I have been frustrated for a long time.
As long as I can remember, in fact.
In my youth, I listened to angry music to feel something.
In my early 20s, I rebelled against the politics of the evangelical conservatism I was raised in.
In my 30s, I was too tired to remember what I was frustrated by, but it was there underneath the surface and in the music I listened to with my headphones in the garage on Saturdays when I had a few minutes to myself.
Now I’m in my 40s, and the frustration is out in the open, where I wear it plainly. Continue reading Art in a time of darkness
I stopped in to the bar on my way home from work to finish up a couple of emails.
Bringing work home with me, especially work that stresses me out, is against whatever rules I’ve set up for myself.
I ordered an IPA from Michigan and sat sipping the thick, frothy top off a malty, hoppy bomb of a beer minding my own business.
I know the owner, Dave, well, and we shot the shit for a little while, as we do. I got the lay of the beer board and finished up my emails.
For a few minutes, I sat there, silently, just soaking in the dark wood, the sounds of the pin ball games and Operation Ivy’s “Unity” playing on the sound system.
Continue reading The Blacksmith