Four Decades

Forty years ago today (which was a Tuesday) at around 9am I pulled my first breath and let loose a howl that informed everyone in the vicinity of my arrival. I have been noisy ever since.
I would really like to pound out something profound or charming, I’d even settle for witty but here I sit staring at a blank screen; a screen on a device that was all but Science Fiction when I was born. In fact, as I look around I inevitably start listing what didn’t exist when I made my entrance. Since profundities are coming up nonexistent, here are a few things from that list.
• Microsoft
• Bic Disposable Razors
• Fax Machines
• Bar Codes
• Saturday Night live
• Star Wars
• Punk Rock
• Cell Phones
• Public access to the internet
• MTV
• Scratch n’ Sniff Stickers

But a list of things that didn’t exist is easy and sometimes predictable so I began to think about what was going on when I was born. Things like,
• The Vietnam War
• Skylab
• The Rumble in the Jungle – Ali vs. Foreman
• Nixon is impeached and Ford takes over as President
• Rush releases their self-titled debut album
• The Texas Chainsaw Massacre makes its debut (just 21 days before I do!)

So, all kinds of cool things were happening when I arrived but I’m still not delivering anything on this page that is really ground breaking. I’m just showing how adept I am at using Google.

What about me. What have I done with 40 years which equates to
• 2,087 weeks
• 14,609 days
• 350,633 Hours
• 21,037,950 Minutes
• 1,262,278,080 Seconds

Well, let’s see,
• I can play a garden hose like a bugle
• I quake like a Pomeranian on Red Bull when put in a canoe
• I can talk ceaselessly about Farscape and strange interactions with Best Buy employees
• I can skip backwards
• I can recite a truly fantastic supply of trivia about Star Wars, Heavy Metal and methods of scaring people

Yeeeaaaaahh… so that’s a wonderful little resume. Man, is there anything about the last 40 years worth writing about?!?
AH!
Yes, there is!!
You.
The people who are reading this are the highlight of the past four decades of sand through the glass. My existence is justified, defined and fulfilled by the wonderful people I’ve have the “Rock Star” luck to share my path with. I am continually overwhelmed with gratitude for the people I’ve met in my life. You have taught me, guided me, supported me, loved me, laughed with me and consoled me through everything that has led to this moment. It’s with a lump in my throat and slightly blurred vision that I that you for being here with me regardless of physical proximity. This is truly a happy birthday because I get to share it with you.
I love you all.
Chris
10/22/2014

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!!

Greetings everyone!!
You might notice some changes to the blog here. I have decided to make it the home page for Abretok Industries. You will notice buttons just under the header labeled “Fox River Forge” and “Rainbird Studio”. These buttons will take you to pages for those “branches”. That way all you have to do is go to www.abretokia.com and you are connected to my slowly growing empire. I looked around the web, pestered friends, and randomly interrogated the IT professionals at work and ultimately came to the conclusion that this is how I want to represent things in cyberspace. I hope to be more vocal on these pages so that I might deliver slightly better content than a quick blurb on Facebook. Thanks to everyone who reads this stuff. I enjoy creating it.
In Truth,
Chris

38/1

Weld spatter burns pepper arms that prop up a head that aches like poverty. The flies buzz by like maverick pilots and cause one of the arms to lash out in an annoyed ballet. Coffee and water stand on a stained Formica battlefield cooling and warming in unison.
Both becoming unpleasant.
The murmur of patrons drone along with the piped in pop creating an audible equivalent to the cranium ache. Eyes peer at the empty other side of the booth, the ceiling painted in nicotine, soft water spots on sparkling new silverware and an ashtray as empty as an insincere eulogy. The server strives for an Academy Award with his customers’ two booths up.
Eyes close
Eyes open
Breathing is measured as nothing happens at this spot, on this planet as it spins, hurtling through space.