Nurse the Hate: Hate The Concept Record

I’m a man with lots of ideas.  I regret that I, like most men, live a life of quiet desperation.  I wish I had more time to dedicate to making all of my ideas come together.  Especially the stupid ones. I have some incredibly foolish ideas for TV shows that would be amazing to see come to light.  Don’t even get me started on a couple book ideas I have…  Probably the most regular ideas I have that float into my skull are songs or concept band ideas.  For example, the other day I was in the grocery store and heard a snippet of conversation passing next to me that included the word “Aquapod”. 

I have no idea what an “aquapod” is or why anyone would use it in a sentence.  How did that word come out of someone's mouth?  It's kind of great though.  I immediately thought “what a great stupid progressive art rock word”.  I then quickly fleshed out in my head an entire concept album based on the word “aquapod”, realizing how horrifyingly bad it would be to actually make it reality.  I don’t know how familiar you are with the 1970s output of Yes, Emerson Lake and Palmer, or the Alan Parsons Project.  They made some terrible sins in the name of “art rock”.  Can you imagine them doing a concept record based on “I, Aquapod”?  Even better, what if I could sort of record something like that on the fly?  Spend maybe three hours on it, shoot a cover, and release it on an unsuspecting public.  It would be something like this…

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“I, Aquapod” by The Whiskey Daredevils (Shake It Records 2013)

The venerable Cleveland cowpunkers are back with their latest release, the sprawling three CD “I, Aquapod”.  Promotional press accompanying the release quotes lead singer Greg Miller as saying “This is a project I have always wanted to do.  I think this will be regarded as my masterpiece.”  What it is though is a shambling mess that fails on all possible levels.  This may be the absolute worst release this reviewer has ever heard from an established band.  Making Garth Brooks “Chris Gaines” CD look like a good idea is not easy, but that is what Miller has done here with the Daredevils.

“I, Aquapod” is a major stylistic sidestep for the Whiskey Daredevils.  Part country, part art rock, with dashes of metal/jazz/folk/world beat, it fails on all counts.  While the music is awful, some praise must be given to guitarist Gary Siperko, bass player Rebecca “Sugar” Wildman, and drummer Leo P. Love as they gamely try to make sense of the madness.  The mantel and weight of this disaster lies fully on the shoulders of vocalist and “author” of this disaster, Greg Miller.

The problem is not necessarily that this is a concept album with a flimsy pretense.  It should be pointed out that it did help this reviewer tremendously to have received the 188-page companion book to make some sense of it.  The problem is the wild convergence of incompatible mythologies, science fiction, and doomsday futurism.  Miller appears to have almost no understanding of any of these areas, and interchanges major concepts apparently at will.  It was as if he skimmed Wikipedia and decided he was an expert in philosophy.  For example, the eleven minute opening song “Aquapod Arise” contains lyrical references to Apollo, Saint Peter, Loki, George Washington, and Ray Bradbury.  This is all against a backdrop of Buck Owens era steel guitar and calypso backbeats. It is impenetrable.  The next track “Heel of Ulysses” contains such a basic lack of knowledge of the most widely known Greek mythology, it is laughable.

I skipped through many of the next few tracks as they were essentially unlistenable.  I did feel oddly drawn into “Aquapod Descend!” an a capella effort featuring Miller’s tortured screaming the word “descend” for seven unyielding minutes while a chainsaw buzzed in the background.  This may be the only “song” I have ever heard that makes Lou Reed’s “Metal Machine Music” feel like EZ Listening.  It is a test of endurance.

Even that could not have prepared me for the horrifying “Jesus Trident”.  This metal free jazz song is focused on the Aquapod protagonist as he defeats a navy of Russian submarines with a magical trident given to him by Jesus.  There is no explanation anywhere, even in the accompanying book, to suggest why Jesus has a magic trident and why he would need to battle Russian submarines in league with Aquapod.  Even the six-minute tympani solo by Leo P. Love cannot rescue this doomed effort.

The entire second disc is 74 minutes of spoken word over countless time changes and nonsensical instrumentation.  While you may want to plunge sharp instruments into your ears during “Aquapod Part III: Baptism of Truth”, it somehow becomes even worse when the French horns and sitar announce the arrival of “Aquapod Part IV: Struggles of Flesh and Iron”.  Most of this entire disc sounds like a high school orchestra tuning to a competent rock band while a divinity student reads randomly from spiritual textbooks.  Miller soldiers on with his incomprehensible tale as characters and story lines change seemingly on a whim.  This may have been created live in the studio in the grips of a hallucinogenic trip.  It is the ravings of a lunatic.

Disc three (or LP number 5 in the $65 vinyl version) contains the only song that could even be discussed as “catchy”; the poorly titled “Penis of Armageddon (Surgery Disco)”.  No matter how good Siperko’s guitar hook, when Miller sings “We will dine on the flesh of unicorns/in the light of mushroom clouds/Aquapod is thy savior/the earth is flat not round”, it is hard to determine if one should laugh or wince.  By the time the children’s chorus sings the final refrains of “Hitler’s Hobbits/Aquapod Requiem”, you find yourself gasping in wonderment of how such a once competent band could have gone so wrong.

While it is healthy for artists to take risks, someone needed to stop this before the first bit of tape began to roll.  Even the cover photo of Miller in a vintage deep sea diving outfit with flowing rainbow cape cannot conceal the other band members obvious embarrassment.  The photo of bass player Rebecca “Sugar” Wildman, at even a cursory glance, conveys her desire to leap out of her skin.  I only wish there was a way I could give this abomination less than zero stars.  Avoid at all costs.            

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Buffalo Bills

I have decided to wager on the Cleveland Browns today.  This is usually considered to be a poor decision, akin to shooting oneself in the scrotum.  However, I think we can all agree that sooner or later the Browns will once again win a football game.  I will need to research this in a little greater detail, but in my recollection the last time the Browns won a regular season football game James Polk was president, revelers danced the Charleston, young men were dying on Iwo Jima, and we had just put a man on the moon.  What year was that anyway?  It's probably not important, but I think we can all agree it was a long time ago.

You have to figure the Browns have this one circled on their calenders.  Buffalo is in many ways similar to Cleveland.  It's a rusty land of decay with little economic hope and hosts a football team that crushes people's dreams.  Buffalo and Cleveland should really throw the NFL for a loop and combine their two teams and get competitive.  You could build a stadium outside of Erie PA on a cornfield in Girard, and the fans could meet halfway.  They could take turns playing their kinda shitty quarterbacks, and maybe even get a pass rush by taking the best guys from both teams.  It's really an idea whose time has come, but change can often be slow to come in this region.

Since both franchises are stuck with what they have, they'll play this otherwise meaningless game this afternoon.  Cleveland is a home underdog getting three points.  Why not?  They have to win a game at some point.  Cleveland +3.

Current Record vs Spread:  3-1

Nurse the Hate: Hate Notre Dame

It's easy to hate Notre Dame.  Who places themselves into four more years of Catholic education after escaping whatever nightmarish private Catholic high school they just came from?  Why would anyone willingly go to South Bend Indiana, perhaps America's most boring town?  A self important strut cannot hide the fact that they are really just a second rate Midwestern football school that hasn't been good since Joe Montana was skulking around St Mary's Girls Academy next door.  I also must confess a personal dislike for the school from a visit in my junior year of college that found me kicked out of a party because they didn't like the way I looked (which I will now admit was "poorly dressed" at best and "dodgy" at worst).  Jimmy Jazz and I did get some payback when we rigged the stereo of the dorm room we stayed at to play Ted Nugent's "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" at a volume of roughly a F-14 at take off as we slunk out the back stairs.  I do have a vision of "Touchdown Jesus" with fall leaves crunching underfoot as I heard The Nuge rattle the windows of that dorm at 7:45 am.  That, to me, is Notre Dame.

This week Notre Dame takes on Michigan, as two schools that have been coasting on their reputations mix it up.  Notre Dame is trying to make a case that they are a legit 10-2 type team.  I have no idea if they are, so I am going to focus on the fact that Michigan definitely is not a legit top tier team.  I already am feeling some regret as I commit to Notre Dame -5, as this is a rivalry game that usually comes down to a field goal.  Still, Michigan really blows.  The question is how much of a Hollywood set is Notre Dame?  I guess we'll find out today, won't we.  Notre Dame -5.  (I already know this wager is a loser and I will hate Notre Dame even more this time tomorrow.)

Last week Tennessee failed to beat Florida for something like the 137th time in a row.  They couldn't beat Florida when they had Peyton Manning and Jamal Lewis, so why would last week have been any different?  The good news for them is that Akron is rolling into town.  I love betting against Akron football.  The Akron football team is probably a little bit worse than you think they are.  Even if you are thinking, "I bet it's a bunch of kids that got no other offers that are running around in an undisciplined fashion that may or may not have a basic understanding of how to play football", you may have oversold them.  When you see an athletic program hire on a previously disgraced son of a big name coach, you know that the school said "Well, I dunno.  What if we hire Terry Bowden?  I've heard of him!  We can probably get him cheap too!  Maybe that will turn things around..."

I think that Tennessee is looking forward to kicking the fuck out of the Zips as payback to their soul crushing loss at home vs Florida last week.  If the local newspapers really wanted to give you the straight news, they would have printed "kicking the fuck" in the preview story to this game.  Why pussyfoot around?  The headline should have been "Outmanned Zips Looking Forward to Getting The Fuck Kicked Out of Them in Knoxville".  Yes it's a shitload of points, but who cares?  Akron's not stopping anybody.  Tennessee -32.

Current Record vs Spread 2-0 

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Election

If this election doesn’t happen soon, I may lose my mind.  Political spending in NE Ohio has smashed all previous records, with the TV spending along surpassing that of all other markets.  To give you an idea of what that means, there has been more money spent by politicians in the Cleveland market than in Los Angeles.  Los Angeles commercials cost approximately four times as much as they do in Cleveland, so that explains why anytime you even walk close to a television someone is telling you why either candidate is “Bad For America” or “Bad For You”.

Frankly, I could care less who wins any of the races at this point.  Your choice is “Special Corporate Interest Cluster #1” or “Special Corporate Interest Cluster #2”.  It would be great to think that either of these groups of people gave a shit about helping the people that live in the United States, but if you are spending $38 million dollars on TV advertising in Cleveland alone, chances are that all of the people that gave you that money are going to be interesting in recouping their investment with some rather sizeable interest tacked on.  Remember that every time that the TV is telling you “Obama Is Actually A Radical Muslim” or “Romney Will Gut and Destroy All Working People”, the people that paid for that ad are expecting to get a go ahead on a $45 billion dollar nuclear submarine we don’t need.  You don’t become wealthy by investing unwisely.  These people are going to need to get paid.

The wild ass spending on these ads accomplish one thing though.  No matter who wins, you will hate them by the time they take office.  My understanding of the candidates is as follows:  If I vote for Obama, I am voting for the economic destruction of America by a man that wasn’t even actually born here, and is thus not really a citizen.  He may actually be a crazed Muslim radical that has been quietly waiting to destroy us all in his second term, but only after his very confusing health care plan guarantees that no one will ever be able to get to see a competent doctor again.  This is Bad For America.  My other choice is Romney, a man that wants to return America to a 1700s puritanical era and unleash all regulation from Big Business, thus turning all of us that are not billionaires into little more than serfs in a new slave state.  Middle Class Americans will not be able to even afford their homes while the extremely wealthy will look down from mighty palaces guarded by gangs of gun toting thugs.  This is also Bad For America.

I was talking to a guy this week that told me in hushed tones that just because there is a chance Obama might win, he has friends in Southern Ohio that have constructed bomb shelters and are hoarding ammunition and gold.  I’m not sure why if the guy that is running things now continues to keep his job all vestiges of a civilized society will collapse.  I don’t think we are on the brink of that now, but what do I know?  It’s probably fun constructing a Doomsday shelter anyway.  It’s like a clubhouse but with more guns and canned goods.  These are probably the same people that got ready for the 2000 Doomsday, and were disappointed when that didn’t go off.  Eventually we will have something terrible happen, and maybe they will get their Dark Ages Anarchy they are hoping for.   Then they will be able to confidently stride around with ammo belts and sacks of gold.  Sure, I’ll feel like an asshole when that happens, but I just don’t have time to dig a shelter right now.  

There are still another seven weeks of this shit to go.  Another seven weeks of people posting wild rumors and twisted views on their Facebook posts.  Economic doomsaying emails from business acquaintances.  Wacky cut and paste photoshop jokes.  In depth analysis of the campaign from people that don’t know what they are talking about.  Man on the street interviews that will confirm how stupid 90% of the population is.  Yard signs to alienate neighbors and passersby.  Arguments with people that go nowhere.  It’s such a fun time…

No matter who wins, it probably won’t make much of a difference to you and me.  The sun will come up.  Shit will happen.  Then more shit will happen after that.  Know this though…  I have been paying attention to you.  I know how you are going to vote.  I think you need to know something.  I know a few things.  The candidate you are voting for?  He’s Bad For America.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Vegas

 

We are playing a Cowslinger show as part of the Grog Shop 20 year reunion next week.  That means we have to rehearse so we don't look like assholes.  We wrote a shitload of music in that band, and it’s fun to play those old songs again.  It’s really weird singing songs you wrote almost a lifetime ago.  It’s like flipping through a mental picture book as you sing them.  Images flash in my head with each line as I remember what made me write the song in the first place.  There’s one song in particular that I had forgotten all about until we played it, and memories of it came back to me like watching an old movie where I know every piece of script.  

The Cowslinger song “Must’ve Been the Whiskey” is about a guy I knew that was an alcoholic.  Well, I guess he still is an alcoholic.  Why get bogged down in semantics though?  When I met him, he was clean and sober and had been for 18 months or so.  He was a really fun guy.  The guy had a great sense of humor, got into wild situations, and always had some half baked scheme going on.  I always thought to myself that if he was this much fun clean and sober, can you imagine what a blast he would be if he had a few beers in him?  I did not realize how fundamentally flawed this thinking was at this time as most of my experience with alcoholics had been limited to movies and TV where winos shuffled out of alleys drinking out of paper bags.  Surely my friend wasn’t living on skid row.  How bad could his drinking problem have been?  I would find out shortly. 

He fell off the wagon shortly before going on a Vegas junket with some mutual friends.  I had no idea, as I am generally the last person to spot illicit drug and alcohol abuse in people unless they are holed up firing pistols at a police barricade or something.  That is probably due to a combination of assuming that things are what they seem, and not being empathetic enough to pick up on these things.  Regardless, my friend was back on the sauce just in time to jet into Las Vegas for some manly gambling on NFL Football and cards. 

I think we can all agree that Las Vegas may not be the best place for a binging alcoholic to take himself and his billfold.  I knew things had gotten out of hand somewhat when he insisted that “Natalie”, a woman he met on an earlier flight that year meet him Vegas.  Natalie had a sexual bent that made her particularly interested in being spanked and entered from behind while calling the man “Daddy”.  I’m up for a good time, but I don’t think I would have been into acting out her incestual rape fantasy with her dressed as a schoolgirl.  It’s pretty creepy, right?  My friend was very interested in doing this, and bought same day tickets for Natalie to fly in from New York with her schoolgirl outfit in tow.    

The illusion that my fun friend would become even more fun with a few beers quickly disappeared.  He also disappeared.   

I think he believed we wouldn’t know that he was drinking if he just ditched us.  The fact his personality had made a complete transformation into a horribly obnoxious crass fuck would have been difficult to play off.  I will give him that.  Distance might have been a good idea if he was trying to keep his behavior off the grid. 

Things went horribly wrong for him.  He somehow ran into one of the flight attendants from our flight.  He latched onto her, and that woman hosted his mammoth Las Vegas bender.  From what he pieced together, he left The Strip and went out to a truck stop casino.  Why you would fly 2000 miles to sit at a truck stop and play blackjack in that pit of sadness, I couldn’t say.  It was there he lost great sums of money.  Meanwhile Natalie’s flight had arrived… 

Natalie, who had been looking forward to some rough sexual intercourse and role playing, had arrived at what I recall as being Caesar’s Palace and found no sign of the man that had bought her an airline ticket.  Even more disconcerting was that fact that this man that had insisted she fly to him was not in his room, and had left no message of his whereabouts.  She sat in the lobby, probably thinking about the poor decision she had made on getting on that airplane at LaGuardia Airport hours earlier.

It was very unclear to my friend about how the last events of the weekend had unfolded.  He sat next to me on the plane with a look of puzzlement.  He knew he married the flight attendant.  That he could prove with the flimsy wedding band in his pocket and folded marriage certificate document.  He also remembered quite a scene in Caesars Palace lobby when he stumbled in with his new wife and discovered Natalie waiting.  Natalie was understandably irate with how the scenario had unfolded, and much screaming and yelling ensued.  After security separated everyone, my friend was put into a position to purchase a room for Natalie at the top of the card weekend room rate.  That was the last he saw of Natalie, who presumably put on her schoolgirl outfit and enjoyed rough sexual intercourse and role playing with some other dude elsewhere in the complex.

There was some talk about getting back on the program (he didn’t) and even some limited regret with the way the weekend had gone.  I remember turning to my left and asking him how he left it with his “wife”.  It turned out that he slunk out of the room while she slept.  He never said a word.  He then turned to me and said “I can’t even remember her name.”  Hence the chorus of “Must’ve Been The Whiskey”.  I don’t think he ever heard from her, and as far as I know, he never figured out her name.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.  Well, with this exception of course. 

Winners:  It’s time to get after it by betting football.  My kitty is stuffed full thanks to betting heavily against the Indians since the All Star break. What If? What if indeed!  This weekend I like Louisville -3 over North Carolina.  North Carolina just lost to Wake Forest last week as a ten point favorite.  How the hell did that happen?  And now these kids are going on the road to beat Louisville?  I don’t think so.  Give me Louisville -3…  In the NFL, I always like home underdogs.  Even better, I like East Coast home underdogs hosting West Coast teams at 1p.  I like Miami over Oakland this week +2.5 despite the fact that I watched Hard Knocks on HBO and found the Dolphins a pretty boring and unlikeable group of guys.   By the way, the Dolphins #1 draft pick QB Ryan Tannehill had no idea what teams were in his conference, and thought somebody like Kansas City was in the NFC East.  You would think a guy that was going to be playing football professionally may have had enough curiosity to find out the very basics.  Nope.  Not him.  How much of the Oakland coverage schemes you think are sinking in?  Oh well, hopefully that dope can take the 2.5 and give me a winner on Sunday.  Yes, I know the Dolphins are terrible.  I am banking on the fact the Raiders are too.  Take Miami +2.5. 

  

Nurse the Hate: Boat Club? Yacht Club!

The good news is that this Boat Club Situation appears to be resolved.  Despite continued silence from those sons of bitches at the Avon Lake Boat Club and complete disregard from the Olde River Yacht Club, I was contacted by true salty dogs and now have found my seafaring home.  While it is true I have never actually been to the club, am unaware of its actual location, and haven't technically been formally accepted, I think you will agree by reading further that this matter has been resolved. 

I now find myself Vice Commodore and Schooner Commander of the Wildwood Yacht Club, a title which I have graciously given myself.  This is obviously an exciting development, and I look forward to expanding my role dramatically in the coming months.  The most important thing will be to bring more like minded people on board to the organization, closely followed by the need to create excellent merchandise.

There is much to do....

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Greg Miller, member prospectus, Wildwood Yacht Club 8/28/2012

Greg:

The information that you received in regard to your application for membership to Wildwood Yacht Club was neither erroneous nor fictional in any way. It takes a real man of the salt to fully grasp and comprehend the gravity of your plight. And I indeed do sir, I indeed do!  A man on a quest to become a member in an organization of such high stature is to be fully respected and commended. I can truly speak of the pitfalls and the stigma of a life of non Yacht Club membership…as a young buck I too ran into the same earthen rampart as yourself. I was forced to sneak around launching my dingy at the PUBLIC RAMP, My God man…have you ever heard of such a thing? The fine people of the club across the harbor would belittle us minions but I knew someday I would gain entrance into their garden of social grace and dignity! And that I did laddy that I did indeed! I have since come to hold almost every office in the organization up to and including Commodore for the year’s ott-6 ott-7 and ott-8. That being said I then finally reached the pinnacle of my seafaring career and decided that my service to this fine organization must be diversified into other endeavors. I currently man the rudder of House Chairman, Trustee, Membership Chairman and Goodwill and Sunshine committee chairman, as well as forever being known as a “Past Commodore”…a title that can be taken to the grave or to the bottom of the sea with tremendous self respect and gravitas.

I say good man, the sea faring home you so desperately desire may finally be at hand! If your credentials are as impeccable as your blood line visa v (Ezekiel J. Miller) I assure you that your application will be a mere formality. It has been suggested by one of our fine collogues that a celebration in commemoration of your Grandfathers ill-fated battle with the great hump back in Sandusky Bay September 23 of 1889 would be in order. We were considering a kayak parade on the anniversary date of sorts with all of the hype and hoopla such an occasion might stir up, complete with an inflatable whale in tow to mock the great beast. We will see to it all of our wenches will be wearing vast amounts of makeup and toiletries made entirely of whale byproducts as to enhance your olfactory perception.

In closing I would like to state emphatically that your alcoholic friends are welcome but their fondness for liquor and unpredictable violence will be under constant surveillance. We have a freshly appointed peace officer that is a former prison guard “as luck would have it” in the Euclid Jail where some of the most hanis criminals to ever walk the earth are warehoused  and is quite capable of handling at least four drunken combatants at a time. So fret not my fine blue-jacketed leghorn the trade winds are a blow’n and your life of salt spray and sea foam are at your fingertips!

The next step is all yours laddy …

P/C Joseph Ferrara W.W.Y.C.

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8.29.12

Past Commodore Ferrara,

You can imagine my delight when I opened your email this morning.  Just last Sunday I had to skulk onto the Avon Lake Boat Club grounds and clandestinely launch my kayak under the disdainful eyes of a family of four.  Though I walked about the grounds with the authority of a Man of the Sea, I believe that word of my blackballing from consideration into their little club had probably reached even the women and children of the community.  A man should not have to launch into the waves with a six year old casting him aspersion.  If I see that little son of a bitch out on the waves, one of us may not return to port. 

The kayak parade you mentioned touched my soul.  To imagine a fleet of fellow boaters throwing a wreath out to sea, and then returning to the club to enjoy rum and the pleasures of women would be a fitting tribute to my forefather.  I regret that I did not live in an age when whalers proudly walked up and down Euclid Ave, sharpening their harpoons in the Old Arcade.  What a time that must have been.  Perhaps we collectively can lead the charge to re-stock Lake Erie with humpbacks and gray whales, and return our city to its former glory.  Between you and I, this Medical Mart seems like a fiasco.  Whaling.  That's our past and probably our future.

Let me know how to proceed.  I would like to get an idea of your facilities, and of course begin to demand radical improvements that would probably only benefit myself.  Also, can I enter the club with an immediate title of some kind?

Regards,

Greg Miller

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8.31.12

Greg:

This talk of Harpoons and maritime comradely has my wheels spinning like water spout on a cold September morn. I may have the perfect solution to both award you the title you so richly deserve with no real responsibilities, but will have you wielding the power within the bowels of that fledgling organization. Picture this my fine seafaring mate...a fine Asian gold leaf and black quilted paisley smoking jacket complete with fleur dailies' and gold rope epilates. Then for a the head dress a revolutionary war naval battle hat that resembles a small roller coaster in blue velvet, knickers and a fake wooden leg fashioned from a piece of red mahogany salvaged from one of the many sunken whaling vessels off the coast of Vermillion. Have I peaked your interest?  I have given this organization seconds and seconds of deep thought and here it is on a silver platter being laid forth for you to peruse.  The organizations name?  Benevolent Lodge Of  Whale Harvester's On Lake Erie Shores... or B.L.O.W. H.O.L.E.S. for short.

Well there you have it. Need I babble on any further? I think not! Any great man of the sea would leap at the opportunity to”spear head” (pardon the pun) such an esteemed formation and your governance in the new organization is being called up to the wheel house! To the depths of Hell with the medical mart...Log live the whaling industry right here on the shores of Lake Erie. The Ghost of Oliver Hazard Perry beckons you to the podium for your fateful acceptance speech.

I bid you a due brother of the deep...

Joe    

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8.31.12

Dr. Joey,

I appreciate your gracious offer.  This is truly a conversation between men that have battled the elements with nothing but a small craft and immeasurable courage.  The whaling blood that runs in my veins sings when I read your words.  However, I feel that instead of beginning a new organization, I will join the Wildwood Yacht Club as a full member with all privileges, and will immediately appoint myself "Vice Commodore and Schooner Commander".  I don't know if there are any schooners currently docked at the club, but if so, please alert them that they have a new commander.   I will spend most of the weekend researching on what a "schooner" actually is, and will probably issue my first command as soon as I can figure out how to use "starboard" and "aft" in a sentence correctly.  I feel it is important that the men respect me from the get-go.

Let the other members know that I will soon be confidently striding about the facility, and will be conducting an overall inspection.  I'm sure things will be buttoned up.  It's good to finally be home.

Ahoy,

Greg Miller