The Door

Below is a short story I have been working on for some time. This is my first real stab at something like this and I felt like this was as good a place as any to share it with the world. The ideas for this story came from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, a series of drawings designed to be writing prompts Kevin shared with me last year (or maybe two years ago, who knows?). The image below pulled me in almost immediately and the basic idea for the story jumped into my head. After a couple false starts and many helpful suggestions and edits from my friend Bill, the story below is what we are left with. Please enjoy and offer any constructive criticism you feel appropriate. 

            I first noticed the door in my basement ten days ago. That first night it was no more than a one-inch hole, nearly too small to fit a mouse. I might have taken it for any other old hole in the foundation if not for the wooden door nestled perfectly inside. This was an old looking door, like something you might see in a castle on some old medieval movie. Seven tiny planks of dark wood held together by two tiny bands of black medal, one near the top and one near the bottom, and an arch along the top of the door. I dropped to my hands and knees to check it out, completely forgetting the case of beer I promised the guys upstairs.

            The wood was like nothing I’d ever seen before and I couldn’t identify the type from such a small sample. Hell, I could have been staring at the tree these planks were cut from and still not be able to identify them. Arboreal identification was not exactly my forte. Still, even with my lack of knowledge, I could see there was something unique about this wood. These seven tiny slats emitted an energy suggesting they were cut from a tree long since gone. Perhaps this tree was the only one of its kind and wilted and died when this small bit of wood was taken from its trunk.

            On the left side of the tiny door was a tiny brass knob. To the right were a set of tiny brass hinges anchoring the door to nothing. Surrounding the tiny door was just the normal, chipped concrete wall of my old basement. Nothing else out of the ordinary. Look up and I saw the old ice hockey skates that hung on the wall unused for at least five years. Turn around and I saw the creaking wood steps leading up to my kitchen. Everything just as it was when I came down, except this door. Some time between me hitting the bottom of the steps and walking the ten feet to my back up beer fridge, this little thing popped into existence.

            Damn, how many beers did I drink that night? Not so many that I couldn’t get down the stairs, but enough to see a miniature medieval door in the wall. Not sure what the conversion on that is, but I thought it best to leave it alone and chalk it up to an overactive imagination. Maybe I watched Game of Thrones recently and this was the drunken manifestation of an image burned into my brain. Whatever the case may be, I decided it was best to leave this last case in the basement for tonight.

            “Carl, what’s the holdup?” a voice shouted from upstairs. It wasn’t until one of my impatient and thirsty friends yelled down that I realized my right hand was slowly creeping towards the knob. I recoiled like I was touching the burner on a stove and fell back on my ass. Call it intuition or a sixth sense, I just knew I didn’t want to open that door. I was terrified to open that door. Fear that stayed my hand that night, like it would on many nights to come. I didn’t want to know what was on the other side, and I certainly didn’t want anything to know I was on my side.

            “Carl, dude, we’re dying of thirst up here,” my friend called down. For a split second, I thought about calling my friends down to see my discovery, but quickly moved past that idea. No need to invite this group of guys into my drunken hallucination, I would never hear the end of it.

            I pulled myself up to my feet and climbed the stairs back up to the kitchen where five guys were huddled around the table with a deck of cards and a mountain of empties. I decided I’d had enough fun for one day. I made some lame excuse about a headache and work in the morning while kicking them out. They hurled the usual insults my way, comparing me to female genitalia and questioning if I even liked female genitalia, but otherwise went quietly. I stumbled down the hall to my bed. A single image of the door crossed my brain before it was lights out for the night.

            The next morning, I awoke with a railroad spike lodged in my left eye and about a pound of cotton stuffed in my mouth. Sunlight slipped through the musty curtains and danced straight into my right eye, setting my whole world on fire. This was shaping up to be one hell of a hangover, and I didn’t even remember drinking all that much the night before.

            I used having to work in the morning as an excuse to get rid of the guys last night, but there was no way I was dragging my sorry ass to the plant today. The folks over at DyCom Paints would have to find someone else to clean up their messes today. I had the sick days saved up and this was the perfect time to use one.

            While reaching for my phone to text my boss, I remembered the door. Surely this was just some figment of my imagination, an after image from a drunken dream. I must have had a few more than I thought and dreamt this craziness about a little door appearing in my basement. I’ve had weirder drunken dreams before. None come to mind at the moment, but I’m sure they exist.

            I found my phone and fired off a poorly worded and grammatically questionable text to my boss. Upon standing, everything in my head tried with great effort to burst through my skull. Dark spots filled my eyes and I was sure I was about to pass out and whack my head on the side of the nightstand. I took a couple deep breathes and prayed I wouldn’t die wearing stained boxers in a room that smelled vaguely of last night’s farts.

            Gradually, the world came back to me and I steadied myself. After a second to take stock and make sure all systems were go, I walked out of the room and towards my kitchen. The remnants of last night’s gathering were everywhere. Half eaten slices of pizza were strewn across the table and empty beer cans lined the floor like a defeated army spilled out on the battlefield. I stepped over some of the dead soldiers to get to the basement door on the far side of the room. Rest easy, lads, you served with honor and went down like heroes.

            My heart was pounding out of my chest as I paused at the basement door. I wiped the sweat from my palms onto boxers that used to be white. This is stupid, I thought, there is nothing down there but my smelly old basement. Even if there was a one-inch door, who cares? What, was a little mouse going to come out and shit on my toes? A shudder ran down my spine at the thought of something coming out of the door.

            Slowly, I descended the stairs, taking each creaky step one at a time to keep my balance and steady my nerves. The old wooden stairs moaned like each step was sucking the last bit of life out of them. Not since I was a child had I been so damn nervous about going into a basement. An old, loud furnace with a red-hot mouth that might as well have been the gate to hell stoked my fear back then. Now, as a thirty-five-year-old man, a beer induced half dream set my heart racing.

            Familiar sights came into view as I approached the bottom. The hockey skates hanging by their laces on a peg in the wall, wondering if they will ever be used again. The small window, so crusted over with dirt and mold, even the brightest morning sun couldn’t fight its way through. And there at the base of the wall, the wall I had seen a thousand times in my ten years at this house, was the door.  

            I was almost relieved to see the door there. At least I hadn’t imagined the whole damn thing. That I might still be hallucinating was not an idea I was keen to face. Some supernatural phenomenon was preferable to a complete mental breakdown in my book. No looney here, just a character in a Stephen King story – hopefully one that lives.

            I continued to the bottom of the stairs and walked over to the door. Kneeling down to the floor, I was able to get more or less the same view I had last night. The door was still made of those ancient, wooden planks. It still had brass hinges and a brass knob. The top still rounded off like one of those doors in a medieval castle. Everything was exactly the same except for the size. Overnight, the door had seemed to double in size, from one inch to two. There was no sign of stress on the foundation or chipped concrete from the expansion, just one more inch of door.

            Now this may sound strange to you all, it sure as shit surprised me, but the doubling of the size came as more of a shock than the damn thing appearing in the first place. Maybe I was too drunk last night to get a good sense of size and it just looked bigger through sober eyes. Certainly possible, but I didn’t think so. Something in my gut told me this door was growing, and it wasn’t done yet.

            Without realizing what I was doing, I reached my hand out towards the door. I tried to stop, screamed in my brain to stop, but I kept on reaching. It felt like my hand was being pulled and that scared me the most. Something on the other side of that door was pulling my hand in. Maybe it couldn’t open it from its side and it was trying to get me to turn the knob for it. Maybe whatever was over there was just fucking with me to fuck with me. Hell, if it could make a door appear out of nowhere and grow overnight, it likely could make me do things I didn’t want to do.

            Less than half an inch from the knob, I regained control of my arm and pulled my hand away. Jerking back too violently, I toppled off my hunches and slammed my ass on the cold, concrete floor. I got to my feet about as quick as ever and shot up the stairs two at a time. I didn’t give a thought to the creaking sounds under my feet. Hell, it might be better if the stairs collapsed behind me and cut me off from that damn door. Then nothing could follow me up.

            At the top of the stairs, I slammed the door to the basement and collapsed into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. My old heart was pounding so hard, I thought it might burst right out of my chest like one of those aliens from the movies. Every single beat echoed in my brain with the power of Keith Moon stomping on his bass drum. Maybe I’d just have a heart attack or stroke right there in the kitchen and the door in my basement wouldn’t be my problem anymore.

            After a few deep breathes, the racing in my heart settled and the world came back into focus. I’ve lost control before, usually fueled by alcohol or some type of drug, but never have I felt like something else was moving me against my will. For a brief moment, I felt some other being inside of me, pushing my hand closer and closer towards that door. It didn’t matter that touching the door was the last thing in the world my brain wanted.

            After a few more deep breathes, I figured out what I had to do next. I walked back to my bedroom – still smelling of last night’s farts – and grabbed my phone off the charger. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Lydia’s number then paused just before pushing the call button. I needed someone else to come look in my basement, someone who could prove I wasn’t insane. Pretty strange thing to ask of a person, but Lydia was the one I came closest to trusting in this world. She’d tell it to me straight and maybe offer a little help one way or another, as long as she wasn’t still pissed at me.

            I hit the little green icon to call and lifted the phone to my ear. As it rang, I thought about the best way to explain all this without sounding like a total nut job and came up empty. Hopefully, Lydia would just trust that I needed her, no matter how crazy I sounded, and come over. She was a waitress at my favorite bar and we had an on again/off again thing going for the last couple years. We were off again at the moment, but I thought she would still come if she really believed I was in trouble. She picked up after the fourth ring.

            “What do you want, Carl?” she asked. The crackle of deep sleep was in her throat. Only then did I remember she usually closed the bar and had probably only been asleep for a couple hours.

            “Sorry, Lyds,” I said. “I know it’s early and all, but I really need your help.”

            “Jesus, you sound like shit. Rough night last night?”   

            “Rough night, rougher morning. Any way you can swing by sometime today?”

            “I don’t know, Carl. What time will you be home from work?”

            “I’m home now. I took a sick day.”

            “What, do you want me to come over now?”

            “If you don’t mind.”

            “Babe, I am not dragging my ass out of bed because you went on a bender last night and decided you miss me all of a sudden.”

            “It’s not like that this time. I just need someone else here and you’re the first person I thought of. I got some really strange shit going on over here.”

            “What? What is such a massive emergency that I need to come all the way across town to solve it for you?”

            “Jesus, Lyds, can you just get over here and I’ll explain everything. I’m fucking crackin’ up here and I need you.” I didn’t like the fear and desperation in my voice, but it seemed to do the trick.

            “Damn, babe, you really do sound bad. I’ll come, but it might take me a second. I’m not exactly up and ready right now.”

            “Thanks, Lyds. Just get here as soon as you can.”

            Lydia hung up. I tossed my phone on the bed and walked towards the door. The plan was to make some coffee and maybe a little bit of toast. Instead, I shut the door and clicked the lock. I sat down in the middle of my bed and watched the bedroom door until Lydia showed up.

            The next hour and a half was the most anxious time of my life. Fear kept me glued to my bed with the blanket pulled up over my shoulder like a kid who just saw a monster in the closet. Even at thirty-five, I firmly believed in the protective powers of being under the covers. Some instincts don’t fade with age.

            I was damn near crying when Lydia finally pulled into the driveway. Had she decided I was full of shit and just went back to bed, I might have stayed locked in that room until the life ran out of me. When I heard the car door slam, I jumped up out of bed and threw on some shorts and a shirt that could almost pass as clean. No matter how bad I felt, I couldn’t let this lady I kind of, sort of like or love see me shivering in my stained skivvies. I ran out of the room and was at the front door as she walked in.

            “Hey, Lyds, thanks for coming,” I said.

            “Yeah, well, this better be worth my time,” Lydia said. “I’m going on about three hours sleep here and I’m not in the mood for any silly bullshit.”   

            Seeing her standing in the doorway raised my spirts. Her frizzy hair and sleepy eyes reminded me of mornings waking up next to her. Some mornings those sleepy looks would lead to some of our best love making sessions. For a moment, fear and anxiety about the door was replaced by thoughts questioning why I ever let her get out of my bed.

            “Hello, Earth to Carl,” Lydia said, waving her hand in front of my face. “Please don’t tell me you called me all the way over here just to stare at my chest and give me the ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

            “Right, sorry,” I said. “I’m just glad to see you. You’re the only person I could call with this.”

            “Jesus, babe, you don’t look good at all. Are you feeling sick? I thought you might be checking me out, then you went white as a ghost.”

            “I’m not sure I know how to tell you what is going on here today. I think I’ll just have to show you. Will you come to the basement with me?”

            “The basement? What the hell is down there?”

            “I just need you to tell me if it looks any different to you, like if you notice something out of place.”

            “Different? Different how? Carl, I’m not sure I’ve ever even been in your basement. If I have, I sure as hell don’t remember enough about it to tell if anything is out of place.”

            “Please just come down there with me. I think you’ll know what I’m talking about when you see it. You came all this way, what harm would a few more steps be?”

            “If I go look at your basement, will you let me go home and go back to sleep?”

            “Of course. This really should only take a minute. I really appreciate you, Lyds.”

            She nodded and followed me reluctantly. I saw irritation and a touch of fear in her eyes. I also saw a bit of mistrust, like she thought I might be leading her into my basement to lock her up and do a bunch of weird shit to her. I must look really rough to make her look that way and it sank my heart a little to think she might be even a little scared of me.

            In the kitchen, we maneuvered around the remnants of last night’s party. Her eyes looked over the mess and, in my brain, I thought up every excuse I could for the state of it, but she didn’t say anything. Further conversation would just prolong this weird morning and I’d bet all the money I had she kept quiet just to get out of my house and on her way home as fast as possible.

            At the top of the stairs, I opened the basement door and flipped on the light. We walked down the steps, Lydia staying a couple steps behind, but still following all the way down. About half way down, the door came into view. No sound came from behind me; no gasp, no questions, just silence. Either she didn’t see anything or the sight of a tiny door in the basement wall was not noteworthy to her.

            At the bottom of the stairs, I turned to her and said, “Well?”

            “Well what?” she said.

            “That bit of wall under the ice skates there,” I said, pointing directly at the door. “That bit of wall doesn’t look odd to you?”

            “Do you mean that completely normal part of the wall right there? That part with the peeling paint and mold at the bottom? No, that doesn’t look odd to me. In fact, it looks like every other fucking bit of wall in this shithole basement.”

            So there it was. She couldn’t see it and I was clearly losing my mind. To her, my door was just another dirty part of this old house. I fully expected her to not only see the door, but to have the same strange compulsion to reach out and open it. Hell, I even hoped she might have some sort of explanation as to why the damn thing was there in the first place. Now I was stuck with the reality that I was just losing my mind.

            “Carl, please don’t tell me I came all this way just to look at your gross basement,” Lydia said.

            “I can’t believe it,” I said.

            “Believe what?”

            “Nothing. You should just go. I’m sorry I called.”

            “Nothing my ass. You look like you’re about to crack up on me. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong here?”

            “Seriously, it’s nothing. I just don’t feel well. I need to go back to bed.”

            “Dammit, Carl, I don’t believe you. You drag my ass out of bed to look at a damn wall then you won’t even tell me what’s really going on. Clearly something is bothering you and now I hope it ruins the rest of your fucking day. You’re an asshole.”

            Lydia turned and march up the stairs. I made a half-hearted attempt to stop her and she responded by inviting me to have relations with myself before slamming the door. No doubt I deserved that; I just wish I knew what was yet to come. I would have told her I loved her and ran out of the house with her. I didn’t know that morning would be the last time I’d see her, the last time I’d see anyone for that matter. All I knew as she stormed out was I was losing my marbles and no one was going to help me. I sat right down on the cold basement floor and cried like I’ve never cried before. My eyes were fixed on the door the whole time.

            The events of the next few days are not all together clear to me. After Lydia left and the crying was done, I went back upstairs to do some research. Surprise, surprise, Google found no legitimate history of doors just appearing out of thin air. The less than legitimate cases all just made me feel worse. All the top responses dealt in one form or another with mental health issues and referrals to specialists in my area who dealt in hallucinations and delusional behavior. I jotted down a couple of their names just in case.

            The internet provided no answers and the second set of eyes was a complete bust. Logic said I should leave the house and get away from this insane situation, but I stayed planted in my living room staring out the window. I’m not sure what I was afraid of, but I knew in my heart that leaving my house was only going to cause more trouble. Then I did what I always do in times of trouble. I got fall down, blackout, piss-yourself-and-don’t-even-notice drunk.

            When I woke up on my living room floor the next morning, my first move was to the basement to check on my door. If I could drink the thing into existence, maybe I could drink it into oblivion as well. No dice, the door was still there and I was sure this time that it was bigger than before. I laughed out loud and ran upstairs to get lit again. I passed that day drinking heavily and running downstairs every hour or so to make sure my door was still there. It always was.

            The next week followed roughly the same pattern. Every morning the door was still there and bigger than the day before. There was no longer a need to rush downstairs every hour or so because at some point on day two I just stayed down there. What little sleep I got was spent on an old cot in the middle of the floor. All my waking hours were spent staring at the door and fighting the urge to rip the damn thing open.

            I didn’t bath. I didn’t eat or drink anything that couldn’t be found in the basement, which was all beer and expired canned goods. At one point I think I heard someone pounding on my front door, but that eventually went away. I never bothered calling into work after the first day and was actually grateful when my boss called to tell me I was no longer an employee of DyCom Paints.

            The pull to open the door was stronger every second. The feeling of being controlled by some other being went from terrifying to uncomfortable to addicting. By the end, it felt like a drug I couldn’t live without. Brief moments of lucidity were hell for me, leaving me craving the sweet relief of my insanity. If I was truly losing my mind, I did not want to be aware of it.

            After eight days of living this way the door did something new. While sitting in my own filth, staring at the now five-foot-tall door, a calmness swept over me and I swear I saw the brass knob turn. I stood bolt upright and held my breath. Not a single noise could be heard in my basement outside of the beating of my heart. Never have I focused on anything harder than I focused on that knob. Dammit, it moved, I know it did.

            It turned again and kept turning until there was a click as loud as a shotgun in my silent basement. I stood perfectly still, not disturbing a single molecule of air around me. I was moments away from finding out what was behind door number one. Whatever had been pulling me to turn the knob all this time was finally sick of waiting.

            Should I have opened the door earlier? Should I have opened before it had a chance to get this big? Suddenly, I was sure whatever was coming had been waiting for the opening to be just large enough. I could have stopped it if only I had known. I could have opened the door sooner and left an opening too small for this thing to come through. It was never this thing urging me to open the door, it was something else altogether. Something knew what was on the other side of my door and knew I was the only hope of stopping it. It tried to tell me, it tried to guide me, but I was too chicken shit to listen. I knew then that I could have prevented whatever was about to happen. I also knew then that it was too late.

            The door burst open and a blinding light stung my eyes. A figure stepped into the light and slowly came into focus. Oh God. Oh, my holy God. Why did I wait? Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I open the door when it was smaller? I could have stopped this. Oh, God, please no.

The beast stepped out of the light and into our world.

Keeping Up

A friend of mine recently posed a question on Facebook: What is something you can’t justify spending money on? The premise was to find things his friends would bulk at spending on that wouldn’t cause others to think twice. There were a number of answers including Apple products, designer clothes, and gambling. The question got me thinking about the areas where I tend to be a bit tighter fisted and the areas where I am willing to spend a little more than others might find reasonable. The whole thing, combined with Kevin’s earlier post about rampant consumerism, got me thinking about the value of material possessions and the need to “keep up with the Joneses.”

First, my answers to my friend’s questions. My first response was a new car. I have never seen the value in shelling out extra money for a brand-new car when perfectly good used options are available that can save me tens of thousands of dollars. I am the kind to get a car, drive it until it dies, and replace it with something reliable that is a few years old and not super expensive. The car I drive now was three years old when I bought it and I have had in for over five years. It has the bells and whistles I enjoy (heated seats, blue tooth, sunroof) and was relatively inexpensive. I largely see new cars bought every 2-3 years as nothing more than status symbols and I couldn’t care less about the kind of stuff. I guess I shouldn’t offend those who enjoy new cars, it just doesn’t make sense to me.

My second response was an upgraded phone every year or two, which dovetails nicely with Kevin’s post. While I never saw the sense in getting a new, expensive car, I was definitely one of the sheep who felt the need to have the latest and greatest iPhone in my pocket at all times. I loyally – and foolishly – upgraded every chance I could to make sure I was as close to new as fiscally possible. Since the end of 2016, I’ve sang a different tune about my phone. I have been rocking my iPhone 7 since then and have no plan to upgrade until I absolutely have to. The phone is paid for and it makes no sense to me to spend upwards of $1,000.00 US on the newest phone just to have it. This is where my mind turned to the idea of “keeping up.”

While I’m sure people upgrade their phone for functional reasons, I believe the majority of people do it just so they can say they have the latest and therefore “best” phone available. It’s a point of pride and a way to not be ostracized from one’s social circle. Hell, that’s the reason I upgrade. I use my phone to chat with friends, listen to music, surf the web, and occasionally make phone calls. Pretty much any model of iPhone can help me achieve those tasks. I don’t take pictures, so a super fancy camera is wasted on me. I’m not a gamer, so enhanced graphics and processing speed aren’t a major concern. The core functions I need could be achieved by any smartphone on the market, so why did I waste all that money chasing the “best” phone on the market? I did it to keep up. I am thrilled to be free of that pressure now.

Today, I look at that line of thinking and laugh at how truly foolish it was. I suppose that kind of clarity comes only with age and life experience. I am truly ecstatic to be in my mid-thirties and to be aging out of the prime advertising demographics. New things are no longer targeted at me and there is no social pressure to “keep up” anymore. It is insanely liberating to spend my money on things that add value to my life, not my social standing (such as it ever was). Tying someone’s worth to their material possessions is childish and immature, but it is the way we are conditioned in this country. If you don’t have as good a thing as your peers, you are less than them and should feel inferior. This is the way the mass marketing machine keeps us forking over our hard-earned dollars week after week, year after year.

None of this should be read as an indictment of people who like new cars or phones, those are just examples from my personal values. If those things add value to your life, go crazy. This whole thing is an indictment of the notion that we HAVE to spend our money on status symbols to retain our personal value or worth. It has just been in my thirties that I’ve given this any thought and bulked at the notion of having to pass some test everyday to prove that I was hip, or up to date, or in the know. I’m ready to let popular life pass me by and focus on the things I truly value in my life.

Recently, I’ve taken this a step further by cancelling my Netflix subscription. I took a look at the money I was dishing out every month and the value Netflix added and decided it just didn’t balance out. Pressure to pay for all these streaming services is just a more subtle version of “Hey, you need the newest phone!” The pressure to “keep up” on all the trendy shows is enough to drive us made. Fear of missing out has made us all slaves to whatever thing is trending at any given moment, which includes spending DAYS of our lives staring at screens just so we don’t feel left out within our given tribes. Before I cancelled my Netflix, I did think “man, I am going to miss some stuff,” but I resisted that pull. In the weeks since, I have read multiple books and began writing again, both here in this blog and in the form of some fiction that I might share somewhere down the road. These are things I value deeply and have enriched my life greatly since the beginning of 2020.

Now all this probably makes me sound a bit pretentious and sanctimonious. To those charges, all I can say is, I’m a bit pretentious and sanctimonious at times. I promise I come by it honestly. And I am not some kind of miser who hordes my pennies saved by not buying phones or Netflix. I spend plenty of money on things people would probably shake their heads at. The thing I now take into consideration when spending is “does this add value to my life?” If the answer is yes, I go bonkers. Just look at my Amazon order history and you will see a man who is not afraid to push the boundaries of his disposable income. I just try to make sure the value added these days is MY value and not that of people I’m trying to impress. Trying to impress people is a waste of time. You do you and let the people who appreciate that stay in your life. Anyone else is not worth your time.

So, what do I spend my money on? Well, in the last couple years, I have developed a small obsession with footwear. How many pairs of shoes does a man really need? One dress, one athletic, a pair of boots, and maybe some causal sneakers. I have all of those in duplicate and there is really no end in sight. I like shoes and I like the patterned socks that go with them. I see them as a chance to show off my personality in what I consider to be an otherwise conservative wardrobe. They add value to my life and I couldn’t care less what others think about them.

I also drop some dough on music. In the last few years, I have easily dropped over $1,000 US on speakers, turntables, and records to play on said turntables. That is really not much when you consider how much stereo equipment can cost, but it is a substantial investment for someone in my income range. People have asked me why I buy vinyl when everything can be streamed now and the only answer I have is “I like it.” I get great pleasure form finding an album by a band I love, placing it on the table, dropping the needle, and letting the sweet sounds come out of a decent pair of speakers. I could give some bullshit answer about audio quality, but for me, I just feel a deeper connection to the music when the source is tangible and mechanical. Sending that money has added massive value to my life.

So that’s me, shoes and records. I have been liberated from chasing likes on Facebook or, to use an extremely dated saying, being up to speed at the water cooler. The only person I feel the need to keep up with anymore is me, and I tend to move a little slow these days.     

I Love Books

I love books. Books have been a constant and never disappointing companion in my life. From as young as I can remember, I have loved sticking my nose in a good book and blocking out the rest of the world. As I think about things I might like to contribute to this blog, it seems only natural to discuss books. In the future, I may review a book I’ve just read or give a little something about an old favorite. Today, I want to piggyback off my post about my favorite songs of 2019 and share the best books I read in 2019. Unlike the songs, these won’t be books that were released in 2019, but books I read last year and that has an impact on me.

Before we get to the list, I’d like to discuss why reading for pleasure is such an important part of my life. It goes back to when I was a child and the example set by my parents. Both encouraged me to read and both are readers themselves. My mom always used to say, “if you have a good book with you, you’ll never be bored.” I remember one summer day when she sat on the front porch reading while I ran around the yard doing kid stuff. I was shocked by how long she could sit there and read while there was so much fun to be had, it felt like an eternity. In reality, it was probably an hour max. I asked her how many pages she read in that time and she said about 50. I was blown away. Was it really possible to read 50 whole pages in one sitting without taking a break? I didn’t know that was something a person could do. To this day, the 50-page benchmark has stuck in my brain as a productive reading session (though I usually go well beyond it and have read entire novels cover to cover in one sitting before).

The first paperback novels I remember reading were some Star Wars books that took place in the post Return of the Jedi world. This was many years before Disney made the post Jedi world a thing on the big screen. It was awesome to see what Luke, Han, and Leia got up to after taking down the Empire. I must have read a dozen of those books as a preteen. I have a vivid memory of the day my mom told me and my brother that her and dad were getting a divorce. We were so distraught, mom took us to the mall that night and let us each get something to kind of ease the pain. I cannot recall what my brother got, but I got a Star Wars book. I locked myself in my bedroom for the next few days and ran away to a world where things made sense and the good guys always won.

I guess that is the real power of fiction. As is probably the case with most young people, my primary pleasure reading as a teen was fiction, specifically science fiction and horror novels. I would read anything I could find written by Stephen King or Michael Crichton. Jurassic Park is the first novel I remember reading that was geared more towards adults and not YA Star Wars fans. I liked being able to escape to a world that was far more exciting than mine would ever be. Through books, we are able to put ourselves into any context we like and create the world anyway we like to suit the adventure we are on. Unlike movies, books give us almost complete control over how characters sound and look and what their surroundings look, sound, and smell like. It is something cinema and television just cannot match and never will.

As I got older, I discovered the joy of reading nonfiction for pleasure. I am something of an auto didact. Formal education never really engaged me the way it probably should have. You tell me I HAVE to learn something and it becomes a chore, a job, a pain in the ass. If I DECIDED to learn something, I go all in, and the best source of knowledge on any subject under the sun is books. Whenever a topic piques my interest, I turn to the internet only as a tool to find the best books on that topic, and one rarely does the trick. When I decided I wanted to learn more about the founding of this country (thank you, Lin Manuel Miranda) I didn’t just pick up one book about the revolution, I grabbed several. I read bios of Washington, Jefferson, Adams, and Hamilton. There really is a never-ending supply of information tucked away in your local library if you just take the time to look.  

I am a bit of a history buff so I love curling up with a good biography of historical figures like Caesar, Hamilton, or FDR. I will deep dive into books about the classical world or the Civil War. I cannot get enough of it. I have read books on political ideology, moral philosophy, social responsibility, and memoirs of great athletes and musicians. I have books about my favorite baseball stadium. I have books about Buddhism. I have books by comedians about living your best life. I have books about how to write books!

There is no way to measure the awesome impact reading has had on my life. It is something our society is getting too far away from with our 140-character culture and the instant gratification of streaming. People have forgotten that reading makes us all better people. It makes us smarter. It opens our minds to new ideas and possibilities. It forces us to quiet the constant noise around us and sink into our own brains for a moment. In a world where people are constantly swiping, clicking, and streaming in an attempt to distract themselves during every dull moment, I am grateful for the wisdom of my mom. I am never bored when I have a good book with me. And I always do.

Here are some books I read in 2019 that had an impact on me.

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes: I read this book in just a few short days and was sad to see it end. It is the story of a mentally disabled man who is chosen to test an experimental procedure to increase his IQ. The book offers an amazing look at the way humans interact with one another and the value of a life outside of the things was can see and measure. I walked away from this book thinking I had just had a transformative experience and that is probably the best endorsement I can give. This book is a classic for a reason and I’m only sorry it took me this long to give it a read.

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders: I was turned on to George Saunders by another book I read, Gumption by Nick Offerman. In Gumption, Offerman profiles people he feels exhibit the best of humanity. I figured if it was good enough for Ron Swanson, it was good enough for me. Saunders is best known for his collections of short stories (Pastoralia and The Tenth of December being particularly delightful examples). Lincoln in the Bardo is his first novel and he dose not disappoint. The story follows the soul of Willie Lincoln in the first night after his physical body was laid to rest. Playing against the very real backdrop of the Civil War and President Lincoln’s grief over his late son, Lincoln in the Bardo offers a unique look at mortality, love, and letting go, all while supplying a healthy does of Saunders’s trademark wit and humor. This one gets all the thumbs up. I sincerely hope he writes another novel.

Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World by Cal Newport: It may seem odd to promote a book about digital minimalism in a blog that most of you probably got to from a social media page. Odd as it is, it really speaks to the core of what Newport tries to express in this book. It’s not about abandoning all things electronic and becoming Luddites, but being deliberate in choosing how we spend our precious time and not getting sucked into the online void created by advertisers and attention grabbers. I read this book because I was feeling overwhelmed and frustrated by the amount of time I spent mindlessly scrolling through Facebook or other sites. The lessons in the book really hit home and I can honestly say I am a better and more productive person since reading it. I would recommend this book to anyone out there, not just those who already feel the oppression of our digital age. There are lessons and ideas in here that can apply to everyone, from those just looking to organize their digital lives to those looking to go off the grid completely. Big time thanks to Yes Theory for pointing me towards this one.

Petty: The Biography by Warren Zanes: A great bio of one of my all-time favorite rockers, Tom Petty. Written before Petty died, this book takes us from his beginnings in Gainesville to his Hall of Fame stardom. Get an inside look at the forming of The Heartbreakers, Tom’s friendship with legends like Jeff Lynne and George Harrison, and the issues that threatened to tear the band and Tom’s family apart. Fantastic read if you are even remotely a fan of Tom Petty. The book is extremely well written and, since it was done before he passed, there are large chucks of quotes and stories from Tom himself all over the book.

The Civil War, Vol 1: Fort Sumter to Perryville by Shelby Foote: The title pretty much gives away what this one is about. I picked this up because I knew it was a big source of information for the incredible Civil War documentary by the legendary Ken Burns. Interviews with Foote appears regularly throughout the epic series and he is easily the best part of the whole thing. I could listen to the man talk about anything with his slow and disarming southern drawl. The book was incredibly rich with detail and portraits of the characters who would define the war. While its is a bit heavy on military tactic and maneuvers during the battles, the balance of the book is smart, well written, and easy to read. Recommended to anyone who enjoys books about history, military history, or just wants to know about The Civil War. I am looking forward to diving into volumes two and three. Can’t wait to see how it ends! 

Consumerism

My phone is taking a shit. Or so it would seem. It claims to be making a call but I can’t hear any ringing in the earpiece. This happens on speakerphone as well. There are other issues related to calling but I’m not going to go into them here because it’s late and I’m, as the French say, lazy.

I suppose it may be time to get a new phone as I’ve had this one for a little over 5 years. And it was an older model when I bought it. But I’ll be damned if I’m happy about it. And it’s not just because I’m cheap. That’s certainly part of it. But a much larger part of it is that I have recently been getting more and more sickened by consumer culture and its effects on the environment and our psyches. It disgusts me to see people getting a new phone every one to two years because a new model has a slightly “upgraded” feature that literally no one asked for.

The effect of this rampant consumerism on the environment is beyond sickening. The extraction of rare earth materials to continue pushing this garbage onto us is so detrimental not only to the regions where the mining is happening, but also on the global level. Again, I’m far too lazy right now to do research on the effects, but I have been doing some reading on the subject and it just makes me want to use what I have to its fullest extent. I like to think of that as my farmer mentality. Reuse until it can’t be reused anymore. Only buy something new when you absolutely must.

I have tried a number of different troubleshooting methods to fix my phone, up to and including a full factory reset. Nothing has worked. I’m going to try to take it to one of those phone repair places to see if there is a solution they know of that I haven’t tried. My hopes are low that anything will work. If I have to get a new phone, I’m determined to not spend an arm and a leg on the newest of the new with all the bells and whistles I frankly don’t have the time, energy, or desire to learn about and use.

The obsolescence being designed into all of our technology products is a huge problem. Of course, like in all things, progress is defined as more, more, more. Bigger, better! Use all of the resources until there are no more! I’m doing my best to not be a part of that culture. But, goddammit, it’s hard in this day and age to avoid it completely. Each time I fail at it, I feel sick to my stomach. Overwhelmed. Like I’ve failed somehow.

I’m not here passing judgment on anyone who celebrates this type of culture, but I am not one of those people. I intend to flesh out some of the ideas I touched on here in a future post because I have many opinions about many things that touch this subject. Income inequality, wastefulness, willful ignorance, consumerism, capitalism. But tonight, I just needed to word vomit all over the place. Thanks for reading.

100 Days of Sweat

For years I have struggled with maintaining a healthy lifestyle. I’ll do great for a few weeks or months then fall off hard and have to start all over again. I could never get my nutrition where it needed to be and I could never maintain a consistent workout routine. Cheat days would turn into cheat weeks and any progress made would vanish in the blink of an eye. Challenges with friends didn’t work. Setting goals and offering myself rewards for achieving those goals didn’t work. Basically everything I read online about how to create and maintain a healthy routine was crap for me.

In mid-August, I stepped on the scale and was shocked by what I saw. Granted, I was coming off a four week stretch that included two vacations and very little exercise, but 251lbs was a bit much. Actually, a bit much is a bit of an understatement. It was the largest number I’d seen on a scale in many years. I was embarrassed by that number and felt dejected and sad, then I saw a video on YouTube that changed everything.

I had been a fan of the Yes Theory YouTube channel for a few months prior to finding the video in question. I was drawn in one random day by a video of these guys staying in a life raft out at sea for 24 hours just to see what it was like. I was hooked immediately and subscribed to their channel. I watched their older videos and fell in love with their whole philosophy on life. The Yes Theory guys are all about seeking discomfort and stepping outside of the boundaries of our normal lives to experience things we may otherwise miss completely. They do things like walk across entire countries and strand themselves in random cities for 24 hours with no money, relying on the kindness of strangers to get a meal or find a place to crash.

The video that started my journey of wellness was titled 100 Days of Sweat. Suffering a stretch of depression and lack of motivation, Yes Theory host Ammar challenged himself to sweat every day for 100 straight days. Ammar’s goal was to sweat enough that at least one drop fell to the floor. Didn’t matter what the activity was, as long as one drop of sweat fell off his body and hit the ground. He did this for 100 straight days and challenged Yes Theory fans to do the same. I figured this would be an interesting challenge to at least see if I could establish a routine. It ended up being much more than that.

I made the commitment on August 28^th to workout for 100 straight days. I didn’t really have any idea what I was doing, nor did I have any goals in mind other than getting through as many days as I could. I had little faith in myself that I would finish, it just seemed like an impossible thing to do, so I decided to post pictures of my sweaty face everyday on Facebook as a way to stay accountable. That was when all the love and support of my friends and family came flowing in. I was overwhelmed by the encouragement coming from almost everyone I knew. Likes and comments and all other manner of love came pouring in with each new pic I posted. People who saw me in real life commented on how inspirational it was and how proud they were of me. It sounds a little silly to say that out loud, but it really was the number one thing that kept me going.

The excitement of the challenged carried me through the first few weeks when I would have been most likely to quit, then the routine set in. Going to the gym just became part of my day, like brushing my teeth or going to work. I am fortunate to work for a company that provides a gym right at our office, so working out after work literally just means going downstairs. It was pretty easy to say “this is part of my workday and, like the rest of my work, I don’t get to leave until this is done.” I found the Athlean-X YouTube channel to give me pointers on how to maximize my workouts. Host Jeff Cavaliere is the only online fitness personality I found that wasn’t a complete douche. His message was based in putting the science back into strength and he preached sustainable routines and moves that were both effective and helped prevent injury. I really cannot stress enough how much his videos helped me develop my routine and nutrition. Jeff explains thing exceedingly well and offers tips for everyone from absolute beginners to pro athletes. His credentials are impeccable. He’s got a bunch of letters after his name that mean he’s studied this shit and he’s worked with guys from the NFL, WWE, and MLB – where he served as a trainer for the New York Mets. He is not some roided out maniac with a camera and a gym membership who eats boiled chicken and broccoli 97 times a day. 

I quickly fell in love with a Push/Pull/Leg split with some cardio days sprinkled in. My routine is below for anyone interested. I will say now that I am not suggesting this is the only way to workout, and I am not really interested in hearing anyone’s critique of my routine. This is simply the routine I found works best for me and the pursuit of my personal goals. I encourage everyone to find such a routine for themselves.

Monday – Push Day (Chest, Triceps, Shoulders)

Tuesday – Cardio (45 minutes on treadmill, bike, or elliptical)

Wednesday – Leg Day

Thursday – Pull Day (Back and Biceps)

Friday – Cardio

Saturday – Full Body (Less intense focus on all muscle groups)

Sunday – Light Cardio or Yoga

All this working out really shone a bright light on my nutritional habits. I have heard the saying “you can’t outwork bad nutrition,” and I firmly agree. All the work I was doing in the gym would not mean shit if I kept stuffing my face full of all the delicious and terrible things I loved. Jeff Cavaliere played a big part in me getting this message through my thick skull. Again, his approach to nutrition is grounded in science and real life, not fads and bro mentality. I have adopted his hatred for the terms “diet” and “cheat meal.” If you really want to see consistent and maintainable success, you need to create a nutrition plan that is sustainable and does not make you dread meal time. It’s not the easiest balancing act, and I still struggle with it at times, but through some trial and error, I created a nutrition plan for myself that will allow me to achieve my goals and still feel satisfied after dinner. Having a healthy relationship with food, I now don’t feel guilty or like I’m “cheating” if I go out and have a not so great for me meal and a couple beers. I know that my food intake and work is on point most of the time and the occasional meal isn’t going to derail me. There is no need to dress it up with a cute little name that makes it sound like I should be shame eating cheeseburgers alone in the dark.

Through the 100 days, I was amazed by a couple things. First, how easy it really was to workout every day. There were definitely days I didn’t want to go or my body was a little sore, but for the most part I felt pretty good about getting it in every damn day. I did miss three days in my challenge, two due to illness and one due to Thanksgiving, but I made up for them. The challenge should probably be called 100 days of sweat out of 103, but it just doesn’t sound all that good. Again, the love I received from all my family and friends was a big factor in keeping my spirits and motivation up throughout the challenge.  

The second, and more profound, thing I noticed was the affect it had on other parts of my life. Sure I saw and felt physical improvements, which was expected, but the mental improvements far outweighed anything I saw in the mirror. My confidence went up and up with every day I completed. I had more energy to attack hobbies that had fallen by the wayside, like writing and playing my guitar. The sense of accomplishment I felt upon finishing was unlike anything I’d known before. I truly feel like I made a monumental change in my life, one that will carry me through not just physical wellbeing, but mentally and spiritually as well. The success of this sweat challenge and the confidence it gave led directly to my 100 days of writing challenge (currently in day 4 as of this posting). I know it is possible to complete and I know it is a great way to create and maintain a positive routine.

So that is my story. 100 (or 103) days of sweat. 251lbs on day one, 231lbs on day 100. As you can see below, much less face as well. During the challenge I completed my first two 5K runs and successfully achieved my goal of finishing in under 30 minutes on the second race. If you’re inspired by all this, I encourage you to attempt your own 100 day challenge. It doesn’t have to be sweat related, just some habit you are trying to create, maintain, or rekindle. Doing anything for 100 straight days is a great way to create that habit and the sense of accomplishment you feel when it is done will propel you to any other challenge you undertake.   

Progressive Camels

Every year I go North with Dustin and my buddy John. Each year, John makes an old school mix for the trip. In 2019 he included a song titled “Lady Fantasy” by the prog rock band Camel. It was the perfect song for the trip. It had a little bit of something for everybody. The song kicks in a with a rather rad keyboard intro. After a brief prog-y interlude, the band breaks into some melodic jamming followed by a nearly perfect impersonation of Iron Butterfly (Dustin’s jam). At about 3:45, Camel rips into a faster paced, guitar heavy noodle session for just over a minute. This is followed up by some really awesome synthesizer work reminiscent of something you’d find on the classic Steve Hackett album Voyage of the Acolyte (John’s jam). Then the vocals kick back in for a little down tempo respite thick with classic prog rock lyrics. This is just the setup for one of the most amazing finishes to a song you’ll likely ever hear (Kevin’s jam).

After listening to this song on infinite repeat for roughly three days straight, I ended up coming across a list of the 100 greatest prog rock albums. Naturally, I decided to listen to all of them. I haven’t gotten all that far into it, but I’ve enjoyed discovering some new music while also listening to a few albums that made me want to rip my ears off.

I was shocked to find Radiohead’s OK Computer on the list as I’ve never considered Radiohead a prog rock group. But who am I to argue with the list? I listened to album for the thousandth time and decided to write down my thoughts about each track. I was shocked at how much I ended up writing and thought it might be a nice thing to share on this blog. Because, as Dustin said in the last post, we’re likely going to be writing about music a whole hell of a lot on this thing.

The songs with the asterisk are the ones that stick out to me as the classic songs of the album, those I will never not listen to.

Airbag - I love how off the bass and drums are with each other. It’s just enough of a difference in tempo and beat that it’s interesting but not so far off that it sounds bad.

Paranoid Android* - I love that it’s really multiple songs wrapped up in one. There are, I think, three distinct themes in it and I love every one of them. And the bass line. My god, the bass line. It’s just awesome. It has just enough aggression. And then the come down part. This part gives me chills. It’s just so melancholy sounding. And some of the singing in the back is reminiscent of a cello, which I think is one of the saddest sounding instruments ever. I love cello music. And then it comes back in with that aggressive business for just a little bit. This song is tops.

Subterranean Homesick Alien - The subject matter of this one is just so bizarre. Thom Yorke is a real weirdo. But it’s just such a dreamy song. But the drums ground it in the same way that the rest of the music just lets your mind float off into the stratosphere. I almost want to take a nap just listening to it.

Exit Music (For a Film)* - This song is interesting because it sounds sad but the lyrics are actually kind of hopeful. That distorted bass line though. Nothing beats that. That’s possibly the best moment on the album when that comes in.

Let Down – At about 3:45 this song just kicks right in for me. I love the double and triple tracked vocals.

Karma Police – While I do like this song a lot, I think it was overplayed and isn’t as dynamic as I want it to be. There’s a reason it was a radio hit.

Fitter Happier – I don’t hate this one because I quote it all the time when I’m talking about my exercise and diet. Fitter, happier, more productive. I think I’ve only listened to that one all the way through like 4 or 5 times.

Electioneering – This is just a good rocker of a song.

Climbing Up the Walls – I forgot about this one. It’s just okay. There’s probably a reason I forgot about it.

No Surprises* – This is an absolutely lovely song. Until you listen closely to the lyrics. It’s about a guy who’s just given up. He’s so unhappy in his life circumstances that it seems like there’s only one way out of it. “A handshake with carbon monoxide…” It’s a song of resignation that life will just never be what you want it to be and it’s not worth it.

Lucky – This song contrasts so starkly with the one before it. There’s hope here. But the music doesn’t seem that way. It’s like coming out of the haze of acceptance that it’s time to end things and realizing that maybe you don’t want to end it all. But it’s a bittersweet realization because nothing is really all that different. You just have a new appreciation for life even with all of its warts and awfulness.

The Tourist – This one’s a bit slow. But a good way to end the album.

Best Jams of 2019

A large portion of what we’ll talk about on Two Cold Pops revolves around music. With that in mind, I thought it would be fun to share some of my favorite jams from 2019. The internet is full of Best of 2019 lists right now, why not add another to the never ending noise.

Kevin and I are both avid listeners of music and have found over the years that we have a similar taste – most of the time. It’s funny, when we first became friends, we thought music would be the one thing we didn’t agree on. Kevin knew I liked acts like Bob Seger and The Beatles and I knew he was into heavy prog stuff like King Crimson and we didn’t take the time to look any deeper. As time went by we both realized there was more to each other’s musical tastes than just a few bands and slowly found groups we both liked. We called it our music Venn diagram. If you’re not familiar with a Venn diagram, it’s one of those things that looks like a Mastercard logo where you each put things you like in your individual circle and put the shit you both like in the overlapping part in the middle. You know what, if you don’t know what a Venn diagram is, you’re probably not smart enough to enjoy our blog. Go back to elementary school.

Anyway, the middle part of our diagram grew and grew over time to the point that it is now larger than either of the individual parts. Bands like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin were there all along. Over time we have introduced each other to new acts we may not have found on our own. I got Kevin to listen to Arcade Fire (maybe my favorite band going right now) and we ended up seeing them live at DTE. It was definitely my favorite concert experience of all time. Seriously, go see Arcade Fire if you get the chance. Kevin has turned me onto a number of bands, including All Them Witches, who we have seen multiple times and always enjoy.

The meatiest part of our Venn diagram has to be a band that will make an appearance below, Kalamazoo’s own, The Go Rounds. We saw them randomly at some free show in Ann Arbor in 2017 and have been obsessed ever since. We go see them every chance we get, which is often since they are local, and have both contributed money to the cause of getting their music out there. They really are a phenomenal band with a large catalog of eclectic songs. Listen to The Go Rounds, you will not be disappointed. Do it now.

History lesson complete, here are my five favorite songs from 2019.

1.   Social Cues – Cage the Elephant

This song is a banger. Many people have caught me dancing in may car to this song at stop lights. I have been a sort of tertiary fan of these guys for a while now. I knew some of their radio stuff, and liked it, but never went much deeper. This song got me into them in a real way and I will be exploring their entire catalog now.

2.      Bali – The Go Rounds

  

I think I’ve already expressed how much I love this band. Whatever You May Be is hands down my favorite album of 2019. There are a few songs from that record that could be in this spot, but Bali was one I always came back to when thinking about these guys. There is something mystical and catchy about it that really gets me going. Probably the best way to describe most of their music.

3.      Running Up That Hill – Meg Myers

This is a cover of a Kate Bush song from the eighties. I didn’t know that. I didn’t even know who Kate Bush was before hearing this song. I do know that the 2019 version of this song is a powerful, synthy delight.

4.      Lo/Hi – The Black Keys

Another banger. Everyone knows about The Black Keys, so just listen to them do their thing and enjoy. Car dancing is encouraged.

5.      Poison the Well – Modest Mouse

I love this band. I love everything they do. There were other songs I might have put here, but I couldn’t leave Modest Mouse off my list. Everything these guys do just gets into me and stirs up all kinds of shit.

Honorable Mention

Alligator – Of Monsters and Men

When Am I Gonna Lose You – LocalNatives

Longshot – Catfish and the Bottlemen