want my kids playing football, for example. I’d love to see the statistics of football injuries in comparison to mosh pit injuries.

I did show some videos of mosh pits to my father when he asked me, “So what goes on at these shows?” after I told him I was going to MDF. He turned pale as a ghost and his eyes got real wide. He let out a giant puff of a sigh and said, “you’re beyond hope.” I guess you’re never too old to shock your parents.

MDF is less than two weeks away. Look for more updates soon. (iPad battery is about to give out now.)

Slump

In the About section I touch on this writing slump I’m in. I haven’t written any fiction at all this year. I am in a slump, but I’m confident that I’ll be able to come out of it. After all, just writing in this blog is good experience, eh? I’m writing something!

I’ve spent many nights at Starbucks just staring at a blank piece of paper wondering what to write and then writing down something like, “I don’t know what to write! I suck! I never should have tired to become a writer!” But, I guess that’s part of the process. I’ve stopped going to Starbucks unfortunately. I should go again.

I feel that my radio show is my creative outlet at the moment. Check out odddad.com for more information about my nostalgia/big band show on garage71.com. But it’s not the kind of creativity where I really use my imagination. [Wait, Odd Dad, aren't you the metal dad? What's this swing stuff?] Hey, I dig all kinds of music. Nostalgia is one of my loves, though I’m a metal head at heart.

Part of me is worried that my creativity has been dampened by my medications I’m taking. I’m on four of them: Klonazipam, Abilify, Ritalin and Prozac. I wonder if because of their ability to keep me stable,  they’re also affecting my ability to write. While I hate entertaining that possibility, I also know that I would be worse off without my medications. I’d much rather be alive and not a writer than be a famous author who offs himself.

Look at all the famous writers who’ve killed themselves. (I’m too lazy to go look  them up; you can google them if you want to read about famous suicidal authors.) I don’t want to end up like them. So, I guess I’m saying that I’m willing to give up my dreams of being a successful writer in order to stay sane and alive. I’d rather be boring than dead is what it all comes down to.

But I haven’t completely given up on my writing. I’m just waiting for the right story to jump into my brain and then I’ll quickly jot down some notes. Or I could try a whole other genre of writing. Hell, if David Sedaris can be a famous non-fiction essayist, why not me? Why not me, dammit?

Part of me wants to write about music and metal, but I don’t know that I’m qualified to write about music. I’m too nice. Lots of metal music writers are very snarky, if you ask me. I  won’t cite examples. (Again, you’ve got google, do your own research.) And I don’t know if I want to be like them either. I get upset when folks get all more-metal-than-thou in their bloody music reviews. Why not just say why you like it if you like it? Why be an ass about it?

I’ve touched on this before, but I’m really tired of hearing about how you’re deemed a poseur if you like a certain band and not another. Who cares?! Listen to whatever you want. Why slag someone because they like Slipknot or [insert your favorite band here]? Is it really that important?

So, I’m just waiting for my muse to start singing again. One of the last pieces of fiction I wrote was an open letter to my muse. In it I go on at length about how disappointed I am in her and that she deserves the physical abuse I put her though. I actually submitted it for publication and it’s been rejected by all outlets so far. It felt good to write that letter though. I got a lot of anger down on paper and channeled it into a piece of art (maybe not a good piece of art, but that’s in the mind of the reader I guess). If I get any requests, I’ll post a copy of it here.

I’ve got plenty of manuscripts in a binder just waiting to be sent off to the small press for publication. I should pull out some of those old stories and see if I can get some sucker to print it in their rag. I’ve been paid once for a piece of fiction–$5.00. I never cashed the check.

Gotta go pick up the little girl from school now. More meaningless drivel to come…

Maryland Death Fest 2013 and Jeff Hanneman

I’m so excited to actually be able to see Bolt Thrower, et. al. at this year’s MDF! Just a couple more weeks and I’m headed to Baltimore with my buddies, S and D (and R and R and J and A and more). Not only is this a chance to see some of the best extreme metal acts live, but it is also four days without any kids around. Don’t get me wrong; I love my kids to death and would take a chainsaw to the face for them, but being a dad (even one who works a regular full-time job) is work! This will be a mini-vacation. It will be a lot of drinking and sleeping in and sewing patches on my metal vest–all without any small voices tugging at my ears. I’ll miss them terribly, but it will be healthy for me to get away for a while.

I’m hoping there will be some kind of tribute to Jeff Hanneman at this year’s festival. Hanneman, of course, was one of the guitarists for Slayer, one of my all-time favorite bands. I can remember listening to Slayer for the first time on the radio (of all places) on 97x WOXY 97.7 fm in Oxford, Ohio on their Massive Metal for the Masses show. They played the entire Hell Awaits album one week and I was hooked. (One of the songs on the album, “At Dawn They Sleep,” was the inspiration for the name of this blog.) I had never heard anything so fast and so evil; it was scary! There I was pretending to do my homework on a Sunday night in the mid-1980′s, instead banging my head to Hanneman and King’s ripping riffs. (Then at 10pm came the Dr. Demento show, but that’s another memory altogether.)

I’m sure that some bands at MDF2013 will at least say something about Hanneman’s death if not dedicate their sets to him. First order of business when we get there, I will propose, will be to do a shot of Jager in Jeff’s honor. Sure, it’s Kerry King who has the Jagermeister endorsement, but, hey, it’s Jager! Let’s get the party started off right!

One of the coolest things I remember about Jeff Hanneman was his Dead Kennedys sticker on his guitar. DK is also one of my favorite bands (a little less nowadays since I’m not a liberal anymore). Hanneman was the punk influence in the band and I think it shaped their sound in such a way that made it mind-shatteringly unique. Today there are a zillion Slayer-esque bands out there, all riding Slayer’s coattails.

I don’t think the band can be the same anymore. I think it’s time for Slayer to hang it up. After that mess with Lombardo and money issues concerning their New Zealand(?) tour and Jeff being out of the band for so long (two years) recovering from his spider bite and waiting on a new liver. Gary Holt is a fine replacement temporarily, but it’s not the same with only Araya and King in the band. What is the new album going to sound like? I’m not hopeful for a real future for Slayer.

Anyway, MDF will be fun. It’s probably one of the few (if only) times I’ll be able to go. It just conflicts with our travel plans to Holland too much. And it just so happens that MDF starts on the last day of my kids’ school year. Grammy is gracious enough to come babysit while I’m gone to the fest, but I can’t keep asking her to go out of her way so much. She already comes down to watch the children when I’m knee deep in snow in Michigan in January. And she comes a lot anyway.

Welp, the kids are about to get out of Dutch school and I need to go pick them up. I’m sitting in a Starbucks waiting for this extracurricular activity to end.

More to come…

 

Here we are again

So, I’ve switched to wordpress.com because blogger wouldn’t let me use atdawntheywake.blogspot.com anymore. I’ve decided not to abandon this blog, after all. Some folks have been asking about it and I thought I owed it to them to continue writing and sharing my misadventures of being a stay-at-home dad who listens to heavy metal.

 

Thank you for following me here. I promise to keep you abreast of what’s going on, but I can’t promise I’ll always be nice and proper. I took down the old posts from the site odddad.com where I host my radio show on http://www.garage71.com on Thursday nights because I didn’t want to alienate my listeners who, let’s be honest, probably aren’t that young.

 

You can still listen to old posts from At Dawn They Wake here. It’s a podcast, so it’s me talking, but I’m not going to cut and paste all those old stories to this new address; we’re gonna start fresh

 

I’ll start talking about what’s been going on in a future post, but first I want to get this one up and active and the domain name redirected and all that good stuff. Stay tuned, and thanks for sticking with me.