METAL DAYS RE- RE-revisited, Part 2 of 3.

The following is Part 2 in the three-part series examining the golden age of metal. The PMRC says parental guidance is suggested while reading. (Part 1 here)

In 1987 I came to the realization that the majority of my Hair Metal heroes were in fact nothing more than posers in tights and make-up that Tammy Faye Bakker would consider tacky. I was devastated. I had put a lot of stock in my hard rockin’ image. My mullet was just right, but now there was a very real possibility I would have to give myself a new identity. I could no longer be affiliated with these cock-knocker rockers. But I wasn’t about to get a hair cut.

I had to consult with my METAL mentor, the one dude in Jr. High whose mullet was longer than mine. This guy had more black t-shirts than I did, his amp was louder than mine, and he actually knew how to play his guitar! He appeared as though he might actually have a criminal record, which was a major source of respect to me in those days. To protect his identity – because I think now he’s actually in law enforcement instead of into breaking the law – we’ll call the dude Axel. I couldn’t approach Axel in the halls because he was an upperclassmen and his people would break me, or at least I thought they would at the time. So I decided to get detention, on purpose, to approach him and ask about the state of the METAL.

ME: Sup, dude?
AXEL: (sarcastic tone) Nice Cinderella shirt. Dude, those guys are posers, dude.
ME: Yeah, I know, dude. Only clean shirt I had. You know, cause I’ve been partying every day so much lately, not to mention rockin’ all night.
AXEL: I only listen to thrash metal now, dude.
ME: Yeah. Me too, dude. Thrash metal, it’s all about the thrash metal now. Uh … who would you say specifically you are thrashing out the most to now a days?
AXEL: You know, Anthrax, Megadeth, Slayer and OF COURSE Metallica, dude.
ME: Oh yeah! Metallica rules, dude!

So, needless to say, I had to go out and get myself a Metallica tape*. I had avoided purchasing Metallica or thrash metal tapes in general up until this point, not because I didn’t enjoy the hardness with which they rocked, but because the lingering guilt of my Southern Babdiss upbringing made me worry about Satan. The bible thumpers always listed Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne among the most evil ones in Heavy Metal. And rocking out to them would surely cause you to rock your way straight to Hell. But these were desperate times; I decided to give them a listen at risk to my eternal soul.

As a side note I also tried listening to the Christian rockers, Stryper one time. Even going as far as purchasing their album To Hell with the Devil. I soon discovered what Hank Hill would sum up nicely many years later, “Christian rock doesn’t make God any cooler, it just makes rock lamer.”

So, I wanted to get my hands on a Metallica tape, but I didn’t want to shell out the $10 for a cassette of a band I hadn’t listened to yet. I had been burned before with Dokken (jeez, they were AWFUL). There’s $9.99 I will never get back. My folks were pretty well off, but I didn’t just get cassette tapes produced by possibly satanic rock bands whenever I asked for them. Those gifts were reserved for special occasions… like Christmas. Being that Christmas and my birthday were months away, I had to go with plan b.

You see, in the 80’s we had a pretty low-tech version of file sharing. It was called “dubbing.” A boom box with two tape recording decks could get you a copy of your buddy’s tapes and vice-versa. It’s kind of funny how people were already ripping off Metallica’s shit years before Metallica drummer, Lars Ulrich, threw such a hissy fit about the whole Napster thing. No wonder that dude is so pissed.

What I ended up getting through the metal head’s tape sharing community was a dub, of a dub, of a dub of a version of one Metallica song, For Whom the Bell Tolls, recorded off the radio. I know this because the DJ came in before the song ended. I give props to whoever recorded the original. You had to stay up pretty late on a weeknight to hear Metallica on the classic rock radio station out of Memphis.

Now before Lars sics the Metal Militia’s law force on me, it should be known that I legally purchased Ride the Lightening in its entirety once on tape and again on CD. It should also be noted that I legally purchased the entire Metallica catalog up until and including The Black Album (before you guys got lame).


When I brought the tape home from school that night, I was excited, but nervous. The only thing I knew about Metallica was what I read in my Metal magazines. The band was taking a break from recording after the death of their bassist, Cliff Burton. I also heard from the Bible thumpers that they and Ozzy Osbourne were Devil worshipers and if you listened to their songs backwards it would cause you to do evil stuff like sacrifice your cat to Satan by putting lipstick on its ass and throwing it in the deep fryer. Not being that attached to my cat, I decided to proceed.

I pressed play on my boom box … the usual 4 to 5 seconds of wind tunnel sound came on … then the bells … the same as AC/DC’s Hells Bells, except somehow more creepy … then one short, loud METAL guitar riff, that was louder and more rockin’ than any I have heard before or since. These dudes accomplished in three chords more METAL than any of the douche-nozzle hair bands in my tape collection

Immediately following the aggressive guitar blast, was a high octave, noodling bass riff, played from beyond the grave by Cliff Burton himself, that sounded like a cross between the few notes from the into of the Twilight Zone and the theme from the Halloween movies.

Then the guitar riff, then the bass riff again… this pattern repeated … drums kicked in … the church bells clanged in time … then a heavy note crunching of guitar, bass, and drums, the likes of which I had never heard in all my METAL days. Head was bangin’, horns were flashing. I was hooked, even before James Hetfield had belted out the words “Make us fight on the hill in the early day …”

I ceremoniously ripped down the poster above my bed of the glammed-out Motley Crue in their Theatre of Pain get ups. In its place I put up a poster of Metallica from my most recent Metal magazine purchase. I had seen through the bullshit. No longer was I going to adorn the walls in my room with posters of dudes that looked like chicks in make up and hair spray. From now on I would adorn the walls in my room with posters of dudes that looked like ugly chicks without make up and hair spray.

Good bye, panty waste sissy rock. Hello Ass-kicking, heavy METAL! Rockin’ would be my business … and business would be good.

*Short for cassette tape, common medium for listening to music in the mid to late 1980’s

We should all wear scrubs.

I’ve been trying to watch what I eat lately, so I avoid the drive-thrus on my lunch breaks. Yesterday I went to Subway, a-la-Jared. I figure that’s a good way to lose a couple of inches off the ole’ waistband.

While I’m waiting in line for my meatball sandwich I notice the group of people in front of me are all wearing scrubs. You know what scrubs are, the loose-fitting, V-neck shirt and pant combo made in the comfy cotton/polly blend typically worn by doctors and nurses.

Now these folks were definitely not doctors. I’m not saying anything disparaging about their appearance or anything, but they just didn’t give off that doctor quality. For the record, I’m sure I wouldn’t pass for a doctor either, even if I had scrubs, a stethoscope and one of those cool headbands with a mirror attached to it. So let it be known, I am not putting them down. I’m just extremely jealous.

You would be jealous too if you could see how incredibly freaking comfortable these people looked. Here it was, the middle of the workweek, and these hard-working folks are about to eat in a public establishment wearing what are essentially pajamas. Take notice next time you see someone on a shopping errand or at a fast-food eatery wearing scrubs, you’ll see a very comfortable person, confident in what they are wearing.

People in scrubs must constantly be thinking, “Yeah, this elastic waistband with the draw string is less constricting than your whole pants with a belt and a belt loop thing you’ve got going on, thank you for noticing. But you know what? I’ve been to work today, and I work hard for my money. I’ve earned the right to be this comfortable!”

Well, maybe not all of them are thinking that all the time, but I know I sure would be.

Why do some people get to wear scrubs while others do not? The most well known professions that society deems scrubs-worthy are doctors, nurses, dentists, and dental assistants. Based on this list, you could come to the conclusion that scrubs are only to be worn by those in the health field. But in the words of Lee Corso, “Not so fast my friend.”

When I drop off my son at daycare, the daycare professionals (is that what you call them?) are also experiencing the casual, carefree comfort of scrubs. And I’m not saying they shouldn’t be. They have enough poop, puke, slobber, snot and any number of un-named bodily fluids coming out of those kids to deal with. They don’t need to worry about keeping up with current fashion trends at work. An easily cleanable, relatively in-expensive work uniform is entirely appropriate.

But by this rationale, shouldn’t my wife, an elementary school teacher, get to wear scrubs too? She deals with all sorts of grossness coming out of kids’ noses and other face holes. Think back to your elementary school days. You remember how often a kid puked in class and the janitor had to bring that bucket of sawdust to the room? That’s my wife’s life on a daily basis. She also has finger paints, inks, glue, markers and other messy craft-making equipment that could stain her clothes. Yet my wife is always dressed in the highest fashion appropriate for any occasion. She has impeccable tastes … and she pays for it too.

America’s work force should STOP THE MADNESS. We ALL deserve the comfort of wearing scrubs. Fashions developed by Seven Jeans, Abercrombie & Fitch and other really, really high-end places (like the one I purchase my gear at – Target) should only be worn at singles bars when trying to get laid. That way you let people know the “open for business” sign is up. On work occasions, regardless of the profession, scrubs should be worn.

Believe me I’ve often contemplated wearing scrubs myself, even though I am not affiliated with any of the above-mentioned jobs. There’s just this fear that I’ll be going into Walgreens to get some milk or something, and somebody I know will be like, “hey, Bret … you get a new job?” And I’ll have to be all, “no, why?” It will be a pretty uncomfortable situation. What would be worse though is if I’m sitting in a fine restaurant somewhere and somebody chokes on a bite of double stack with cheese. Then people will see me with my scrubs on and get the wrong idea. It might go like this:

Concerned Citizen: Sir! Sir! Help us, please! Are you a doctor?”
ME: No, but thank you for thinking I could be … I didn’t really think I had that doctor-like quality…
Concerned Citizen: Never mind that! We have a situation here. Are you a nurse? A dentist?
Me: No. I ahh …
Concerned Citizen: Daycare worker?
Me: No, but I think they have every right to wear comfortable, easy to wash clothing.
Concerned Citizen: Oh, yes. I agree. And public and private school teachers as well.

And before you know it, the poor guy is dead. So until we as society as a whole accept that scrubs are for everyone, not just certain professions, I won’t wear them. I’ll continue with my constricting jeans and collared shirts that the system deems appropriate for me to wear. Since I work at a cubicle (or career station, as my co-worker calls it) no comfy scrubs for me.


P.S. Aren’t you glad I made it through this entire blog without mentioning that stupid show on NBC.

METAL DAYS RE-revisited, Part 1 of 3.

The following is the first in a three-part series about my hard-rocking METAL years of Jr. High. If you can relate, crank up the volume all the way to 11 and take a journey to the golden age of metal. If you cannot relate you probably were into the band Journey and were LAME).

As evidenced from the accompanying pic, I was once pretty effin’ METAL. I guess my AC/DC shirt was in laundry limbo that day. Yes, this photo is of yours truly circa 1987. Notice the plumage of the mullet, the curl under both of the ears. If I hadn’t hidden my identity with the skull face, (I do have some shame, after all) you could also notice my cold, blank stare and menacing scowl. My goal was to look like a juvenile delinquent. I accomplished this quite nicely, I think.

The beginnings of my METAL habit can be traced back to 1984. I know this because that was the year Van Halen came out with the appropriately titled album,1984. I owned this album on an actual album, one that you play on a phonograph or record player. For the record (no pun intended) fourth graders should not handle vinyl. There are so many scratches on it today it’s just worthless. It’s a damn shame too, I often want to spin it and listen to Hot for Teacher.

Van Halen led to AC/DC, AC/DC led to led to Motley Crue, Motley Crue led to Judas Priest. I also discovered Aerosmith through the help of Run DMC. In 1987, a band called Guns N’ Roses came along and changed everything! When I heard Appetite for Destruction it blew me away! I became a full-fledged METAL kid. That was my identity. Long hair? Check. Levi’s 501 jeans in Blue and Black? Check. Metal Mania magazine and like-minded publications? Check. Assortment of black T-shirts letting people know what bands I consider awesome? Check. Hells yeah! METAL!

I was a mullet-headed, acne-faced, wanna-be hooligan with an electric guitar, Pevey amp, and distortion pedal. My motto was “rock n’ roll all night, and party every day”, although I didn’t have the slightest idea of what rocking or partying was, or why we could use these words as verbs as well as nouns. My idea of “partying every day” was having friends over to play Super Mario Brothers. “Rocking n’ Rolling” all night meant turning the sound down on the TV while playing Super Mario Brothers and listening to Def Leopard’s Pyromania.

As an impressionable kid, I was buying into every glam-metal, bullshit hair band the recording industry tried to shove down our throats. Poison? All right. Ratt? Ok. Cinderella? Ok. I guess. Whitesnake? Ok. Great White? Ok. White Lion? It was right about the time I noticed the eighth band with “White” in its name I said, “HEY! Wait a minute? This sucks!”

These guys weren’t METAL! They didn’t even Rock! What is rockin or metal about Extreme’s More than Words? What does that say? “I have long hair and like to rock out with electric guitars, but there’s a sensitive side to me as well that makes me want to harmonize in falsetto!” That’s about as METAL as Richard Marx.

I cracked the code. I saw what these douchey butt-rockers were trying to do to us. They would put out a shitty album, then release their first “single” from said album, which would be a rocker. That song would appear on MTV. Then they would put out the slow “power ballad” to get teen-aged girls to dig them, go on tour, have a sex with said under-aged teenaged girls, release another album and repeat process. I came to this conclusion, sometime in 1987, but the Hair Metal Train kept on rolling. Don’t think these dipshits had a formula? Check out the following time line.

1986 Cinderella’s NightSongs
Rocker = Shake Me
Power Ballad = Nobody’s Fool

1987 White Lion’s Pride
Rocker = Wait
Power Ballad = When the Children Cry

1988 Poison’s Open up and say …. Ahh!
Rocker = Nothing but a Good Time
Power Ballad = Every Rose has its Thorn

1989 Warrant’s Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich
Rocker = Down Boys
Power Ballad = Heaven

1990 FireHouse’s FireHouse
Rocker = Don’t Treat me Bad
Power Ballad = Love of a Lifetime

Sometime after Poison, but before Warrant (God they were awful weren’t they?) I jumped off the Hair Metal party train. Did I stop rocking? Did I avoid guitar-based rock n’ roll in favor of acoustic folk music? Did I enjoy the electronic-based techno music from Great Britain? Ha! You underestimate my commitment to balls out METAL!

When the Rock becomes lame. The true Rockers rock even harder!

… to be continued.

Bama fan base comes to town, hilarity ensues.

Been a busy week. Lot of changes at work, my 401-k has been plummeting, and the new season of Always Sunny in Philadelphia premiered on Thursday.

So no time to post. Instead, in honor of the Arkansas v. Bama game going on in my hometown this weekend, I give you this awesome pic of the "Crimson Mafia" I skraight up stoled from deepsouthsports.net. There's just so much to rip on in this photo: the Bear Bryant houndstooth, the do-rag, the dude caught in the process of putting in a dip, and the kid giving us the I'm-tough-in-an-A.J. Soprano-kind-of-way look.

So enjoy this photo, and talk amoungst yerselves. Hope Bobby P. and the Hogs roll over the Tide.

Have a good weekend.

Vote Irish this November.

I never set out to write a political blog, because there’s just so many out there already. I don’t think I can really add anything to the political blogosphere that hasn’t been said already. But since this is an election year, and a HUGELY important election at that, I felt the need to at least mention it and tell you whom BeyondWriterDome is endorsing in the 2008 presidential election. (You know, because it’s such a powerful endorsement.)

For the record, I’ve never, ever, ever voted Republican before in my life. However, I think it’s important to throw partisan parties out the window while researching candidates. You need to be objective and consider yourself an American first and foremost. Look at issues beyond party affiliation.

That’s why I’ve decided to vote for the candidate with the most Irish sounding last name. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Your last name isn’t very Irish sounding.” Well, hold on there for a minute. While it’s true that the “ington” part of my last name is most commonly associated with the English, there are some “ingtons” in Ireland. Take PGA golfer and British Open winner, Padraig Harrington.

Born in Dublin Ireland, Harrington's first name is Padraig. I think Padraig, the Gaelic spelling of Patrick, has to be the most Irish name in the world. This guy is as Irish as a potato soaked in Jameson. Damn! That guy has a cool name. He may be the only guy in the world whose name is cooler than mine. If he had won the British Open last year instead of this year, I would have heard about him sooner and named my son after him. Padraig Ellington, now THAT’S a cool firkin name. But I digress.

So, even though my first name is most commonly associated with WASPy frat guys and comic singers in folk-parody duos from New Zealand, I can relate to the great Irish-American heritage in this country. Our next president should too. Kennedy was a great American president and an Irish-American. We need more of the hardworking, salt-of-the-earth, middle-American values that Irish-Americans hold true. That’s why I’m pleased to announce that BeyondWriterDome is throwing their support behind O’Bama.

O’Bama is from Chicago, Illinois, a city with a long history of Irish-Catholic Americans with a bluecollar work ethic. My long extensive research on this candidate also says that he is of mixed ethnic background of some sort. I don’t know what his mother’s background is, but it’s clear that a senator from Chicago with a name like Barry O’Bama, must have had a very Irish daddy. I wonder if his dad’s name was Padraig. I digress, once again.

Now you may be thinking, “Well, McCain is a pretty Irish-sounding name too.” Well if you think that then you are really showing your ignorance. McCain is a name that is more frequently associated with the Scottish. You really should think harder and do more research before you mistakenly lump people into ethnic backgrounds like that. It could be considered offensive.

So let’s make St. Patrick’s Day come early this year, and vote Barry O’Bama for president of these United States. Erin Go Bragh, Barry!


NOTE: This piece of satire is not to be taken seriously, nobody is that stupid outside of the Bush family. In all seriousness though, vote Obama.

An open letter to Tim Tebow.

Dear Timbo,

Just want to tell you how happy I am that your name was not included in Playboy’s pre-season All-American team . You don’t need your name associated with such a sinful publication that degrades women and promotes perversion. Whether it was your decision or the University of Florida’s, it is clear that the decision was made because the name “Tim Tebow” stands for good, wholesome, American Christian values of the Baptist variety.

Just one thing: recently ESPN acquired the rights to broadcast a massive chunk of SEC football games. And since you’re on the run for your second Heisman, the network will be wanting to show Gator Football a plenty this season. This concerns me greatly because, as many people know, ESPN is constantly showing commercials for Coors Light, Miller Lite,and Bud Light.

I know that you would not want your name to promote the sin of drunkenness anymore than you would want it supporting pornography. As I see it you have only one option – quit playing football for the SEC.

You’ll probably miss the game of football very much, but it’s not like you were going to seriously consider going into the NFL! Those games have beer served at the stadium, which often turns into drunken debauchery .

I’m not even going to mention the scantily-clad cheerleaders
who are part-time strippers and sex-addicted, drug-crazed
lesbians. Definitely not a family-type atmosphere.

This will be quite a lifestyle change for you, so you should probably ease out of it. My advice is to go ahead and play the Miami, Tennessee, and Ole Miss games and get it out of your system. But you should most certainly quit playing before October 4 (the Arkansas game). If you’re still playing football by then … well some people may consider that just down-right un-Baptist of you, especially the Baptist here in Arkansas.

Just looking out for you,

Bret