"Crackin' Up" (Book Review) Portrait of an Addict as a Young Man by Bill Clegg

Before choosing which book to read from our list, I "Google-Booked" them first and read through the first few pages to find one that I would enjoy. As I blasted through the first chapter of Portrait of an Addict as a Young Man, by Bill Clegg, I knew I had found a winner.

I was instantly intrigued by this particular book because of its relevency. I have lost many of my childhood friends to this drug, primarily because I distance myself from anyone who starts down this path, for obvious reasons. I'm not claiming innocence over here, in fact, many of the situations described (in jaw-clenched detail, I might add) and feelings of despair can translate to many other drugs, as well. Let me just say: the line is drawn at crack and heroin between me and my current friends because dabbling with them always ends with the person changing for the worse; period.

First of all, the intensity and pace set by this memoir is riveting, to say the least. I literally read it in two sittings. Right from the beginning the reader is thrust into the author's situation, and I could not put it down. This is one of the book's greatest stregnths: it starts in the middle, with the author in the thick of his situation to the point where he is almost already a lost cause. I really felt was he was feeling as he raced from one safe haven to another and found myself (to my horror) rooting for him everytime he made it into a new hotel room. Clegg also does an amazing job of making you feel as though you have followed the character on this six week crack binge; I felt exhausted and exhilerated at the same time, and completely rung-out. I've had a few rough weekends in my day, but nothing comparing to this seemingly never-ending run.

There are a few things that I found a little irritating: The book is written with (at least) two storylines going at the same time; one starts after the author falls off the wagon after his first rehab stint, and the other as far as I can tell when he is a boy. It can be a little confusing at times, because there is some jumping around in the memoir; but I feel that when the stories begin to converge in the timelineis when it becomes a slight issue. What I mean is, when the "second timeline" (where the author starts off as a boy) catches up to where he starts smoking crack and all the events before his first rehab stint happen, it can be hard to remember exactly which timeline you are reading because they have the same patterns: hit up atm, avoid Noah's calls, meet some random "drug f(r)iend," score crack, get hotel, rinse, repeat.

Another thing that bothered me just a little bit: unresolved issues. Being that this is a memoir and not a novel, it is forgivable, obviously. And many of the things the author "sees" or "hears" (JCPenny guys, cabbie comments, cabbie index cards with sharpie marking) can be chalked up to the fact that he's incredibly (inhumanly at times!) strung out on crack and apparently hasn't slept in about six weeks, give or take. That can be excused, but what I felt like I needed more explanation about was the "peeing issue." Especially the way he described it as pinching and rubbing, jumping up and down, and the blood. The author states toward the end that even he never got closure on this, so I guess we are meant to feel the same way: confused and slightly mortified.

Overall I have to say this book was completely enthralling. I definitly felt that many of the most important feelings he expressed were so honest and genuine that it was mind-blowing. Example: toward the end the author describes his nights as always trying to find a way to disappear from his boyfriend (or anything, for that matter) so he can get his fix. It seemed true-to-life for me that this is how someone under the spell of freebasing would think: with one purpose, and one alone: get more crack. I also really liked the repitition of the line he remembered from some novel, "it would be now," pertaining to everything from being arrested to ODing. Lots of realistic details and thoughts really ground the reader while you are swept away on what is an intense rollercoaster ride. Highly recommended!!

The History Of Ludwig II As Related To Ludwick III by Ludwick II (REVISION ESSAY)

Growing up as a child, I didn't know my father very well at all. I was born in Nebraska, Licoln, specifically, and apparently we lived next to a jail. My father vanished for a year, and my mother who was from around here originally, had no idea what to do. My father was a truck driver and had been known for disappearing for months on end, but this time my mother had had enough and moved us back to this area in upstate NY to live with my grandparents.

My dad had been an airborne ranger in Vietnam. He had recieved two purple hearts, as well as various other medals. Getting shot is a family tradition on my dads side, as his father ALSO had two purple hearts, except he was a marine, Hooo Aaah. My dad had been shot twice and hit with grenade shrapnel, but one of the bullets had hit him right in the jaw. He had told me that that particular bullet had passed through the stock (wooden butt of a rifle) before it slammed into his jaw. He would relate to me that f it hadn't hit that wood first, it would have cut his head clean off and I would never have been born.

After we moved back to NY my father showed up after awhile in his rig claiming he had been in jail for beating up some guy, or something. Some bullshit. From this point on I saw him once a year or so, but I didn't like him all that much for reasons a child doesn't understand until they are older. Then, on some summer breaks from school, he would insist I ride with him in his truck for my summer vacation. I HATED it. Months trapped in a rig with my father driving coast to coast. Whats funny is, he had a bed in his rig that I slept in day and night but the man NEVER slept. EVER. Even as a kid I thought it was weird.

He would, however, disappear at almost every truck stop we stayed at. Sometimes for days on end. These truck stops are HUGE with arcades and little movie theatres and all types of entertainments for weary truckers. I would watch other people play the arcade games and meet other kids sometimes, then sleep at night in his truck. No matter how hard I looked for him I could never find him until he would just appear one day and say it was time to hit the road. I wasn't aware of the dangers present then, but as I got older I obviously resented him for it.

So, on one of the lengthly hauls that the old man and I were on he divulged our family history as it was related down to him from his father, and so forth. We "Ludwicks" were actually descended from the old King of Bavaria, Ludwig II. As my dad related the tale to me, he informed me that we were actually descended from his sister, because Ludwig II, also known as the "Mad Baron" and "Fairly Tale Prince," was also what my dad referred to as "fey," with a limp-wristed hand wave.

Now might be a good time to point out that besides being twice my size and tougher than a coffin nail, my father looks exactly like me. So do his brothers, his father, etc. We Ludwick males carry strong genes for a big nose, imposing eyebrows and small chins. It appears that it has perhaps always been this way, as the picture above is Ludwig II pasted over the most famous castle he ever commissioned (and inspiration for Walt Disney's Cinderella's Castle) called "Neuschwanstein Castle." You may or may not agree that the picture resembles me, but if you ever saw a pic of my father as a young man (something I cannot provide or I would), you would be taken aback, surely.

Anyway, there is a lot of stigma surrounding this man; to this day there are plays about him in Germany and around Europe he is subject of many legends. My father told me: Ludwig II was terrified that his sister's sons were after his throne, being that he had no heir, and had attempted to kill them. They both fled to America where one son changed his name to Ludwick, donning the "CK" at the end instead of "G," which was a pretty common name. Ludwick, however, is an extremely rare name that won't appear in any of those "coat of arms" books, or whatever that have EVERY freakin' name and where it derives from. Ludwick is curiously missing from any such documentation. In fact, my father told me(and this could DEFINITELY be bullshit) , that there is only ONE strain of the name, and it comes directly from the nephew of Ludwig II who changed it.

Again, this is a story related to me by my father who is, among other things (including John Ludwick II), something of a fucking liar.

Family History As Told by LudwiCK II (Workshop 2)

When I was growing up, I didn't know my father very well at all, nor do I to this day. He was an Airborne Ranger doing special ops in Vietnam and was shot many times, including right in the face. He told me quite a few times that that particular bullet passed through the stock (wooden end that you brace against your shoulder) of one of his fellow soldiers guns before burying itself in his jaw. He told me that if it wouldn't have randomly been slowed down by that wood, it would have decapitated him, and I would never have been born. He received two purple hearts for his many injuries over two tours, as well as a bunch of other medals. Since then, and to this day, he is a truck driver. When I was young, I would see my dad roughly once or twice a year, when he rolled into town in his big rig. A few times, he did this right as summer vacation started, and he would kidnap me for the entire summer. My father and I, coast to coast, probably at least twenty times over the course of a summer. And...I hated it. And him...at the time, at least. There were times when he would disappear for days on end, leaving me alone and penniless in a truckstop in some random state. For fucking DAYS on end. His truck, however, would be parked in the same spot, so just where he would go remains a mystery to this day that he insists never happened.

But....I digress. One of the lengthly hauls that the old man and I were on he divulged our family history as it was related down to him from his father, and so forth. We "Ludwicks" were actually descended from the old King of Bavaria, Ludwig II. As my dad related the tale to me, he informed me that we were actually descended from his sister, because Ludwig II, also known as the "Mad Baron" and "Fairly Tale Prince," was also what my dad referred to as "fey," with a limp-wristed hand wave.

Now might be a good time to point out that besides being twice my size and tougher than a coffin nail, my father looks exactly like me. So do his brothers, his father, etc. We Ludwick males carry strong genes for a big nose, imposing eyebrows and small chins. It appears that it has perhaps always been this way, as the picture above is Ludwig II pasted over the most famous castle he ever commissioned (and inspiration for Walt Disney's Cinderella's Castle) called "Neuschwanstein Castle." You may or may not agree that the picture resembles me, but if you ever saw a pic of my father as a young man (something I cannot provide or I would), you would be taken aback, surely.

Anyway, there is a lot of stigma surrounding this man; to this day there are plays about him in Germany and around Europe he is subject of many legends. My father told me: Ludwig II was terrified that his sister's sons were after his throne, being that he had no heir, and had attempted to kill them. They both fled to America where one son changed his name to Ludwick, donning the "CK" at the end instead of "G," which was a pretty common name. Ludwick, however, is an extremely rare name that won't appear in any of those "coat of arms" books, or whatever that have EVERY freakin' name and where it derives from. Ludwick is curiously missing from any such documentation. In fact, my father told me(and this could DEFINITELY be bullshit) , that there is only ONE strain of the name, and it comes directly from the nephew of Ludwig II who changed it.

Again, this is a story related to me by my father who is, among other things (including John Ludwick II), something of a fucking liar.

The Force is...Pretty Strong...With This One

I have writers block so I intend to ramble a little bit:I think that Darth Vader is one of the greatest characters of all time, for many reasons:

He turned bad for a good reason, love. Thats pretty sad, and exemplifies how "the road to hell is paved with the best intentions."

Also, he is redeemed in the end of the Star Wars series. Good for him! Luke knew there was still good in him, but in the late 70's-80's....did we?

When he was bad, he was an evil fuckin' bastard. Apparently he was Hitler on a galactic level. Jesus!

I believe redemption is one of the most interesting themes to any good story, especially when the character struggles with difficult choices. Usually, they start good, turn evil for some reason, and are finally redeemed. Very uplifting. Stories (characters) of this nature represent the pitfalls of REAL life, and how easy it is to lose who you are. I find it quite inspiring. Another character of this type is the Gunslinger from the Dark Tower series by Stephen King, or maybe even Dr. Frankenstein. Victims of their own destinies!!

One thing that is sad, is that Darth Vader never reached his full potential as a Jedi OR a Sith. It is implied throughout the movies and EU (Expanded Universe) novels that he was the most gifted force-user ever. However, he obviously cut his Jedi career VERY short to become a Sith, but didn't really want to BE a Sith like the Emperor did. He never truly embraced the evil doctrines, therefore was never really the top dog at either profession. Also, in the novels it's stated that because of the loss of his limbs and health, that he could NEVER truly obtain full Darkside prowess. An example of this is the absence of the lightning that the Emporer uses. Vader can't do it because he has no hands.

Squandered talent, and a sad story. Redemption minutes before death, and a tainted legacy. :( A moment of silence for a tragic character.

NES-tigations

I've been experimenting with alcohol and the original Nintendo system. Its seems like if I catch just the right buzz, and get wrapped up in a game, I can actually revert to being an 8-year old again. It's tricky though, not enough booze and I get bored and too much makes it become a chore. It is a fine line of inebriation that turns simple nostalgia into magic.
I've gone back and beat a lot of old games that I thought were impossible when I was young. I've knocked out Tyson, killed Jason Vorhees, saved Zelda (1 and 2), and crushed a bunch of others. Some literally are freakin' impossible though. Castlevania 1 and 3 I've given up on. And Ninja Gaiden is a freakin' joke. I can get to the last board in one life, but will NEVER beat it.
It sounds ridiculous, but I get an enormous amount of satisfaction from going back and finishing what I started as a child. Unfinished business!

grinds MY gears...

I am SO sick of construction. I understand it's crucial to maintaining the roads and all, but I ALWAYS see 10 people standing around doing zilch while 1 person flags on traffic. Our tax dollars at work. If all those freakin' people would just work at the same time for a few hours, the shit would probably be done in no time. I live on Lake Ave in the city, so that speaks for itself. They've been working on the same section of road for like 8 years! Don't even get me started on Brockport....

SKYNET

If it is the VERY LAST THING I DO, I will destroy the internet. I'm changing my last name to "Connor."

Hello-Ween ESSAY

Halloween is coming and I cannot freakin’ wait. The smell is in the air, and it is getting to be just the right temperature outside: hoodie weather. Everything I see reminds me that that it will be here soon: the Spirit stores open, those two-month money machines that disappear just as quickly as they open. Spirit is practically a metaphor for Halloween itself: it’s so goddamn awesome that you can barely believe that it is legal, or exists at all, for that matter.
I have a buddy that literally has thousands of dollars worth of insane Halloween shit. Every year he saves his money and hits Spirit up the day after Halloween when everything is 50% off. He has crawling zombie animatronics, talking heads, laughing skulls, fog machines, the list goes on forever. Every year I usually play at a sick costume party somewhere, and I love that, but I always look forward to the actual Halloween night. We set up an entire graveyard in front of his father’s house in Pittsford, and spend the whole day drinking and carving pumpkins and setting up all types of crazy shit. Then, we get costumed up and scare the crap out of all the kids who come through the long walk that used to be a regular yard. Things are jumping out everywhere, we have camouflaged sensor pads all over the place, and when their little feet step on them things are popping up all over the place amid the fog. Last year there was this little kid dressed up as Harry Potter who wouldn’t even walk through it, even though every kid in the neighborhood knows we give away the best candy and include little toys and all types of crap. I know he was just a little guy, but I still thought he was kind of a pussy, even for a four year old, or whatever. Sue me. My dad would have thrown me into that shit.
Last year, it started raining early in the night, so we packed up all the delicate electronic stuff and went trick-or-treating ourselves. People get really funny, too, when grown men walk up onto their porch dressed up in costumes ringing their doorbells. They answer the door giving themselves a 50-50 chance that they might get robbed, or something. I guess it would be a good night to pull something like that…
I like that the holiday is rooted in ancient pagan traditions involving sacrifice, that just makes it that much more legit. It’s a holiday with some real street cred, no other holidays would dare fuck with Halloween. One is supposed to channel his favorite demon on this holiday, and dress accordingly. What I don’t understand is, did people ages ago have favorite demons? Sounds a little twisted, even by my standards: I have dressed as a barbecued child murderer (molester?) every year since I was a child. When you think about, kids dressed up as Freddy are either super twisted, or super bad-ass. They’re like, “Screw you Freddy, you kill children and burn them in a furnace. And I fuckin’ dig it.” That was me, anyway. It does have its ups and downs, however: on one hand, when I play a show, the pictures look awesome when I’m holding a mic in the claw. You can’t beat that. On the other hand, wearing a sweater all night in a packed club is absolute torture. I don’t wear masks or make-up or anything either, I’m John Krueger, hybrid. This year my mother got me a real Freddy claw for my birthday. That can’t bode well for anybody come Halloween.
Speaking of Halloween’s pagan roots, the has an electricity to it that is impossible to identify. You can feel trouble in the air; hell is literally blowing in the wind and everyone can feel it except the Jehovah’s Witnesses. I really pity them on Halloween, what a racket to miss out on. Everyone is dressed up and acting crazy and for one night we really are children of the Devil. Seeing as how we fell too, humans, I mean, I guess we should spend a little quality time with the old boy.

Getting Started

It's been hard getting started with any of my schoolwork because of all the bullshit going on in my life. The week before last I was told, while in school, that one of my close friends was found dead. That's it. Found fuckin' dead in his truck after having just bought his 2 year old son a bounce house from the toy store. I had spoken to him the day before, and still have text messages in my phone from that day between us. Now, he had his problems, and my friends and I ALL have our vices, but this is the 2nd time in only few years I've lost someone very close to me prematurely. Young men in their late twenties, living in the twenty-first century, typically only die for two reasons this early in their lives: car accidents and _______ (use your imagination). My friends and I keep eyeing each other...who's next??? We're like eighty-year old war veterans the way we keep ending up at each other's wakes and funerals, saying goodbye. Last fuckin' man standing, I guess, wins...?