Jeffry

I think I'd like to take a second to talk about my pappy, the late Jeffry Lynn Tjaden. As a lot of you who are probably reading this already know, he passed away in November of 2008, and sometimes I like to reminisce about him. Let me be clear first: My dad probably wouldn't have won any father of the year awards. Among other things he was a drunk, a womanizer, a general rabble rouser, and a duck hunt enthusiast(yeah, the NES game strangely enough). He was also a deeply misunderstood and highly intelligent man. Without knowing my dad for the first 22 years of my life I wouldn't be the man I am today, for better or for worse. In his own crude way, he taught me how to stick up for myself, and not to "BE SUCH A GODDAMN PUSSY!", so I definitely appreciate that. I think I may share a tale or two of some of his misadventures on this blog here. So, it begins.

One of my favorite Jeff Tjaden tales takes place during the summer of 2003. I was 17, and entering my senior year of high school. Things were lookin' alright for me. I was young, I had a car, and I had two jobs. Working part time at Fareway, the local grocery store, and also working part time at Appleby Canoe Rental, as a "dock dummy" as my father liked to call it. Basically I would spend weekend mornings or afternoons either unloading trailers of canoes down at the canoe launch point on the Maquoketa river, or spend them on the other end at Pictured Rocks loading the canoes when the legions of drunk scalawags would paddle in for the night. My dad was the one who helped me get the job. He was driving the shuttle bus for Appleby's. It was a job he loved, being the lady-lovin' fiend that he was. He liked to sit down there at Pictured Rocks and flirt with ladies who had one too many appletinis on the water that day. I think it made him feel young again, or something like that. He never really did want to grow up. Anyway, Dad worked down there for a couple of summers until he got his last OWI in 2002. So by 2003 he was full fledged "give up on life career drunk".  It was sort of sad, but it was just the way it was. You can say all you want about trying to get one of your loved ones help, or getting them clean, but it just didn't work like that with him. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink so to speak. Anyway, after all of this happened, he liked to spend his days swigging on cheap vodka or whatever sort of nasty swill he could get his hands on, and one day in that good ole summer of '03 pappy decided he was gonna go down the river by himself. A solo mission, if you will.

 It was late August. The last day of summer before school started. I was out cruising the streets one late afternoon/early evening  in my 1987 Chevy Caprice. A real sweet honey of a ride. I had purchased some plastic "chrome" looking hubcaps for it, because apparently that was a thing you did when you were a 17 year old virgin who listened to way too much Metallica and had never touched a boob before. I was out driving around, and I got a call on my newfangled cellular phone. It was one of those old school Nokia phones with the super obnoxiously loud analog style ring tones that you could hear three blocks away. It was my dads new girlfriend. She was panicked. Dad had gone out on the river that day, hours ago, and he still hadn't popped up at the end pick up point yet. She feared he may have had too much to drink and possibly drowned or hurt himself. I let out a long sigh, and knew that my last day of summer just got reeeeeaaaaal interesting. I proceeded to tell her that he was probably fine, and he would turn up eventually. After a long pause at the other end, she finally agreed, and she said she would go back down to Pictured Rocks to wait for him. A few hours tick by. Now it is later, probably 9 o'clock or so. I was at home, preparing myself for my senior year of high school. Another phone call. Dad's girlfriend again. Dad still isn't back yet. She has already called the police. I angrily hang up the phone, grab my little bro and hop in my Caprice and head down to Pictured Rocks, where there are a few sheriff deputies and some other folks, among them the owner of the canoe rental. We all start discussing possible scenarios about what may have happened to him. The policemen inform me they have a helicopter out looking for him downriver, and a few officers in a boat motoring down the river in hopes of finding him. At this point my brother and I are a little bit concerned, but still holding out hope that he probably passed out on a sandbar somewhere. A short while later, probably sometime around 10 PM and after a lot of waiting around(which is all Mike and I could really do anyway), we are approached by one of the officers. The helicopter has found my dad. He was on a sandbar. Had a nice fire going, and there he was, out cold. Passed out by the fire. Snoring away like a motherfucker. He was awoken by the chopper, and shortly after that more officers arrived in a boat. They tied onto his canoe with their boat, and towed him in. So there are my brother Mike and I, sitting down at the boat ramp at pictured rocks, and we see a boat, motoring towards us, our pappy close behind, with a smug, and satisfied look on his face. He was wearing his usual garb. Some sort of redneck off brand beer hat, a dress shirt with the sleeves cut off, and jeans that he cut off into "jorts". The man had impeccable style. Motherfucker was completely unfazed. Did not give a god damn that he had a few dozen cops, and family members out looking for him. As they pulled in, he slooooowwwwly lurched up out of his canoe, and says "Well goddamn. I got to tippin' that vodka bottle down my neck and found myself disorientated". Disorientated, This is what he told the cops. He then proceeded to tell Mike and I, and anyone else who would listen about how "goddamn annoyed he was with that motherfuckin' helicopter waking him up".  Then, I shit you not, he uncorks his cooler jug and takes a long hearty slurg from it, and caps it back up. The cops give him a stern lecture, and astonishingly, did not charge him with anything, bless their souls. I angrily told him to get in my fucking car and I drove him back home. Just another day in the life of Jeff Tjaden.

Affable morons and an endless glass of iced tea

Last night I went out with a group of friends. I decided I was going to go sober for the evening. One of my latest (and probably short lived) attempts at trying to better myself so I don't wake up Monday morning hating myself. Being out in a bar and staying sober is one of the strangest experiences I have ever encountered. I never realized how loud and obnoxious people can be. I was out with my cousin and some pals celebrating a feller's birthday. I got to the establishment at about 8 o'clock. I ordered an iced tea. It was fairly early in the night, but the crew was drinking hard. There was a couple there who informed me they don't get out much, but they had a babysitter and tonight they were going to really let loose. Small talk ensued, and fresh drinks were coming often for the other folks in the group. At approximately 10 or so I really started to look around and take stock of the situation. We were in a fairly large bar, with sports memorabilia adorning the walls, and a few large televisions tuned to the latest tough guy fight. I was starting to feel antsy, and my agoraphobia was starting to really set in. I was on about my 6th iced tea for the night, and I was making trip after trip to the restroom. The married couple who were "letting loose" were doing just that. Voices were getting louder. Shots were being ordered. I smiled, and laughed uncomfortably as the patrons of our group got increasingly silly as the night ticked away. A tiny, adorable Asian waitress kept my iced tea coming at a good clip. After about my 9th one she asked me why I wasn't drinking? And how I could be out with people who were and not want to drink? I informed her that lately my drinking habits have become increasingly worrisome and I was sort of conducting a social experiment with myself to see if I actually could be out in public in a bar with people who were drinking, and not drink myself. She commended me on my will power and fortitude. I found myself both infatuated, and enamored with her. She seemed to genuinely care about what I was saying. After an uncomfortable pause in the dialogue she scurried away to attend to other patrons.

Midnight happened upon us quickly. At this point the jukebox is being played by a few of the people from our group. Your standard 90's alt rock and radio friendly fare. The bar was empty, save a few scattered people in the back few booths, and our group of about 10 people, of which only 4 were folks that I actually knew. The guy sitting to the right of me was a co-worker of the birthday boy. He wore what appeared to be a brand new Green Bay Packers sweatshirt and an oversized ball cap pulled tightly over his elongated, oddly shaped cranium. His eyes were small, and black. He talked needlessly loud, but the things he was saying I found amusing. At one point talk shifted to another co-worker of the birthday boy and this loud colorful feller to my right. Some Czechoslovakian guy they worked with.  My new friend quipped "Yeah, Sergio. His hobbies include buying things in bulk, and tearing phone books in half". For some reason this struck me as maddeningly hilarious, and I threw my head back and cackled heartily. Shots arrived. Someone bought me a "shot" of Sprite, because they either felt bad for me or wanted me to feel included. I downed it sheepishly and carried on listening to the crude banter and half mumbled sing alongs of the heavily soused throng.

About 1 AM or so it was decided we would disband and make our way to another bar closer to home. Time to close out the tabs. Our tiny, adorable Asian waitress arrived at our table. I politely asked her to ring me up so I could be on my way. In my head I was trying to do the math on what my bill might be, I probably had about twelve or so iced teas I thought. My tiny overworked bladder was swollen, my eyes were heavy, and I was ready to go home and watch obscure Netflix documentaries and fall asleep on my couch. The waitress returned with my tab. $2.15 was my total. " Two fifteen?!" I exclaimed both surprised and thrilled. A look of panic and concern washed over the face of the sweet little waitress. "Yeah? Is that ok?" she asked. Then it dawned on me that when you are out in an establishment drinking non alcoholic drinks, you usually get free refills. I  was quick to explain to her that I was unaware that I had been receiving  free refills all night, and I was surprised and happy to have such a miniscule bar tab for once. She laughed, I laughed. I gave her a $10 and told her to keep the change. I said my goodbyes, exchanged high fives, bro hugs, etc, and I was on my way.

So to conclude this entry, I went out last night, and I didn't drink any alcohol. I genuinely had a good time with my friends, and I enjoyed conversing with that little Asian woman. She was sweet and endearing. It was an experiment. I don't know what happens next. I can be a little bit aloof sometimes, and I change my mind a lot, but getting a grip on my drinking habits is something that I have wanted to do for a while now. It could be an interesting road. Goodnight

Disclaimer

As a bit of a disclaimer, I want to make it clear that not all of the entries on this blog will be as long and rambling as the one that preceded this one. I am new to blogging and the story of my stupid band was a long, meandering, boring one to say the least. Now I bet ya want to read it eh?

Miserable Prick

I think for my first actual blog entry I want to talk about my old band Miserable Prick. My brother Mike, my best friend Nick Kremer, and I started a crappy 3 piece filthy racket of a music project back in the fall of 2006. That fall and winter we mostly were just out there sort of fucking around, and trying to decide what sort of music we were capable of making, if we were capable at all. My brother had always been a pretty gifted guitar player. Kremer had actually purchased a drum kit sometime in the spring of '05. Don't fucking doubt me on the dates of this shit either. Steel trap memory. Anyway, we fucked around out there for the duration of that winter season. Kremer continually improving on the drums. Mike honing his guitar talents. I was sort of the vocalist by default, and we didn't bother with a bass player. I think we were sort of in line with the thinking of bands like Pig Destroyer and the like who didn't bother with bass. That and we didn't really know any bass players anyway. We practiced in my mom's garage. She lived in a little hamlet known as "Hollywood", north of Monticello. Kremer and I moved out to Hollywood, we lived in the upstairs of this duplex, and my mom lived downstairs. We had moved out to this area because prior to us moving into the upstairs, my mom let us jam out in the garage. We had a crappy ass PA system (I can't remember the brand), and we would crank that fucker up and just let er rip. The guy who lived upstairs prior to us was pretty cool with us jamming in mom's garage downstairs. Well this feller decided he was going to move out from the upstairs, and Kremer, my brother and I all sort of started panicking about a potential new person moving up there who wouldn't be so accepting of 3 young cretins making terrible musick downstairs every weekend. So Kremer and I decided to move up into the upstairs apartment. Kremer and I moved up there in the spring of 2007. April. It was awesome. It is sort of a quiet, wooded area. Not a lot of traffic. It wasn't officially a part of Monticello, it was sort of an area unto itself. We had a fire pit out back, and mom lived downstairs. Life was good. Kremer and I were both 21. Heavy partying every weekend. We were jamming a lot, basically whenever we wanted to, my Mom was working two jobs so she wasn't home much, and when she was she didn't care that we jammed. I should also add that my brother was also living downstairs with mom too. He was 18.

 Anyways, trying to keep up with the subject at hand here, things sort of started getting more "official" in the spring of 07 once Kremer and I made the move out there to sort of keep things going. We made it a habit of recording most of the stuff we played on a little Tascam? recording unit that we had purchased. At that point we had realized that trying to play any sort of techy death metal or grind was going to be way beyond any of our talents as musicians. Kremer and I were just starting to get into heavier sludge and doom metal. That definitely started rubbing off on our songwriting. Eyehategod was a big influence. Acid Bath was definitely there. Doomier stuff like Electric Wizard. Writing songs was always a laborious affair. I was constantly writing lyrics back then. I was sort of exploring a lot of certain botanical substances in those days, and I would hole myself up in my room with my headphones and a notebook and write a few days a week. Kremer and Mike's approach to writing songs was as easy as drinking 7 or 8 beers and then getting behind their respective instruments.

To keep it simple: We were awful. After a summer and a half we had more or less crafted 5 or 6 very basic, 3 or 4 segment songs that we deemed good enough to get drunk and play in front of our friends. The thing is, those times in that garage were some of the best times of my life. A lot of memories were forged in that dank ass basement. Kremer, Mike, and I grew up out there, we learned a lot about ourselves during those summers from 2007 to 2009. A few people came and went as temporary members. Guys like Kevin James(who we called the secret Asian man, because he was, ya know, Asian)  on guitar, Jesse Albaugh had a brief stint on guitar, Isaac Helgens had a brief stint as a bass player(I am eternally thankful to Isaac for him contributing the idea to cover Electric Wizard's "Torquemada 71", we had a blast playing that song). But it was always the core of Nick Kremer, Mike Tjaden, and I. We lived it and breathed it everyday. Even though we were terrible. I like to think our songs had an endearing sincerity about them, as rudimentary as they were. There exists footage of these songs being played live at a house party Kremer and I hosted upstairs in April of 2009. If anyone wants to see these songs "performed" live contact me.

Welcome

Greetings. Welcome to The Reluctant Misanthrope internet blog. I am new to blogging. I am a technological cave dweller when it comes to these things. I have put a considerable amount of thought into this over the last few weeks, starting a blog that is. I have always wanted to sort of discuss things out of the public eye so to speak. I am prone to posting incendiary facebook rants at 3 AM shitfaced drunk, and I have been offending people as of late, so I am creating this to get things off my chest, and hoping that only like minded folks will find their way to this blog. I don't have a real good starting point yet, but give me a few days and I will have something for people to read. Thanks for stopping?