Steellover

I guess one of my goals has always been to write posts about stuff that nobody else does.  It may not be terribly interesting to everyone, but at least it's original. That's the goal anyway.

One thing I've noticed about "erotic" posts is, what is erotic to one person is cringey to someone else.  If, for example, I talk about the deep erotic thrill of being spanked by a women, forced to take her strap-on, worship her boots or...use your imagination and fill in the blank-  then usually the reaction will be one of these 3 things, either  A) submissive females (and even some dominant females) will find such content cringey, or, B) dominant males will be outright disgusted, or C) only fellow submissive males will find it as erotic as I do. One out of three isn't bad I guess but that's still a pretty narrow appeal.

So... with that, I'll post about something else.  Something nobody notices or ever talks about.

Those green boxes. 

You see them everywhere: on sidewalks in residential areas. On front lawns, next to driveways, or around bushes.  If you go down to your local shopping center or office complex, you will see larger, taller ones.  You probably don't even notice them after a while.  I mean, they don't really appear to do anything but sit there, humming away (literally) cryptically, always in the same key.

That's another thing, if you do take notice- and if you don't, I certainly don't blame you at all!- then after a while you realize the enigmatic green boxes do always hum at the exact same pitch.  It's a low B, or just slightly off of a low B,  which is a scientific 61 cycle tone.  The boxes give off an almost exact 60 cycle tone.  There is a reason for this, but the explanation involves a bunch of technical scientific jargon and who really wants to read THAT?  (It would probably be about as cringey as me talking about being spanked.)  So anyway, what you can do, is walk up to one, preferably one of the larger ones that sit in front of most Burger King or Dairy Queen restaurants, and hum to yourself in the key of D sharp. And if you have a buddy with you, have them start humming in the key of F sharp. That way you can have a three part harmony with the box, and make beautiful green box music with them. 

Or, you can set your drinks on them, or use them as makeshift yard furniture.  Cats in particular like to lie on them in cool weather.  I mean, these boxes have to be good for SOMETHING, right?

Actually, they have something to do with electricity, because when the power goes out, lo and behold, all of the boxes stop humming.  So, next time you see one of those green boxes, and I bet you probably see dozens of them every day and just don't even notice them, then raise a toast to the singing but unsung heroes of underground power lines- the Green Boxes!

So, that's about it, see ya.

This is based on a true story, but the names of course have either been changed, or they simply aren't given. There are three people involved- a love-struck suitor, a Random Guy, and a beautiful and amazing woman. It's not an entirely happy story, but maybe it's not yet over.

Once upon a time, maybe ten or so years back, there was a girl.  She was tall, smart, beautiful and alluring.  The girl of his dreams, but of course he had not yet met her.  This girl loved to go out on the town, and have fun.  Who didn't in those days. Our main character, a love-struck suitor, he liked to do so as well.  Maybe he tried to be responsible and limit his number of drinks, but maybe not everyone else did.  Certainly not This Random Guy, whom she chose over him that night.

She and This Random Guy, they laughed and drank together. Somehow, he said the right things, and they hit it off.  A superficial hook-up, a shallow bro-brah who wanted nothing more than to brag about his conquest with the rest of his shallow bro-brah buddies the next day.  After a while, he decided to make his move.  "Hey, let's ride one of those electric scooters!  My apartment it just across Broadway, behind the stadium off of Beacon!  Let's go back to my place!" This Random Guy said.  "Hop on! We'll ride together!"

But This Random Guy had already ingested a random number of cocktails, a random number that was nonetheless far too high to negotiate such things as electric scooters.  But with no misgivings, She hopped on with him. Drawn by his... who knows what, was it his charms, his looks?  His false confidence and smarmy ways he had about him?  It's not always apparent why people choose the partners that they do.  Maybe it was nothing more than the booze talking.  Because speaking of which, it was not more than a couple blocks from his apartment where he lost control and crashed.  She hit the pavement, head first, fracturing her skull and bleeding profusely. He managed to escape with only minor injuries

Ever chivalrous, our Random Guy.  He carried her unconscious, lifeless body over to some nearby junipers.  Maybe he thought, "Oh Shit!  I better get out of here before the cops get here!"  Or maybe it was just "Oops, this sucks, guess maybe I won't get laid tonight after all." But either way, he just dumped her into the bushes, like a litterbug leaving out yesterday's trash- and left her there to die.

The neighbors found her body, barely alive, and called an ambulance.  Happily, she pulled through and eventually recovered, after weeks in a coma and months of recovery.  But she would always have a scar on her head, and a slight slur to her speech.  And yes, she would always remain beautiful.   After a few weeks, detectives caught up with our gallant Random Guy, who ended up getting only a year in prison for his so-called "noble and romantic exploits."

Ten years later, our hero, ever striving to be true, chivalrous, and noble, and not just a Random Guy, he sits; waiting in vain for her to return his love.

And that's all I have. See ya.

So, this is just a random question about something totally random.

Like, Why do we have so many fucking elements? 

Like, seriously, take, for instance, Gallium.  What the heck does one do with Gallium?  Mostly it just sits there, taking up space on the periodic table between Zinc and...whatever "Ge" is (some other equally useless element, most likely.)  I mean, do they make Gallium burgers?  Or Gallium necklaces?  Gallium toe rings?  I haven't heard of these things; for all intents and purposes, Gallium is frickin' useless.

Or Ytterbium.  Most people have never even heard of this stupid element.  If I still played Dungeons and Dragons, I might make Ytterbium pieces as coins, equal to five Dysprosium pieces, or eleven point two five Lanthanum pieces- or maybe six or seven "normal" metal coins like copper.  Because, what else do you do with Ytterbium?  I bet if there was a Ytterbium shortage, nobody would notice (or give a dang.)  On the other hand, I was trying to buy some Praseodymium bullion the other day, and lo and behold, the pawn shop was sold out of Praeseodymium.

Then there are those elements like Cesium, that do cool stuff like explode when you toss them in water, and while that's pretty cool in all, it really kind of gets old pretty quick if that's about all it's good for.

And you have stuff like Berkelium, Curium, Actinium,and Francium- radioactive death elements that seem to have no use other than radiation, pestilence, darkness and evil, bombs, worship of dark forces, corrosion and despair.  If we got rid of some of these stupid elements, I bet nobody would even miss them. And some of these, like, say, Meitnerium, have atoms that only last for nine seconds.  Like, what good is an element that only lasts for nine seconds?  Seriously, this is why kids hate chemistry.  

So, I propose, we get rid of some of these pointless and useless elements, that don't really do anything.

Anyway, that's about it, see ya.

This blog isn't about anything other than the subject line implies:  It's about my dad.

Dad was one of those guys who wasn't very good at communicating.  He wasn't the type of guy who, if you were struggling with something in your personal life- girls, not getting along so well with other guys, or general teenage angst- that you could go to for advice.  He wouldn't listen to you.  He might offer you some advice that had nothing to do with what you had just told him, making it clear that he either missed the point entirely, or just didn't want to be bothered. In a way, he reminded me of Red Foreman, the classic TV Dad from "That 70's Show-" sarcastic, stern, but in the end, he tried to do what he thought was right. 

     "Think positive," he always said- his answer to anything no matter what.  It wasn't always that simple of course. Not only is life full of fear, doubt and uncertainty, but I learned- life experience sometimes being as good a teacher as my father- that sometimes you have be prepared for the possibility of hardship and failure, or when it catches you blindsided, it becomes harder to bounce back.

     He came from a working class family, living paycheck-to-paycheck barely scraping by in a small apartment while his dad worked in the auto industry. Eventually they were able to move into a small house with a garden, when he was 11 or 12.  By the time I was born, Dad had a good, white collar job and we had a decent sized house in a nice hilly subdivision, and were never wanting.  I suspect that Dad thought I took my middle-class upbringing for granted.  I had my own struggles growing up but they were nothing like his family's struggles with poverty. Perhaps that's why he had a hard time relating to my own experiences and struggles.  

      By the time I was in college, he was always haranging me, "Cut your hair. Get a hair cut, hippie.  Why don't you wear nicer clothes?"  And then, when I graduated, I couldn't think of any real goals as far as a career, and I really struggled with that. Dad's way of motivating me was to point out how some of my peers were making $60 grand a year (pretty good for the mid/late 1990s) while I was still delivering pizzas.  However, Dad was always ready to lend a hand when I was struggling, in the best way he knew, whether it was driving 200 miles to pick me up after a road trip went horribly wrong (Resulting in a blown engine and dead car) or giving me some financial support when, at 28, I laid out my career plans which involved going to a vocational technical school.  And by then, I had finally cut my hair, updated my wardrobe, and was on my way to a good job- which I still have today, and which pays over $60 grand a year (which is decent if not extravagent for the early 2020s.)

     Though we had plenty of disagreements over the years, some of which led to fierce and bitter arguments, I always loved and respected him- and he likewise always wanted the best for me.  About a year or so before he passed away, he told me, "You are a good man."  That moment meant a lot to me. I felt then, that we had made our peace and that we had finally reconciled our differences.

     So anyway, that's about it, thanks for reading.  On another note, Mister Youtube Math Man said the other day, "Many will get wrong!  Solve for x:"

The equasion was "x squared over 4 equals -4."  So, using my math skills, I deduced that x squared equaled negative sixteen.  After which, I entered  "Square root of minus sixteen" into my calculator.  It gave me the answer " - E -" .  Okay, so the answer must be "- E -." then, I thought.  Or it's one of those imaginary numbers, like eleventy four, 4i, or Sixty-Twelve. Anyway, I got it wrong. So, I've since gone down another rabbit hole; watching videos of some punk-rock looking Australian kid smash up old desktop computers in a fit of rage.  It's utterly stupid and mindless, but at least there are no wrong answers.

"MANY will get wrong!" says the enticing youtube tag.  "Oh YEAH?!" I ask myself.  "This is easy; I'll show him!" 

So I whip out some scratch paper and come up with an answer.  Yeah, many will get wrong, but I'm not gonna be one of 'em...

Why do I even waste my time; math was always my least favorite subject. And how did this dumb math problem show up in my Youtube recommendations anyway?  What kind of insidious math algorithm did this Mister Youtube Math Man come up with, to torment us with his insidiously evil math problems, that many, in fact, DO get wrong?  

So I set about to prove Mr. Youtube Math Man wrong.  OF COURSE I know how to do this, it's only been (3x + 10 =100) years since I last took algebra, so...  Sometimes I do get it right.  Maybe  60-70 percent of the time.  "Ha ha, you can't put one over on ME, Mr. Youtube Math Man!" I sneer at the screen.  "IF you got this right, you get an A plus, happy face, and certificate of excellence so you can brag to your friends and family that you are a certified expert in the field of polynomial equasions!" He replies. (Yeah, I'm not really gonna brag to people about that.  They'll just be like, "Why are you such a math nerd, and aren't there more interesting things to watch on Youtube?"  To which I'd reply, "Yeah, your're right.  But you see, Mister Youtube Math Man, he's like my nemesis!")

Or, I'll get his silly math problem wrong and be like "Goddang it, Mr. Youtube Math Man!  You got me there. Dang it.!"  And feel pretty dumb since like, probably every average 9th grader in the world probably got it right.

So, I dunno. Math was always my worst, and least favorite subject. Ironically though it seems.  I do enjoy interesting content, about music, or horror movie shorts, or other topics of interest.  So, how I got suckered into wasting valuable computer time watching Mr. Youtube Math Man's silly videos in the first place, I'll never know.  Maybe because my ego needs a constant fix, or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. 

Or maybe I just need some better content for blog posts.  So that's about it, see ya.

When we were kids, we had literally boxes and boxes full of little 2 1/2" high plastic toy soldiers.  Little green plastic tanks and green plastic cannons, and big plastic mountains representing Iwo Jima and the German Navarone stronghold.  We would set them up, sometimes to play war-strategy games with each other, sometimes we would just set them up and imagine them in a quest to liberate our living room from the evil forces striving to make us pick up our toys. Shoot them with rubber bands, "Bang, Bang, you're dead."  Then set them up again.

We were given plastic toy rifles, and would run up in the open spaces and hills nearby, pretending we were commandos liberating a hillside or woods from imaginary foes. "Bang Bang, your dead!"  We'd cry. Kids who "Died" would count to 20, and then be right back at it. (Sadly, these days, a lot of kids aren't allowed to play with guns anymore.  I won't comment further other than to say that times change.)

We'd envision ourselves as the bright and shining good guys, wading ashore, mowing down enemies, indestructible fighting machines. 

It was a kid's naive and childish vision of war.  I admit I am probably a little ashamed of that now.

I would wholeheartedly recommend watching the movie "Saving Private Ryan" if you haven't seen it yet. This is a more grim, true depiction of what really happened on that day, 80 years ago. Good guys wading ashore, and being mowed down like blades of grass.  Not indestructible fighting machines, but flesh and blood, maimed, blasted and torn apart.  No "counting to 20" there. No setting them up again like cheap plastic fobs. The death toll and sacrifice that day was ghastly.  And every day, I thank those who were called upon to make that sacrifice. To fight and sacrifice for what is important and what we take for granted.

D-Day was 80 years ago and it prompted me to make this post. I was originally gonna post about something else, but thought better of it.  Seeing that movie was part of it. Seeing the wall of names at the Vietnam Memorial, or standing on the sunken deck of the Uss Arizona in Hawaii and knowing that most of the crew's bodies were never recovered- that made a huge impression on me as a kid.

Without getting too controversial, it is saddening to see our freedoms under attack, not by uniformed nazis overseas, but by forces in our own country wanting to take them away.  In just a couple years, freedoms have already been lost; Our younger generations are already the first in nearly 100 years to have less freedom than those that came before.

But I still am grateful for the sacrifice those soldiers made in Normandy, and for preserving the freedoms that we sadly take for granted today. Anyway, that's about it, see ya.

Somewhere, beyond the veils of this earth, there must lie a place,

Uncorrupted by sorrow, loss, or sadness, 

Untainted by war, greed or corruption, 

Where hate is a forgotten myth of a bygone place, and love and joy rules supreme. 

Somewhere, beyond the havens and across the sea, there is a far, fair green country under a swift sunrise.

Where life is abundant, beauty never withers and light never fades.

Sleep is peaceful and dreamless, and waking life is as bright and wonderful as a child's best daydream.

I spend my life seeking the Havens, but a voice says, "You are not ready. Yet."

So I abide here, seeking the beauty and joy in everyday life, even if that is a mere reflection of that land beyond the Western Sea.

And still strive, not always successfully, to learn and grow and be a good person, so that one day, I will be ready to take that journey,

To the Havens, and across the sea to that fair green country under the eternal swift sunrise.

She was just a passing attraction, a girl I saw in a tent at an art bazzaar.  One who seemed to emanate such dominance and sexual power that my own thoughts turned bazzaar:  Long black hair, black leather boots, tiny little red skirt, I could just imagine the power she would have over me if she would only have ordered me onto my knees, right then and there, out in the open. Then I told myself, "Don't be creepy. Maybe I should be punished for my creepy thoughts. Maybe I should let that girl in the tiny little red skirt give me a well deserved paddling for being so undisciplined." Oh crap, there I go again.... We just talked about art work, briefly, before she moved along. Casual vanilla conversation. Respectful and dignified.  And that was fine. 

Although I never got her name....

"Happy 40th Birthday Dude!" I said, as we all hung out in my buddy's back yard. Fun party as usual.  This dude, he was the type of guy who was always down for stuff.  Wanna go out on the town?  Take a walk in the hills, or whatever?  This was the guy I would call. Just a regular fun guy.  I'd known his girlfriend longer than him; she and I went way back.  Anyway, a couple people had got him some stuff, but I was thinking, all this is cool and all, I didn't get him anything but I had another idea.

I'll buy him an adventure!

"Dude, let's go fucking rafting.  It will be awesome!  I'll go book us a trip, we'll do the Staircase section, Payette River Garden Valley to Banks!  I'll pay for it, don't worry about it."

So I take the day off work, pick him up, and we head up there. It's about 45 minutes away, up the road into the mountains. These guys supply the rafts and paddles, and they kind of tell you what's going on as you paddle down, but you are the crew- usually five to seven people and 1 guide per boat.  

"Man, I'm stoked," my buddy says. "I thought I was going to miss it this year!"  We had gone the last two years but it had been his girlfriend's dad who had paid those last two times.  

So, we hop on a bus and they take us to the put-in spot, outside of Garden Valley.  We hop out, get issued our rental life jackets, paddles and helmets.  "As you are paddling, be mindful of the guy behind you," they always tell us, giving us the usual Safety Talk(tm) and opening spiel.  "...Otherwise someone will get summer teeth. That's when summer your teeth are in your mouth and summer your teeth are in the boat!"  

We board our rafts and start cruising downriver.  Getting the hang of paddling and following the commands; "Left side forward," "All back," "All Forward!" the guide barks.  We are old hat at this though.  The green horns, newbies, whatever you call the first timers pick it up quickly. Eventually we get to the first rapid. "Okay, Right side!" we steer to the inner edge, avoiding some submerged rocks.  Then "All Forward!" as we cruise through the churning white water. On shore, a large doberman barks.  "We call this rapid "Barking Dog," The guide informs us.  

A little ways past that, is the next rapid, "Bronco Billy."  We steer towards the middle of the river, and waves of churning water toss us airborne. "All forward!" the guide says. I am trying to dig the paddle into the churning white water, half the time only digging into foam and spray, as the boat lurches through troughs and peaks, spray drenching us. All of us are laughing hysterically, heart pounding, with sheer joy. It's like the "Log Ride" at the amusement park but...this is a hundred times better.  Another rapid catches us a little further down, then a ways beyond that, we see a sudden drop off. The guide says, "Right side! Right side!" I am sitting on the left, toes hooked in under the seat in front of me. I don't have to paddle...yet...but suddenly a large overhanging boulder looms ahead of me.  Are you sure, I think to myself.  But then I remember- we have to steer tight to the inside here, as there is a nasty eddy on the left that can flip boats. "Okay....Rightside forwardleftsideBACK!" the guide commands us, as we start to drift dangerously towards the rock.  We miss it, to my relief. I am getting bucked back and forward, clinging on with my toes to avoid getting pitched, but we make it through, drenched and giggling like 4 year olds at a splash pool party.

We stop for a break a little ways here,on a section of sandy beach just a temporary rest, before the main attraction.

Then, back on the water, and a little ways further down, we get to the Staircase.  Now, this is the fun one, the main attraction, if you will. The river seems to drop nearly 100 feet in only a quarter mile in this stretch.  Again, the waters churn and froth. "All FORWARD! Keep paddling!" the guide tells us. We do. The boat picks up speed, and seems to get tossed around like a washing machine, but I keep my feet hooked in as I paddle through the white water. But on a particularly big standing wave, my buddy in front of me loses balance and flips backward, and his upper body lands in the water even though his foot is still hooked into the boat.  Miraculously we catch his paddle and stow it before he loses it.  Man down!  The guide is now telling us, "All forward, PULL MARCO IN!  All forward PULL MARCO IN!!!"  I am grabbing his life jacket with one hand, trying to pull him in but I'm getting tossed around as well and it's hard.  After about a dozen stairs down the staircase, both me and the guy to Marco's right do eventually manage to pull him back into the boat, and somehow, the other paddlers manage to keep the boat on course through all this insanity.  But all of us are just cackling like mad dogs, soaking wet, loving every second of it.  

A couple more lesser rapids, and then we get to the Last Big One.  Like the Staircase, this one has tons of huge standing waves, troughs, and places that will toss hapless rafters airborne. (Of course, this happens to us too. But don't worry...spoiler...we make it.)  The guide warns us about "Seymore."  This is a huge whirlpool that we have to dodge on the way through this section.  "They call it Seymore, because you see more lost helmets, life jackets, and wrecked boats there than anywhere else on the river," the guide tells us.  (Ha ha, I get it. River guides like bad puns.)  We manage to avoid Seymore, along with numerous other rocks and obstacles, as we race down through the foam and spray. By now, our crew is a well oiled machine, paddling left-side, right-side, then all-forward, according to the "Captain," and easily navigating through all this nuttiness.  

After we get to a long flat water section, the "Captain" tells us we can get out and swim here, so we say, F%^ it, I'm already wet, may as well jump all the way in.  That was fun. Then, we scramble back into the boat. There are a couple minor rapids, then the confluence where the north fork joins up with the main river.  Take-out is just a little ways past that.  (Ugh, portaging the boat onto the shore and then helping to load it onto the trailer is the only unpleasant...heck, it's not THAT unpleasant. It's part of the whole deal.)

So, overall, this was just an epic fuckin' day. Whenever I think of good times, I think of this trip; I was buzzing about it the whole week, with a shit eating grin on my face at the office, thinking about it.  I wanted to post about something fun instead of depressing crap, so hopefully this was at least somewhat fun to read, even though there is nothing like the real experience.  If you ever get a chance to go on a guided rafting trip on the Payette River, just frickin' do it.   Anyway that's about it, see ya.

It seems like, in the last couple years, it's been a tough battle with more grief and loss than pleasure. I know, what a shitty way to start off a blog post, with something negative like that.  I almost didn't want to write this for that reason.

So, there was this guy.  Great friend over the years, even though about 5 or 6 years ago he moved to a different city and we kind of drifted apart. As much fun as this guy was- well, first of all, don't get the wrong idea: He was just a "Bro," a good buddy, one of those guy friends who are always down for doing something fun, going out, or having crazy adventures with.  You know, a "wing man," one of our circle of friends, just a great guy to hang with.

This sucks, and so I'll just come out and say it: As cool as he was, he had a dark side: He battled opiate addiction for most of his adult life. And the other day, he lost the battle.

Technically, I guess you could call it more of a "surrender," but the end result is the same:  He's just gone, permanently.

I've wavered most of the day feeling a mix of sadness but most of all, anger.  Like, wanting to punch holes in the walls kind of anger.  I mean, he battled addiction for as long as I knew him, so I suppose it was inevitable but still. He'd be doing fine for a while, but somehow just couldn't stay clean.

When I say, "Don't do drugs," I probably come off as some self-righteous straight edge narrow minded doo-gooder, but if you've ever lost someone to addiction, you will hopefully understand.  

However, I will remember stuff like that epically fun ass rafting trip, him getting dunked as we were flying through churning white water, me pulling him back into the boat, both of us laughing hysterically and loving every minute of it.  Or going downtown all those times and watching out buddies' bands playing, or backyard parties at his place, where nobody drank out of respect for those "in the program," but everyone nonetheless had a blast.  Hanging out swimming in the river, or up at the springs, where I first met him and his girlfriend like 25 years or something like that ago.  I'll think about stuff like that and smile, then remember that it's over and get sad again.

Fucking heroin.  Just don't get involved with it.  Don't try it, don't fuck with it, don't even be tempted.  You might think, "Oh yeah, I'm fine with smoking weed, what's the difference, that which don't kill you only makes you stronger, the whole just say no thing is a joke."  With that shit, it's no joke.

Anyway, maybe posting this is just a way to clear the air and help me process it all.  So that's about it.  See ya.