Concerts in February and March

***CONCERTS IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH***

Do you ever feel like you have stage fright even though you’re part of the audience and not the actual performer? The closer I get to the day of a concert, the more I feel this way myself. Don’t get me wrong, concerts are fun to go to and I’ll always jump at the opportunity to see my favorites. It could be my introverted nature, but when I enter a room full of that many people, I just feel like hiding in a corner. I can quickly calm down once I get settled in, but introverts don’t really like big gatherings, especially party-like atmospheres. Maybe it’s the aggression of my fellow concertgoers. Maybe it’s the drugs and booze they consume. Maybe it’s the crowd noise. Regardless of what it could be, I always try to find the loneliest space in the audience so that my batteries don’t drain too quickly. I don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to me. It was like that in school and it’s like that at a performance.

Despite the social malaise, I keep going back for more shows because I want to cherish these experiences forever. I call them one-day vacations because concerts are just as special to me as traveling to another country for a week or so. I purposefully post concerts I’ve been to as Life Events on Face Book. It seems like an arrogant thing to do, but I don’t care if nobody else does it. You know what else I like to do? Keep a personal ledger of concerts I’ve attended on my computer so that I can remind myself of the magic I experienced. Even the concerts where I’ve had negative experiences with members of the crowd, fuck it, I record those anyways. Drunken asshole at Pain in the Grass 2016? Fuck it, I record it. Femme fatale at a Pop Evil concert? I’ll record that experience too. Concerts and foreign vacations alike are badges of honor for the one who needs experience the most.

That’s why I’m happy to announce that in February and March of this year, I’ll be seeing three different shows, maybe more if they pop up on my radar. In the beginning of February, I’m going to Tacoma with my brother James to see Jason Mewes perform standup comedy. We both have seen him before in late 2017 and it’s actually one of my favorite experiences of all time. He made me laugh so hard that I sounded like a James Bond villain and made everyone else vicariously giggly. Jason Mewes actually stopped his set after I laughed and said, “I fucking love this guy!” We got to meet him after the show and he was a cool dude, every bit as goofy and funny as he is in Kevin Smith’s View Askew movies. Round two? Here we go!

Later in February, I’m going alone to see Soulfly in Seattle. This will be my third time seeing that band in concert, but my fourth time seeing a Max Cavalera-fronted band. I previously saw Soulfly in 2009 and 2018 and I saw Cavalera Conspiracy in 2015. All three times, Max was a heavy metal berserker onstage. He’s got the barbarian look with his bulky body, long dreadlocks, and fuzzy beard. He’s got the barbarian attitude with the way he makes everyone in the building jump the fuck up and mosh like animals. When I saw Soulfly in 2018, I blew my voice out because I was screaming along with their songs all night long. It’d be an honor to abuse my vocal cords again in 2019.

And then there’s the middle of March, where for the first time in my life, I’m going to see Within Temptation perform. The first song I ever heard by them was “Angels” and it was superimposed in a You Tube video celebrating the romance between former Nightwish vocalist Tarja Turunen and her husband Marcelo Cabuli. I didn’t buy my first Within Temptation record until 2014 or 2015 and that was the Hydra album. One kick-ass song begot another and it wasn’t long until I completed my collection of their CD’s. I was even able to convince my late Uncle Brian to become a Within Temptation fan. In his words, “Sharon Den Adel is soooooooo gorgeous!” Unfortunately, Brian died in a car accident after falling asleep at the wheel back in November. He never got to see Within Temptation perform before he passed. I’ll be moshing in his honor.

I know every time I do a blog entry about concerts I’m attending, I always say that they’ll affect my creative schedule in some way, but they never do. At least with a foreign country vacation, I’m away from the computer for a week at a time. Concerts? They’re only one day long. I’m back on the computer when I get home anyways so that I can record the concert as a Life Event on Face Book. I don’t have the Life Event feature on any other social media platform I use, so these blogs will have to do. Wish me luck on overcoming my social shyness! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! Wait a minute, I’m not seeing Three Days Grace! What the hell?!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

After days of psychological torpor, I finally got around to writing chapter nine of Beautiful Monster. I got all of Windham and Tarja’s talking points out of the way before the two of them were thrust into a battle with Shelly Atwood’s goon squad. Chapter ten will be the actual unfolding of that battle. If you remember in the first draft, the battle ended when Windham whipped the shit out of a bandit for making rape jokes about him. In this new version, the battle will end a little more realistically, but the intense drama of it all will remain the same. How will it end? No spoilers for you! Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner! I know something you don’t know! Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner! I know something you don’t know!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Vanishing point of the blacktop. Shithole venue smells like rot. A thousand nights I left behind. Another tribe, another time. A brotherhood at stage right. A circle pit night after night. A congregation packed full of sinners. Another road, another winter. Broken bottles thrown in a fight. Cannot move, sold out tonight. Stage dive, no fucking glamour. Tonight’s show, it’s all that matters. Many were cursed and many alive. Carry a torch for those who have died. Carve your skin, a mosaic forever. Never say die, never say never. Feedback, feedback, not a fucking regret.”

-Soulfly singing “Feedback!”-

Incelbordination, Chapter 6

“You know, for somebody who has a lot of shit to talk about, you’re certainly taking your time in starting the conversation,” said Oswald with his arms crossed.

“It’s called making you sweat,” explained Detective Barry. “From the looks of how I found you, I figured you’d be sweating bullets right now. That’s okay, we can wait a little longer.”

Oswald nervously fidgeted with his fingernails while Mia remained cool behind the wheel of her car. The little guy noticed that they’d passed his dorm several times during this ride. His only haven for smoking weed and shaking off the jailbait blues was a short walk away and all this detective wanted to do was wait for him to break. Oswald picked at his fingernails some more until they were too short to do so. Next he picked at his hangnails. Then he picked skin off of his chapped lips.

With nothing left to fidget with and a big enough craving for marijuana, Oswald finally snapped. “Alright, what the hell do you want from me anyways? Do I need a lawyer or some shit?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Crow, do you? Is there a secret you’re trying to protect from me? I haven’t even said a word yet and already you’re asking for legal counsel. What’s on your mind, buddy?”

Oswald put his balled up fist in his mouth and made Marcellus Wallace pawn shop noises from Pulp Fiction, which gave Mia a good chuckle. “So you’re a comedian now? I didn’t think someone as sad as you had a sense of humor in them.”

The dwarf made a flat tire sound and said, “Sad? Come on, you’re better than this, Detective.”

“Better than what, exactly? Are you saying I don’t do my own research? Are you projecting yourself onto me when you imply that? I’ve seen your creative writing grade, buddy. I’ve seen a lot of things about you.”

“Great, first Antero’s a fucking stalker and now you.” Oswald immediately cupped his mouth shut upon revealing his “associate’s” name.

“Ah-ha! I knew it!” said Mia while pointing a finger at her passenger. “There is something going on with you and Antero Magnus.”

“…Who?”

“Oh, nothing. I just figured since you blurted out a random Finnish name that you’d probably know at least one guy who fits that profile.” Oswald was mentally kicking himself for his blunder while Mia continued. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Crow. I know more about this case than you’ll ever figure out in your lifetime. Yes, in case you haven’t figured it out, there’s a case being built against Antero Magnus. We don’t have much to go on, but we’ve got hunches here and there. Word of advice, little guy: stay as far away from Incelbordination as you possibly can.”

Shaking his head, Oswald retorted, “You don’t have to tell me twice, lady. I already know how much of a scumbag he is.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you happened to be eating outside McDonald’s instead of inside where there’s air conditioning?”

“Aw, shit,” said Oswald while holding his head in his hand. “Well, if you’ve really seen everything, you’d know that I didn’t do shit while I was out there. I gave that chick the food and then I took off. I swear that’s all that happened.”

“Don’t worry, I believe you. What I don’t believe is that you had that idea all by yourself. Antero’s pulling your strings, buddy. I know it. I’ve had to arrest a few of his Incelbordination minions for actually going through with the business deal. The one thing they all had in common was a McDonald’s gift card. Anybody can have one, but when you spend thirty dollars on supposedly just yourself, that’s awfully suspicious.”

Oswald slapped his palms against his knees and asked, “What do you want from me?”

“You don’t have to give me anything, Oswald, except for maybe a promise that you won’t join Incelbordination. Even then I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night. The thing about Antero’s logic is that it’s seductive to young people like you. It was designed to be seductive. It’s easier to use women as scapegoats rather than face your own problems head on. It’s convenient. The only problem is, when you take that black pill, you might as well be chugging bleach. If you join Incelbordination, Antero will radicalize you until there’s nothing left of your ability to think for yourself.”

Oswald tucked his chin to his chest and said, “I’m not worth saving, Detective.”

“See? That’s the kind of talk I’d expect from a young man who’s become indoctrinated. Involuntary Celebates, or Incels, are all brought together by their low self-esteem. They’re so convinced that they’re ugly that they lash out at the wrong people. Person-to-person, the only way you could ever be ugly is if you allowed yourself to be brainwashed by these people.”

Folding his arms, Oswald sighed, “Inner beauty doesn’t mean shit anymore, Detective. If it did, I wouldn’t have had the shit kicked out of me in high school and middle school. Being a midget isn’t fun and there’s nothing humorous about it. If I didn’t learn how to box, I’d probably be dead right now. That’s how bad shit has gotten. I don’t want to be a violent person, but these normies are putting me in a situation where it’s either me or them.”

“I’m sensing that you don’t have a whole lot of role models in your life,” said Mia solemnly.

“You are very, very perceptive, Detective Barry. Then again, you wouldn’t be a very good cop if you weren’t.”

Putting an empathetic hand on Oswald’s shoulder, Mia said, “Look, I know you haven’t had the easiest life, as you’ve just described. You’re desperate for someone to show you the way. I’m telling you right now, that someone isn’t Antero Magnus. He doesn’t care about you or your need for love. He cares only about his own violent agenda. Please, promise me that you won’t go anywhere near him.”

“I can promise I won’t go anywhere near him, but I can’t promise he won’t go anywhere near me. I don’t seek him out on purpose, you know.”

“I know you don’t, Mr. Crow. I know how sneaky he can be. And just to give you a heads up, if Antero ever does bother you again, he’s going to bring up his deceased Uncle Tuomas and use him for a sympathy ploy.”

“So his uncle was the keyboardist for Nightwish?”

Mia patted Oswald on the back and chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Crow, you slay me. But on a serious note, anybody who has ever joined Incelbordination knows about the Uncle Tuomas card. Antero is going to tell you that he committed suicide because he was falsely accused of rape and therefore lost his reputation. While false accusations happen far too often for my comfort, this time our police work was right on the money. Don’t let Antero spin it in any other direction. You can research this story yourself if you don’t believe me. Oh, I forgot, you’re not known for your research skills. But hey, this time it’s important.”

“Look, Detective, I appreciate your concern about my wellbeing, but if you’re not going to charge me with any serious offense, then I suggest you take me to my dorm. I’m not exactly feeling the love right now.”

“Understandable,” said Mia. “But I’m just going to give you fair warning right now: if you join Incelbordination and you do something illegal under their watch, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you as a terrorist. Terrorists get worse treatment under the law than regular criminals, which is a fucking disgrace to our justice system considering how many innocent Middle Easterners are in Guantanamo Bay, but that’s beside the point. The point is, if you think you’re going to cure your loneliness by joining Incelbordination, then you need to quickly realize you’ll only make it worse.”

Just like that, the joyride was over and Mia parked outside Oswald’s dorm building. The little guy wasted no time in getting out of the car and hurrying to his door, but not without shaking his head at Mia telling him to, “Have a nice evening.”

He rushed to his bedroom and scrambled for a ready roll in his underwear drawer. Low and behold, he finally found his Zippo lighter. He smiled insanely at the hardware before scurrying outside for a smoke. He shifted his eyes left and right to make sure neither Mia Barry nor Antero Magnus were going to sneak up on him. He even made abrasive “booga-booga-booga” noises just to make sure it was only him and the night air. Once he was one hundred percent certain the coast was clear, he leaned back against the wall and lit up his joint.

Relaxation took over his body as he gently slid down on his ass enjoying his smoke. How he loved this magic medicine and the way it made the night sky look like a Pink Floyd laser show. He needed this private time to himself. He needed his beautiful weed. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant he had all the time in the world to sort out his problems. Maybe he would fix up his C- paper, maybe he would just set the fucking thing on fire now that he found his Zippo. Either way, Oswald needed this weekend like any other stressed out college student did.

Dark Skills

“Tonight, tonight, tonight, hot damn tonight!” chuckled Matt Singleton while he was playing pocket pool in the empty streets. The closer he treaded towards Michelle Woods’ apartment, the harder he masturbated. With a jacket hood over his face, baggy sweat pants to mask his perverted activity, and not a cop or security camera in sight, he could easily get in and out, both literally and figuratively.

He ascended the stairs to Michelle’s apartment and overheard the sounds of a motor running coinciding with a feminine black voice’s cries of pain. Matt stroked himself even harder and got a sadistic, bloodthirsty grin on his face. The feminine voice’s screams were reduced to M noises and Matt’s smile widened to Cheshire Cat levels of terror. “I had no idea she was into that!” he chuckled to himself.

When he saw that the door to Michelle’s apartment was slightly ajar, his quarter moon grin flattened as did his perpetual hard-on. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said while pulling a hatchet out of his coat pocket. Knowing nobody was coming to save his newest victim, Matt kicked the door open and pulled back his hood to reveal disheveled blond hair and missing teeth. “I don’t believe this shit.”

Matt Singleton’s twisted imagination was justified, but not in the way he had hoped. Rather than screams of pornographic pleasure, Michelle’s pain was as permanent as the tattoo being etched into her lower back. Carl Howard had once again beat Matt to the punch and stuck his nose (among other things) where it didn’t belong. The chubby biker decked out in black leather was the one writing “Dark Skills” into Michelle’s skin while the sobbing victim was bent over the couch with a rag in her mouth.

“Carl!” whined Matt for a prolonged period of time. “How many times do I have to tell you to mind your own damn business and get your own kills?! I saw Michelle first! I actually did my homework on this bitch!”

Carl tossed the tattoo pen aside and hissed, “Homework? As in taking photos of her through the window like a fucking stalker? That’s not homework. That’s just you being too much of a pussy to talk to women yourself. Michelle and I are already on a first name basis. Isn’t that right, baby girl?” The last sentence was punctuated by Carl lightly slapping Michelle on her pink panty-wearing ass, to which she gave another muffled cry.

“Good job, dumb-ass!” said Matt while mockingly applauding with the hatchet in his hand. “She could have called the police any time and had you arrested! You stick out like a nun at a porn convention, my friend. You think intimidating her is going to be enough to keep her quiet?”

“Nah, but the rag in her mouth is,” said Carl as he once again tapped Michelle’s ass. “Besides, if you actually had a brain in that busted up skull of yours, you’d know how important mind games are. She ain’t going to tell anybody. Are you, baby girl?” Once Michelle shook her head, she got another slap, but this time on the thighs.

Matt shook his own head and snickered, “So this is where our conversations always go, isn’t it? You always steal my victims and then you justify it with some bullshit excuse. I know this comes as a surprise to you, but I haven’t gotten laid in a while, buddy. I’ve been picking out victims left and right…” He tiptoed up to Michelle and stroked her long hair with the yellow streak. “But there’s nobody quite like her. She’s got the beauty. She’s got the brains. Hell, up until I kicked open the door, I thought she was getting ready for some kinky shit. And then you show up, Carl…you, the hard-on assassinator. I’m sick and tired of this shit, Carl. I need my fix!”

“You want your fix?” asked Carl as he shoved Michelle to the floor. “You want to get laid? Shit, man, all you had to do was ask. But I’m not the one you should be asking. Why don’t you ask that uncle of yours to bend you over some more? You see, Matt…I do my homework too. You’ve pissed me off so many times that I actually took pride in my studies. That uncle of yours…he did some things to you, didn’t he? Things that involved you having a permanent case of diarrhea, if you know what I mean. Congratulations, Matty-Boy: you’re a walking commercial for Huggies diapers!”

As Carl hyena laughed at Matt’s miserable past, Matt himself clutched his skull and rocked back and forth while fighting the traumatic memory. He could feel the dirty, pus-filled limb going in and out of him. He remembered how his “permanent case of diarrhea” mixed with chunks of blood and splooge. The rancid smell of Uncle Singleton’s crotch. The bloodbath sewage smell of his own dumps. They all came flooding back to him like a tidal wave of life juices washing over his once young and innocent face. Carl’s laughter made those thoughts rush even faster around his explosive mind.

“Shut the fuck up, you fat piece of shit!” roared Matt before jumping across the couch and attempting to slice open Carl’s head like a watermelon. The chubby biker grabbed his assailant’s wrist to prevent the blow, but the two of them wrestled to the floor anyways. As Michelle screamed through her gag on the floor with them, the two serial killers struggled to push the hatched blade to each other’s faces. Carl, being the stronger of the two, was able to inch it towards Matt’s face and peel of a layer of his cheek.

Licking the blood off of Matt’s face, Carl said, “Is this what you wanted, lover boy? Is this the Freudian excuse you were looking for?”

Matt head butted Carl in his thick skull and bust his own forehead open more than he did his opponent’s. Matt’s horny smile suggested a lack of fucks given. He head butted Carl again. And again. And again. Blood washed over Matt’s face in an unholy baptism while Carl’s own forehead formed a tiny rip. “I could do this all day, motherfucker!” chimed Matt. “My fucked up mind is feeling pretty good right now. A little dizziness is good for psychological trauma.”

Carl managed to rip the hatchet out of Matt’s hands and stand over his opponent like a barbarian over a rotten carcass. “Don’t worry, you little pansy. Close those pretty blue eyes of yours. Here comes a lovely little lullaby for an anxious child!” Carl raised the blade over his head and brought it down with brutal force. Any shot that powerful would have decapitated not only an elephant, but the entire jungle kingdom.

But not Matt Singleton. In his blood-drenched dizziness, he found the tattoo pen and jabbed it in Carl Howard’s eye, while the hatchet was only centimeters away from Matt’s nose. Matt ripped out a chunk of brain from Carl’s skull and the chubby killer plopped backwards on the floor, spilling his blood all over the shag carpet. Matt’s head continued to gush like a geyser of violence, spilling his own juices over the floor as he sat up to face a trembling Michelle, who spit out the gag a long time ago.

Not even the silky pink underwear on a beautiful black body could revitalize Matt’s horny attitude. He stood up and wobbled on his way over to the victim he worked so hard to claim. “You think this is funny, Michelle?” he asked as blood oozed onto her lap.

Michelle shook her head and sobbed, “No, there’s nothing funny about it. Please let me go!”

“Sure, no problem,” said Matt as he spit a glob of red juice onto the couch. “I’ll just let you skedaddle out the front door like nothing happened. Go on. Leave. I’ve got no use for you now that my hard-on’s not coming back anytime soon.”

“Sorry for your loss,” stuttered Michelle as she slowly stood up to try and exit.

Matt grabbed a hold of her hair and yanked her back to the floor. “What did you say about my loss? Huh? You trying to be a comedian? You think rape is funny?! You think this is all just some Freudian bullshit?!” he yelled while Michelle sobbed loudly. “There are things in this life worse than death! If I could die right now, I’d be one smiling motherfucker! But you, Michelle…you don’t deserve to get off that easy. I came here tonight and had old wounds reopened, bloody forehead aside. Now I’m going to leave you with something more permanent than an uncle’s dirty dick!”

Matt retrieved the tattoo pen and cleaned the blood off of it with his jacket. He then threw it to the side and said, “You know what? Tattoos are for pussies! They can be lasered off for a few hundred bucks! But a hatched job…that’s something that truly lasts forever!”

The killer retrieved the blade, grabbed Michelle by her hair, and bent her over the couch kicking and screaming. “Shut up!” he belted while reading the tattoo job on her lower back. “Dark Skills, my ass! Carl ain’t got shit for skills! Let me show you what the real mark of the beast looks like!”

Slowly and painfully, Matt Singleton carved the number 666 into Michelle’s lower back, completely erasing the tattoo job from earlier with permanent scars and a river of blood.  The viscous mess gave Matt a rush of adrenaline that not only sped up the bleeding in his own forehead, but also the blood flowing into a part of his body he was sure he’d never use again. It stood up proudly. It beamed with life. Matt could smile again. Then the killer blacked out from the blood loss and fell on his ass, dying with a smile on his face and a hard-on in his sweatpants once again. Michelle Woods was alive and kicking, but Matt Singleton took her soul to the grave with him anyways.

"A Pedigree To Die For" by Laurien Berenson

BOOK TITLE: A Pedigree To Die For: A Melanie Travis Mystery

AUTHOR: Laurien Berenson

YEAR: 1995

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Cozy Mystery

GRADE: Pass

Melanie Travis is a single mother who tries to balance getting her life back in order with solving the murder of her uncle Max Turnbull. The Turnbulls made their living by breeding poodles and showing them off at dog competitions. Their most prized stud, Beau, is missing from his kennel after Max’s aggravated heart attack. With her firebrand Aunt Peg coaching her along the way, Melanie shows up at the dog contests looking for evidence as to who might be in possession of the kidnapped Beau. She starts off with a bunch of hopeless dead ends, but as the mystery progresses, blackmail, corruption, and murder become much stronger themes in analyzing the clues.

When I first started reading this, I had my doubts as to whether this would be a realistic mystery due to all of the dead ends Melanie hits along the way. And then I realized that trial and error have always been a part of the mystery genre. Narrowing the suspects down to one is hard and tiring work, especially with as many enthusiastic dog show competitors as there are. Sometimes the pieces don’t click together right away. Sometimes Aunt Peg seems more like a pain in the butt than a true detective. However, if you continue reading, the plot will thicken near the middle of the book. The further you delve into this mystery, the more you want to know until the search hits its climax. That is the true nature of mystery stories and my doubts have been blasted out of the water by Laurien Berenson’s masterful storytelling techniques.

Another thing I love about this book is how realistic Melanie’s parenting skills are and how they make her into a sympathetic and likeable character right away. She’s recently divorced from her husband Bob and is left to take care of four-year-old Davey. The little guy is a bundle of energy that can keep on going like the dynamo he is. Even though Melanie is driven nuts by his ballistic behavior, she handles it like a champ and shows infinite patience for her special little guy. She knows when to tell him no and knows when to let him play and discover. She also takes him to McDonald’s every once and a while for yummy food. The fact that she can balance raising Davey by herself while solving her uncle’s murder will make any reader believe in girl power all over again.

Where would I be without mentioning the cuteness of the puppy-duppies being displayed in the pages of this wonderfully-written novel? They’re just as energetic as little Davey and show undying loyalty and love to whoever is around them. They sit on laps, they stick their wet noses into people, they smile like they’re actually capable of saying cheese, and they play around like innocent little cherubs. I wouldn’t mind scooping up some of these puppy-dups and bringing them home with me. One thing I would like to clarify is that you’ll hear the words “stud” and “bitch” quite liberally in this book. They’re not meant to refer to sexually active men and nasty women respectively, but rather to the gender of the dogs and whether or not they’ll be used for breeding. Try not to laugh when you hear about a “stud servicing many bitches.” It doesn’t mean what you think it means. You can laugh a little bit, but do try to contain yourself. It’s a cozy mystery, after all, not an erotic romance.

The pacing of this book is smooth and steady. As a reader, you can get inside Melanie Travis’ head, process the clues she picks up, and sense the body language of others while maintaining a reasonable speed. No purple prose here, which is probably the wisest option if you’re going to write a mystery novel. It also helps that the clues are easy to put together and that the explanations don’t take too many lines of text. Many avid readers could probably blow through this book in twenty-four hours. Even with its slick reading pace, it doesn’t feel over too soon and it’s a complete story with no stone left unturned. That’s the best kind of mystery you could ask for from an author like Laurien Berenson.

Maybe this isn’t the most life-changing book you’ll ever read, but it’s definitely a fun-filled, well-thought-out story that will keep you entertained from cover to cover. If you like dogs, strong female characters, or murder mysteries, I’m sure this book will have something to your liking. I happen to like all three of those qualities, so I enjoyed the book very much. A passing grade goes to an author I’ll definitely want to read another book from. Congratulations on a successful debut of Melanie Travis!