All my life, I feel like I’ve been pushed around, given orders, been told what to do. Maybe it comes from being the youngest child of the family, maybe it comes from being such an independent, free-thinker.
Even now, as I write this, I feel like WordPress is forcing its way on me. To the right of the window where I am typing, there’s another window with a plugin called “Yoast SEO” that analyzes my writing and tells me the “readability” of it.
If the system determines my writing is sub-par, and below its standards, I get a red light.
At work, when my output is below expectations, I might get a finger wagged in my face, a stern talking-to, a reprimand, or they could just terminate my employment.
When I drive my car, I need to wear my seatbelt, not drive too fast, use my turn signal, wait for pedestrians to cross the street, not blast through yellow lights and make sure I don’t go the opposite direction down a one way street, eventually smashing through the glass of a nearby store, destroying property and possibly people.
I used to go to church. The head pastor would stand on a high stage, behind a pulpit, with an authoritative book that gives LITERAL COMMANDMENTS, and uses the sentiments, stories and phrases from this book to influence a room full of people to obey. This man also would claim to have the spirit of the most high, almighty, eternal deity inside him, guiding his words and actions to convey important directions to everyone in the room. Additionally, the man’s staff members would also claim this authority in order to completely dominate the large group of miserable victims. The senseless puppets followed their leadership out of fear of eternal damnation, and if they ever questioned the lies, they would be excommunicated. In the past, they used to burn the nay-sayers alive. The congregation obeys. There are physical and eternal consequences if they don’t.
Years ago, I worked with my dad. He gave me orders about how to do everything, including how to use a tape measure, how to mark a board, how to speak to customers, how to unload tools and materials, how to find the item he’s looking for without hearing him speak of what he’s looking for, how to anticipate the next tool he’ll need and how to recognize when we were done with the job and start packing up, organizing tools and materials in the van. He was the boss. He made the rules. I was the worker ant. I did what he told me to do.
Between 2000-2020, I was married. People say, “Happy wife, happy life.” That means that the woman makes the rules, gives the orders, tells me all the things I must do: work hard, make money, take her out to dinner, get her everything she wants, help the kids with homework, take out the trash, clean the garage, mow the FUCKING LAWN, and whatever else the queen demands. In a relationship like that, I am the servant. I am the whipping boy. I am the slave.
Even in public, there are people that go around making demands of others in society. They tell you the appropriate way to act, how to dress, what to say, what to believe. They have signs, flags, bumper stickers, T-shirts, hats, tattoos – – all touting the system they’ve been forced to accept, and in return, they’ll force it on every nearby soul like the fucking dick of a rapist. They make every attempt to control everyone around them. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard it. The general American public are rude, pushy, domineering, selfish assholes with an agenda: It’s my way or the highway.
Let’s not forget to mention the glorious benefactors of our government. They’re the ultimate example for all the previous individuals or groups I’ve already mentioned. They control by force. Land of the free? That’s the biggest lie they ever fucked us with. We aren’t free. We’re here to serve our masters, give our resources, and follow their commands. We must be kept in line because the ones with the power have the control. We’re nothing to them. They don’t give a fuck.
So…
This brings us to today.
On the top half of the world. In the upper left corner of my country, state and town, here I am. This place is inconsequential. It has very little importance. If you wanna live in a place where what you do matters, go live in Seattle or LA, not here. This is a nothing little town. The restaurants, car washes, bars, theaters, and grocery stores are tiny and insignificant and shit. Compared to other places along the western seaboard, they’re not important. Nobody really cares. There is no Space Needle here, no Golden Gate Bridge, no Chinese Theater. It’s boring. There’s nothing.
Seems like such a negative outlook, doesn’t it? Well, let’s brighten that up a bit, shall we?
After putting on my rose-colored glasses of fuckin’ Pollyanna positivity, I can see clearly that this small community is valuable because of what we contribute to it. The good that we put into our little slice of Americana makes living here worthwhile because even though it may not be some kind of grandiose spectacle, we put in the effort, the time, the resources, the blood, sweat and tears to make it great. We’ve done the very best we could to make our general vicinity a good, happy, nice place to reside.
If I was being totally honest, I would say that one goal I have for my remaining time alive, however long that is, is to create experiences for others that bring them joy. Whether that’s listening to music, eating or laughing and enjoying time together. You know, simple stuff. I actually work really hard to do these things. I spend a lot of money to make these experiences happen. I put in the time, the thought, the consideration, and the planning to give folks pleasant sounds for their ears, delicious tastes for their tongues and good vibes to cause smiles and laughter. It’s my way of contributing to that good, happy, nice place to reside.
My wife and I used to put a lot of positive energy, effort, time, money, blood, sweat and tears into a local business. Our reasons for doing so varied, but, for the most part, we did it because it was a creative outlet, our efforts helped the business financially, and it was fun. Many times, we were not compensated but that didn’t matter because our basic needs were met and it wasn’t a concern at the time. But, let’s not forget that all businesses have owners and leaders. Those owners and leaders have goals and they will stop at nothing to enforce those goals at all costs. Just like society, the church, and the United States government, they make demands. They give orders. They want to TAKE. They’re greedy motherfuckers.
Here, in my tiny, little insignificant slice of Americana, THE GREED RUNS RAMPANT.
That local business closed. I don’t want to get into the reasons why, but from my perspective, it could have been avoided. Lots of mistakes were made. All the work put into it was flushed down the shitter. No one involved will ever be honest enough to individually admit their own faults that contributed to the closing of this establishment.
Somehow, this little business continued. Not in the same location, not offering all the same products, but it lives. Like a zombie that broke through the ground, and now stumbles across a graveyard, this business is still attempting to display some semblance of life. It’s obviously decaying and should have stayed dead, but it’s as if it clings to the hope of someday returning to normal. Even though it’ll realistically never happen, the events continue to be conceived and realized on a much smaller level. One of those events is a TRON-themed beer release.
I’m a fan of TRON. Is it as popular as Star Wars? Absolutely not, but it’s a movie that got stuck in my brain as far back as 1987. When I was 10 years old, my family didn’t have much. The only TV we had weighed 1000 lbs and broadcast channels were all we had. We didn’t even have a VCR until years later. KPTV (channel 12) came in super clear and I watched it all the time. They put on live action Disney movies most Friday nights, like D.A.R.Y.L., Cloak & Dagger, The NeverEnding Story, The Black Hole, and TRON. I used to hold up our tape recorder to the speaker of the TV just so I could listen to the music and dialogue of that movie over and over. Playing the TRON arcade game only fueled my fire. Then, we eventually got a VCR and I bought the cassette. Then, the DVD, then the blu-ray, and the digital version. I’ve seen the movie and it’s predecessor, TRON: Legacy repeatedly. I went to the midnight showing of Legacy in 2010 and still have the popcorn bucket. I’ve collected toys, magazines, posters, clothes and even a VideoDisc that I can’t even play. I just like to look at it.
Additionally, when I heard that Daft Punk was doing the soundtrack for Legacy, I was super excited. I’ve loved Daft Punk since Discovery came out in 2001. Now that TRON: Ares is coming out Oct 10th, and Nine Inch Nails is doing the soundtrack with one single already released, I’m even more excited. The Downward Spiral was a brain-shattering album for me in 1994 and I’ve loved tons of NIN songs since.
Have I adequately explained how much I love TRON, Daft Punk and NIN yet?
It’s no surprise that I would eagerly volunteer to participate in this small businesses release of a TRON-themed beer. And because of my desire to create joyful experiences for others, and the desire to do the very best in everything I do before I die, I made big plans for this event. Based on every other beer release, a video advertisement would most likely be filmed for this one, and I had dreams of being the central character in it. Do I want to be the focal point in all or even most of the ads that are filmed? Absolutely not, but this one is special to me. If I get the chance to be on the same screen as characters from possibly the last TRON movie ever made in my lifetime, I am going after that opportunity with everything I have.
I bought materials for a costume. A helmet, chest plate, lights… I 3D printed shoulder and forearm armor. I got battery powered flat lights, string lights, round lights, patterned lights from China. I got tons of battery packs. I’m going to learn how to sew because I got hexagon fabric to make the same type of TRON undershirt they wear in the movie. I got special pants and shoes. I bought a $200 motion-reactive disc imported from India. I have so much material, I could make 2 costumes. I bought Jeff and Annie $150 TRON jackets.
But that’s not all. I found 30 different NIN and Daft Punk remixes on SoundCloud and blended them all together to make 2 hours of music using FLStudio. It took me hours and hours to get it as perfect as possible. I bought $1500 in extra lights and sound equipment to create the perfect light show to go along with the music, and I haven’t even learned how to program the lights in DMX 512 yet – that’s still something I need to figure out.
Not to mention the $100, glowing joystick handle I modified to be a beer tap. Also, not to mention going to the gym regularly to look my best for this shoot. Was I asked to do all this? No. I did it because I wanted to. I am pouring every ounce of blood, sweat, tears, finances, effort, planning, and care into this because this means a lot to me. It’s a creative outlet, it helps the business financially and it’s fun. It’s my way of contributing to that good, happy, nice place to reside. Plus, this little slice of Americana isn’t much, but it’s all I have.
How much more time do I have in this life? How many other opportunities like this will come along? Not many. What if I die next year, next month, tomorrow? Will I be able to say I gave it everything I’ve got? Would I be disappointed in myself if I didn’t? Would I die with regret and shame?
What happens if others are invited to participate in the filming of this ad? What happens if they steal the spotlight and greedily take it all for themselves? What if their costumes look better than mine? What if the deciders decide that I’m not good enough?
Unfortunately, I’m not the one calling the shots. I’m not the business owner. I don’t give the orders.
I take the orders. I’m just the worker ant. The ones with power and control make the decisions, not me.
Mine is not to question why. Mine is but to do or die.
The Charge of the Light Brigade was a failed but immortalized cavalry charge by British cavalry in the Battle of Balaclava during the Crimean War on October 25, 1854. The charge was a result of a misunderstood order from Lord Raglan, leading the approximately 600-man Light Brigade to attack a heavily defended Russian artillery battery, resulting in significant casualties. The disastrous event was later immortalized by Alfred, Lord Tennyson in his 1854 narrative poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” which became a famous testament to military duty and sacrifice despite military blunders.
The Charge of the Light Brigade
