Uh Oh

Sorry bout the lack of posts lately. It's been nothing but baby prep around here. What with buying all the essentials, to getting a pediatrician, to baby proofing the house, it's been a crazy trimester.

Does anyone else find the term baby proofing funny? If you baby proof your house, babies shouldn't be able to get in your house. I think it would be a much better advertising slogan for condoms. ZEUS CONDOMS! BABY PROOF YOUR WANG! If only someone had put that on a box on condoms nine months ago, I might not be in the predicament I'm in now. Oh well.

On a much more terrifying note, I'd like to welcome the newest reader of this blog, my mother! Somehow, someone told my sister about this and someone told my mother about this and someone was horribly disappointed. The disappointed individual would be my mother after reading all horrific thoughts I have and actions I do. I can understand. If I had a son that did all the things I've written about, I'd probably be embarrassed too. Oh wait, I'm having a son. That won't go well.

I knew the day would come that my mother found about about this. It wasn't a secret but I didn't go out of way to tell her either. Now that she knows, I feel..... You know how you feel when you've drank too much and need to throw up but it's not time yet. And then all of a sudden it's time to vomit! So you run to the bathroom, grateful in the knowledge you're about to chunk it out but still quite nauseous as you haven't yet done so. That's EXACTLY how I feel about my mother knowing about this blog.

I've always had my censor on around my mother. Most of you know me, I'm sort of an dick. But most people think I'm a funny dick. Which somehow allows the dickishness. But my mother and I have always disagreed on what humor is. She has always insisted that most things I find funny are not as such and I've always insisted that my mother has no sense of humor what so ever. So most of the time, around my mother, I've always had my internal censor on. Mainly because the few times I "unleashed the beast" around her, she never really saw the funny, just the dick. (I just realized that if the last two lines of this blog were quoted out of context, it would seem I expose my genitalia to my mother. Nice.)

Last Christmas, we (Jen, Mom, Dad and I) were all sitting around the table enjoying after dinner treats when the subject turned once again to Mom's lack of a sense of humor.

Me: You have no sense of humor, Mom.

Mom: You're wrong. I do.

Me: Okay, then. Give me an example of when a fart is funny.

(Both and Jen and my father know this is going down a bad road and their faces show it)

Mom: Well, I guess if.....hmmm.....Maybe if, Um....

Me: WRONG! Farts are always funny! You have no sense of humor.

My dad, appreciating the funny, busts out laughing at my mother as does the wife. My Mother, aggravated and frustrated, changes the subject, which we all happily do as a scorned Mom is a vengeful Mom and she has access to the knives.

Do not take this at all like I don't love my mother. I love her to death. She is one of the best people I know. She is overly kind, loving and supportive. Want proof? The fact I'm still alive after my teenage years is all the proof you need.

I take most of my values from my Mom. She's a staunch Democrat and environmentalist. She hates guns and was so disappointed when she read I had a gun. I hope she understands that I hate it too. Buying that thing was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I still question it to this day.

There's a reason that the spelling and grammar are quite good in this blog. It's not because of proper schooling.

I always hear about men slapping their women around. I could never do that. Not only because my mother taught me very well that men and women are equal, but because if I ever did hit a woman my mother would be on the next flight out to Vegas with the full intent of killing me. As she should.

Being a staunch Democrat, she's also very anti-censorship. Which is why I've chosen not to censor my thoughts on here just because I know she's reading it. My brain will still spew vulgar stupidity here. I'm sure she won't like it, but that's ok. I'll still turn the censor on when I see her and be as charming as I can without dropping f-bombs and making masturbation comments. But on here, my mother participation will not stop me from telling you all about the time the wife and I totally did it in a handicap bathroom in a Japanese middle school. POW!

Anyways, say hi to my mom in the comments. That way, she'll know you read this too and her tears will multiply.

In fact, now that my Mom knows, maybe I'll let the whole family in on my ramblings. I can feel the family pride growing already!

I love you Mom!

You pain in the ass.

I Had A BLAST!

I've accomplished the two goals I set out to accomplish before the baby is born. One was to break 80 in golf which I have now done twice and the other was to play Pebble Beach which I did last Wednesday. I played like crap but that's ok. The experience was amazing and the ending was perhaps the greatest thing that has ever happened in my life.

Understand that Pebble Beach is a walking course. It's a hilly six mile jaunt through the California coastline with 40 pounds strapped to your back, along which you swing a stick at about 100 mph 90 or so times. For a man of my stature (i.e. fat), this is an ordeal. I made it, but I was pooped.

Pebble Beach is a luxury golf course. They charge a pretty penny to play it but the course and service and second to none. One of the services they provide is when you finish your six mile hike, they ask you to sit on a bench so they can clean out your golf spikes. Nice touch. Instead of brushes, they use compressed air from a hose to clean out your spikes. Once they do so, you start to lower your foot but the attendant then does something unexpected.

He sticks the hose inside your shoe and turns the air on.

I've tried to be honest throughout this blog. Sure, I may have made some exaggerations here and there but most were for the good of the story. But I swear upon the soul of my unborn child that if after playing Pebble Beach, the attendants there offered me the choice of oral pleasure from a still hot 18 year old redheaded Lindsey Lohan, or air in the shoe I would take air in the shoe every single time.

This was by far the greatest thing I have ever felt. It was like angels filled my shoe and were massaging my foot with chilly pillows. I begged the attendant to do it again. He obliged and sent me back to heaven, over and over again for the good part of what seemed like mere seconds to me but my playing partner assures me was the good part of 5 minutes.

After it was over and I had heavily tipped the attendant for introducing me to the nectar that is air in the shoe, I proceeded to regale my partner for hours about my new found love of air in the shoe. He eventually got sick of it and started to try to change the subject. "NO!", I cried. "This entire night will be filled with nothing but my adoration of air in the shoe. Your just going to have to suck it up!"

If you own a air compressor, charge that baby up and go for a long walk. When you get back, stick that hose in your shoe and experience the unbridled ecstasy.

It's better then sex.

It's better then steak.

It's better then playing Pebble Beach.

I don't know if it's better then watching your firstborn child come into the world. I'll know soon. If I was a betting man, the kid would be a long shot at best.

Chocolate Pudding

Sometimes life truly throws you a bone. The Mighty Mighty Bosstones are returning for a 5 day holiday reunion stint in Boston.

When? About 14 days after the birth of my first child.

Am I going? Hells YES I'm going. The only thing I would miss this concert for is the birth of my first child. And he's going to be well over 10 days old at that point.

I found out about the concert this morning on the internet. The first thing I did was walk into the bathroom where my wife had just taken her morning shower.

"Punch me."

"Why?"

"Just punch me!"

The wife delivered a weak right to the gut.

"Harder!"

"Why?"

"JUST DO IT!"

The wife delivers a much more emphatic blow.

"Thanks!"

"Why did I do that?

"Because the news I have is going to piss you off.....big time."

"Oh no! Where are you going?"

At least she knows me and to be honest, she took it pretty well. Realize I say "took it well" because there was no discussion. I'll discuss religion, politics, and how to raise our child, but I'm going to a Bosstones reunion. She knows of my affection for the Bosstones and was actually sad she wouldn't be able to go. I love her so much.

The next thing I did was text Andrew, one of my best and oldest friends who is a bosstones nut himself. I texted him one word, "THROWDOWN!".

He called back within a minute. And he knew exactly what it meant. I love him too.

So I'll be traveling to Boston for about 48 hours to see the Bosstones twice in the dead of winter. I'll be doing my all to get tickets the nice and legal way but if needed, I'll hit up a scalper.

Am I bastard for leaving my child that early in life? Yes. Will it scar him for life? Shit, what I do won't scar him for life. Besides, he'll be all snug and warm with his mommy while I'll be freezing my ass off in Boston. MIGHTY MIGHTY....

Pennywise

I've decided to start writing guide books to help people to try to live more awesome lives like I do. I've posted the first book here for you all to enjoy! True, it's brief, but genius often is.

How to spend $40 correctly.

Step 1 - Go to Disneyland with two degenerate gambling friends.

Step 2 - Get in line for the Matterhorn rollercoaster.

Step 3 - Point out that the ride allows two people to sit "lap" style.

Step 4 - Offer said degenerates twenty dollars each to ride "lap" style. The degenerates will agree but want their money upfront so make sure you actually have the forty dollars handy.

Step 5 - Get into the ride first, behind where the degenerates are riding so they think you can't take a picture of them. Allow them to enter the ride after you.

Step 6 - Using your knowledge of the Disney Guest Service code, ask the ride attendant to take a picture for you. Because of said code, she can't refuse.

Step 7 - Loudly start mocking your friends for being "total homos". Others in line and ride attendants will join in the fun.

Step 8 - When someone from the line shouts at your friend who is wearing a Green Bay Packer Jersey "I guess he really is a packer.", relish the moment. The world will never be funnier then it is right now.

Step 9 - While riding, continue to mock your friends. After all, this is a rough rollercoaster and they're having all kinds of "dick on butt" rubbing occurring during the ride. Point this out several times.

Step 10 - While the ride might be over, the enjoyment certainly is not. For the rest of the day, congratulate them on their new found wealth and ask them if "riding homo on the matterhorn" was worth the cash. They will both heartily concur it was not. Happily, you can disagree. Because you have proof.


The one in the jersey is Jeremy Drier. The one who's getting the lap dance is Joseph Parks. I include their names in the off chance that a bored love one will google their names and find their shame.

Countdown

To all of those who commented I haven't been posting enough, fuck you. Do you have any idea how crazy my life is right now? My free time is being completely consumed by making sure I don't buy the wrong type of bottle nipples and finding out that the stroller I picked out will probably decapitate my child. If any of you reading this decide to be parents someday let me clue you in. According to experts, no matter what you do, some piece of child raising equipment will kill your child UNLESS you buy the most expensive piece of said child raising equipment. And god forbid you buy a stroller before your child is born and a newer model comes out. Congratulations, you just murdered your offspring.

That being said, I have been neglecting this blog. My last few blogs have been short and dumb. Almost like I'm kidding myself thinking "I've posted something. That's gotta count!" I've found the worst thing about having a blog is having a killer idea for a post, getting home, logging in and completely forgetting what it was you were to blog about. This has happened to me more then once. Usually when that happens, I try to come up with something funny that I think would entertain. It's a pretty good bet that when I try to force something, it usually comes out either highly racist or sexist and not at all funny. Let's be honest, if it was racist and funny, you'd be reading it.

Anyways, I had a great conversation with my buddy Jeremy about life's top 20 moments. It was during this conversation that I realized I truly am an idiot. Most of the ones that I listed were pretty normal; wedding, honeymoon, vacations. Some were really unique; teaching an English class in a Japanese high school, standing on the steps of the capitol building in Malta and being a few feet from the prime minister as he entered the building while thinking this would never happen in the USA.

But two were really idiotic that they made my top 20.

The first is a joke I told at a party. I was at Mike Burke's apartment for New Year's Eve. It was a lovely party and I had quite a few drinks. Mike's lawyer friend, Rachel, who is quite the feminist, was arguing some point about something. I don't really know what she was saying but I do remember wanting her to use a little less volume. So I approached her and interrupted.

"Hey Rachel, do you know why strippers are hot?

"Why?"

"Cause they don't talk much."

Ba-fucking-zing.

The reason that joke makes the top 20 isn't because of the comedic values of the joke, which even sober I must admit are quite high. It was the reaction. Mike Burke burst out laughing which was nice but that's not the reaction I think about when I aggressively masturbate to this memory. That reaction came from Rachel. Rachel turned a lovely shade of red and stared me down as if her glare could melt my face. She kept opening and closing her mouth but emitted no sound, as if he brain couldn't process the fact that yes, I said that and yes, I am that stupid.

That's right. I shut a lawyer up. Boo-Yah!

The second involves a loaf of bread.

The wife and I were visiting her family in Hawaii and we decided to take a couple days and explore the island of Molokai. Molokai is world famous for being a leper colony. Although leprosy was cured decades ago, that's really all the island is known for. It's not a very exciting island. Only about 7000 people live on the island and most of them are employed by the government. It's got a few condos, one nice golf course and one crappy one, and 4 mediocre restaurants. Once the sun goes down there's not a damn thing to do. Not for a while, that is.

You see, Molokai has a store called Kanemitsu Bakery. And the Kanemitsu Bakery has a bizarre tradition. Every night at midnight, down a darkened alley off the main street, through a small green door, they sell hot bread.

Yippee, you say. Hot bread. I know, that's what I thought too. But everyone we talked to said we gotta get that late night bread!

The wife and I finished dinner at 8 and went back to our condo we were renting. There wasn't a damn person on the road or in sight when we got back to the condo. It was 8PM and the island had already gone to bed. We started to doubt the existence of the bread, like maybe it was a practical joke that locals play on the tourists, which in retrospect, if true would have been awesome!

But alas, we decided to stay up to find out what the bread was all about. Which was really hard to do. Between 8 and midnight on Molokai, you're basically watching network TV and trying to stay awake. We made it to 11:45 and drove back into town, again seeing no one nor signs of any activity. We pulled into town and were happily reassured that something was happening as there were a few cars about and we saw people walking down the alley. We pulled into a spot and started the walk down the alley.

The first thing you notice about the walk is the dark. Molokai is a poorly lit island to begin with and when you walk down what the locals refer to a as a dark alley, it is DARK. However, you do hear some people and see a few lights down the alley so you continue.

The second thing you notice is the smell. A wonderful aroma of baking bread fills the air, intensifying as you walk down the alley. You finally arrive at the small lights marking the entrance to the waiting area and you are greeted by the third thing.

A mass of 50 people, happy out of their minds with the fact they are going to eat bread. You would think only tourists would do this but no, it's a local custom as much as a tourist trap. And they are as deliriously happy as the tourists there. You hear all kinds of great talk.

(FYI, bra is short for bruddah or brother which is what the Hawaiians call everyone. Yes, the Hawaiians are an odd lot)

"Hey bra, Where you from?
"Las Vegas...You?"
"Right there." (as he points at the house up the road)
"Nice. You do this a lot?"
"Every night bra, every night."

"Dude, I'm gonna buy 20 loaves and bring it back to the mainland"
"I'm buying 5 to bring home to Germany."
"No way, bra! They ain't gonna last that long."
"Will they go bad?"
"No bra, you gonna eat em all!"

So you get in line and watch as the next person gets up to the small green door and waits and waits. After a few minutes, the door opens and the bread is served. It arrives in a small pink plastic bag, a fine carrying vessel for the evening's prize. The recipient of the bread walks down the alley past all the people still in line. And everyone is happy and jealous at the same time.

"Bra, you get the bread?"
"Yep" (showing of the bag)
"Nice bra, enjoy that bread!"
"You too!"
"Soon bra, soon!"

It's a surreal experience. You're standing in line, waiting for a loaf of bread with a bunch of happy people. And because they're happy, you're happy. And every time someone gets a loaf, everyone in line is happy for them. And they're happy for you because you're going to get bread soon. After a lot of waiting you finally do get bread, and you're happy, and everyone is happy for you.

It's as pure a happy as I've ever experienced.

How's the bread, you ask?

Bra, dat bread is da kine!

GOODBYE BOSTON!

I was at my sister's wedding and Andrew stated that we should start a wedding band in Vegas. So I'm holding him to it. I need wedding songs, people! Make a list and go nuts. The best suggestions will go into our set and will earn tacos when I see you.

On The Door, Baby!!!

I'm pretty nauseated with myself right now.

I'm a registered Democrat.

I drive a Hybrid Honda Civic.

I'm strongly pro-choice.

I'm pro worker and unions.

I'm all for gay marriage.

Yet, today, sitting on my table in my living room is a brand new gun.

And there is a big part of me that hated myself for it.

I grew up in New York, the child of a staunch democrat (Mom) and a wishy washy republican (Dad). We never had guns in the house. My mother wouldn't allow it. And growing up around her and sharing a lot of her views, I agreed with most of it. I definitely agreed with not having a gun in the house. I can remember saying that I would never own a gun. I hated guns.

Funny thing, I still hate guns. A lot. I think the world would be better of if there were no guns. If, as a society, we could abolish all guns, I honestly think this country would be a much better place to live.

Problem is, that's not the world we live in. We live in a world with guns. The criminals have them and use them on the good citizens of this country. Just last week, not 6 blocks from our house, a woman was taken hostage by 3 armed criminals who were breaking into her house. Luckily for her, her husband was home and owned a gun. She survived, the criminals were shot dead.

So after much consideration, the Wife and I decided to buy a gun. We took some safety classes and got a lot of information online. I could tell you what kind of gun we bought but what's the point. It's a gun. And ever time I look at it, I feel sick.

We're going to go to the desert and learn how to shoot it. Then we're going to load it, put the safeties in place and hopefully never use it. But I'd much rather have it and not need it, then need it and not have it.

I know most of you who read this are leaning liberal. I'm truly asking you to give me a reason not to have a gun. I've been thinking for quite some time and I just can't come up with one. The child is really not a concern as the kind of gun we got is pretty much childproof. So please, give me a reason that hits home and I'll get rid of it happily. Cause I absolutely hate being a gun owner. I'm hoping that the criminals in my neighborhood hate me being a gun owner too.

Sorry about the downer blog this week. But I've had my stomach in knots for awhile and I need some reassurance that I'm not a monster or good reasons to abandon my purchase. Next blog will be a giggle, I promise. Nothing but fart jokes and my stupidity.

First, Last and Always.

Many things are discussed when a couple finds out they are having a baby. My wife and I are no different. I'm going to say that a strong 85% of our discussions over the last 4 months have been directly related to the baby. While a good portion of those are not common (putting a crying baby in the closet, if I should buy the baby golf clubs even though he won't use them for a few years, if instead of diapering the baby we could just restrain him into one room and cover the floor of that room with a plastic tarp), most of the conversations I believe are normal parenting conversations. One that comes up more then most is what to name the baby.

As discussed in previous posts, we're having a boy. Which is nice to know when you name your child. It effectively eliminates 50% of the choices. However, the remaining choices are quite vast. Luckily, lots of them are really stupid and horrible names like Sahale and Patwin. Might as well beat your child to death now and save his schoolmates the trouble. Both the wife and I feel like a nice normal name is the way to go when naming a baby.

The wife likes Daniel and Alex. I'm lukewarm on Daniel but I steadfastly refuse to name my child Alex. Mainly because my first crush on a girl was my friends sister who happened to be named Alex. I can only imagine giving my child a bath, calling him Alex, thinking about my first crush and getting a stiffy. Next thing you know, I'm divorced, I can only visit my child when a court appointed counselor is there and I have to register every time I move. So obviously, Alex is out.

I'm in a different and quite surprising boat on what to name my son. I'm pushing hard for his name to be Lee. What's so surprising about that is Lee is my Grandfather's name. Please understand when I say surprising, I mean I'm surprised it means that much to me.

I have never been much of a sentimentalist for names and the such. It always fascinated me how much a name means to people. I know people who wouldn't consider marrying someone unless they took their name. I'm the polar opposite. When the wife and I got married, I told her I couldn't care less about her taking my last name. It didn't mean much to me. She did take it, mainly for ease of use on tax forms and insurance papers, but still goes by her last name professionally. Which is fine by me. In fact, I kind of enjoy being called by her last name when we attend her work functions.

Then I found out the baby's due date was December 12th, the same birthday of my Grandfather. My grandfather has been dead for 17 years. He died when I was a freshman in high school. I hadn't thought about him in a long time.

What's interesting is I never would have thought of my Grandfather if not for a series of coincidences in my family tree. If you were to ask my what my deceased Grandmother's birthday was, I would have no idea. I couldn't even narrow it down to a season let alone a month. I'm really not ashamed of that. I loved my Grandmother but it's been a long long time since I've had to think about her birthday. But my Grandfather's birthday is, without question December 12th. How do I remember that so vividly?

Karen (Sister) - Dec 7th
Ron (Uncle) - Dec 7th
Me (Me) - Dec 9th
Michelle (Cousin) Dec 11th
Lee (Grandpa) Dec 12th

Nice grouping, huh? Apparently, everyone in my family gets horny right around the same time in March. I certainly did and now the wife and I are going to add another early December baby to the family.

Like I said, I hadn't thought of my Grandfather in a long time. But when I did start to think about him, I had nothing but wonderful memories of my childhood come flooding back to me. This was a man who was mayor of his town for years, a faithful member of his community church and am amazing family man. I started to remember how he wouldn't take the garbage out without putting on a tie. How he would take my sister and I sledding all day long in the cold winters of North Syracuse. He never lost patience with us, no matter how crazy we would be. And my sister and I could be crazy. I'm sure after we left he and my Grandmother had to clean for hours, just to have their peaceful home restored.

I also remember that he belonged to the Rotarians. Some of my best memories of my Grandfather were attending his Rotary meetings and admiring how respected he was in his society. When people found out I was Lee Milback's grandson, I was immediately welcomed and made to feel like a member, even though I was 13 at the time. He never talked down to me as a child even though I certainly acted like it. He was an avid golfer and tried to teach me how to play as well, showing infinite patience as I hacked it around his course. Now an adult, I can see how the seeds of my love and respect for golf came from him.

He's also responsible for the greatest show of love I've ever come or hope to come across.

I vividly remember the fear on his face the night of and days after my Grandmother broke her hip, confining her to a bed for the last three years of her life. And yet, for those next three years, he never complained about taking care of Grandma, he just did it out of love. I didn't fully understand it then but what he did for my Grandmother as she was slowly dying was as brave as anything a man can do. The hospital bed was too big for their room so she spent the rest of her days in the living room and he slept in the bedroom alone, which must have been awful lonely for both of them. He was being tortured, slowly watching the love of his life waste away in a hospital bed in the living room.

After years of living in horrible pain (of which she was fully aware due to her perfect mental health which let her enjoy every agonizing day), my Grandmother mercifully passed away at age 78. The whole family and most of the town arrived for the funeral and burial. Through the tears and sadness, my mother and her sisters talked to Lee about the future, maybe getting an apartment in the city or a condo on a golf course. He was also 78 at the time and in great shape for that age. But Lee wasn't interested in that, he just wanted to make sure that Norma, the love of his life for the last 52 years, was put to rest.

Norma Milback was buried on a Saturday. Lee Milback, having done everything he could for his wife and not wanting to continue without her, died Saturday night in his sleep of a broken heart.

The whole town turned out again for his funeral and we, the members of the family, kept hearing the same thing. "How awful for this to happen so quickly, what a tragedy for your family." And yet I didn't feel that way. I don't think the rest of the family did either. Of course, we were terribly sad that we would never see Lee again. But he didn't want to live without Norma. And none of use could see that as anything but a touching love story. My parents have said it and now that I'm married I can honestly say it too, I hope that's exactly how the wife and I go.

The wife and I both agreed to not make a final decision on the name of the child until he's born. However, Lee Simpliciano Howland has a nice ring to it, don't you think.

PS - If you were wondering how the dicsussion about whether I should buy the baby golf clubs went, here's a clue.

Bangin'

A long, long time ago, I was washing dishes. The cupboard where the cups went was over the sink. I opened the door it and put away a freshly washed cup. Obviously, I didn't close it completely because the next time I stood up after being hunched over in the sink I cracked the top of my head right into the corner of the door of the cupboard. It hurt so fucking badly! I was insanely mad at the universe so I punched the cupboard door as hard as I could. The door closed at an amazingly fast rate of speed. Sadly for me, it also bounced off the frame and reopened at the same rate of speed, smacking into the side of my face really, really hard. This point in the story marks the angriest I have ever been. It took me a full 2 hours to calm down. 6 years later I can mostly look back and laugh but there still is a small part of me that gets furious and wants so badly to go back to where I used to live and destroy that cupboard.

Renewable Energy

You know what's fuckin' Metal?

Metal.

If you knew me in my previous life as a high school student, you know that I was quite the Metalhead. (Is Metalhead one word or two? My spellchecker says two but my spellchecker was also programmed by nerds. I'm going one. Ironically, my spellchecker is also saying spellchecker is two words.) As my life progressed, I became broader in my musical tastes, listening more to the stylings of They Might Be Giants and assorted Ska bands. The end of my Metalheading (also a word) days came due to the money grubbing ways of one of my favorite bands of that time, Metallica. Metallica was not being Metal.

Much has been written about the feud between Metallica and their Napster loving fans, of which I was one. I am not one to give you a history lesson or morality lesson about the history of illegal downloads. All I'm going to say is I used to download a bunch of music from Napster and continue to do so through torrents and thepiratebay.org. I also go to a bunch of concerts, buy a bunch of merchandise and have put bands up at my house when they come into town. I guess I'm a modern day Robin Hood. And fuck yeah, I'm wearing tights. Can't get more Metal then that.

Anyways, because of Metallica basically saying I wasn't a good little fanboy, I stopped listening to their music and pretty much all Metal. Which was fine with me. I sold all my Metal CD's and got rid of all my Metal memorabilia. I certainly didn't miss it. I'd hear it every once in a while and enjoy the occasional tune but if anyone asked about my musical tastes, I would tell them about Reel Big Fish and Suburban Legends, not mentioning my head-banging (you're goddamn right I hyphenated that shit!) past. Not at all Metal.

It was only a matter of time before the dark side took me back. With a recent combination of becoming friends with a renewed metalhead, watching a little too much VH1 classic and becoming obsessed with Guitar Hero (the greatest game of the last 8 years), I am officially back on the Crazy Train. I've been scouring the web, looking for Metal and nearly jizzed (how in the hell is this not a correctly spelled word?) myself with delight when I found a Iron Maiden Anthology torrent. Since downloading that a nearly a week ago, I have listened to nothing else. In fact, as I'm typing this, "Can I Play with Madness?" is thrashing throughout my eardrums, reminding me of simpler times. So very Metal.

I'm still a bit mad at Metallica for all the years I've wasted not being Metal, but let's be honest. In the free music war, they lost, BIG time. I haven't paid for music in a long time, which is totally Metal.

So to those of you who once were like me, I'm calling you back. Pull the black leather out of the closet, loosen up your neck and throw your pointer and pinky high in the air, lightly gripping the remaining fingers against your palm with your thumb. Why? Because Satan is coming for you. And he's breakin' the law while he's running to the hill. And what is that in his hand? Why it's the Ace of Spades. When he gets there, you should probably shout at him.

Metal.