Sometimes you need to blow off some steam. Sometimes you need to go out with the guys and have a few drinks. Sometimes you have to get weird. Sometimes you need to bring your own world into the world that you have been infused into. But there are other times that you need to feel like you are at home.
Home is important. Home is what keeps you grounded. Home is what gives you the base line for your entire life. I listen to the music that I know, I reference the shows and movies that I am used to. I talk about the things I know and the things I have done. And they all refer to home. I am trying very hard to not think about home in loving ways. I am trying not to be homesick. I am trying to live in the moment. In Alaska. In the now.
It seems really trite and cliched as I write these words and read them back to myself, but there is a truth to them. The draw that home brings, the people, the girl, the safety, that means a lot to someone who is so far out of their realm. I am definitely out of my sphere of security. I see moose on a daily basis. We do NOT have moose in New London. There is a risk of bear attack every day. Bears. Fucking BEARS. Nobody, no matter how hard they might think they are, fucks with bears. I am far FAR outside of my comfort zone.
I am reminded of the tour I went on with Hand Grenade Serenade. There was a member of the band that was so far outside of his understanding that he fell into a shell and made the tour hellish for those of us who were into it. I don't want to become that guy. I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to be the one who brings everybody down.
Today, I know that I was a pain in the ass. My temper got the best of me, and I became an angry dickhole who was no good to anyone, let alone the pious doofus that I work with. He's a minister, and I am most certainly a sinner. I feel bad for cussing as much as I do, but my vocabulary will not be adjusted per the the religious leanings of some dude that I share a shitty motel room with. Anyone who knows me understands this.
But I am trying to let the bullshit of the day roll off my back. I am trying to temper my temper. I need to understand that there are solutions to the problems that I have encountered, and I prove that I actually AM smarter than these people and fix the damn problems. I have to create solutions and act upon them, and most of my problems are going to go away. At least for a little while.
Today, it was bonding with people. Obviously, the doofus can't hang with the NL life. He isn't going to be the one to go out drinking with me. He isn't the one that will create his own stories to regale my friends back home with. There are some though. There are a few guys here who will hang out and make my life more normal.
Or so I thought.
Chris, Bryan, and I went to a bar tonight, The Duck Inn (get it, just Duck In..get it....Jesus...) is, in fact a bar. We were told it was special, for some reason. That reason is far beyond my understanding at this point. We were there, having a good time, Bryan doesn't drink, and makes his 6 years sobriety very well known, so he DD'ed for us. Nice of him, good look, Bry.
As it turns out, it was karaoke night at the Duck Inn. As a veteran of many karaoke nights, both by being there and by listening to them at Stupid O'Clock in the morning from the gay bar next door to my apartment, I understand what is good karaoke and what isn't. There is not much that qualifies as "good" karaoke.
There was the obviously local dude with the giant sideburns and stupid fisherman's hat squawking out songs from the 60's. There was the pretty fiance singing really good songs with her really good voice (she was awesome, for reals....) and there was the star of the night. A dude with a black t-shirt tucked into camouflage pants singing 60's and 70's country songs. He as amazing. I bought him a shot.
And then there was Bryan. A nice kid, a total dork, and a Republican to the end. I am not one of his people. And then he sang. He sang one of the worst songs I have ever heard. I general, it is a terrible song. Drowning Pool's "Bodies" is, on it's own merits, one of the most deplorable excuses for music that ears have ever heard. Any ears, not just my jaded hipster ears, can understand this is just flat out bad.
And this kid fucking belted out every note, every scream, every solo, all of it. God bless him. That song is so bad that I figured that nobody would ever want to sing that. I was wrong. I can admit that. I am wrong about karaoke...sometimes.
After that mess, Chris and I decided to stop laughing and get a little drunk. What sucks about this job is that there are no days off. We can't go out to the bar as a team and get weird (drunk) with a day off to recover. This is the crunch time of the election season and we all have to buckle down. We have to knock on as many doors as possible. We have to do everything we can in order to accomplish our goal. No matter what side, what party, what philosophy, this is the time to get your shit together and get that work done.
I kept Chris from fighting a random bro. I kept myself from getting too drunk. I have to work in a few hours, and I have a responsibility to those who hired me to put in my best effort. So no matter how well that chick sang Billie Holiday songs, or how cool that waitress thought we were, we had to go. I think I have a different type of drunk than a lot of people. I just want to have fun, talk to people I don't know, maybe dance a little. You, know, do the things I would never EVER do when I was sober.
Anyway, Bryan's non-drinking, bad music loving self drove, and he got us back to home base safely and without a warrant being dealt out for either Chris or myself. There was a doubt...if only for a moment.
Everything is safe, now...for now
SD
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