My musical tastes went down quite a path as I grew up. My first tape (yeah, I had tapes) was MC Hammer. After that, Weird Al reigned supreme. Then I became a big Def Leppard fan, and then settled in like many angsty teenagers with Metallica and various other metal groups.
But I'm from Iowa. And in Iowa, one type of music reigns supreme. That music is country music. Since I was inundated with country music every time I did any sort of social activity, I rebelled against and hated it. But eventually it beat me down. It grew on me, some would say like a rash, but it grew on me nonetheless. I actually began to like the stuff, like, it became my go-to music choice. I even defended it to people who didn't like it. "It's a lot better than you think...They sing about fighting...It's not all about dogs and guns."
This lasted for a decade. A full decade of listening to country music. Man, if only I could get those years back.
But after a decade, I got married, and more importantly, I moved to Florida. Now Florida is just as much of a white trash haven as Iowa, but luckily, I didn't have friends. And not having friends meant that I could always choose what I wanted to listen to. As time went on, that became less and less country music. It went that way because country music is garbage, and my brain now understood that.
It was very freeing. I started to listen to good music like The Sheepdogs, The Struts, The Record Company, and Run the Jewels. You know, legitimately good music. I didn't even know how evil my country music captors were until becoming free for a while and realizing how good music (and life) could truly be.
Life is short. Far too short to listen to country music. I know it's scary to find new music out there, but trust me, there is music that you will truly enjoy listening to. I did it, and you can do it too. I promise.
I am a fan of heavy metal music. It is the ideal music to listen to when going out for a run, because it's fast, hard, and most songs talk about killing and pain. There's no better way to keep yourself pumped up while getting your run on. Dave Mustaine is the lead singer of Megadeth, and I'll admit that I'm a fan of their work. Not an avid fan, but I can enjoy their music under the right circumstances.
Going into this, I knew a book about Dave Mustaine is going to rock. Back in the day, people called Metallica "Alcoholica" for how hard they partied. Dave Mustaine got kicked out of Metallica for partying too hard. That is when you know you are a badass.
I have decided to include some of my favorite quotes from the book which should be all the evidence you need that this is a book you need to read.
“You go to Salt Lake City, the pristine capital of the most morally upright of states, and discover there’s a reason the rock stars call it Salt Lick City.”
I never thought I'd say this, but who wants to go party with me in Salt Lake City?
“Pretty soon you’re trying to decide which of the proverbial bulls you want to be: the one that charges down the hill, full speed, and fucks the first cow he meets, or the one who saunters down the hill slowly and fucks them all.”
If I ever give a speech for a wedding, engagement, or even a Baptism, I am going to try my hardest to work this quote in there. I might even get back in Big Brothers Big Sisters just so I can share this advice with an impressionable youngster.
Dave Mustaine paid his guitar player to go to AA meetings for him.
This actually led to Megadeth's guitar player getting sober. Meanwhile, Dave Mustaine had approximately 1300 visits to rehab before finally cleaning up his act a couple years ago.
"I enjoyed the party, but I also liked the sex, and the power that came with it. For me, standing up onstage, with a sea of guys chanting my name and their girlfriends eager to take off their clothes for me, was the ultimate vindication."
This is totally how I feel about blogging. This just confirms my suspicion that there's really not much of a difference between writing a blog and being a rock star.
“He likes to pour A1 steak sauce on my pussy before giving me head.”
I've tried A1 on a lot of things, and I think this settles the debate: There is nothing that A1 does not make better.
Overall, Mustaine is honest in his opinions on everything. Do they mostly lean towards him being right? Of course they do. Does it make Metallica look like assholes? Of course it does, but that’s honestly what he believes (and wouldn’t surprise me if that was entirely true). Does it even get a little preachy towards the end when he speaks of finding God? Yeah, that part doesn't come across as very metal, but at least he's honest and not putting up a front to look cooler (Because, let's face it, Christianity has never won anybody any cool points) and the honesty of his thoughts is what makes this book an enjoyable read.
I'd give this book a 9, but that's on a scale of 11, because this book is about metal.
-Joe
P.S. Although Dave Mustaine is as metal as it gets, Ryan Pickett and those nancies on the Packers are as unmetal as it gets since he and some of his buddies in the NFL are on an anti-porn crusade. That's right, anti-porn. Just another reason to hate Green Bay.
Never trust an old person. I know that they say old people have wisdom, and that's all well and good, but if you need actual real world advice, they will completely screw you over. I found this out the hard way over the weekend.
On Saturday morning, I woke up early, so I could go for a run and make it back home before football started at 11. I got on the road between 8:30-8:45 (I'm never totally sure of the time because I have a routine of pooping and stretching before I get my jog on). The beauty of a good run is I can totally get in a zone where I pretty much black out and my brain completely shuts down. I was jamming out to some Metallica, and I probably would have worn out Steve Prefontaine at the pace I was going.
I headed down the road, then hit up the bike trail and just kind of kept going because I was in my zone. After a while on the trail, my brain, working at about 5% efficiency thought that the trail curved up to the road; it didn’t, but I didn’t notice until I had already turned so I decided to just go that way. This would turn out to be a critical mistake.
I thought that this was going to turn out well, because the road actually curved back to my home so I felt that this was actually going to work out. I took a left, figuring that this road would run into at least one of the roads that crosses over near my house. This was mistake number two.
This road is a major road that somehow crosses no other major road, but I keep going, and going...and going down this road. Finally, I see a bike trail. Even though it makes no sense that it was the bike trail I was on, I decide that this was probably the bike trail that I was on. I do notice that the numbers on this bike trail are in the 400s, and the bike trail I originally was on had numbers in the 300s. Since I am an eternal optimist, this is the first time that I am positive that I am lost.
I see an old lady walking her dog on the sidewalk. and I figure this is a great opportunity to get pointed in the right direction. I ask her for directions to the Hy-Vee on Mills Civic, since I live right by there. She tells me that there’s Hy-Vee’s closer so I should go to them. I explain to her that I really need to go to the one that I suggested. She tells me I was going the total wrong way and points me towards where I need to go. I thank her and am on my way.
I see streets in the 50s and get excited, because I live on 50th, so that means I must be close, right? I keep trying to take 50th, but it ends every three blocks, so I keep zig-zagging to nearby streets to stay close to 50th. This plan probably could have worked had I been in West Des Moines. I wasn't. I see the Interstate and get excited, because I know I can’t be too far away. I run across it thinking that it shouldn’t be too long until I’m back home, so I keep running.
I run by a giant cemetery, is this foreshadowing my imminent death? Luckily not. I keep running and I see a street named Franklin which rings a bell with me, so I’m excited. I see a street called Hickman, which I also recognize. This depresses me. I have a buddy who lives one block north of Hickman, and he lives in the heart of Des Moines. Shit.
It turns out that the old lady didn’t give me bad directions; she gave me the worst directions possible. Had I kept just running into the bike trail, I would have run into I-35, all I would have had to do was head north, and I would have been back home in very little time. Instead, she sent me in the total opposite direction.
How bad did it end for me? Well, I never really set a distance for my runs, I go out, run, and turn around when I start feeling like shit. On a day where I felt great, like I did on Saturday, I probably would have gone 6-8 miles. Instead, I went somewhere around 22 miles. The first 12 miles were actually really smooth, but I got tired, then depressed when I learned where I was, and I finally turned off Metallica to listen to more soothing sounds. After that, I’d still run occasionally, but it was a lot of walking, especially once my calves felt like they were going to explode from cramping. I ended up being outside, in the bitter cold, while absolutely starving, for a little over four hours. I got home, ate something, got all bundled up in different clothes, covered up, and shivered in my bed for the next 45 minutes until my body finally warmed up. Never trust old people.
And yes, this could have been titled Joe Is An Idiot, but my inner compass was actually working until I listened to that old lady. I would publicly like to retract my thank you to her for the directions. Take that, senior citizens.
-Joe
P.S. There's a lot of good advice here, but I especially love "Put the brakes on the mundane, and accelerate into the fast lane." I'm guessing this is the way that people lived their life a quarter mile at a time before Fast and the Furious came out:
