i cant cook. sure, i can pop some things on the stove and check the directions.... but im far from extreme experimentation. i dont bake at all and i am a far cry from making a home made spaghetti sauce. but im not dead. i survive. sometimes i do get a little cocky in the kitchen and add some ingredients here and there despite what the labels say. i mean, i try. i really want to make things that taste amazing. but for any real endeavor, i think you need passion. do some figuring for me.... any veteran reader of this blog knows i can get a little crazy with hot dogs. when i make hot dogs, I MAKE HOT DOGS. so i explored other passions.

i love beer. (that is all for this paragraph)

since i love hot dogs so much, i dont consider my culinary adventures with them as cooking. since i love beer so much, i couldnt figure out why i didnt embark on the same adventures with beer. so i hopped on the interwebs and found some people who would, for money, ship me the things i needed to make the universes most wonderful substance.

right this second, i am drinking an ale spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. seasoned for the holidays. brewed on the stove of my living space. i have a gigantic 10 gallon pot. i put 6 gallons of water in it. i heat it to 150 degress and steep crushed grains that i put in a muslin bag for 30 minutes. i pour bring it to a boil. i pour in malt extracts and hops and let it roll for about 50 minutes. i add more hops and watch over it for another 10 minutes. it cools to 70 degress. i add the yeast. pour it in a 5 gallon bucket and it sits in the corner of my room for 2 weeks. i bottle it. 2 weeks later i get hammered.

it sounds like a lot of work... it is. its worth it. i get to have a hobby and get drunk all at the same time. everyone should have a hobby. everyone should get drunk.

who fucking knows...

at some point in the year i decided to drink less. i wasn't afraid of addiction. i was afraid of being fat. a friend of mine poked fun and the bite marks sank deep. i ran. i ate less shit. i ate bananas and carrots like they were made of Mrs. Butterworths. so much of me changed in order to fit into a medium shirt again.

at some point i missed the sweet syrup of that beautiful metaphorical brown slave shaped bottle. i kept running. i kept shunning hot dogs. the experiment turned towards how much i could drink and still lose weight. after all, it was never an escape from drunkenness. it was an escape from the facsimile of a fetus i kept above my waist line. if i could still drink and lose the food baby... awesome.

mid to late October.... i wrapped my hand around the most perfect shape in the world one more familiar time. since then, i have spent each and every night with the cold, sweating, cylindrical pint of perfection that seems to somehow drive my life. i found out pretty fast that it was never ever the beer that fought the belt loop.

you read this blog... you know i used to try and write. you know i want to now. there is some distorted goal to be Charles bukowski. in a small effort, i got shit faced and sat in front of my computer. holy shit i was shit faced.   it was a walk home that i don't remember and will never believe if you try to relive it for me. amazingly i remember the end of it. from the bar stool to the sofa, its all gone.... but i remember sitting in the same spot as i am now... with the same keyboard i am caressing at this very second. i was so hammered that i cant honestly tell you anything about that night but i beg to be certain that i poured my heart out to Microsoft word and that obnoxious paper clip.

wouldn't you know... if i was too drunk to remember that i walked home i would be too drunk to remember to press ctrl+s. whatever. I'm sure it sucked. i bet it was just as typical as all of the BS teen aged love trash that i wrote about as a middle schooler. some girl (fuck it, woman. I'm 31) makes it all better. some set of tits changes how the world works and I'm going to cure cancer with love. that's what shitty poets write about. take a shitty drunk poet.... even worse.

we are a joke. art is a cum shot. i don't care how you look at the world... we are here to not die and fuck til the future pops out. i don't know why people keep trying to make it pretty... including me.

simply put...

two people got shit canned and fucked in an alley. no protection. shit canned. now there is a baby. not so shit canned now, the obviously incapable parents court the delusion that they can handle parenthood. said baby is born with cancer. yeah, it happens. dad works a shit job. mom lives with her parents. no insurance.

accidental baby needs help. not its fault mom and dad are shits. not its fault it can't afford to pay for treatment. not its fault it will die.

warning: generalization ahead....

the people who decide that social healthcare is a bad idea are also the ones who have decided that abortion is a bad idea. if they can tell you that you MUST have a baby, then they should be partly accountable for the baby. but they wont be. exactly the opposite.

we exist as a species. we survived because we took care of one another in time of need. its a basic and obvious instinct. to refuse a socialist concept is to refuse the instincts that gave us the ability to survive in the face of greater difficulties. simply, a lion will attack one, it will not attack 1000. if we didnt take care of each other, weak and strong... we would have never reached 1000.

greed is eating america alive. you dont need all that you have.

please, tax me more. help me pay to heal those that need it.

testing, testing

1, 2.

So Blogger has turned on sharing to Google+. I want to see this work. In you are reading this on my blog and want to check out my Google+ page, click the following link...

http://gplus.to/bryandhargrave

and if you are looking at this on my Google+ page and want to check out my blog,

http://www.bryandhargrave.com

Thanks,
Bryan

another end of tour.

"A good roadie knows his whole job is to make someone else look good, keep someone else safe, help someone else do what they were put here to do. A good roadie stays out of the spotlight. If he's doing his job right, you don't even know he's there. Once in a while he might step on stage just to fix a problem, to set something right. But then before you even realize he was there or what he did, he's gone." - Eddie Riggs

So Eddie Riggs may be a fictional character from a video game about being the worlds best roadie and traveling to another dimension where he saves heavy metal from glam and emo.... but he is right.

When asked, I say that I am a guitar tech. Even further, in the organization for which I work we often joke that I am the life tech. Being a guitar tech is about so much more than just making sure the gear is set up and the guitars are in tune. Paraphrased, it's about knowing what your player needs before they even know they need it. Obviously that's a pretty daunting goal that isn't often attainable. Instead of having clairvoyant powers, you just pay really really close attention to detail. Make sure the everything is always exactly as it should be. Set lists, pics, sticks, water, towels, capo, harmonica, tambourine, knobs, switches. They must always be in precisely placed. If your boss goes to grab something and it isn't there then they look like a bumbling fool in front of the crowd.... and it's your fault. If the keyboard is on the wrong patch, it the guitar is tuned wrong, if the water spills, if a mic stand starts to sag... all of this happened because you didn't take in to consideration that it could.

But sometimes accidents happen. No one is perfect. Maybe you did forget something... or maybe your artist did something. Sometimes problems arise and you have to instantly react. The frustrating part is that this problem has to be fixed in the middle of a live show. The band can't just stop playing so you can come out there and address the situation in a cool and calm state. You have to instantly assess and remedy. What is the most streamlined way to get things back in order? Cross your fingers, run out on the stage and try not to be a distraction. All while making sure that you are back in your world in time to regroup for any changes that were scheduled during the set.

So yeah, that, and the obvious other duties, covers the stage and the very true quote from our video game hero. I think there is more though. Being a great tech isn't only about the stage and the gear. Being a great tech is about the player. Life tech is a funny word we have come up with but I think guitar-ist tech is a bit more accurate. Another funny one I heard recently, Rock and Roll Butler. You see, you can't just stop taking care of your boss when the show is over. You've gotta be there for them all the time. Just like the list of things that have to be in place on the stage... you end up building a list of things that are part of their life. You memorize everything. What their suit case looks like, which wallet is theirs, phone, computer, hat, watch, socks, books, camera. Everything. You remember their favorite Starbucks drink or Wendy's combo #. This might seem like too much... I know. But the true job description of a great tech is to make the artist's life as easy and seamless as it can be.Spoil them. Make sure they have a hard time living day to day with out you... without getting in the way. Don't leave your computer on the dressing room table... in case they need to put theirs there. Don't take up too much space in the junk bunk... in case they need that area for something later. Get their suit cases out to the bus so they can walk freely thru the crowd to the bus. Let them know if their fly is down. Don't stop just because the show is over.

This has been me. This has been my life for 95 days. Right now, I am sitting in the last airport I will be in all year. Alone. I have nothing at all to concern me aside from getting home. The place where I am Bryan. The place where Everything is in its precise spot because that's where I want it. The place where I can put my stuff where ever I want. Home. A place for me.

I have the best job in the world. I enjoy it non stop. I love taking care of people. It serves my neurosis quite well. I love the people I work with and for. I am so happy that I got to be there this year, this tour, making sure they were comfortable. It makes me very happy. But I could never hide how excited I am to be switching back over from Guitar-ist Tech to Me Tech.

To everyone who helped make the past 95 days so special, thank you.

chinaski

ive never cared about the american dream. or at least my idea of the american dream. wealth, respect, stability. its much too easy coasting through life and not thinking about how things will end up. the way i see it, i will always be the age that i am and never the age that im gonna be. i dont make plans. the charm of life for me comes in a brown 12oz bottle and shrugging off all responsibility and consequence. maybe that is the american dream though. life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness through alcohol. 

i fancied myself a writer as a kid. short form. poetry. from my late teens into my early twenties i wrote daily. in the younger years it was all fluffy high school love shit disguised in a bunch of abstract verses to cover up how fucking girly and emo it really was. then i turned 21. i started drinking pretty frequently. at first, the writing didnt stop. most of the time i would just sit there with my pen or keyboard thinking about writing and continuing to get more and more shitfaced. the next day i would wake up and read all of my profound thoughts on being a drunk with writers block. as i drank more the content continued to be pretty void. i mean, fluffy love shit or heart break was at least about something. now im just drunk and pissed off about being too drunk to write. so i quit writing.

there is a heavy metal band called anthrax. they put out a record in the late 90s called Stomp 442. one of the songs contains a lyric "bukowski's on my shoulder". that always stuck out as a particularly non metal lyric. im not sure why it took me half a decade to find out why the hell they were singing about bukowski instead of all the typical metal bs. fuck it, enter the keyword "bukowski". love at first read.

40,000 flies

torn by a temporary wind
we come back together again

check walls and ceilings for cracks and
the eternal spiders

wonder if there will be one more
woman

now
40,000 flies running the arms of my
soul
singing
I met a million dollar baby in a
5 and 10 cent
store

arms of my soul?
flies?
singing?

what kind of shit is
this?

it’s so easy to be a poet
and so hard to be
a man.

that was the first thing i ever read of his. i never stopped. the more i read, the more i wanted to read. he was dirty. crass. rude. honest. perverted and FUCKING DRUNK! this ass hole was my new rock star. his writing ritual.... hang out during the day. start drinking at 6 and sit in front of the type writer. drink and drink and drink and wake up to a pile of pages. i can finally aspire to something. i too can be a drunk, womanizing, grumpy asshole who has no focus except finding that pile of paper in the morning. maybe that wasnt him at all, but its what i saw and i wanted it. 

sadly, unlike chuck, the more i drank, the less i wrote. i just drank. i loved the drinking far more than the writing. not to mention the fucking real world. even as a lush, i still obsess over the idea of being a good human being. i have a genuine interest in making the world a better place. that really gets in the way of the drunken sexism and overall disdain for the human race. fortunately i always seem to end up going back to the lush part. my favorite part. the part that says and does shit that i should regret. that ever so perfect part that puts selfishness in the forefront. hyde. i wish i didnt have to leave that place.

i tell people i love beer for the taste. the truth is, i love the taste of beer, but that isnt why i love beer. i love beer because its more fun to not give a shit. and i dont. i drink because it gives me the power to forget about wealth, respect and stability. it gives me my american dream. it helps me be more like Chinaski. my Chinaski. 

im never going to grow up and be bukowski. especially the famous (or even good) writer part. ive probably even misconstrued who he really was. screw it, i like my bukowski. so im gonna try anyway. you can call them weird aspirations. you can say anything you want. truth is, ill just tip up a pint, tell you to fuck off and then try to get your girlfriend to to send me pictures of her tits. cus thats livin'. 

-----------------

since i talked about it, its only fair to share couple. the first is one of my earlier (and shitty) poems about being drunk. the second is a light hearted confession that im too drunk to write. also, the link between the writing and drinking and chuck may have been lost... in fact, i know it was. sorry. it was supposed to be there. maybe if i were hammered, instead of sober on a plane, i would have done a much better job.

Releasing Me

There are words when my mind is silent and letters when I close my eyes
I always feel like writing, but the pen doesn’t always work well with my hand
Knowing where to start isn’t the hard part,
      it’s knowing how to end it and not being afraid
I'm afraid of everything, the end, the beginning, and the filler
I don’t even know what they mean until they are ready to tell me

And they always do.

What else really matters than this purity, this optimistic view of loneliness?
I’m not sure what of it seems feminine to me; maybe I’m just stereotyping
Real men don’t tell the world so voluntarily that they cry when they’re alone
Maybe that’s the traitor, dripping negotiations into my skull like the
      thick drool from an infants toothless mouth
Should this thing I use to fall in love keep me from sharing anything but
      hormones?

I did not think so.

If one boy could, then I’d beat every man with his own half-empty beer bottle
      until he fell away from his Monday nite football
“Kill yourself with this pen, and use both hands!” is what I’d yell in his bloodied ear
I drink too, not so I forget my weaknesses, but so I remember them.
Taking heed to every chard of whatever I am dreaming, and stabbing
      masculinity with it
In fact, I need another

Another drink or another weakness?

If either would condition (or perhaps just warp) these sweet little cravings,
      I’d set aside my recycled insecurities
Unwinding the spools of manhood around my neck, choking on my own bile
Abyssal pleas corroding my lungs and pressing outward while pride and
      humility restrain revelation
And as I hung by my swollen love, I could only stutter that passion and emotion are
      perfect strangers, or at least to me
It kills me already

We can all dream.

-B.H. June 2000

Something Else for a Change

I wanted to be a writer tonite
I set out to decide the course of my thoughts with the aid of toxins

    1 down
    2 down
    3 down
    4
    I finished 6 and could still drink more

I wanted to be a writer tonite but I got caught up in the 5.6
I got caught up in a different way

Fucking amateurs

-B.H. May 1, 2001

State Side

disclaimer: i was going to write a blog about my last month of travels and how it effected the first 24 hours of being back in the states. it turned into shit. here it is....

sometimes it takes bottomless chips to remember how good you've really got it. strike that, sometimes it takes a cup full of tap water loaded with ice to remember how good you've really got it. wait, no, sometimes it takes getting faster speeds on your mobile phone than any hard wired line in some foreign land to remember how good you've really got it. yeah, thats the one.

for a while i was counting countries, languages and currencies. right now i am too tired to confirm or recap any of those numbers. its 530am. jet lag is kicking my ass. honestly though, i am A-O-fucking-Kay with it right now. why? because i am laying in bed writing a blog on my laptop while episodes of south park stream in HD on my tablet all through my cell phones tethered 4G connection. I shit you not, my internet right now, through my cell phone, is faster than any internet i have had in a month. but thats just right now.

8 hours ago i had dinner. the appetizer was unlimited chips and salsa. i had overly hoppy american beer (3 floyds alpha king) and a complimentary water full of ice that would be refilled in an instant if the need came to be. did i mention that the water is FREE!!!?

americans live in a culture of more more more. that doesnt always work out, but in terms of service it couldnt be more spot on. world, please start to realize that the consumer is king. you seriously need to work on your service industry and cater to the customer a bit more.

long story short... world travel will make a patriot.... if youre from america. yeah, america. you know where i am talking about.

National Coming Out Day

So the other day was National Coming Out Day. That was a day that I never even knew existed until I heard from a pal of mine. Yup, you guessed it. He took the time sensitive opportunity to inform me that he is gay. I already feel so much closer to him. It's pretty awesome to know that he is comfortable enough around me to know that I wouldn't judge him for just being who he is. I feel pretty special. I know coming out isn't supposed to be about me. It is about him. Regardless of who it is about, it is fucking stupid. National Coming Out Day sucks.

The answer to when someone says they are gay should be "big whoop. who doesn't like sex?". It is a shame that a person has to live in such fear of persecution that they live in a theoretical "closet". There really shouldn't be a day set aside to help or celebrate a person coming out because there shouldn't have to be a coming out. The world that we live in needs to get over themselves pretty quickly in regards to the gay and lesbian community. There should be no reason that any person should ever need to hide their love or lust for anyone. Furthermore, there should be no reason that anyone should ever have to be worried about what they do with another consenting adult behind closed doors. What does it matter to anyone if someone wants to sleep with a woman or a man? Nothing at all. So why does it show up in our legal system and our stereotypes. Why is there a stigma at all?

I specifically get angry about it in the legal system. Gay marriage. WHY THE FUCK DOES ANYONE CARE WHO SOMEONE MARRIES?!?!?! If you aren't included in the arrangement then you should have no say in it at all. Why can't we just be excited that two people found love and want to celebrate it? My favorite is when the religious world starts to argue that marriage is to be between a man and woman because that is the way that god intended it. Well, smart asses, marriage is nothing like it was in biblical times. Those were never about love. They were about family or livestock. So yeah, if you want to have marriage just like it was when your precious little god came up with it, go ahead. Just don't come complaining to me about it when your dad picks a mate for you based on if his best golf buddy has a kid. There should be equal rights for all people. No exceptions.

Gays, Lesbians, you're alright with me. Unless you suck as a person... in which case, I don't like you, but it's not because of how you spend your naked time. Take comfort in knowing that anyone that has a problem with you has one because they are ignorant. Honestly, this day in age, if someone has a problem with you, they probably talk to an imaginary friend and think that some carpenter zombie levitated into the sky and built a castle on a cloud, just for them. They are really the ones with something wrong.

There should be no National Coming Out Day. There should be a National Pick on Closed Minded Assholes Day. On that day, we should get to throw eggs on and taunt every single person that has ever slowed down the advancement of civilization by making others feel like shit for no reason. My buddy should have never had to worry or wait to tell me about something in his life. He isn't my gay friend now, he is still just my friend. Fuck anyone who wants me to think otherwise.

Family Tree

In crisp clear memories, I can perfectly remember what life was like as a child. As sparked by a Picasa album my oldest sister sent to me today, I remember the beach. Whether it be the ocean or the river, I remember being a child on the sand with my family. It comes as no challenge to place each and every one of my family members there with me. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, and siblings. That same family was always there for holidays and birthdays and births and deaths. All of it held together by the patriarch and his wife. My grandparents. For most of my entire life, that was the structure. All of us were there, in varied ways, as a result of their coming together. I grew up enjoying my childhood and growing with my family under the blessing and experienced watch of my grandparents.

The pictures my sister sent were of her's and my other sisters children playing on the beach. The very same beach that I remember. Nags Head, NC. All of my family is there now. Parents, sisters, brother in laws, nieces, nephew. I am not. I am in New Haven, CT working. My grandparents are not there. My aunts and uncles and cousins are not there. Something is a little different. The pictures in front of me reflect a whole new family when compared to the pictures in my mind.

As I flipped through the 100+ pictures that she sent I started to ask myself "When did the shift take place?". At what point did my immediate family become so large and when did my extended family get enough of their own that we all drifted far enough apart to take the crown of the king and move it down a generation? I suppose the obvious answer is the day that my grandfather died. That doesn't seem to be the day though. There were many years after his passing that we still conformed to the idea of family that I created as a child. We passed his duties on to my grandmother... and she is still alive and well. So when did it happen?

It isn't some great revelation or even a question that needs to be answered. It something that happens all of the time to every family on the planet. I guess I just thought things would always be the way they were. I never grew up. I never had kids and helped the family get bigger and move along down the generations. Maybe I just figured everyone else was doing the same thing... you know, despite watching them not do the same thing. I always envisioned the family one way but I am okay with it evolving. The roots of the tree have gone deeper into the dirt and the branches are climbing closer to the sun. I just hope that while they are flailing around in the wind that they look down and respect the trunk for being as strong as it is.

I love you MeMa. I miss you Kong-Kong and Nannie. I'm proud of you Mom and Dad. Good Luck.

stupid airports and their stupid silver lining

I use an application on my phone called Foursquare. I am not going to take this time to explain why I use it, outside of it being a way to keep track of where I have been. Recently I opened it up and noticed that I have been to 29 different airports in the last 6 months. I explored further and pretty quickly realized that two were missing from the list. So 31 total, unless I forgot some more. Then I looked at the upcoming Hanson tour dates. After some quick trip planning in my head it hit me that (unless something happens) in 2011 I will have been to over 40 different airports. I don't know how much you fly but to me that is a pretty staggering amount. More than anyone else that compared my notes with theirs. Maybe that number will help you understand why my airport related tweets and blog posts are never positive.

Right now, I am on yet another plane about an hour from yet another airport. My home airport. I just took a quick overnight trip out of state to do some last minute sorting and packing of things that make music. Now I get one day back at home before heading out from Richmond to Regina... somewhere in Canada. I have a pretty awesome day planned. I'm going to sleep late. Hang out with one of my favorite people. Go for a run. Hang out with more of my favorite people. Celebrate my room mate taking the MCAT by getting shithoused, Pack. Maybe I should pack before getting shithoused. Whatever. It's gonna be a day that I will commit to memory for 3 months. Yup, 3 months. I won't see my city, or my people for 3 months. The airports are going to steal them away from me.

I love touring. I always have. Each tour has always brought something special and new to my life. This upcoming tour is no differrent. I get to add 6 countries to my "visited" list. Not to mention I get to play Gears of War 3. Thats worth like, 12 countries or something. Regardless of awesome video games... I'm feeling pretty good about traveling to parts of the world that most of the important people in my life will never have the chance to see. Looking on the bright side for once, I know that the airports that I hate so much are the link to all of the wonderful adventures that I get to experience. So while I am constantly frustrated and furious about traveling via the air I can at least say that I have finally accepted how important they are to my extraordinary lifestyle. Lesson learned.

And the lesson to those of you that know me well..... always remember that while I am bitching non stop, I am aware of it and am internally figuring out how to appreciate everything a little more. Letting the innocent little boy in me choke the mean old man.