r é s u m é

 - resume -

. . . . . please like me . . . . .
. . . . . and give me money . . . . .

I'm the kind of person.....
  that needs to be explained.  

Hey..... what the fuck ?!?!?
You expected a real résumé ?
Well, to borrow the words
of some famous Vulcan philosopher    
"Nothing unreal exists"
OK, so ..... I went to the
School of Hard Knocks
..... for awhile .....
then I dropped out.
So, how did I get here?
Um ..... long story.
I was a roadie
a paper boy,
a dishwasher,
a delivery guy.....
but i never "identified"
with them as a career
- did some tech school -
that was a waste of time
..... freelanced webpages
never been in a band
made any money at all
done anything worthwhile
or even justified my existence
there's prolly no point
in you reading any further
..... but ..... anyways .....
the rest of this page is a bio
no rubber duckies were needlessly exploited
- me at age 2 - playin -
January 1968
Born... or so they tell me - actually, I was surgically removed. If you haven't heard about us C-types, we're often unsatisfied and rarely surprised. OK, I just made that up - but it almost makes sense. For the pie eyed crystal wavers out there, I'm a Capricorn with a Full Moon in Leo, Rising - apparently, things lke that only happen to those of us who are also near or on the cusp of Aquarius (but aren't we all).

The momentous event in question is alleged to have occurred in Port Huron, Michigan - which is more famous for Thomas Edison (who managed to make much of himself, no pressure). Soon afterwards they moved me to St. Clair Shores (which, as one may suspect, is on the Shores of Lake St. Clair), a charming suburb of Detroit and the boating capital of North America. They also wanted to be convenient to my grampa's place, which was a nice spread on the water, with docks n boats n everything. I caught a bass once, here I am attempting to clean it.

Alice Cooper once said that the Detroit street kid is the greatest rock and roll critic in the world - and he may be right: he's from Detroit himself. So is Madonna. Also Bob Seger, Ted Nugent and Grand Funk Railroad more or less. Kiss and the J. Geils Band did very well there. I was not so lucky. Lily Tomlin's from Detroit. So was Gilda Radner.

Eventually, I learned to play - and this remains a favorite pastime of mine to this day. I started out small, with a number of blocks and my own drool - eventually moving up to stuffed animals and toy cars - thus inspiring obsequious experiments in architecture and infrastructure - building little forts and ramps out of all the books given to me, in hopes that I'd read quietly for 20 years, and emerge as a doctor or a lawyer - turns out I was more the Indian Chief type, however.

Here I am, utterly pleased to be practicing for my college days - complete with scale models of the real things. Seriously though, I'm sure I was potty trained by then - those aren't diapers, those are cuttoffs, and they still fit. Actually, that's a bathing suit my mom made for me - which is now enshrined, along with everything else that survived. Obviously, someone had just told me a funny joke - this is probably the best way to get kids to smile. Also, I was thrilled to be finally getting into something having to do with something like my very own pool. Ever since they took me for swimming lessons at 18 months, I kinda had a thing for chlorine.

Not long after this, we did get a real pool - well, almost - not a fancy schmancy built-in-the-ground type - this was the kind that made crop circles (before such things were fashionable). When they were half way done filling it up, I was so excited, I ran up to it - well, more like ran into it - very pleased to see such a thing in my own back yard (I had yet to fully reign in my emotions). There may have been neighbor kids involved in this, but I'm sure it was mainly my over exuberance that caused the aluminum walls to waver and buckle, thus releasing the acquired aquatic volume to the lawn. When they finally re-filled it up, it was about midnight or so and they woke me out of bed for a moonlight swim. Now, these are nice people. They could see I felt awful, and probably were worried it would scar me for life - which it did, but the swim was still a very nice gesture.

- me at age 2 - playin -
- me at 5 - 1st grade -
- me at 10 - 6th grade -
- me at 13 - 9th grade -
The 70s
These pictures did not age so much as that's the color everything was back then. We really were looking at life through rose-colored contact-lenses (but the solid kind, the ones that need to be taken out and cleaned once in awhile). This is one of the reasons why all TV from that era seems smoky and blue, (also, laughter seems artificial and very far away). I didn't know this at the time, but the 60s were over. In fact, if you would have told me that, back then, I would not have known what you meant.

I don't remember the Moon Landing, but I do remember Watergate and Viet Nam. Having recently arrived, the obvious question seemed to be something like, "why do bad guys get to be in charge?" So, I asked it. Silence. For the somewhat taller grown-ups, high-balls in hand: the subject was changed to how smart I seemed - except, I don't really know anything (for instance, that question has yet to be answered).

Dad was proud. Mom was motivated. In one of the earliest inceptions (or latter predecessors) of Hooked on Phonics, I was taught how to read, at far too early an age. They then gave me IQ tests, which weighed me in at 143 (I have yet to play this number in the lottery). Impressive, perhaps (thank you) - but I attribute it to having been sat down in fronta Star Trek and Bugs Bunny at an impressionable age. Actually, much may be attributed to either. Skipped Kindergarten - never learned to finger-paint or nap properly (the rest may be attributed to either of those).

I was given a little book on stars, which I can safely say was one of the few books I actually read - though I'm pretty sure I never read the entire thing. My terrible task was then to astound tall people with obscure facts and statistics, like: there are 9 planets which orbit the Sun, of which Earth is the third, at a rough distance of 93 million miles. No, there weren't any other children for me to hang out with. The prevailing response to things like that was that I should run along and play - a situation which still occurs to this day.

Attended Grosse Pointe Academy for first grade, where I learned to read again - but this time, in a blue blazer. Not an entirely different experience, but it turned out to be one we could not afford, a second year. After looking into a few other Sesame Street scenarios we could also not afford, it was decided that public school would build much needed character. I haven't seen a real life rich person up close ever since.

Instead, we divested our upper middle class accumulate, and got a boat - the Scrambler, an eight meter Florida speedboat, which was happiest going 75 mph. Mom was not happy being airborne over water, however, so we traded up to the Floating Suite - a nice, quiet cabin cruiser - but ultimately stopped taking her out on weekends, because gas was approaching a dollar a gallon.

Dad had been in the Navy, so it was important to him that I develop sea-legs, which I did. It was also important to him that I not throw the anchor overboard unless there is a line attached to it; or, if there is a line attached, it should not be kinked so as to chip a waterline smile in the gelcoat - both of these, I also did; but we were too close to the shore for throwing me overboard to have any real, lasting effect.

Never learned to tie a knot, but I'm a fairly recreational swimmer. The condos we lived in had an olympic size pool with two diving boards. Also, the clubhouse had a pool table - and the local strip mall had a 31 Flavors. All that, plus a paper route, and I appeared to be destined for great things.

Jesus Christ Superstar. Tommy. I listened to those albums endlessly until every word, every note was tattooed on the inside of my skull - and then I listened to them again. I made a low-tech pinball machine from a slanted board, a superball, magic markers for flippers and some pet rocks for bumpers. My grampa heard of this and got me a real pinball machine for Christmas and birthday - he was so very wise. The highly reactive and intuitive bings and bongs instilled in me a strong lean towards an ever intensifying percussive sense (live performances will get faster and faster until it appears I'm playing backwards).

There were a few piano lessons, but I never learned Chopsticks or Heart and Soul. I got Yankee Doodle and The Star Spangled Banner down OK, though. Both Jim Croce albums were stacked on the hi-fi. Mom played Streisand, The Carpenters, Barry Manilow and show tunes. Dad was into some longhair kinda classical music, operas and 50s Rock and Roll. In my pile, Black Sabbath - Paranoid. Janis Joplin - Pearl. Billy Joel - The Stranger. Elton John - Greatest Hits Vol 2.

Then disco happened and I was ruined for life. Saturday Night Fever struck me down like the twit in waiting I was, and by all appearances deserved to be. But Kiss - Alive II saved me from all that. For the next few years, until they broke up the original band, I was so into them, it made everyone else puke. I got every album and cut out tons of pix from magazines.

Paper routes teach independence, economics, organization and how to make hot chocolate. The sub I lived in is an intertwining maze of tree lined streets - I knew all kindsa shortcuts and made maps. Hopping fences, climbing trees, jumping off roofs - I wanted to be a superhero when I grew up. Spiderman, X-Men, The Avengers. Marvel Comics - great storylines, art, and they're not put out by the man.

I was about 12 when the parents finally divorced - Dad got the house, me and the dog - and Mom got all the cool furniture. She found a place she could barely afford - in the same school district, so I could retreat there in case of inevitable emergencies. But they were both crazy, so I bounced back and forth between the two, depending on who was freakin out.

1980 brought a waiting world AC/DC - Back in Black and Black Sabbath - Heaven and Hell. It wasn't what we'd been promised - but at that point, optimism seemed appropriate. In high school, I played Dungeons and Dragons, learned Computer Programming and was on the swim team - my high score diving was 143 (this time, not very impressive, but I was happy with it).

Led Zeppelin. Deep Purple. Van Halen. Ozzy. Queen. The birth of M-TV. I could walk or ride my bike to about 10 different places to get pizza n play video games.

After years of begging for a guitar, I was finally emotionally bribed with what immediately seems to many (if not most) to be one of the most (of not too many) ridiculous looking basses ever glittered: red with orange flames - action silhouettes of Amazonian Valkeries engaged in primordial battle on the back.

At last, a new purpose in life. Having already mastered the air-guitar, I was shown how to play, and encouraged to practice: Smoke on the Water, Iron Man, Paranoid, Dazed and Confused, Whole Lotta Love, Sunshine on Your Love and Oh Well. Not being able to figure out the real bass lines to any of those tunes, on my own, I explored the hammer-on pull-off technique until there was no longer any question I wasn't really playing bass.

Get a guitar... OK, check. Other things to do before I turn 16 (or shortly after): lose virginity; get driver's license; start partying (drinking, smoking cigarettes and pot); drop out of school and run away from home. That's OK, I skipped a year - it all evens out. Worked at a car wash for three dollars an hour, under the table, cash daily.

First Band: Some stoners I knew needed a bass player. Two guitarists and a drummer. Aerosmith n Motley Crue style originals, and one tune entitled "Inna-between the Legs" (which has since evolved into a mega-opus, in my mind). Never made it outta the basement.

Moved to Kalamazoo, with my dad and his new wife, for 11th grade, mark II (four hour train ride, visit mom monthly). Yes, back in school, everybody's thrilled - light load: art, woodshop - creative writing, for turning in Zeppelin and Floyd lyrics, yet finding my true muse. No more advanced, accelerated classes for uptight, over-priveledged sons of bankers - except Economics, where a computer program simulated the increasingly theoretical market for small business. We broke off into groups and sold virtual shoes using strategies we'd learned by listening carefully. I got to name my group's virtual company: Pro-Tech, which scored high on the success ratio meter (there really is a Pro-Tech brand of shoes, so it may have been subliminal). I got an A, but failed the class for being habitually late, first thing in the morning.

Second Band: Hey, look - another hippie, n gots a stack, into Hendrix and Floyd. This guitarist had a garage - neighbor was a real drummer, and thought we were very lame, which we were. Our stoner buddy could not sing, but offered moral support wherever he could. Iron Maiden!

Senior year, back in Detroit burbs. Specifically, Warren, which boasts itself to be the third largest city in Michigan (still no idea what the second one is) - kinda like The Valley, and only about a half hour drive from where I grew up.

A little side info on 1985: everything was a dollar. A gallon of gas, a gallon of milk, a pack of smokes - except half-litre (glass) bottles of Mountain Dew, those were 75 cents.

Still sworn off studying, I again took Art, etc - except for Anthropology, where I learned what a Neanderthal was supposed to look like; Electronics, which is basic math with diagrams and heiroglyphics; and Radio, where I manned the Friday night slot, from 8 to 10 (with a broadcast range of about a quarter mile) - and was booted from the building for playing Big Balls (AC/DC) my final night. That's about as close as I got to the obligitory Senior Prank, and it backfired. Since then, I've heard that tune on the real radio many times, when I'm reminded of Dr. Johnny Fever and what happened to him for saying "booger" on the air.

Third Band: Guitarist with a basement, also knew a drummer. Thin Lizzy - Jailbreak; Led Zeppelin - Out on the Tiles Acquired an acoustic. Bonus!

in my spare time, i partied with people i knew
or was it they who were partying with me ???
the sign shoulda sed ..... long haired freaky people need not expect things to work out the way they planned
Finally graduated. Yay. Now what. Tired of getting up in the morning, only to plod pointlessly in an undesirable direction, I wanted to get into a band, put off college a couple years, but was under pressure to get the fuck out, get a job, or hit National Institute of Technology for Electronics, where mom worked as a sales rep - so, discounts. I failed miserably. Small compensation, all that stuff was to be obsolete in a few years anyways. I worked at gas stations, fast food, never once offered a record contract. But I know Ohm's Law n stuff.

Another Band: Perl White - named after the silent film movie star, who was famous for being tied to train tracks. Drummer with a basement, guitarist and girlfriend, chick singer. This band played out: about a dozen originals, and Rush - Bastille Day. Bass solo went well once, in front of a staggeringly large number of people - four bands, one farm, minor festival; we were third up n the cops raided the place just as we were finishing. I was told by a really wasted potential groupie that I was the best lead guitarist there. Ah, I took it as a compliment.

Worked as a roadie for buddies' bands, Hunky Dory and Mommie's Dearest. At the bar level, the roadie's usually the only guy goin home with any money - n I earned my 25 bux: ran lights, made setlists, got drinks, drew a logo, did fliers, etc. Followed em out to LA, right before grunge. No one had any money, least of all me. They're all sleeping on couches, or floors - 1000 bux a month for a tiny two bedroom apartment. So I fled.

Having not been home in awhile, I really had no place to go, or stay, or visit. My dad thought I was gay, and my mom thought I was a drug addict. Actually, most people thought I was a gay drug addict. So, against my better judgment, I tried out homelessness for awhile - off and on, in my spare time - it wasn't for me.

So not only am I a hippie in a decidedly non-hippie dominated world, but now I'm one of the crazy people. Turns out, I have agoraphobia. Groovy. I don't have panic attacks, or anything like that (which is almost a shame), but I do go out of my way to avoid the mall, etc. I used to try to explain to people that I was kinda like a Jedi, picking up on bad vibes, which thus made me uncomfortable - but that made them uncomfortable. In life, I've found things like that only serve to further solidify any original impressions that I'm one of the crazy people, and should be taken less seriously (especially upon finding out that I'm on disability, but not on any medication), so I stopped sayin shit like that. Must be the radiation.

More Bands: Rented a room at a buddy's house, we're all jammers. Pearl Jam and The Black Crowes were supposed to team up with Soundgarden and The Cult to save rock from the commercialization damnation situation - we waited in vain. Still considering myself a dedicated songwriter, and having amassed a wealth of material from my time out west, I enjoyed casual collaboration, deliberate distinction and righteous roadie rewrite rights with nominal names like: The Travel Agency, Silverwood Blossom and The Emissaries. Again, about a dozen originals, and a few covers.

Still More Bands: Dudes on Ludes and The Cringe were jam-nite side projects of a buddy who was front man for the bar-land cover project Distant Reality, who I would sometimes roadie for, etc. Cheech n Chong - Earache My Eye.

if this is how people see you ..... you will
likely never amount to anything, either
About this time, Mom catches the flu real bad, then bursts her appendix, n then takes too long to recover - and a couple extra weeks off work, she loses her job. Turns out she's got Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (again, radiation), which takes awhile to diagnose, cuz it's one of those things that's all in your imagination. So, having nowhere else to go, I move back in with her. Yes, I was that guy: moved back home, kept the hair. Ah, I was still in my early 20s. OK, mid 20s. Eh, she's got a basement, maybe I can start a band - twas not to be.

No More Bands: Maybe it was the times, but I couldn't find anybody to jam with. Everybody I knew still in town, still played, not too busy with actual bands, was too busy with work, life, n everything else (or so I gleaned). By this time, I had about 200 originals, mostly all mine - so, I made a list. This was before computers, so I made many lists, on paper. I arranged all the songs into albums, up to the point where I realized I would need the rest of a band - n then I called everyone I knew again, but they were still too busy.

A chance sleepy adventure to a garage sale across the street produced a COCO2 for about 20 bux. Remembering my BASIC from high school, I programmed a personal version of Missile Command, but had to leave the thing on for weeks at a time because there was no disc drive, and none available, even then. I still have the handwritten code n occasionally consider learning VB (or whatever is required to emulate on PC), justa finally prove to anyone interested that I'm capable of making something of myself - the intro splash is an impressively primitive rendering of Marvin the Martian.

To make some extra cash, I would sub on Ma's neighbor's paper route; and soon got one of my own - eventually combining both routes into one giant territory. I had about 100 customers, which works out to about 100 bux a week - but after gas, coffee, etc, it really wasn't worth the trouble. Got me outta the house and kept me in t-shirts, CDs n pizza - about one of each per month, for almost a year, until the strike.

My dad having been a Teamster's Business Agent, I won't cross a picket line. Years later, the National Labor Relations Board found that the Detroit Newspaper Agency utilized unfair negotiation practices and were guilty of breach of contract - but, as predicted, the US Court of Appeals reversed themselves and overtuned that decision. No penalties were enforced, nobody got their old job back, and the case remains unsettled. I had been right all along - the man really didn't give a flying fuck.

Mom's CFS is at its worst. She is too tired, to do anything, most or all the time - and has completely had it with Michigan winters. The idea: move south. I was thinkin Florida, but she has distant cousins in Macon, GA (of all places), so off we go on a big adventure. I have no idea what I'm doing here. Allman Brothers are from here - also Little Richard and Otis Redding. Neat. Cool. But the culture shock still amazes me. Ah, there's a pool at the apartments.

Still No Bands: New in town, again - seekin out fellow jammers. One bar had a jam nite setup dealie - a couple times a week - and I would thus, naturally, attend religiously. But I ended up spending more on beer than is reasonable for someone without any other applicable reason for being - and as my investment had proven increasingly less justified, I sought other avenues. I even answered jam ads from Atlanta, a two hour drive away - this was to prove equally fruitless.

The frustration accumilated - and I became a pseudo web geek, spending endless hours online and developing such web skills that make people legends in their own mind, but only because few others have even heard of them. Eventually, I amassed enough data to warrant my own domain. Everybody else was getting one - so I nabbed dudeman.net - which is home to all my websites.

- d u d e m a n . n e t -
 Dudeman  Comic Strips - occasional further dabbling
 Spacedog  Astronomy - constellations and nearby stars
 Siriusly  Words - fantasy, science fiction, science fact
 Jam  Music - classic progressive bluesy folk rock
 Shadows  Audio - jamming, recording, mixing, producing
 Act Natural  Video - animation - design and production
 Zoid Zam  Art - lettering, logos, desktop wallpaper, etc.
 Astra  Bryce - 3D generated virtual environments
 Dragons  Corel - better than PS for many reasons
 Webgodz  HTML - specializing in CSS and tables

Oh, so you want more pictures, eh ?
OK, this is what I dug up n scanned so far.

This is my dad, tickling me,
at the impressionable age
of about two and a half.

This is the sort of thing
they did to small children
in the Summer of 1970.
- my dad n me at age 2 - summer of 70 -
- house on little mack, front - 1970 -
- house on little mack, back - 1970 -
This is the house where I lived from ages 2 through about 5. It was built on a slab (concrete foundation), and so was completely taken over by tiny little ants. I remember I had this little cup that had all these little grooves on the sides and the bottom. When I had aged sufficiently to be allowed to feast at the table, I would place this cup over one or a few of them and try to guess which portal they would eventually emerge from. I was rarely correct. This affected my developing decision making processes to this day.

Ours was a quarter acre lot, adjacent to about the same, but more of a swamp with trees where I was scared to play. In the winter, the water would freeze over and neighborhood kids would play hockey.

Less than a frisbee throw away from this remarkable building, and historic landmark, is a medium sized intersection. Well, it merits a traffic light, anyways. One day, I decided that I would venture out to the bakery that was "kitty corner" from our house, for to collect some cookies. Because I watched Sesame Street every day, I knew to only cross at a green light, and thus survived. I am told that I asked the lady behind the counter if I could please have some cookies. It is equally recounted that I was said to be dumbfounded when she inquired if I had any money. A similar reaction is to be expected today. I learned from this that one can never watch too much TV - especially the educational variety. =o)

Hey, my Grampa,
Cousin Chris, and me
(at almost 5 years of age
if this is Christmas of 1972).
See the red eyes on the brat?
What they gave me, in that box,
is said to have cured me of all that.
So ... I'm much better now ..... really.
- grampa, cousin chris, me at almost 4 - christmas 72 -
- my parents up an abandoned lighthouse on lake st clair -
- abandoned lighthouse on lake st clair -
My parents. 
Charming, eh? 

This is them 
in the early 70s, 
adventuring upon an 
old abandoned lighthouse 
- situated plainly 
n precisely where 
Lake St. Clair meets 
the Detroit River. 

This is one of the 
few places in the US 
where it's not a status 
symbol to own a boat 
- and, for awhile, 
we had one too. 

My memory of this relic 
is the early 80s tilted version. 

Surely, by now, it is 
either completely submerged 
or has been carted away 
by a unionized workforce. 

Apparently, at the time, 
it was a magnet for 
contemporary partiers. 

My dad is a cross between 
Captain Kirk and The Fonz 
- or "Life & Times" Jim Croce 
and a western Clint Eastwood. 
I have one pic of him in his 20s 
looking just exactly like a 
very young Frank Sinatra 
- but nowadays he's kinda 
more like Jack Nicholson 
meets Marlon Brando. 

My mom is a mix 
of Barbara Streisand 
and Mary Tyler Moore 
- or, if you like, Sally Field 
meets Candice Bergen? 
Sometimes she accidentally 
slips into Goldie Hawn mode 
- a reknowned butterfly, famous 
for her Aunt Clara moments. 

Maybe I was adopted.