"Egotism is the anesthetic that dulls the pain of stupidity."

As this day winds down I find myself reflecting back on how I have been affected by the events of September 11th, 2001.  How my everyday life has changed.  On how my world, and the way in which I navigate it, has been altered.  I went back and forth in my head contemplating these questions and I arrive at only one reasonable and rational response; it hasn't.

I have the fortunate pleasure of knowing no one that was in, outside of, or near the World Trade Center site the morning those buildings collapsed.  There are no relatives or members of my family that served or died in New York City that day.  I have no connection or ties to any of the parties responsible for carrying out those atrocities.  I have friends and relatives who serve(d) in the armed forces both in Iraq and Afghanistan but all are currently safe or have returned home alive.  I watched the events unfold, untouched and unharmed, from 400+ miles away.

Because of this I try to find some part of me that can be sentimental about the whole experience.  I do my best to show remorse because I truly do feel for the people directly affected by those events.  I don't need to remind myself to not forget because, really, how the fuck could I?  If you did, or are capable of forgetting, you must have been blackout drunk for four months to not remember the scenes that were replayed on a repetitive real for a third of a year. 

But as far as feeling a sense of loss or personal pain, I guess I'm incapable.  Has my life changed?  In all honesty, the motions of my day to day living have not.  I work in the same manner, perhaps even a bit harder.  Not because of some new found reverence for life and American patriotism, but because I'm ten years older and loaded down with the burdens of a dream.  Not to mention that I'm now the father of a six year old child who demands more of me than I sometimes am capable of giving.  I still work, pay taxes (sometimes), shop for the same foods, and demand the same rights and luxuries as before.  Perhaps even more. 

Really, any domestic changes have been slight given the full magnitude of the event.  I now have to take my shoes off at the airport.  I've lost six ounces of carry-on liquid.  I have to use a passport to visit our sketch comedy loving friends to the north. I pay more at the pump.

Aside from incremental inconveniences, for those like myself, life appears to be the same.  Have we as a country become more isolationist, closing off our boarders and reducing foreign imports, increasing domestic productions, in an effort to be more self-reliant and less dependant on a world we seem sure is hell-bent on destroying our rights?  No.  Not all.  Are we working to become a fitter, faster, and smarter nation in preparation for a rapidly approaching war with enemies that surely want to annihilate the very fabric of freedom we cherish so much?  No.  In fact, we're getting fatter and dumber.  Well surely we must be doing more to understand our enemies, and in turn make our interests and agendas better known to them through civil dialogue and exchange in an effort to keep our potential foes closer than our friends.  No.  We've just ratcheted up stereotypes and fear mongering in an effort to keep initiative moral up.

My point is, life has not changed for a great number of us.  I guess I'm tired of hearing that it has, because honestly, we could have used a little change in this country.  We could have used some isolation and introspection.  We could have used victory gardens.  We could have used scrap metal recycling initiatives and manufacturing bonds.  We could have used power conservation and alternative fuel programs.  We could have used diet and exercise regiments designed to prepare a populace for a potential conflict on our doorstep.  Unfortunately we didn't get that.  Why?  Cause we want it all.   And we insist on convenience in every aspect of our life, and sadly for soldiers and their families that includes our wars. 

If you want to ask someone how their life continues to be affected ten years after 9/11, get on a plane and leave this country.  It's the rest of the world that's still paying the price.

"Moving on is simple, it’s what you leave behind that makes it so difficult."

Every break up I've ever been through is hard.  Thinking back on them all, there's not one that doesn't elicit some sort of physical reaction in me.  Whether it was infidelity or lack of compatibility; when ended there was always a feeling of sadness and regret that still faintly resonates.  Doubt leaving me to question whether or not the right decision was made.  The easy part was saying the words because for one reason or another they all needed to be folded.  The hard part came when reconciling what I was leaving behind.  A part of me, even at 32, misses every women I've spent any considerable time with.  As improved as my life is having made the decisions I have, I still feel for all.

Bands are no different for me.  In my life, when trying to recall, I've been in at least 16 musical projects since the age of 15.  I say "at least" because I have a feeling there's a few I'm missing along the way.  I'm sure there's a rogue noise quartet that never made it out of the practice space lodged behind a synapse somewhere in my brain.  The latest and arguably most mature project (both in sound and attitude) I've been lucky enough to be a part of was 'The Fire Drills'.  A five piece jangly power-pop outfit designed to make simple, catchy Rock N' Roll.  When I joined the band I was intimidated by the lineup and newness of style, having most of my life played in aggressive hardcore and punk rock bands.  I resolved to be me and put my touch on it, and if it fit, it fit.  Surprisingly it worked out well and we wrote a handful of fun songs and played a small number of great shows.  We recorded for two days but never put any finishing touches on the tracks.  This went unreleased and it will unfortunately remain that way because today we all collectively decided to let the project go.  Put the fork in it.  Set the bitch on ice.  A decision that came about amicably and rationally.   With age increasing and time decreasing for every member we all felt it best to end on an even plane.  It is unquestionably the right thing to do.  There are no hard feelings and I'm sure I'll keep in touch with most, if not everyone involved.  But now that it's over, and with a slight weight off my shoulders, that aforementioned part of me is looking back with a hint of sadness. 

I'm not bothered that we won't be going forward.  Honestly, I could care less.  I'm too busy and too invested in other avenues of my life to worry about something so insignificant.  No, I'm sad when looking back at we're leaving behind.  I'm attached to the music.  Every sound is important to me.  It's sappy, I know, but I'm sentimental about music.  During my worst times it was the only outlet I had.  I then, and now, put myself into every word.  I enjoy writing.  I respect the process.  I envy those that do it best.  And fuck it - I don't care if I'm viewed as self-centered - I listen to my own music.  There I said it.  Boooom.  Yeah, you like that?  Huh?  I get a lot out of it.  I mean what are we doing if we're not fabricating what we'd like to see on this earth?

For the three of you reading, I ask you this: Do you know that feeling you get when you hear a song that you fucking love?  You've memorized every beat and pitch change.  Each note inspires some part of you.  It's perfect.  Now imagine, you created it.  You sat and mumbled and hummed it into existence.  You let the tone dictate the subject matter and put letters and words in an order that conveyed a sensation you had buried deep in your guts.  When finished and tested, a feeling of gratification falls over you.  You did it and, OH YEAH, the best is still yet to come.  You get to play it live.  To see if it resonates.  To see if people connect.  And some people get it.  And this is important.  This is why I fucking waste my time with it.  That moment. 

What I created with this group was not groundbreaking.  Heck, in forced moments of objectivity, I can see that some of it wasn't good at all.  It may have connected with only one of the seven billion people on this earth.  But that one person was the sixteen year old pock marked kid that lives inside of me.  The one that is still bruised by a dozen loveless breakups.  He's an asshole by the way.  He's a self-aggrandizing solace pig, still angry about a billion blown opportunities and squandered "shots".  But as he's matured, and at the core, the product is all that matters to him. 

I know, I know, bro, "feelings are gay."  I'll stop.  I'm ready for this to go.   I wish I could say it will be the last project but those words have come out of my mouth so frequently they're now near worthless.  What can I say?  I'm off.  I'm tilted.  But it's the truth.  I'll do this again even though I know it won't work.  I just enjoy it too much.

Thanks to all my friends that came to shows out of obligation or pure interest.  I appreciate it.  I feel confident saying the rest of the guys do as well.

In honor of my small contribution to The Fire Drills, below are the lyrics to my favorite song we wrote, "Teenage Hearts".  Alright, back to less serious musings.  Take care, dudes. 


TEENAGE HEARTS

Wake up, Wake up, hey, honey.
It's time go
We've only got ten years or so, lovely
Before we slow
So let's take the biggest risks, baby
And crease the sheets
Cause lord knows that when we get older
It won't burn so sweet

(Chorus)
Teenage Hearts
They beat so fast
But when you get past the point of innocence
They crack
Teenage hearts

We'll wither away with our money
And little sleep
So let's take this time now, shall we
And taste defeat
I'm giving you the whole summer
To bring relief
Cause when forty hits our souls heavy
You'll turn from me