Where Did It All Go Wrong?

First of all, I should mention that this "thing" has been in the works for quite some time. After some aborted attempts, I've finally gotten around to it. Of course, I'll always say that Patrick put me up to it. After all, I'll try anything Patty-boy does....at least once.....except maybe that sky-drop thing at Six Flags...and using too much pancake syrup...screw that!!!


The plan is for this to be the totally uncensored place for me to be philosophical, talk sports, use vulgar language, tell offensive jokes, vent and be stupid.....but I don't see it getting too racy at least for a couple hours......but you have been warned.





With that out of the way, I dedicate the remainder of this inaugural post to Patrick, for being a constant source of inspiration....to Kelly Z, for being the one who seems to pay the most attention to my nonsense (and because it's her birthday), to Kevin Freeman, for being cool and to my brother--whom, for over 35 years, has been laughing his ass off at the end result of the story I am about to tell.......




A few people over the years have inquired about the origins of my odd personality.



"Have you always been this weird?"



"Did your parents do a lot of drugs in the 60's?"



"Did you get dropped on your head as a baby?"



"Are you on drugs right now?"






No, no, i don't know and no.



Truth be told, I've never taken any illegal narcotics...never even experimented......I left that to the experts. Some have often joked that I'd be really messed up if I had gotten into that sort of thing......or perhaps, things would've cancelled out and I'd be somewhat closer to what most consider "normal"....who knows?



I like to think I was headed down a more straight and narrow path initially but that all got off course early on in life. In fact, I think that after years of probing the deepest realms of my own brain, I've been able to pinpoint the exact moment when the Steak was born and Greg Salisbury ceased to have control over his own destiny.



If you're here, you probably already know this but for any newcomers, I am half Native American.....from the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma to narrow it down a bit. It's no secret that many Native Americans do not like to be photographed for fear of having their souls stolen from them by a camera. I've never really put much thought into that until recently. I always cast the notion off as myth....or some sort of paranoia......but now, after extensive research, I do have to wonder.



Go back in time with me.....the year is 1973.....



The family and I were living in Conicville, Virginia (in between two separate stints in Blacksburg)......not really near anything but a few Civil War battlegrounds....but for the most part a fairly pleasant place to be a kid. For excitement, we'd often make the thirty minute trek to Harrisonburg to see what the "big city" had to offer. During these trips, my brother and I would be in the back seat of our old 1968 Chevrolet Caprice...making the arm motions at all the truckers we encountered to get them to blow their horns. It was a pretty good day if we could reach double digits in the number of truck horns we heard wail.



On one day in particular, however, I recall being in the backseat by myself while my brother and mom were sitting up front, yapping about something I couldn't care less about. I wanted some horns blarin'!!!! So there I was, jerking my arm up and down as hard as I could.....when I spotted it.



The family camera was sitting in the floorboard behind the passenger seat. I thought that if I could capture what I was doing on film, I could relive the moment anytime I wanted and I could show the pictures to all the kids I knew and they'd all think I was really neat. (don't think I'd been introduced to the term "cool" at this point.....wasn't even in school yet)



Problem was....I'd never used the camera. I'd never been allowed to touch it.....but really, how hard could it be? You just hold it up, point it and pull the trigger thingie....people had done it to me many times and I had paid attention and I was an expert. (The camera is an old Kodak Land model.....which I still have....should also be noted that this day marked the beginning of a photography career as well)



So, I had the composition in my head. I would wait until a semi-truck was close enough to get a good shot. I would position the camera on the little ledge between the seat and the back windshield so that my arm and said truck would both be part of the picture. I was going to be a photographic genius at the age of four and a half!! The perfect moment arrived, I pulled the trigger and presto...........








I had major delusions of grandeur for weeks until the photos were developed.



then.....



RATS!!!!!



I didn't even have the will to ever make another attempt. Getting the horns to blow didn't seem like all that much fun for a long while after that.



But since only half my head was captured, I'm thinking maybe only half my soul was taken.....the serious half.



That's the best explanation I can come up with for being the way I am.



So, no.....no drugs, I'm not from Krypton, i wasn't bitten by a radioactive spider but there, for the first time in print......you finally have the origin of Steak. Pass it on to your children so that they can then pass it on for generations to come.