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Remembering Cliff Burton, Metallica’s Original Bassist

I couldn’t let the day go by without acknowledging a grim anniversary. Twenty-nine years ago today, Metallica bassist Cliff Burton was killed when the band’s tour bus flipped over on a lonely road in Sweden.

Mood music: 

The band’s first three albums had a huge impact on me.

In fact, Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” album helped me get through my last major attack of Crohn’s Disease.

It might seem bat-shit crazy of me to intertwine these two things, but the fact is that the “Master of Puppets” album DID help me get through that attack. That, and the book “Helter Skelter.” I read that book twice as I lingered on the couch, rising only for the frequent bloody bathroom runs that are the hallmark of Crohn’s flare-ups.

I listened to Master of Puppets nonstop. It tapped right into the anger I was feeling as a 16-year-old still reeling from his brother’s death and under the influence of Prednisone.

I had plans back then. I was going to lose 30 pounds, grow my hair long and find myself a girlfriend. I was going to live a life closer to normal. Not that I knew what normal was back then. As an adult, I’ve learned that normal is a bullshit concept, really. One man’s normal is another man’s insanity.

When the blood reappeared and the abdominal pain got worse, I wasn’t worried about whether I’d live or die or be hospitalized. I was just pissed because it was going to foul up my carefully designed plans.

When I listened to the title track to Master of Puppets, the master was the disease — and the wretched drug used to cool it down.

“The Thing That Should Not Be” was pretty much my entire life at that moment.

I related to “Welcome Home: Sanitarium” because I felt like I was living in one at the time. I was actually lucky about one thing: Unlike the other bad attacks, I wasn’t hospitalized this time.

Though Master of Puppets came out in March 1986, it was that summer when I really started to become obsessed with it. At the end of that summer, the Crohn’s attack struck. The album became the soundtrack for all the vitriol I was feeling.

That fall, as the flare-up was in full rage, Metallica bassist Cliff Burton was killed in that bus accident in Europe. It felt like just another body blow. I found this band in a time of need, and a major part of the music was ripped away.

I recently found a track of “Orion” where Cliff’s bass lines are isolated. It puts my neck hair on end every time I play it.

 

I haven’t been much of a Metallica fan in recent years. I enjoy some of what they’ve done from the fifth album to now. But the first three albums were special. Especially “Master of Puppets,” which was there when I needed it most.

File:Cliff Burton Memorial.PNG

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See a Grown Man Cry

People are making fun of U.S. House Speaker John Boehner because of his penchant for crying. He did it yesterday during Pope Francis’ visit, and today when he announced plans to retire. But I think his public displays of emotion are courageous.

A lot of guys suck at crying. I’m no exception. I’ve always envied men who can do it in public.

Mood music:

I’ve never been the weepy type. To do so, in my mind, meant being weak. Tears meant embarrassment. Tears are for girls, I always told myself. I opted for the stiff upper lip during times of pain and trauma.

To this day I can be an emotionally closed-off person. I probably get it from my father. He was one of the most loving guys I knew, but he always had a tough time showing his emotion. I saw him cry once in the last 45 years: when my brother died.

When my brother died, I pretended to cry. Crying was expected in a situation like that. I made the crying noises. I made myself tremble. But it was an act. I felt the same degree of pain as everyone else over what happened, but the storm swirled deep inside me instead of on the surface.

It was the same when my best friend died. That one hit me like a bullet to the chest and fueled some of my most self-destructive, angry behavior in the years to come. But I never actually cried. That’s probably part of the reason I acted out in those other, uglier ways. The day he died, I remember going to his parents’ house, two doors down from where I grew up. I sat at their dining room table, wide eyed. I was trying to make myself cry. But it didn’t happen.

I have been able to let the tears loose a couple times. Both times, it was because I had done something to hurt my wife. Only she got to see it, though, and I walked around embarrassed for days after.

One year, I was on team for a men’s Cursillo weekend. I won’t tell you what was said there, but when people start exploring their faith and where they have been in life, a lot of sobbing results. I saw a lot of tough guys cry.

Twice that weekend I came close. But it didn’t come.

The idea of it still strikes me as too unmanly.

But I think the inability to cry has helped fuel some of my worst moments as a human being. I took my pain out on other people and I tried very hard to destroy myself.

Luckily, I had people around me who loved me enough to put up with it and, ultimately, give me the help I needed.

So one of the things on my to-do list is learning to let the tears out.

When I have a breakthrough, I’ll let you know.

Or, maybe I won’t.

Meantime, cut Mr. Speaker some slack.

John Boehner Crying

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Tales from the Womb

For a few years in the late 1980s and early 1990s, it was one of my favorite places on Earth. My late friend Sean Marley built the room in his basement, a couple doors down from my house. If we weren’t in my basement, we were in his.

Mood music:

Sean called it The Womb because he likened the peace one felt in there to being back in the womb. It was a fairly accurate description.

There was always a smell of incense. There was a phone made in the likeness of Opus from the “Bloom County” comic strip. There was the wood-burning stove, a huge amp and a black Carvin guitar — probably one of the heaviest guitars I ever held. There were books of all sorts and there was usually alcohol nearby.

It’s where he taught me to use a bong made from a Windex bottle and introduced me to a lot of the music I love today: Thin Lizzy, T. Rex, Ministry, Soundgarden, King Diamond, Nine Inch Nails. He also introduced me to some stuff I wasn’t as crazy about, like Skinny Puppy.

Sean and I would talk for hours down there, just the two of us much of the time but frequently with an assortment of friends, too. I met people there who became dear friends and remain so today. We talked about philosophy, religion, politics, history. It was the most comfortable classroom I ever knew. And Sean was a great teacher.

Thanks to Dan for sharing this photo. It brings back a lot of great memories.

Bill Brenner and Sean Marley in the Womb

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Learning to Deal with the Pressure

Update 6/25/20:  When I wrote this, I had no clue about the stresses and curve balls still to come. I aged a lot in the 5 years that followed, but through fire and error, I remain standing.

Baseball has never been my thing, but I’m learning to deal with the big curve balls that keep coming my way.

Mood music:

Last year, before my father’s health went into its final descent, he asked me to help him with his unfinished business interests. Since his death, the task has been something close to a second full-time job.

I’m now in charge of cleaning up and selling the building that housed the family business. The work needed on the property is extensive and expensive. There are additional plots of land I’m responsible for selling, and there are accounts I have to manage responsibly — all while doing the best work I can in my real career as a writer in the information security industry. Work days are frequently interrupted with phone calls from lawyers, financial advisors, and real-estate people. And then there are bills to pay to keep the building standing.

Business is not my background and I never wanted this additional work. Life was already full and busy. I didn’t think I was up to the task because of my limited knowledge about real estate, investments and all the people that come with it. I was scared, frankly.

I was worried about mismanaging the family legacy. I was worried it would make me more absent as a father and husband. I was worried that my real job would suffer.

It’s still a major stress in my life and will be for years to come. But along the way something has happened: I’ve learned to carry the load and am even willing to contemplate the possibility that I’m getting good at this.

To my astonishment, I’ve still been able to give my real job 100 percent. And with the family business legacy tasks, I finally feel like I’m in full command. Though I want to punch my fist through walls many days, I’m glad I took this on. I’ve learned a ton, and the knowledge will be valuable going forward.

I think I’ve been able to do all this without neglecting my wife and kids. I certainly hope so. My faith has sustained me. Many awesome friends have helped me along, too. And the members of my household have been extremely patient. I’m grateful for that.

My coping tools have helped, though I admit there are days I forget to use them.

That’s how life works. Curve balls come our way and we either learn to catch them or get slammed in the face. I’ve taken a few blows to the head along the way, but I’m learning to play the game.

Brenner Party Store and Shoe Barn

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Duncan at 12: Like Me, Only Better

Yesterday my younger son, Duncan, turned 12. He’s been through a lot, and he makes me proud every day.

Mood music:

I often tell people Duncan is the spitting image of me at that age. He certainly looks like I did at 12. And as I did, he has developmental challenges. As a kid I was never diagnosed with something like ADHD or placed on the autism spectrum. But that was the early 1980s, when kids weren’t regularly tested for such things.

I was sick and hospitalized a lot, and I think people chalked my immaturity and slowness to learn as byproducts of a lot of missed school. As I got older, some teachers labeled me as less than average. In middle school they placed me in the C group for 7th and 8th grade. I don’t think we remember childhood events exactly as they were, but it seems there were more than a few teachers who didn’t think I’d amount to much.

I hope I defied those expectations, but it took a lot of work that didn’t start until adulthood and a proper diagnosis.

Duncan has been through the wringer in his young life, going through neurological testing; switching schools, doctors and medications; and spending many hard hours getting through homework. But in the last two years, he has made enormous progress.

With the assistance of some excellent teachers and administrators — and some great work on the part of the Triumph Center — he has made huge strides. His focus is better, and his social skills have made a quantum leap in the last couple years. I also give Erin a ton of credit for the time and effort she puts in for Duncan every day. Some days can be difficult and he doesn’t always appreciate how relentless his mom can be. But some day he will.

Some things haven’t changed, thankfully. He’s always had a heart as big as the sky, eager to help those in need, including a new student in his class in need of friends. He still has a big range of interests that he works at, most notably cooking and music. And he has a command of vocabulary that’s hard to come by in kids his age. He writes not because he has to — some school assignments notwithstanding — but because he enjoys it.

He cares about all life and has chastised me more than once for killing a fly. The neighbors’ pets love him, coming right up to him when he’s outside. They know his is a gentle, sweet soul. And he’s a dedicated Boy Scout.

At that age, I was usually lucky to get the occasional B or A, often getting Cs and Ds. About all I cared about was going to movies and playing with my Star Wars toys.

Parents dream that their kids will climb to greater heights they they did. Duncan, like his brother, is well on his way to fulfilling that dream for me.

Happy birthday, Duncan. Keep soaring!

Bill and Duncan Brenner
Left: Duncan, 2015. Right: me, 1983
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My Anti-Drama Code of Conduct

Man, there are a lot of hurt feelings out there lately. In my industry, they call it security drama. But it goes way beyond that. Post your political and religious beliefs and someone is quick to tear you apart.

I’m not going to summarize the latest examples. A lot of Facebook and Twitter streams are already clogged with all that snot. Instead, I’m going to tell you the behavioral code I try to live by when blogging and using social media.

Mood music:

When I blog, I opine forcefully. I make no apologies and I don’t back down. After 20-plus years in journalism — 11 of it focused on information security — I know that if I make a forceful argument, as many people will disagree with me as those who agree.  This is especially true if the topic is religion or politics. I also know that I’m going to get it wrong once in awhile, since opinions usually come about as a story is unfolding, before all the facts are in place. I also know that I’m going to offend people once in a while without meaning to.

With all this in mind:

  • I go out of my way not to insult people with name calling. This wasn’t always the case, but over time I realized nothing good comes of it.
  • When people take issue with something I write, I don’t respond. I used to but decided that doing so isn’t much different from whining. And since I’ve already made my case in a post, I see no reason to repeat myself. If someone is critical of what I say, I let the comment stand. Everyone is entitled to their point of view. And if someone is an asshole, that’s all the more reason not to respond. Engaging assholes is pointless, because their agenda isn’t to have a constructive discussion in the first place.
  • When I realize I was wrong about something, I promptly admit it.
  • If I post something that triggers traumatic memories for someone, I’ll take the post off of Facebook. Some folks will complain that we’ve become too politically correct and that we can’t worry about the few who complain. But that’s not the point. My agenda is to share an experience or belief — never to do someone harm. Some folks will claim they’ve been triggered over something and will never look at my writing for what it is. When that’s the case, I tell them to unfriend me. If we’re not connected, you won’t see my posts. Problem solved.
  • If I wade into what people see as drama in my industry, it’s because I think I can bring some people to the middle ground. Increasingly, though, I stay away from that. When passions reach critical mass, injecting reason becomes impossible.
  • Even when writing about unhappy experiences, I try to point out the positives. My father’s final weeks were painful, but I got to spend a lot of time with him and make sure nothing was left unsaid. Sad periods have their beauty, too.

If you think these examples are helpful to you, I’m glad. If not, that’s fine, too. I’m telling you what I do, not what I think you should do.

Buzz and Woody: Triggers are everywhere

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Dealing with 9/11: Then and Now

I wasn’t in New York City the day the Twin Towers fell. I know many people who were, and they have the scars and stories to show for it. My 9/11 experiences are not heroic or even all that dramatic. But they are case studies in personal growth.

It was a terrible day, but I’d like to think we all learned something positive about how to live in the aftermath. This is simply my personal measuring stick.

“Sept. 11, 2001”
Everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing on Sept. 11, 2001. This post is my own account.

“Songs That Mattered After 9-11-01”
Like so many other times in my life, music made the difference between sanity and insanity. I focus a lot on the metal. But in the weeks after 9/11, I turned to a broader group of musicians to help me along. They did their jobs well, helping us all see that it was OK to go on living.

“Flying on September 11”
One of my biggest moments of shame came a week after September 11, 2001, when I scrubbed a planned trip to Arizona for a relative’s wedding. I was terrified to get on an airplane and fear won out. Not only did I miss an important day in a loved one’s life, I also deprived my wife of the same thing. I didn’t want her flying, either.

“TV News and Depression: How I Learned To Turn It Off”
I find myself increasingly outraged at what I see on the TV news channels. I’m not talking about the news itself, but the way it’s presented with loud graphics, dramatic music and louder newscasters. Those feelings started on 9/11.

“9/11 Lessons: We Rise Again”
As we take time to remember those we lost on 9/11, let’s also remember what we’ve held onto.

“I Didn’t Know Danny Lewin, But I’m Grateful for Him”
As an Akamai Technologies employee, I practically inhaled Molly Knight Raskin’s book, No Better Time: The Brief, Remarkable Life of Danny Lewin, the Genius Who Transformed the Internet. It’s a spectacular look at the history of the company and the experience of losing Lewin on 9/11.

“A 9-11 Obsession”
It happens every time the calendar rolls into September. I start watching documentaries about 9/11 and can’t stop.

“9-11-01 Jumpers: A Suicidal Mystery”
I remember the photo well: a man falling to his death in a zen-like pose that haunted me for a long, long time. It haunted us all.

Sept. 11, with the twin towers as the 11

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Nana’s Desk

It’s been more than two years since Nana Ruth passed away. The other day, family went through her house, looking for possessions to be preserved. Like this desk:

11145193_10207908092926642_85509940102281960_o

Nana Ruth did a ton of writing at this desk. She was a prolific diarist and churned out a lot of letters. I’m going to keep the tradition alive my doing a lot more writing here.

I’d like to think she’d be pleased about that.

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Schooled By a 14-Year-Old on Good (and Bad) Passwords

This is about an information security practitioner getting schooled by a 14-year-old about something as basic as an iPhone PIN number.

Mood music:

https://youtu.be/Lj3bCXViNNM

Since I work in information security, family expects me to be THE expert. And sometimes I ask for trouble when I try to teach people a lesson — like grabbing phones and writing on the owners’ Facebook walls to demonstrate the value of having a security PIN on the phone.

One day my oldest son decided to give me a taste of my own medicine.

He had been watching me punch in my PIN for some time, and when the opportunity arose, he grabbed my phone, correctly entered the PIN and wrote on my Facebook wall.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” my son said. “You’re Mr. Security in the family, but you let yourself get hacked by someone who can’t even drive a car.”

Fair enough.

The lesson: No matter how much experience you have in security, you’re still an easy target if you get lazy. In my case, I was lazy about regularly changing my PIN.

I don’t think he’ll guess what it is now. But I’ll change it again soon, just to be safe.

iPhone-passcode

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Anxiety Level Green

A while back I wrote about the various stages of anxiety based on the first five colors of Newton’s primary color system. In the last week, I’ve realized that I’ve been at level green for at least three months.

Mood music:

At the time I wrote it, my description for Level Green was:

Green. This anxiety appears when the less-frequent stresses spark up. Yesterday was a perfect example in my world: I was already ramped up from spending the previous evening at the hospital holding vigil while my father faced emergency surgery that ultimately didn’t happen. The plumber was coming to install a new dishwasher, and to pound my mind into submission, I went on a chore spree. Then my cell phone died for good, and I had to spend the afternoon replacing it. The latter two events are problems we’re lucky to have, since the alternative is being too broke to afford these things. But it sent the day on a trajectory I hadn’t anticipated. The only cure for this one right now is to reach the end of the day and go to bed.

In the last several months a lot of stress has been in my life. My aunt and father died a week apart in June and my stepfather died in late July. A relative has been in legal trouble and there’s been a lot of wrangling about how best to help him.

Meanwhile, I’ve taken on responsibility for the site of the former family business, which is in sorry shape and in need of costly repairs. I’m learning more about the legal, real estate and financial systems than I ever cared to know.

I’m grateful for everything I’ve been learning along the way, but it’s a rollercoaster. Rollercoasters elevate the heart rate, and this ride won’t end after a few minutes. It’s time to address the low-level anxiety that keeps my chest tight, my head sore and my legs heavy.

All in all, life is good, and I’m learning to manage the added family business without letting it bleed all over the other parts of my life. Wife, kids and work are all well, and I’ve gotten through the last few months without collapsing into a bottle of numbing liquid. I’m admittedly pleased about the things I’m learning along the way, because it puts me in a better position to provide for my family going forward.

I’m glad that at this stage of my life I can see the feelings for what they are and act accordingly.

Swim Upstream by Eddietheyeti
“Swim Upstream” by EddieTheYeti