Curveball at the Crossroads in the FSView

 

Tallahassee Talent Promoted to the Big Leagues - Kani Schram, FSView, 10/2/2022

Since publishing Curveball at the Crossroads, I have had the honor of some great reviews and write-ups. People have compared me to WP Kinsella, Christopher Moore, and other fantastic authors. It is all very humbling and very special.

But no review has been more special than my most recent in the FSView and Florida Flambeau. The FSView and Florida Flambeau is the campus paper of my alma mater, Florida State University. It is also the newspaper where I got my start twenty years ago. It was the first place I saw my name in print.

For those curious, I have reprinted some of my old FSView articles here under the tag "The FSView Collection". Since the FSView's website doesn't have a good archive, I figure I am not breaking any copyright laws reposting my own stuff.

The FSView has always had a soft spot in my heart. Once the Florida Flambeau, the paper merged with the FSView in the 1990s and became the FSView and Florida Flambeau. The paper has a history of speaking truth to power, taking on the campus powers-that-be on several occasions. Even though I wrote for the Lifestyles section, I always kept the history of the paper in mind, especially if I had the chance to write about less popular groups, clubs, or people.

But to now be written about in the paper? That's awesome.

I want to thank writer Kani Schram. She is a freshman writer for the FSView and even though she is in the beginning of her writing career, she did a great job with the article on me. I was very impressed and I hope to read her work again as she continues to bigger things.

I don't know how many FSView alumni have continued writing. I don't know how many have been written about in the same paper that they got their start. It is an awesome feeling. Among all my reviews, this might be one of my favorite.

School's Out Forever

Has it really been 17 years since I graduated from FSU with my undergraduate degree? Where has the time gone? It seems like only yesterday I was throwing huge graduation parties, sleeping all day, gallivanting all night, and enjoying the fact that for nearly a week I had a keg of Yuengling residing in my tub.

Ok, so not much has changed.

Although I didn't exactly hit the real world until three years later, after two years of grad school followed by six months of unemployment, there is a certain innocence to this, my final article written as an undergraduate student for the FSView and Florida Flambeau.

Enjoy.

During my college career at Florida State University, I would estimate I visited about 90 percent of all the popular college bars and clubs in town. Bullwinkle’s, Sloppy Joe’s, Chubby’s, the Irish Pub and the Leon Pub – you name it, I’ve probably been there at least once. Even with all the good times and the large amount of money spent, none of these establishments ever served me a stronger shot than the one I was given at the Leon County Civic Center on May 2nd, 2003.

That night, as I crossed the graduation stage, flipped my tassel and shook President Wetherell’s hand, I was given a “dose of reality.” It is one tough drink to swallow.

True, I knew I wasn’t going to find a job immediately after the semester, but not counting my position here at the FSView & Florida Flambeau, I am now unemployed. Unemployment office, here I come.

Even though it has only been three weeks since I graduated, I feel more and more like Matthew McConaughey’s character in the movie “Dazed and Confused.” You know, the guy who is still hanging around, saying dumb things and acting like he is still in high school. Yeah, that’s me, only on a college level.

Almost overnight, the bars and clubs I used to frequent became “my old college hangouts.” I hope I still resemble a college student in some way, shape or form. I have an eerie fear of being seen as one of those obviously out-of-place older people trying to get their boogie on at Big Daddy’s or Bullwinkle’s. You know who they are.

Like the places I go, most of the people I know have also changed recently. They are all now just “college kids” who don’t know what its like in “the real world.” It’s tough. Trust me. I haven’t got up earlier than 11 a.m. in three weeks.

The next time I hear one of these “college kids” say, “I can’t wait until I graduate.” I am going to quickly grab their cheeks like Adam Sandler did to the chubby third grader in Billy Madison and dole out the same dire warning – “Don’t ever say that.”

There is a lot I am going to miss about college. Studying all night, for example. Nothing beat walking into a classroom after having two hours of sleep the night before, knowing the test I was about to take was 50 percent of my grade.

Now before anyone labels me a procrastinator, keep in mind I was the victim of a vast conspiracy while here at Florida State. Before every semester, my professors, despite being complete strangers from often different departments, would met over coffee and schedule all my tests and papers for the same week. I know it’s true.

Despite my professors’ dubious plans, I managed to graduate with a 3.5 G.P.A. Pretty good, considering my high school G.P.A. was only 2.6. I haven’t met anyone yet with such a large increase. I guess that’s something to be proud of.

But my proudest accomplishment during my time at Florida State University has nothing to do with grades. Thanks to the help and support of many people, including President Wetherell, my idea of erecting a flagpole with an American flag and a POW/MIA flag at the Scott Speicher Tennis Center came to fruition. Although it doesn’t contribute directly to the effort of finding the missing Navy pilot and FSU alum, hopefully this flagpole and the flags it bears will remind people of the plight of Lt. Cmdr. Speicher and the many other service members whose whereabouts are unknown.

Thank you again to all that helped and supported me.

The Rhode Island Revolution

While perusing some of my old FSView & Florida Flambeau articles, I found this classic. My first editorial, written in May 2002.

Operation C.O.R.I.

My plan to conquer Rhode Island was born at a time of so many of my other great ideas- during a night of drunken debauchery. I figured there hadn’t been any good insurrections in America in a while, so why not?

Rhode Island was the perfect place to start my revolution, I explained to anyone who would dare listen. It is the smallest state in the union and can’t have that many people to defend it. In addition it is neither a road nor an island. The inhabitants have to call themselves “Islanders” and they don’t even live on an island. Only the all-powerful Man has the power to manipulate people like that. Down with the Man!

I quickly dubbed my plan Operation C.O.R.I. (Conquerors of Rhode Island). All that was needed was some troops. I couldn’t do this alone. My roommate was the first to decline his assistance, and the rest of my friends quickly followed. I would have to look elsewhere. Where was anyone’s sense of adventure?

Using my military background and knowledge of warfare, I knew there were several ways to go about Operation C.O.R.I. We- me and my soon-to-be-legion of followers- could try to invade Rhode Island by force ourselves or we could get the local populace to rise up against their oppressors like the United States did in Afghanistan. Since I didn’t (and still don’t) have the financial backing to buy weapons of mass destruction, psychological warfare would have to be the way to go.

More beer led to the idea that my band of rebels would need Viking helmets, since no invasion is complete without Viking helmets. I knew there was even a store in the Governor’s Square Mall that could supply us with these helmets, as well as swords, battle-axes, and armor. Everything a good invasion needed.

My crew would also need a Volkswagen bus. You can’t make an interstate trek without a VW bus. Before we depart we would need to paint revolutionary slogans on the side of the bus. I came up with two on the spot: “You’re not a road! You’re not an island! You’re not sheep! Stand Defiant!” and “Hey Providence! We are Anti-Dominance!” Finally, we needed plenty of flyers calling the people to action and signs for us to hold in protest in front of the Rhode Island capital building.

I concluded my riotous rhetoric by claiming that even if the operation was a failure, we couldn’t get in any trouble. After all, protesting the oppression of the Rhode Island people was perfectly within our First Amendment rights. It was up to the people to decide whether or not to rise up.

Even now, I don’t know what we would have done with Rhode Island if my plan were a success. I guess I would try my hand in national representation and become Supreme Ruler of the Land Formerly Known as Rhode Island. But how would I govern a million ex-Rhode Islanders? What if I had to defend against an insurrection? The whole thing seems like too much work. Maybe I just need to think less when I go out drinking.

The Best of Times

It finally happened. Kinda.

Today I read a very creative and witty article by a writer for my former college newspaper, the FSView & Florida Flambeau. In his piece, The Great War: Logos, Uniforms, and Fear, FSView sports editor Perry Kostidakis comments and parodies the divide in Florida State fans, alumni, and students over the newly revealed Seminole logo.

The whole article is great and it's obvious Kostidakis had fun writing it. But one part stood out.

Midway through the article, Kostidakis references Dr. Seuss's Butter Battle Book.

 He screams, “Here’s the end of that terrible town! Full of ’Noles who like logos that frown!”

And, suddenly, at the very instant we heard a klupp-klupp of feet on the wall and a older man climbs up! The boys in HIS back room have made him one too! In his fist was another IgnitionTradition!

“I’ll blow you,” he yelled, “into pork and wee beans! I’ll tomahawk chop all of you small teens!”

“Grandpa!” I shouted. “Be careful! Oh, gee! Who’s going to drop it? Will you…? Or will he…?

“Be patient,” said Grandpa. “We’ll see. We will see…”

Genius.

After I read the article, I contacted Kostidakis on twitter to tell him I enjoyed his article and that I appreciated his reference of one of my favorite books. He was kind enough to reply.

@JordiScrubbings you are my hero for recognizing it

— Perry Kostidakis (@perrykos) April 13, 2014

Granted, "hero" was tongue-in-cheek, and only contained to the fact that I recognized his reference. I doubt Kostidakis has read any of my work, and I doubly doubt he has perused the FSView archives to find my ancient articles. I also can't say I have read much of his work either, so I can't tell whether this was a rare showing of creativity, or whether he thinks out of the box often. A quick Google search shows his YouTube page does show originality and his article about his mother is extremely powerful.

But it is his "hero" comment that reminded me of this - one of my final articles for the FSView. Originally written on 6/19/2003.

The Best of Times

One phrase I have heard time and time again is that my college years would be the best years of my life. Well, now that they are over, I guess it’s all downhill from here.

Soon my time at the FSView & Florida Flambeau will end. Currently, I have no idea what the future will bring. But seeing that the best years of my life are past, will it really matter? No matter where I go and no matter what I do, all I have to look forward to is 60 or so years of looking back at past glory. Looking back at a time when I was at the top of my game.

A time when I was a writer and then editor at the FSView & Florida Flambeau.

“He was the greatest,” many said. “Witty and creative. Truly a pleasure to read.”

Others, of course, disagreed, proving the old adage “you can’t please all the people all the time.” They called me “pathetic,” said I needed therapy and even labeled me extremely unethical. But their jeers were often drowned out by lengthy applause and accolades.

Barring a response from any of the employers I have so far contacted, I plan to be living in a cardboard box behind Wal-Mart by the middle of August. Hopefully I can find a box big enough to fit me, my college diploma and a few copies of Home and Garden Magazine (for the homemaker in us all).

Life will surely continue down the slippery slope towards obscurity in 2004. By mid-year, liquor store employees across the capital city will know me by name and bartenders will have “the usual” set in front of “Mike’s seat” moments before I walk in.

As the years move on, so too will I, wondering the empty roads, telling anyone who will listen about my days at Florida State. I will be a shell of my once proud and accomplished self. Hair down to my ankles, clothes made stiff by grime, I will drift across the nation. Washing dishes in Topeka so that I can travel to Seattle. Panhandling in New York to get to Los Angeles.

I might even make as far north as Alaska and live in the wilderness like Ted Kaczynski or Eric Rudolph.

But wherever I go, I know I will hear the whispers.

“Isn’t that Mike Lortz?” they will ask each other. “I heard he was once a great and powerful writer. A writer that could slay armies single handedly and have lightning bolts shoot out of his eyes. Yet he doesn’t look eight feet tall.”

Then, one day, many, many years from now, I will make my way to the town that made me so briefly famous – Tallahassee. There, a young FSView & Florida Flambeau writer will approach me and ask how he or she can make the jump from a good writer to a great one in order to win the coveted “Mike Lortz Writer of the Year Award.”

“Is it true you were hired by the legendary Chris Townsend and worked alongside the great Khuong Phan?” he or she will ask.

“Ah yes,” I will recall. “But don’t forget I spent most of my time under the watchful eye of Joe Friedman. Those were my glory days. My college years. The best years of my life.”

“Wow, Mr. Lortz, you truly are a legend. I want to be just like you.”

A Perfect Wedding

(This was originally published in the FSView and Florida Flambeau in 2002, but since they don't have my old articles online at all, I decided to post it here.)

According to the unwritten rules of society, marriage is an expected step for most people in their 20s. Following tradition, people should be on the lookout for that lifelong soulmate after their college graduation. Once this mutual discovery of partners is complete and two people decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together, marriage planning becomes horribly one-sided.

For example, every trip to the local magazine rack presents women with plenty of advice on the perfect wedding. These publications give tips such as what to wear, and most importantly, what the groom-to-be should be doing. Apparently, guys have no say in what should be one of the biggest days of their lives. This lack of input may either be the cause or the effect of a predominant male indifference towards the matrimony ceremony.

However, like the minute percentage of women who don't consider their wedding an event of epic proportion, there are some guys who have ideas on what they want to happen on their big day. I am of this small minority. Mine are trivial considerations and in no way alter the grand expectations of my bride-to-be.

My first request is during the planning stages of the wedding. Being somewhat unknowledgeable to the wedding gift procedure, I was recently introduced to gift registration. This is a fairly resourceful idea in which well-wishers buy specific gifts from specific stores. It makes the process very neat and orderly. I have noticed, however, that the usual suggested stores are entirely off-track. Most people want their gifts from Tiffany's, Dillard's, JCPenny's, or even Home Depot for those practical minded folks. Not me. I want my gift-bearers to shop at the Dollar Store. Why ask for one cup for 35 dollars when you can get 35 cups for one dollar? Imagine how many more gifts can be expected. As an added bonus, even the poorest relatives will feel like an integral part of the wedding present parade.

Request number two is slightly more involved. I want a midget, a clown, and an Elvis impersonator to not only be present at the ceremony, but also at the reception. (They must be three different people. I will not accept a midget with clown makeup and sideburns.) Their main purpose is to be in all official wedding photos. Attendees can be photographed with all, two, or only one of these esteemed guests. Who wouldn't smile for the camera knowing they are in the presence of comic and rock'n'roll greatness? I can only imagine how perfect a picture of Elvis, a midget, a clown, and my bride and I will look hanging on the wall of my future home.

My third and final request is that no eating utensils be used or supplied during the reception dinner. I have always been a big fan of the barbaric style of eating featured at Medieval Times and I want my friends and family to share in the joys of finger food. Although peas and spaghetti would be eliminated, entrees such as chicken wings, french fries, or even asparagus are still options. Plenty of napkins are a must of course, as it would appear uncultured if I wiped the barbeque sauce from a plate of ribs on my rented sky-blue polyester tux.

I know the hardest part of achieving these aspirations will be finding someone willing to accept my ideas. I would hate to invest months or years into a relationship only to see the girl of my dreams walk out when she fails to compromise on our wedding plans.

I am flexible, however. Skipping the ceremony, traveling to Vegas, and having a drive-thru wedding is okay as well.

As long as Elvis is there.

Preaching the End of the World ... Again

Thanks to highly quotable blogger extraordinaire Clark Brooks, I just learned the end of the world is tomorrow. Which sucks, because I had a lot of stuff to do this weekend. But then again, if we are all going evaporate into thin air in the next 24 hours, I guess it doesn't matter if I have milk in the refrigerator or not. But it also means I definitely need to rush getting a haircut, especially if I am going in front of St. Peter.

If you think about it, that's the ultimate job interview. Sure, they are looking at your credentials and all, but appearance counts. Especially if you didn't die doing something heroic like saving a herd of kids from a burning schoolhouse. Then you have an excuse. But if you die normally, then you better look sharp: teeth brushed, face shaven, and get a haircut. Everyone knows Jesus was the last hippie to go to heaven.

But anyway, a few years ago (seven to be exact), I wrote a piece for the FSU and Florida Flambeau about prophesies and predictions. So being that I don't have much time left, and that I have more important things to do (like get a haircut), I'm re-posting it here for my final blog post.

Like Ozzy said, see you on the other side.

Preaching the End

Since the dawn of time, humankind has pondered when time will end. Knowing nothing lasts forever, hundreds, if not thousands of philosophers, scientists, religious leaders and everyday laymen have proposed their own ideas on the eventual demise of humanity.

Religion often goes hand-in-hand with apocalyptic forecasts. Just as many beliefs have their own creation story, their teachings usually conclude with a story about humankind’s or even the Earth’s final end. Possibly the most famous of all the end of the world predictions is the Biblical Book of Revelations.

Many organizations travel around the world preaching their interpretation of Revelations to the masses. One such organization, the Sure Word Ministries, recently visited Tallahassee. A flyer describing their 10-night event detailed such sermons as “How Near is Armageddon and the End,” “666 Part 1 and Plagues Upon the Land” and “Revelation’s False Prophet and his Cult Leaders.”

Surprisingly, one of the first “doomsday prophesies” predated the writing of the Bible. According to The Interactive Bible’s online library of date setters of the end of the world, the ancient Thessalonians had heard Christ had returned in 53 A.D. and that “the day of the Lord was near.”

The online library also lists other organizations that have attempted to warn the world of its impending conclusion. The Jehovah’s Witnesses, for example, have issued predictions the world would end in 1874, 1878, 1881, 1910, 1914, 1918, 1925, 1975 and 1984. Another organization, the Jack Van Impe Ministries, predicted disaster in 2001, bringing in “international chaos such as we’ve never seen in our history.” They further added that there will be “drought, war, malaria, and hunger afflicting entire populations throughout the [African] continent,” Islam would be larger than Christianity and “a one-world church will emerge, controlled by demonic hosts.”

Sometimes interpretations of the Bible have directly led to conflict. The online library discusses a 16th Century German peasant named Muntzer who, along with a group of followers, thought attacking the German government would cause God to return. Muntzer believed “the Lord promised that He would catch the cannon balls of the enemy on the sleeves of His cloak.” As could be predicted, Muntzer’s rebellion was suppressed when they were “mowed down by cannon fire.”

Even modern conflict has coincided with apocalyptic predictions. In 1991, Nation of Islam Leader Louis Farrakhan called the Gulf War “the War of Armageddon… the final War.”

Visitors from outer space have been cited as the future cause for the end of humankind as well. According to a Web site appropriately named “It’s the end of the world as we know it…again” (http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/9941), The Sacerdotal Knights of National Security announced in November 1997 that an alien had been captured. This alien cracked under CIA interrogation and “revealed his species’ nefarious plan to attack with a massive space invasion force, stripping the world of every last of its natural resources and enslaving all humankind.”

Opinions on the types of aliens that are planning to invade vary. California psychic Sheldon Nidle claimed that angels would join the “16 million space ships” arriving on Earth in 1996. In stark contrast, Robert Hallman called the extraterrestrials who were planning to destroy the world in 1998 “Satan’s minions.”

Finally, it must be noted that even the most respected historical figures have tried their hand in doomsday predictions. Sir Isaac Newton, famous for his writings on the Law of Gravity, not only wrote that Christ would return in 1715, but according to recent news reports, he also concluded the apocalypse would occur in 2060. Newton further predicted he would be one of the many saints to rule over the earth after this apocalypse.

The Lonely Condom

Here is an editorial I wrote in the FSView and Florida Flambeau in May 2003, just before I graduated from college. My editor loved it and thought it was one of the most original pieces he had ever read. Responses varied from people that "got it" and thought it was hilarious, to people who said I was pathetic.

Four years ago, like many incoming Florida State students, I stood in line outside the FSU bookstore, waiting patiently to get my FSU ID card. After what seemed like hours, I finally got my picture taken and was handed my brand new, hi-tech ID card.

As I proudly left the ID Card Center, I slipped my new card into my wallet. There it joined the other inhabitants of my small, black leather billfold – my driver’s license, military ID card, ATM card, a couple of dollars, and a recently placed Trojan condom, which I thought wouldn’t be a bad idea to have on me. After all, Florida State University was just named the number one party school in the nation and its student body was, and still is, over 50-something percent female. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

In the days and weeks that followed, the condom made a home in my wallet. It befriended already established residents such as the ATM card, who every time it left brought back with it money – those transient presidential portraits who never seemed to stay more than a day or two. Money surely could never be called a “wallet fixture,” a title the condom hoped it too would never have.

When was its day in the sun, the condom quickly came to ask. There were nights, Fridays and Saturdays in particular, when it would get its hopes up. It would watch as the ATM card would get money before going to the club, the driver’s license was used to get in the establishment and the money would leave and never return once inside the club. The condom knew its role was in the closing act of a fortunate night that never seemed to arrive, the final runner in a relay race that never seemed to reach its last lap. Patiently, it awaited its baton, its imaginary arms outstretched.

Bad luck seemed to plague the provalactic. Its mere existence was cursed. Months turned to years as the condom recalled legends of unfortunate “rubbers,” as they were called in the early days, which had “dried up” and had to be discarded before ever being used. Its lack of use was not from lack of trying, the condom was told. But after the first dozen or so wrong phone numbers and several mismanaged dates, the condom started to count down the days to its expiration, like an inmate on death row awaiting execution.

Why was it here and not in the wallet of a more socially fortunate soul, the condom wondered. Others formed in Trojan factory, those with whom the condom had an almost brother-like bond, had long served their purpose, protecting their masters and dying on the frontline with honor and dignity. The condom tried hard not shed a tear of despair.

The only source of pride the condom had was in an unmistakable ring it was leaving on the outside of the wallet. A ring that if the condom was used quickly it would have never had the opportunity to make. A consolation prize in the losing game that was the condom’s depressing existence.

On May 2nd, 2003, the condom joined me as I walked across the graduation stage. With one flip of a tassel, I became an alumnus and the condom, with its four-year birthday quickly approaching, was now an institution in my wallet. It had seen many changes sweep the wallet landscape and survived them all. My driver’s license had been replaced twice, ATM cards had changed banks, military ID card expired and even my shiny new FSU ID card had fallen apart, only to be replaced with a newer, more hi-tech card.

Thank goodness the condom has two more years left until its expiration. Two more years of keeping hope alive.

Picture from this Sexual Health site.

Sevendust in Tallahassee in 2003

Here is a preview article I wrote for the FSView and Florida Flambeau about a Sevendust show in Tallahassee in 2003.

On Wednesday, September 10th, Tallahassee will again play host to the hard rock/ heavy metal band Sevendust. The Atlanta band, which last played Tallahassee in April 2000, will be performing at the Late Night Library in a show aptly titled “An Evening with Sevendust.”

Known for their extensive touring, the Late Night Library show is among the many on Sevendust’s second 2003 tour. This tour, which featured opening acts Element Eighty and Tallahassee’s own Presence on earlier dates, started in August and is set to conclude on September 25 in Pittsburgh, Pa.

Besides continuing to bring their music to their fans, Sevendust is using the tour to promote their new album “Seasons,” due to be released on October 7. The first single from Seasons, “Enemy,” has been receiving considerable airplay on rock radio stations throughout the country.

This year’s tours have revealed a new side of Sevendust, as approximately half the shows have been performed acoustically, according to www.livedaily.com. The band, which has opened for heavy metal legends Ozzy Osbourne and Metallica, has opted to try a more mellow “unplugged” sound in 2003.

“Doing acoustic sets was always tough for us,” drummer Morgan Rose said in a VH1.com interview. “But then we started screwing around with some of the songs and changing the beats a bit and reinventing things and that turned out really cool. We were invited to do [an acoustic] set in Orlando, and we did it, and the vibe was great. It was so weird. Here's a band that usually tries to destroy everything in sight for 90 minutes, and we're just sitting up there on stools for an hour and playing.”

These acoustic shows do not feature an opening act, according to www.livedaily.com, instead fans will be able to hear the new album, Seasons, in its entirety prior to the performance.

This new calmer facet of Sevendust is a departure from the usual hard rock/ heavy metal repertoire their fans have grown to expect. With the commercial success of Sevendust’s first acoustic song, “Angel’s Son,” a tribute to former Snot lead singer Lynn Strait, the band has continued to experiment with the unplugged sound, putting more acoustic sounds on their latest album, “Animosity” (2002), than any of their previous releases.

Despite “mellowing out” on several songs, the band has continued to be one of the most well-known and respected modern hard rock bands and continues to perform with bands such as Godsmack and Puddle of Mudd.

Originally called Rumblefish and then Crawlspace, Sevendust has been known has one of the best and most frequent performing bands in the genre since their first tours in 1996. Even then, before crowds totaling fewer than 100, lead singer Lajon Witherspoon developed a habit of speaking personally with the crowd and has often insisted fans in front of the stage form as big a mosh pit as allowed. Their dedication to the road and constant crowd involvement helped the band’s first album, the self-titled “Sevendust,” sell more than 500,000 copies (Certified Gold) and their second album, “Home” (1999), to debut at 19 on the Top 200 chart, according to a promotional card distributed by the band in 1999. Animosity was also awarded Gold status by the Recording Industry Association of America.

After concluding the acoustic dates on their current tour, Sevendust is planning to continue their trek around the nation with Staind and LoPro, according to www.sevendust.com.

“An Evening with Sevendust” at the Late Night Library is an all-ages show. Tickets are $15 each and are available at CD Warehouse locations throughout Tallahassee. Doors open at 8 p.m. For more on the show, contact the Late Night Library at 224-2429.

Flashback: Carlton Williams, Tallahassee's Local Badass

Here is an article I wrote for the FSView & Florida Flambeau in February 2003. Quick backstory: when I was doing research into the local goth scene I met this interesting gentleman who was dressed like a desert biker version of Willie Nelson. Needless to say, I had to tell this guy's story.

Tallahassee’s Local Badass

Tallahassee’s bar and club scene is ever changing. Names and locations come and go seemingly as often as the students that frequent them. Just in the last year, for example, clubs such as Chubby’s and Skyline opened, adding to the wide array of establishments. For the last five decades, there has been one constant in the scene, however, no matter what bar or club comes or goes. His name is Carlton Williams and he is a local Tallahassee legend.

Contrary to any rumors of him “crawling out from under a beer stein,” Williams was born fifty-five years ago right here in Tallahassee.

“I was born on Orange Ave.,” Williams said. “I was impatient. It’s a good thing my grandmother was a nurse.”

During his youth in Tallahassee, Williams saw the integration of Rickard’s High School and later partied at the same places as Jim Morrison, who would later become famous as head of the 60’s rock band The Doors.

“As a human being he [Morrison] didn’t need to exist,” Williams said. “His poetry was good. I liked some of his music. But at a party he always had to be the center of attention and he always Bogarted.”

Afterwards Williams joined the US Army. His Army career was cut short after his training when he was told he was “too crazy” to stay in.

“It didn’t make no sense to me because that was 1967 and I was just a body count basically,” Williams said.

After his time in the military was abruptly over, Williams used his Army training to become a bounty hunter.

“I was working at the Piggly Wiggly and split out of there. I figured I’d go and have a good time,” he said. “[Bounty hunting] was different then then it is now. You didn’t have to be certified.”

Although bounty hunting didn’t pay very much- a lot of the money went to paying informants- it gave Williams a rush. For over 25 years, he strapped on his familiar military utility vest, body armor, mask and hood and hunted down people who skipped bail.

“I was doing it off and on,” Williams said. “When you do something like that, you get to where you think you can break the law. You have to know when to walk away.”

In the meanwhile, Williams worked in construction, carpentry, laid vinyl, and sold handmade leather goods. In 1970, he met Judy, his future wife. They married in 1971 and have been together since.

“I told her I was going to marry her and she said ‘no way’,” Williams said.

The couple claims to have been the first merchants to sell their goods in the FSU Student Union.

“We were just some old hippies,” he said. “We would just throw a blanket down and sell our stuff there. Now they charge an arm and a leg.”

Still Williams bounty hunted, rounding up a vast collection of bail jumpers.

“Me and my boss would just sit in the neighborhoods and watch for these people,” he said. “There was one guy- mean old guy, strong as an ox- he wore me around for like three or four months. We finally got him. I waited at the backend of the guy’s house when I could hear my boss beating on that man’s house. I could see the guy running out. My boss pulled his car right in his way and grabbed him, sticking his gun in his stomach. I came out the passenger side and pulled out my gun and pointed it up against his skull. We put the handcuffs on him and gave him to a deputy. It was exciting. I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night.”

After bounty hunting, Williams went on to do security at the Cow Haus. There he said he saw a situation there where bouncers weren’t acting as well as he thought they should. He worked there for several years, “cleaning up the place.”

Recently, Williams has been stricken with several health conditions. He has suffered a stroke, had a major heart attack, and just weeks ago, his doctors thought he might have cancer.

“The night of my heart attack, I kept saying ‘Something ain’t right. Something ain’t right,’” Williams said. “The doctor told me I might have had several smaller heart attacks when I worked at the Cow Haus but I whenever felt tightness I would just jump in the mosh pit and get the blood flowing.”

The heart attack made him eventually leave the security job at the Cow Haus and resume selling homemade leather goods at the flea market.

“I would sell leather bikini tops to the college girls in exchange for a picture them wearing it- that was the deal,” he said.

Currently, because there “isn’t much work for someone who has had their chest opened up,” Williams works overnight security at car lots.

Throughout it all, Carlton Williams continues to do what he does best- visit the bar scene. Whether it be a bar on the Strip or Club Jade on Tuesday night “Goth Night,” Williams feels at home.

“I’ve been in bars so long, even if I didn’t smoke, I would probably still be sick,” he said. “It [a bar] is the only building I can be in and be comfortable.”

Epilogue: A quick Google search doesn't find much for a follow-up on Carlton Williams, although I think he may have created a twitter account. Unfortunately, it hasn't been updated since September 2009.

A Review of Metallica's St. Anger

(Here is another old article I originally wrote for the FSView and Florida Flambeau. This was my only album review for the paper and was originally published in June of 2003, shortly after I graduated.)

In the years since Metallica’s latest album, 1997’s “Reload,” the band has fought the evils of Napster, said good-bye to bassist Jason Newsted and survived lead singer James Hetfield’s trip to alcohol rehabilitation. Despite these obstacles, the band vowed to “take it to the next level” on their next album.

Sadly, the only level Metallica’s newest release “St. Anger,” reaches is average at best.

St. Anger falls short of being a quality Metallica album in three key categories: originality, quality production and memorable lyrics or guitar riffs.

While St. Anger is indeed an album made to be played loud, its in-step riffs and repetitive double bass drum call to mind current bands such as Slipknot or Mudvayne. Added to the confusion are frequent time-changes and melodic intervals similar to Korn or System of a Down.

St. Anger also marks the possible “nail in the coffin” of a long-standing heavy metal standard: the guitar solo. Surprisingly, there are no solos on the entire album, a musical first for Metallica. The high-flying guitar mastery of previous albums such as “Kill ‘em All,” “Ride the Lightning” and “Master of Puppets” has been replaced by the same chug-chug-chug guitar riffs of “nu-metal” bands such as Disturbed or Staind.

These bands, along with the many others who have tried in vain to capture Metallica’s sound over the years, now have Metallica sounding like them. The question now is if Metallica no longer solos, who will?

Production on St. Anger is also less than stellar. Producer Bob Rock, who doubled as the band’s bass player, apparently felt the album need to be very bottom-heavy, emphasizing the rhythm section to an almost annoying level. Besides making the guitars sound as if they are an afterthought, Rock’s work on the drums make them sound as if they were recorded by hitting garbage pails in an empty basement.

This poor production gives St. Anger a very raw local-band-like sound, as if Metallica could not afford better.

Deficiencies in overall originality and production could be excused if St. Anger had at least one song that stood above the rest, either musically or lyrically. A classic, per se.

This is not the case. The album sounds long and drawn out. The only possibly memorable guitar riff is in the third song, “Some Kind of Monster,” an eight minute long odyssey that should have been cut in half.

Lyrically, many previous Metallica albums contained songs that told stories, songs such as “One,” “Nothing Else Matters,” “Unforgiven” or “Unforgiven II.” These songs had strong messages many listeners were able to relate to. St. Anger comes up short in this category as well.

Although many of the lyrics of St. Anger deal with Hetfield’s battle with alcoholism, the opening lines of the song “Frantic” – “If I could have my wasted days back/ Would I use them to get back on track?” – could also be directed at the band’s feeble attempt to recapture its past glory.

While St. Anger is not the most disappointing album ever (that distinction is reserved for the first Slash-less Guns’n’Roses album), it is definitely a deity of disappointment. Any more albums like this and Metallica’s reign as heavy metal gods could be over. Sad but true.

Hatin' Through the Ages

(Here is an editorial I wrote that was originally published in the FSView and Florida Flambeau in late 2002. I still think it is funny.)

People need to stop hatin’. For those who may not be hip to hatin’, let me explain. Hatin’ is not so much the vile dislike of someone or something, it is four of the seven deadly sins rolled into one. Hatin’ is anger, envy, lust, and greed. It occurs when an individual or groups of individuals attempt to prevent the success of another because of jealousy or dislike. Hatin’ on someone is the desire to see that person fail.

Hatin’ has been around since the beginning of time. According to the Biblical story, Cain may have been the first ever hater. Cain, jealous that God accepted his brother Abel’s sacrifice and not his, killed Abel in cold blood. So began a long line of haters that has continued to today.

Oddly enough, religion and hatin’ seem to go hand and hand. Whenever a martyr has been killed, it was probably because of haters- haters who prevented the martyr from doing his or her thing. In history’s most infamous display of hatin’, Pilate had Christ crucified because Christ said he was the “King of the Jews.” Greek mythology is also full of hatin’, with jealous and angry gods holding down mankind and other less powerful gods out of spite.

Hatin’ is not confined to ancient times and religious stories. In the 1800s, John Wilkes Booth was definitely guilty of hatin’ when he shot Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln, one of our greatest presidents, wrote the Gettysburg Address, the Emancipation Proclamation, and saved the nation after the Civil War. Still Booth showed no love by putting a bullet in the back of Lincoln’s head.

Also on the list of historical haters is Adolf Hitler. Hitler and the Nazis hated on anyone who did not have blond hair and blue eyes. Their quest to wipe out all non-Aryans and impose their will on the entire world was the most blatant case of hatin’ ever.

Currently, three decades removed from Woodstock and the Summer of Love, we again have a world full of haters. Osama Bin Laden and his terrorist cronies are an excellent example of modern day international haters. Even our own president, George W. Bush, displays hatin’ tendencies. Bush and his administration have made Saddam Hussein the victim of pure hatin’. Almost daily, Bush discusses war and removing Hussein from power. As a display of his own power, Bush threatens to bomb Iraq back to the Stone Age every time Hussein strives to achieve something Bush doesn’t like. That’s hatin’ if it ever was.

Although there is hatin’ in politics and other serious aspects of the world, it is most prevalent in entertainment. Hatin’ has become a favorite pastime of many who are not in the spotlight. How long this hatin’ has gone on is a question that may never be answered. Were there jealous playwrights in Shakespeare’s day? Did other composers hate on Mozart or Bach- “Why does his majesty always have Beethoven play in his chamber? My symphonies are much better.”

Speaking of music, there is a recent trend that hatin’ be discussed in song. One of the earliest documented examples of lyrical hate is Neil Young’s “Southern Man.” Lynyrd Skynyrd responded to Young’s hatin’ on the South in their classic “Sweet Home Alabama.” These lyrical tit-for-tats have continued through to today (see Nas vs. Jay-Z, Eminem vs. The World). Sadly, as shown in the murders of Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G., there are instances where lyrical hatin’ has lead to unfortunate real-life tragedy.

So as the calendar turns towards this holiday season, maybe people worldwide need to make a conscious effort to reduce hatin’. Anyone found hatin’ should be rounded up, forced to hold hands with those they are hatin’ on, and made to sing Kumbaya until their hate disappears. Maybe then can there be a chance of peace on earth.