A Thankful Fella

When I was 12 years old, my orthodontist recognized that my jaw line resembled a melting slab of butter. She gave me an expander to tighten that bitch up so it would be strong and pronounced like the crescendo during The New York Philharmonic….my stubbornness landed me in between the two. I hated the feeling of the expander - not because it hurt but, simply, because it existed inside of my face. My mom warned me that I would regret this decision. To this day I do. Who knows where I’d be with a Kurt Rusell sliding board jawline…

At age 15 I got my first Ipod Nano. Being the crusted over rebel that I was at that age, I loved to gas up the nano and crank it at full volume….at all times of the day - REM Cycle included. If you’ve used an Ipod before, you’d know that not even a battered old Vietnam war vet with deadened ear drums should listen to music at that volume. My mother and father admonished me to turn the volume down - I smoked a camel blue and sternly rebuffed “the counsel of the old.” Today I am tormented with tinnitus - unwavering ringing of the ears assuaged only by noises to drown out the drunken gnat’s hive dwelling in my head.

At age 14, I was one of the first kids to learn how to throw a hanging curveball. The pitch devastated souls and buckled knees in a publicly offensive manner. The pitch would hurl towards my adversary’s head and, as the then child would cower in fear and fall from the batter’s box, the ball would slice back into the strike zone and the crowd (in my head) would go wild. The issue was this – my pitching coach at the time (yeah I was that good) told me that kids at that age should not be throwing curveballs. Throwing them too early would essentially fuck your elbow in twain. But the feelings of being good at something for a frightened young child with low self esteem was too strong to relinquish. A few years later on the mound as an adult, my arm blew out - I’d never throw a pitch again.

Are you noticing a pattern?

So recently, something very eye opening happened. I was laying on the floor, goofed out my proper brain, likely for the 40th day in a row….retreating from the feeling of longing. You see, down time is a foe of mine. For a while I thought, “oh I’m just an active lad.” Unfortunately this isn’t the case. My thoughts are dangerous and as a remedy I’ve built a life that will not allow for much stillness – a challenge I believe many of us face in a culture of chaos. As I layed on the floor, mind racing towards what trip would happen next, how I could make more money or how to become perfect….I thought to myself, “is this permanent? Will I ever be satisfied? When will I be comfortable with who I am?” As these thoughts washed over my skull, I thought back on another piece of parental advice to “slow down, become content and enjoy what you have.” Coincidentally, the very next day I got a call from Dad with some advice. As a therapist, he’s taken the backseat on unsolicited advice so I knew this was important. To be succinct, it sounded like “Hey man, you’re avoiding a lot. I don’t want you to wake up one day and have nothing and no one. Please be cognizant of destroying yourself. Love you.” We’re no longer on speaking terms. I’m perfect and there is nothing wrong with me *Flips hair, puts cigarette out on tongue, speeds away on motorcycle, immediately crashes into light pole.

While every fiber of my being wants to stuff this down, I can’t disregard the advice of someone wiser than me - I do not want to have tinnitus of the mind, soul and heart.

I’ve spent the past few weeks in Atlanta and Chicago being…..well…..a bottom dwelling cretin person. I had so much fun but walked away thinking, “okay let’s double down on this. More. More. More.” I need to remind myself to pause and be thankful. So below are some things that stand out. Some, if not most, will not make much sense. Part of the reason I write this blog is because I want to have something to read when I’m on my deathbed at age 53. I want to remember: ATLANTA:

Feeling encapsulated in some weird celestial laser prism at an Odesza show with John, Nick, Riley, Steve and Tyson.

Late night, delirious fits of laughter with my best friend, John, floating on a half inflated air mattress. The catalyst to our laughter – making up names for each other. My name to him: Gugubrious….renditions that transpired: Googubrion, gooble, gringorious, greeble.

Watching the new Elvis Presley movie with the great cinephile, Riley Geis, unable to remain still as we pined to have a taste for what it would be like to be The Great Gyrating Gigaldo.

Being welcomed back to Fire Maker Brewery - a brewery in Atlanta that feels like a second home (but not in like a sad alcoholic way). The “welcome back” that I get when I return is THE closest I will ever come to stardom. My dear friend Daniel does an especially great job by cramming a hefty IPA down my gullet every 6-7 minutes. He approaches, two beers in hand, a threatening look plastered across his face. The face is unmistakable. I see it and know full well that we are about to do…to this beer….what pelicans do to mackerel. CHICAGO:

There is a man….no a legend…of whom I am convinced may not, in actuality, exist. I say this because each time I see him, I feel as though I am transposed to a dream-like state due to the sheer absurdity of what inevitably transpires. Adam is a hunk of muscle hurling through the universe. The simultaneous love and chaos that he incites in your life and the general atmosphere is so magnetic that you almost feel like you’re being pulled into a beef-like comet that is roaring by in the heavens. For this reason, he was given the nickname “The Meat Banshee,” that weekend. Just as soon as he comes and LITERALLY picks you up by the ass cheeks and twirls you around bellowing, “LOOK AT ALL THIS CAKE! LOOK AT ALL THIS CAKE,” he’s gone (this is a real interaction and perhaps my favorite memory of my time in Chicago). The man is an incredible force to be reckoned with and I would prescribe a hefty dose of his presence to anyone feeling like life is lacking in any way. Adam, you are so abundantly loved.

Boris Brejcha headlined a festival called Arc – To put it plainly, the German corn husk of a man knows how to make a crowd feel like they are in some sort of forbidden, underground, dystopian labyrinth of excitement.

Trey and Mikelle are the hottest couple in Chicago right now. The tabloids are extolling their beauty and I own the tabloids which means I also love them. What’s great about this couple is that they’re not just hot – they’re fun and they care for others. A prime example of their big heart – well into the morning with only a few brain cells huddled around a cerebral bonfire, I walked about ten paces to a garbage can and threw away a can. When I returned, I triumphantly declared that I had just “thrown out a can all by myself.” When they realized that the lights in my head had officially short circuited, they took me under their wing and cared for me for the evening. Every time I’m in Chicago it is clearly a very purposeful mission of theirs to ensure that I’m taken care of and having a fun time. I love them so much – the only reason I give them a 4.9/5 is because Mikelle appeared to find great pleasure in waking me up every 30 minutes to tell me that the group was “2 hours from arriving. So you have time to sleep.” That’s great, Mikelle…I really appreciate that update. I was having stress dreams about when the guests would be arriving. I can sleep soundly now.

Turning into a veritable child each time I bump into my friend Hannah. I first met her at Powabunga in Vail where I was absolutely pummeled with respect by her ability to connect with people and, most importantly…and I say this with the utmost of respect…turn into an absolute child on command. Her ability to be amused by the small things is intoxicating. A prime example of this – After the concert (when most people are sad) Hannah would take brand name products in the household and string them together in a cohesive sentence that one could come close to understanding. The byproduct was a room full of grown adults laughing like toddlers that had swallowed a full bottle of cough syrup. Hannah, you make people laugh uncontrollably. Maintain a childlike sense of wonder, superstar.

I’ve been going on mystical adventures for a very, very long time now. The one thing that the most quality of quests have in quommon (see that?) is chasing a pretty girl around. To steal words from my brother, Nick Masciantanio, you must have the goal of a Fair Maiden. I will neither name nor send this to the cheerleading dancer goddess that had me chasing her through the bowels of Radius (an after show event that feelt like an abandoned train station in Germany. I’ve never been to either Germany or an abandoned train station but that’s what it felt like). But I am thankful for adding besotted excitement to the Soup Du Jourkend (soup of the weekend).

I like to pretend. So when a group of delightful strangers asked if “I could see Jupiter next to the moon.” I told them that not only could I see Jupiter, I also possessed the power to ascertain Jupiter, in its entirety, and bestow it unto them. They didn’t believe me so I “jumped” through the universe and extricated the mighty gas giant from its fifth position from the sun and gifted it to them. I hope I live in their memories eternally.

Gorgon City has quickly become one of my favorite bands. Their melodies tickle the soul. I was elated to have the cheerleader assert her peppy dominance over a crowd to get us the closest I’ve ever been to this dream duo. The price paid in the long haul was substantial. At one point, the crowd turned into a violent sea of faceless flesh zombies. When I had officially burned up all the fuel and felt my eyelids slamming shut, I turned to leave. The issue was that I had already been devoured and sent to serve my time in the belly of the whale. Fortunately, I had a tall, D1 athlete willing to push her way through the corpses and helicopter evacuate me from within the beast. I thank you again, Mikelle, for babysitting me for three days straight. One day I will grow strong enough to swim division 3.

Meeting Neema – a very kind man who welcomed us into his gorgeous home with LIVING plants and hospitality that knows no bounds. He poured us drinks, gave us tours, showered us with positivity. I returned the favor by generously dancing on his persian rug with converse that were caked in soot that looked like they had gone kite surfing during this year's burning man.

Like I mentioned, I probably slept for a collective 7 hours over a three day span. On the last day, I crawled into my friend Rachel’s bed who graciously allowed me to bake like a seasonal vegetable in her dwelling quarters. I closed my eyes, batted away the demons and slipped into a coma for a few hours. When I awakened, I heard lively chatter in the kitchen. I ushered my deer carcass of a body into the lively scene, poison dripping from my ears. I thought to myself, “this will be an insurmountable feat to come back to life.” Little did I know my old friend Jason, whom I had met about a year prior in Chicago, would be perched in the kitchen corner, his notorious smile plastered ear to ear. The man is a medicinal presence and he brought me back to life. We pushed through the night and shook our tuchs until the sun came up.

So rather than being discontent and thinking about what more I could have done or when I’ll experience this again, I will actively choose to fondly dwell on these memories.

Sincerely your friend,

Kyle Brown