Southern Hospitality Isn't Dead

   


     Okay, so it's been a while since I posted a blog. That is due to a belief that I hold to be true: No one cares what anyone else has to say. Am I wrong? Maybe. But I am still operating under that mentality. So why bother typing something no one will odds are ever read? I don't know, what's with all the questions. Get off muh' back.

     Now that we have that settled, I guess I wanted to talk about recording my first acoustic album. I've been meaning to do this for years and other things have always gotten in the way. I'm a firm believer that everything will happen in it's own time. I had written several songs over the past few years, some involving my personal faith and beliefs and some not. I tend to express whatever I'm feeling through song whatever the context may be. Sometimes that is pertaining to my faith and sometimes not. But my faith is a very big part of who I try to be, so it was only natural for me to record those songs. It's called 'My Acoustic Faith' which I feel is pretty explanatory, but I've struggled about how to promote it without being overly annoying about it. I'm proud of the music, but I'm also not one to force feed anyone what I believe.

     Being raised in the south, I have watched a million times as someone angry & uneducated or just well meaning and socially backward rant and rave trying to force someone into their belief system.. Case in point, I was on the University of Kentucky campus one day when some gentlemen(I use that term loosely) began screaming at passers by that they were all going to hell. Literally spit flying, screaming in people's faces. I narrowly avoided them, knowing my first reaction would be hostile in return. For some reason we're taught as young boys in Kentucky to throw fists first and worry about the consequences later. That experience has always stuck out to me as how not to win others to your cause. Really? You're going to scream at someone until they suddenly decide the screaming, angry person is right?  Has that ever worked? Has one political pundit, lawyer, or preacher in this case ever managed to present a winning argument by just red faced yelling? I'd think not. No one has ever been 'screamed to Jesus.'

     So it was for that reason I try to be a bit more low key. I believe what I believe & will gladly tell you about it should you want to know. I'd like everyone to believe the things I do but by that same line of logic, I feel everyone can believe how they will. I won't be screaming at you & I expect the same courtesy. That aside, I am very proud of the collection of songs I've put together and would be honored for anyone bothering to read this to check it out regardless of your personal beliefs.

The link is below. Thanks~

Michael Cook- My Acoustic Faith

Japanic

      In the Year of our Lord 2009, My wife and I had the good fortune to travel to Japan. One of my oldest and best friends was getting married and the couple had decided they were going to Tokyo for the honeymoon. They graciously asked if we would like to travel with them and we agreed. It was the single greatest adventure of my life and I could probably write without ceasing about how much I enjoyed our time there. It was truly amazing to feel so involved and integrated into another culture. However, today I would like to focus on one particular aspect. One of the more awkward experiences I have ever lived through.

     We spent most of our time in Tokyo, but in the middle of our stay we had decided to travel by train to Kyoto to see the old capitol. It was truly a different world from Tokyo's bustling crowds and flashing lights. My wife had heard of a portrait studio there where tourists could have authentic geisha/samurai pictures made. I have always admired the samurai disciplines, codes of honor and bushido, so of course I would like to have my portrait taken as a samurai while standing in Kyoto.

     We entered the small studio on one of the side streets and were greeted warmly. The girls were taken away first because of the rigorous makeup process and intricacies of the geisha garments. It takes quite some time to get into. Joey and I were left watching a random talk show and despite understanding very little, I found myself glued to it. If there is a television on I am going to watch it.  Even more so when it's Japanese television, it is amazingly whacky and vibrant.

     Finally a small, polite lady emerged from the curtain with a great big smile said "Samurai!" and motioned for us to follow her. We were taken to a small room upstairs and told to have a seat. For the sake of any younger readers or anyone easily offended, I will try to keep my wording as PG as possible, because here's when the awkwardness begins. Another young lady enters the room carrying two stacks of neatly folded white garments, and gives us instruction to change into them. Much to my horror as I unfold the garments they appeared to be, to my fat American eyes, a girl's medium shirt, some tiny boxer shorts and the tabi socks. All of which are see through and as thin as rice paper. Joey and I gave each other an uncomfortable glance.

I undressed and changed into the ridiculously small clothes, laughing all the while. The shirt was stretched beyond any capacity the maker had intended. The fact that it did not rip or explode killing everyone nearby is probably a miracle. The tiny thin boxer shorts may as well have not existed. On the street, I would have been locked up for indecent exposure. In America, I would have just been photographed and put on peopleofwalmart.com.  I don't have a picture of course, but for the sake of illustration. I present the following:

     Granted it may not have been this extreme, but it certainly felt like it. At this point we hear a knock at the door and a small "ready?" coming from the other side. We say yes and two young women enter, they begin dressing us in the samurai costumes. From my perception, the young lady dressing Joey is being very professional and careful to remain as such. The young lady dressing me, not so much.

     As my prime example, at some point she needed to tie something behind me. Rather than get off her knees and go around, she decides to bury her face in my nether region and just tie it. After what felt like 15 minutes of tying, she leans back and stares me straight in the face. I'm sure that I was bright red. I'm going to omit several other small awkward details for the sake of keeping this family friendly. When we finally are dressed enough to exhale again. Joey and I exchange another glance as the girls finish dressing us.  They smiled politely and exited. We began laughing again and quipped about how we hoped that didn't cost extra.

     The pictures turned out great, we had a fantastic trip and we have memories that will endure our lifetime. But so will the embarrassment of being dressed by a complete stranger with obvious boundary issues. Cheers to you Kyoto Lady, It takes a lot to embarrass me and you did it with ease.

Sometimes My Stupidity Amazes Me

As you may or may not know, I have a Craftsman lawnmower that is every bit as old as I am. I paid $120ish dollars for it a few years ago and after a couple cans of orange spray paint, it became a horrible version of the General Lee from The Dukes of Hazard. I did this mainly as joke and less an attempt to produce something beautiful. The thought of my neighbors having to stare at this abomination as I putt around the yard makes me smile widely. Despite being in good condition for it's age, 'The General' as I frequently call it much to the dismay of my wife was plagued by several nagging problems.

The ignition switch is tricky, I have to turn it a certain way and hold my mouth ever so slightly agape before the engine will crank. I have to manually hold the choke on the carburetor while doing a rain dance, plus everything needed to make the engine crank. The chain guard being old and bent has caused the chain to break numerous times. One summer I probably replaced 4 or more master links before I found the exact problem, the guys at the hardware store were not surprised at all to see me every week. The nut holding the blade to the spindle on the deck is kinda stripped and if I hit anything other than grass, it's gotta be flipped on it's side and beat mercilessly until it's once again snug enough to mow. The belts slip, the tires are all full of fix-a-flat and it's as loud as it is ugly. BUT at the end of the day, the yard is mowed and it's still easier than push mowing. I left out one little detail... the battery.

The battery has never been good. However, after a few jump starts at the beginning of the mowing season it will kinda start charging and will work for the rest of the year until the mowing season ends. Thus, I have never really contemplated getting a new battery. I have a good charger, but the method of choice is usually to hook it up to the red top optima battery in my old Camaro (I know, how trashy can one guy be right?) But yesterday I learned a very important lesson, a lesson that at least 3 men I have learned my 'man lessons' from had warned me about. Always take my rings off while working on ANYTHING.

My father and older brother were mechanics by trade for most of my childhood. I grew up in a garage and I still love all things motorized. My friend Corey, who for all intents and purposes, is my other older brother and I have spent countless hours working on things over the years. I have always watched him take his rings off before working on anything. I was never one for wearing rings in the past, so this was never an issue. I hated any hand accessories, I never wore rings, bracelets or even watches. But now having a wedding ring and several others, I rarely bother to take them off.

A day or so before my father passed away, he gave me his rings. One of which had a curious little notch in it that was the result of him accidentally arcing electricity through it and severely burning his finger. After that, he made sure his rings were nowhere near anything he was working on. Needless to say, he had warned me of this very event. My brother had warned me to avoid wearing rings at least 6 billion times. I beheld Corey first hand for years making sure his rings were in pocket. So yesterday was my second time using the riding mower this year, I had been push mowing due to the blade being loose as indicated before. As I ever so carefully turn the key, my fears are confirmed. The battery is dead. My rings were on my fingers. How dumb can I be right?

Like always I rolled it to the Camaro and began to hook up the jumper cables. The space the battery sits in is kinda tight due to the location and it's a bit like playing Operation. I suck at Operation. As I hooked the last positive to the post of the battery, my ring made contact with the side of the car and the clamp. A shower of sparks began to fly and as I tried to pull my hand out it got wedged there for way longer than it should have. After what seemed like 15 minutes I finally freed my finger. The ring was still glowing a bit and there was an ever so tiny flame underneath that I promptly blew out. This particular ring doesn't come off easy under normal circumstances so I knew I was in trouble when I tugged gently and it was still firmly in place smoldering. I could do nothing but helplessly stare it as I made my way to the water hose. I doused it with water and gave another slight tug. This time the ring broke lose and came off...with more skin than I would have believed possible. I couldn't help but laugh.

There I stood, fully deserving of what I had just experienced. I knew better, I felt so stupid. But I also felt some sense of closeness to my father. Despite any pain I was in, I found myself smiling. My ring has the same little curious notch in it now. I realized that no matter how many times you are told not to do something, it sometimes takes first hand experience to truly learn NOT to do it. I will NEVER wear my rings again while working on anything.

Lastly, I leave you with the least gross picture I have. Enjoy. :D

My Blood Pours Out In Black And White...

So I have a blog. I like to write. Yet I never sit down and write blogs. I can directly blame this key flaw in my logic to my recent build up of mental anguish. The pressure in my head builds and without this blog acting as a bypass valve, I have gone quite insane. I have a lifetime of regrets. Missed opportunities, blown chances, and moments while reflecting that I cringe at my own words and actions.

Here's to having dreams and not chasing them. I consider myself a dreamer, I think we all start out that way. I once believed that life would walk up and hand me opportunities by the boatload and I would just ride an easy wave of good fortune right into my childhood dream of being an entertainer. I thought positive thoughts and meager talent was enough to shoot for the stars. No one ever gave me the 'you can do anything' speech, though I never received the 'you suck and can do nothing right' speech either. This spurred me at an early age to formulate my own opinion that someday, despite being born in the middle of nowhere without the financial means to ever leave said nowhere, that I would someday be up in lights.

But I'm here now to tell you boys and girls, in case you weren't aware, life does not work that way. It takes a lot of drive and hard work to get ahead in anything, but us artsy kids often lack both. The people on your iPods and television screens didn't just trip and fall into fortune and fame. Many times people with very little 'talent' to speak of are at the very forefront of entertainment, while truly talented people pump gas down the street to make ends meet. I am by NO means saying that I'm amazing at anything enough that someone would pay good money to see it. As well, I'm not saying that the occasional 'Cinderella Story' doesn't happen, but it's the exception and not the rule. The fact is that I feel like I have greatly let myself down. Here is the saddest fact of all. I'm not alone.

We've grown up in an age where television and more recently the internet have deceived everyone under 35 into thinking that they are or at any second, could become superstars. That we are owed something. That we are culturally relevant. That we are on the verge of fame. I'm another Snooki just waiting to happen. I know there are exceptions to those statements as well.

I have friends who are well grounded. They grew up and did what is expected of them in the south. They got married, started reproducing as quickly as possible and working 9 to 5 jobs. Sprinkle in some church, NASCAR and Wal-Mart, and they are able to put away their silly childish dreams and exude some semblance of happiness and contentment. I envy these friends, for my brain just isn't wired in such a manner. I'm not implying I'm special or above anyone. It's more an issue of not understanding why I can't be happy simply where I am. I don't have it bad. I'm very fortunate to have the support system that I have and I'm thankful. That makes it tough to pinpoint the source of the uneasiness and malaise.

I have other friends who have picked a coast or a much larger city, fled to it and are now in some form of entertainment or artistic expression even if they themselves are not the main event. They are at least in the same arena. They are working in something they love whether they still dream of one day being a star attraction or they have settled for just being a part of it all, they too seem at least satisfied. I envy them just as much. I still believe success in anything artistic takes an amount of confidence bordering on arrogance that I just have trouble with. I am a very logical person and I have trouble believing my own hype. Confidence and humility are in a constant knife fight in my brain.

The abridged version boils down to this. If I had only tried harder, put forth some more effort, then I could settle happily into obscurity. Live a quiet, normal life and be content. But knowing that I never really tried, that's what will eat at me. That's what keeps me up at night. I know I should let go of all this regret, but after clenching it so tightly, for so long it's a tall order.

If you're still reading at this point, please don't think this is a pity party. Please don't go away thinking 'Wow that dude's is a few days from a shot gun in his mouth.' I'm still a musician, it's all I know how to really be. Our band Level Ground is doing well and we are working very hard one day at a time to make our passion our profession. We are able to reach out to others who are struggling with various problems through the Celebrate Recovery program. Just as I am struggling every day to stop looking back and move forward. Regret can only hold you back, let it go. Just let it go.

Wait, What? Okay.

I'll try to keep this brief.
I had started my original blog a few months back. I mainly used it as my journal and would often pour my brain out until such time as it filled with garbage... I had to spout the garbage somewhere, that was the place. However due to some technical issues with the Google account said blog was associated with, all dozen or so posts were lost to the ages. When I use the word 'lost' I'm not implying that there was anything relevant to anyone in the world but myself, but I still feel a little cheated.

I suppose for the time being, well hopefully from now on, this will be the home of my inane ramblings. If you were a follower before, I would ask that you keep following. If not, I would suggest that you were and are better off. I don't offer advice or inspiration. You'll never leave one of my blogs with a happy, sunshine, lollipops and rainbows feeling. But you will read my honest opinions. I spit the truth son. Legit. Word. Thug life? ...Thug Life.