Pass the Suffering

•November 26, 2015 • 2 Comments

It is officially Thanksgiving now.

My Walnut Turkey is in the oven cooking.  Everyone is asleep and the house is quiet and peaceful.  These are my favorite moments, and as I sit back in the solitude to reflect and find myself led to an interesting thought.

This year I am thankful for my suffering.

Now, before you accuse me of launching into some emo-ridden, wa-wa-milk and cookies bullshit, hear me out.

All of the things we experience in our lives are filtered through our perspective.  How we choose to employ positive, negative, and apathetic energies changes everything.  The event does not change, but the filter we engage as we process it can alter it in surprising ways from individual to individual.

As adults, it is generally quite challenging to change the way our minds process information.  It can take quite an emotional shock to re-wire ourselves into looking at things differently.  Few things can handle this task as well as suffering.

This does not mean that I am thankful for the event that triggered the suffering.  I am not happy at all that my daughter died in my arms and I’m not really thrilled by the fact that my father was killed by a gas tanker.

But the process of that expierence…and the things that it did to me.  Now that I can look back on it all…well…I am thankful for that.

When compared to burying my baby girl, the notion of freaking out over being unable to find my shoes or being unable to pay the cable bill seems absurd and ridiculous.

The process changed me.  It changed the filter that I use to view the world.

In the end, that has made me a much happier person now.

Those events broke and reshaped me.  I was lost for a decade and did many things to many people that even the thoughts of it now seem so unlike me that it is hard to believe it happened.

But the suffering set me free.  I no longer live in fear like so many.

The confidence that this world will NOT break me, that it is unable to do so after so many attempts…is a comfort that can not be described.  It took so much from me…but did not leave me empty handed.

And so, this year, I am thankful for the suffering that has led me to peace and acceptance of the world around me and my place in it.

If you are suffering this year at this time, I would give to you the knowledge that the events will pass, and if you let it, will leave behind a source of happiness and strength if you only allow yourself to use the right filter in your mind to process it.

May your holidays this year, and every year, be filled with happiness and laughter.

Happy Thanksgiving from your friend,
Dr. Froth

Surfing with Salad

•November 13, 2015 • Leave a Comment

The Salad:  “This idea is stupid, it won’t work.”

Me:  “It will work…you’re just a fat-ass.”

Looking back on it, it would probably be the only time that the Salad was right.  It was a stupid idea.

But it was not as if he was fraught with a litany of amazing intellectual insights himself.  From the shenanigans with the bulletproof vest to the incident where the burn imprint of his ass permanently scarred the seat of one of the go-karts, mayhem tended to follow the Salad everywhere he went.

In a way, the surfing incident was the culmination of a long journey of increased stupidity that all of us had descended upon there at the Houston Grand Prix go-kart track.

It had started when we found the abandoned shopping cart and then decided that we should use a chain to attach it to the four wheeler.  I remember going for a “test drive” in this contraption as Ronnie the Fist gunned the four wheeler up a hill by the back track.  The shopping cart did not take the hill with the same grace as the machine and instead projectile vomited me up into the air with the greatest of unease.  Remarkably, I walked away from this unscathed.

The other fellas took their turns in this contraption, but the shopping cart continued to degrade with each passing round.  It met its demise when poor Nugget took a run in it; the back completely falling apart, ejecting the man out behind mostly, and dragging him along the grass.  The road burn he got from this was almost unfathomable.

The shopping cart was, for the most part, annihilated.  We were able to salvage the bottom part of it,  basically just the four wheels held together by the lower portion of the cart where shoppers, during happier times in the carts life, probably stored water or paper towels.  It was just big enough for someone to sit in.

And if you were going to sit in this thing you might was well be pulled behind a go-kart like some kind of jet-ski from hell.

The Salad took a turn around the quarter mile in this manner without incident.  The cart, however, did not survive my attempts to force Salad up onto the concrete side railing in the pit like some kind of Evil Kanevil knock off.  I remember being unimpressed with its design.  How did they expect places like Food Fair and Dollar General to make a living when their shopping carts could not even survive a 30mph jaunt around a track.  It was sad.

I think it was Ronnie the Fist that came up with the final design.

A large piece of wood was to be outfitted with sled handles and tied to the go-kart like a sled.  Ronnie had constructed the sled in the shop and presented it to us.  We all thought it looked like an outstanding idea and could not wait to try it out.

The original plan was that The Salad would attempt to surf the track while I drove the go-kart.

We got everything ready by the pit on the quarter mile track.  The Salad was in position on the sled and I had the car fired up and ready to roll.  I got in and eased the gas pedal down.   Nothing happened.   We lurched forward maybe an inch or two at most.  It was very anticlimactic.

The Salad and I began to argue.  He was convinced that the plan was retarded and that it would never work in a million years.  I was totally convinced that he was a fat son of a bitch and that the go-kart would need a larger motor to drag his ass around the quarter mile.

Refusing to concede that he might actually be right, I suggested that we switch positions.

He thought that sounded reasonable and so I climbed aboard the sled and he hopped in the go-kart.  To ensure success, The Fist pulled up in another car and gave Salad a push.  With a smug feeling of satisfaction, I gave a thumbs up as the sled began to move behind the car and pick up speed.

I was right.  Salad was a fat-ass.  The idea worked.

Sadly, The Salad was also right.  This was the dumbest fucking idea known to man.

To be honest, the first three turns of the quarter mile was actually pretty damn fun.  I even managed to somehow navigate the “S” curve on the sled.  It was the final straightaway that everything went south.

I’m not sure if the Salad disabled the governor and got the go-kart up to a higher rate of speed where the turns could no longer be navigated or if the rope just could not take any more abuse and broke.  I guess it does not really matter at this point.

The go-kart track is asphalt like a regular road.  The side rails are pieces of steel that have been bolted to tires.

At the magic moment, the sled could no longer be turned for one reason or another.  The speed had picked up enough where I had ended up on my knees on the wooden plank, holding onto the handles that Ronnie the Fist had created.  I was beginning to become concerned.

The board went directly into the sidewall of the track.  It went right under the tires and steel railing.  Of course I was too big to do that so I just smashed right into it.  Fortunately for me, I was able to absorb the impact with my face and wrist.

The Fist had pulled ahead of the Salad and me and had turned around just in time to watch it go down.  I went into the railing face first, one of the tire bolts puncturing my forehead and shattering my left wrist.  The impact threw me straight up in the air where I spun around and somehow ended up on my back on the track.

It was so horrendous that as he ran over to me, he was sure that I was probably dead.  He told me later that the whole thing gave him nightmares.  It sounded pretty heinous.  I’m so bummed nobody got this shit on video.

I have no memory of the impact.  I do remember flying through the air after the initial hit.  I really did not think I was going to survive this, but as I was still lost in grief over the death of my daughter, I was just fine with that.  I remember completely relaxing and looking kind of forward to seeing my little girl again.

That is most likely why I am still with you today.  When I crashed down to the ground, I was so relaxed that I just rag dolled around and did not break my neck.

By the time The Fist had reached me I had completed taking inventory of just how fucked I was.  I was pretty fucked.  I knew my wrist was toast.  I suggested that one of them take me to the hospital.

We got to the hospital, and of course my head is just pouring blood from the big hole in my skull.  I ran up to the counter and leaned over it and said in my old man voice “I think I might need to see the doctor.”  The nurse did not find this as amusing as I did.

Later on the doctors would marvel at how interesting it was that I did not get paralyzed or killed.  They told me that they would have stitched the hole in my head except that there was nothing to stitch it to.  Instead I got a referral to an orthopedic surgeon.

On my 30th birthday I got a brand new titanium plate placed in my wrist.  It is amazing that I can still play bass, though sometimes it can get a little sore.  I had a big bandage on my head on which I would write cool motivating phrases like “Show me your tits” or “Need Painkillers.”

I still played gigs like this too.  I would just reach over the neck of the bass and use two fingers to handle all the frets.  It looked pretty dumb, but hey, the music does not stop just because the musician is an idiot.

The whole track surfing incident was a big wake up call for me.  I learned that I was not twenty years old anymore.  Coming so close to no longer being able to play my instrument was an eye opening experience as well.  My days of daredevil dumbassary were over.

It still is just so hard to admit that the Salad was right….sigh.

At least I learned an important life lesson:  Don’t surf a go-kart track on a piece of wood tied to a go-kart.

It’s OK to make mistakes if you learn from them, right?

Music, Music…Everywhere Music

•April 7, 2015 • 1 Comment

Wow…So many projects and so little time.

Here is the current update on all the things I am doing right now and what you can expect in the near and far future from the land of milk and froth.


This is it. The mothership of all the things I have been working on in the last few years. I am in the final stages of the creation of this huge monstrosity of a concept album with my friend Robert Lowe. Drums are being turned in, the final vocals are being tracked, and we will be mixing in a couple weeks. Wow.

Dr. Froth:

Velvet Shades of Moist…my solo album for all intents and purposes is mostly done. I have put it on the shelf because I wanted GID to come out first. But believe me this thing will follow up right on the heels. I am very excited about this album because it is all instrumental and has no other instruments besides my NS/STICK and Steve Bundrick on drums. It is sick.

Six Minute Century:

We are writing album three right now. Don LaFon has some riffs he is working on as do I. Mikey Lewis is even going to do some composing this time around. Chuck and I are very excited about the direction of the band and we think all of you will be as well. We plan on writing throughout the summer and hope to begin tracking in the winter of this year.

Disciple Of Doom:

Robert Lowe’s flagship project. Right now we are doing live shows playing the classics from his time in Solitude Aeturnus and Candlemass. However, writing is underway for brand new material for a release sometime next year. Get ready for Doom.

Winter’s End:

The local Houston cover band that I play in with a bunch of my friends is still active and you can catch it every couple of months. Classic 80’s hard rock and metal.

Metal Asylum:

The project with James Rivera is still alive and well though not being booked very heavily at this time.

Mike Pritchard’s Blue Thunder & The Lightning Horns:

Yep…once a year in Lubbock you can catch the reunion of this great blues and classic rock band featuring a four piece horn section.  Bad ass.

So there you go…lots to do and see.  Get ready for some great music coming your way very soon.

Gathered in Darkness: Album Art and Update

•March 25, 2015 • Leave a Comment

So many exciting things have been happening on the Gathered in Darkness front that Robert Lowe and I felt it was a good time to update all of you that have been eagerly awaiting this project.

We are in the last few weeks of primary tracking. In fact, we expect to begin mix down on some of the tracks in early April. We are making very good strides towards having this massive venture buttoned up by late June.

Robert Lowe has finished his main tracks of doomed proggy goodness. He is working through his list of changes and corrections at this time. Joel Gregoire has turned in some amazing work so far and is plowing through the rest of his leads. Chuck Williams has completed his vocal tracks, and we are very pleased with his outstanding work. Austin Funderburk and David Gonzalez have also wrapped up their respective parts, and I have guest solos already turned in from Bobby Williamson, John Morris and Steve Jones.

There have been some line up changes since our main cast release. We regretfully have had to part ways with John Calvin, Tim Wayne, and Kevin Bartlett. This was mainly due to scheduling conflicts, and we wish them well in their future musical adventures. Stepping up to the plate to save the day are the following awesome people:

Chris Kotlarz: Drums
Fred Marshall: Vocals–“Dark Advocate”
Kelly Fitzsimmons: Guest Solo

I also wanted to take this chance to share with you the artwork for the cover of Gathered In Darkness. This was done by Dave Foreman in Houston, Texas.

I hope all of you are as excited about the impending release of this project as we are. The time is coming soon.

Artwork by Dave Foreman

Artwork by Dave Foreman

Full Circle

•January 28, 2015 • 8 Comments

So after 37 long years…I have completed a journey that began before I was old enough to understand that I was even on one.

A few years ago I made a post about my birth mother (who I refer to as B-Mom) and the letter that she left with me when I was born.  You can read about that action and get caught up here:

For years I had been on the fence on whether or not I would search for B-Mom or not.  

There were so many factors to consider.  What if she had a current family that did not know of my existance…it could be embarrassing for me to suddenly appear.  What if she no longer cared?  What if she was hooked on meth and lived under a bridge?  What if she was no longer alive?  What if she never thought about me any more?

In the end I had decided that most likely the fantasy of her where she was healthy, happy, and having a great life was better than the risk of finding her as a coked up junkie in some ally someplace.  There are things that can never be undiscovered once discovered.

And so for thirty-seven years I rolled this way. But then…something happened.

My stepdaughter’s father decided, for no particularly good reason and seemingly at random, that he no longer wished to have a daughter.  After I got over my initial shock at this revelation, and then the sensation that he should spend the final few moments of his life picking up his teeth with broken fingers (a feeling I still maintain to this day), I realized that I must adopt her.  Not only did I owe the karma bank big time for lucking out in my own adoption to the Millsap family but also because I could not let a little girl be screwed over for life by the one jerk that should have had her back.  Hell, I had been raising her for the last several years already, and I know better than most that blood does not a family make.

It was in this process that I discovered what things were like on the other side of the coin.  This made me want to find B-Mom.  I felt an overwhelming desire to thank her for what she did.  I have had a good life, and I owed that to her. I knew very little. The letter that you can read in “The B-Mom Commandment” said that she was 17 at the time.  I knew that I was born in Alamogordo, New Mexico.  I looked up a listing of the graduating class of Alamogordo High for both 1977 and 1978.

I figured she had to have graduated in one of those years.  I decided to look up every single one of those names on Facebook and send out a message.  I mean really…how many pregnant teenage girls could have been running around a small town in New Mexico in the late 70’s. First…I changed my profile picture to this:

Birthpost I had hoped that by making this my picture that the strangers who I was sending messages to would see that I was born in Alamogordo and that they would subsequently read my words. That picture was shared over 2100 times…wow. Two ladies did read my message and they worked very hard to help me find B-mom. One in particular, Julie Wehmeyer, put in a huge amount of effort on my behalf.  To give you an idea…here is brief transcript of some of our correspondence.  I can not stress how much my success in this venture hinged solely on this woman’s sense of good will.

  • Michael Millsap Hi Mrs. Wehmeyer, I was born in Alamogordo NM on August 28th, 1977. I’m searching for my birth mother (I have a letter from her that came with my paperwork saying she would like to meet me one day). She said in the letter that she was 17 two weeks when she found out she was pregnant with me. This makes me think that she was probably in the class of 77…or 78. I know this is a long shot, and I don’t usually bother strangers but if you remember a member of your class or the one ahead of you pregnant around that time that would be very helpful. Sadly she did not sign the letter so I do not have her name. My adopted name is Michael Millsap I was adopted by the Millsap family in Las Cruces. Thank you for your time and anything you can remember. I found you on a listing for the AHS class of 77 page.
  • I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Sherri Chappell. She was pregnant that summer (1977) and she gave the baby up (I don’t think she wanted to). The reason I know this is that I spoke with her mother that Spring and asked if we could give her a baby shower and her mom said no that it would upset her because she was giving the baby up. Sherri was an itty bitty thing and her boyfriend was not a big guy either. So if you are 6’4″ and a giant, probably not. But she was the only girl at that time that fits the profile.
  • Thank you so much. I’m 5’ maybe so
  • I don’t remember the dads name. But he was an Air Force family and I want to think he was probably about my height which would have been 59
     Has anyone given you that name before
  • Someone else mentioned it but I could not find her on Facebook. Did her family own a music store?
  • I believe so. Do you want me to make some phone calls?
    I grew up with sherry from elementary school. She was a year ahead of me. But I was good friends with the sister of one of her best friends.
  • That would be awesome. If it is her. .she will recognize her letter to me in this blog post. Thank you so very much..I can’t even tell you how much your help is appreciated  

    …… And several days later…..

    Woah…I wonder if it is her…
    Its her. I sent her a friend request.
    A Merry Christmas Michael she wants your phone number she saw the letter
    Now you need to breathe

    And just like that, one of the biggest mysteries of my life was answered by a completely awesome stranger that I had never met.  B-Mom sent me a friend request on Facebook that I accepted but then found I could only stare at the computer monitor.  Now what did I do?  What the hell do I say?  I could not do anything…I just waited.

    And then she sent me a message.

    I sent one back.

    This was the way the relationship between mother and son danced around the awkwardness of nearly four missing decades and slowly found itself again.

    Julie had sent her the link to “The B-Mom Commandment” so she was able to see the letter she had penned so long ago and knew for a fact who I was.  I sent her an email to assure her that I was only searching to thank her and that I was in a good place and not needing anything from her.  I had no doubt she was curious as to why, after all these years, I had decided to do this now.

    Thankfully, she was interested in getting to know one another.  Over the next few weeks with emails and phone calls we did just that.

    For those of you who study psychology and are interested in “nature vs nurture” you might find this case interesting.  I come from a very musical family it seems.  There was a family band that B-Mom played drums for as a little girl, the family owned a music store.  B-Mom traveled and sang in a country band.  It would seem that B-Gramps (bwahahahahahaaha…i just came up with that…freaking awesome) was an accomplished musician and songwriter.  I think she said he had a tune on the soundtrack to “Another 48 Hours.”

    B-Mom uses “salty sailor speak” as she puts it.  This sums up a great deal of my vocabulary.

    I can see a resemblance to Kaydance in the pictures of her when she was younger.  I seem to look a lot like my Uncle Bill.

    She had remarried a nice man and has been with him for over twenty years, but never had anymore children of her own (though he had some from a previous marriage of his).  B-Mom had just retired from the City of Albuquerque, and I was quite thankful to find that she was not living under a bridge shooting Meth into her nipples.

      —Note:  I never asked whether or not she ever injected meth into her nipples, but I am suspecting that she did not.  She is a classy lady and classy ladies do not mainline narcotics into their breasts.–

    B-Mom and her husband were going on a cruise that was leaving and returning from Galveston.  Upon their return she planned to stay in Houston an additional few days so we could meet face to face.

    When the fateful day came to go to the airport and pick her up, I took with me everything that had been given to me the last time we parted company:


    That is the original letter she wrote, and a small bible (I thought the state had thrown that into my stuff like some kind of bonus prize but it turned out that it was hers.  One of the few things she had left after a fire had destroyed their home).  The other paper came from my foster mother who watched over me until I did not die from my jacked up heart and got to go be a Millsap.  –Interesting side note:  I was unnamed.  B-Mom called me “Child” in the letter, and the foster mom called me “Matthew.”  I, of course, would later be named “Michael” by the Millsaps.

    I needed her to see that I still had everything she had given me.  That those things mattered.  And that even though I never knew her, she also mattered.  I needed her to know that the one thing she asked me to do “…Please be happy…”  I had chased it with every fiber of my being.  Every hour.  Every day.   I did not waste my life, my time, or her gift.

    I saw her husband before I saw her (he is really tall and she is really short).  There was a moment where both of us just kinda looked at each other in mild astonishment.  But it was good.  Mr. Hines shook my hand and left for his flight.  Then B-Mom and I proceeded to get lost in the parking garage.

    B-Mom and I

    B-Mom and I

    We spent the next few days really getting to spend some time together.  It was so cool to get to have my first adult conversation with a blood relative.  It was amazing how similar we are.  I can’t even express how awesome of a person she turned out to be.

    My Mom, who has been very supportive of my search for B-Mom, had a brief panic moment when I told her I was going to meet B-Mom.  “Don’t forget you have a real Mom” she said.  I could never forget that.  I am lucky to have two real Moms.  The next time I spoke to Mom she had collected herself and was O.K.  I have no doubt that this was a very strange set of events for her too.

    I dragged B-Mom to the studio with Chuck and Robert Lowe to work on Gathered In Darkness.  She had a great time.  I made sure she got to hang out with my brother, Austin, too.  We did not even get to scratch the surface.

    It was hard to see her leave.  I never realized how much I had missed not having this connection until I got to experience it for a brief moment.  It was kind of painful and coming from someone that usually does not find himself feeling things like that…it was a bit unsettling.  I guess it was always there but if you don’t know any better then you don’t realize what is taking place.

    We ate some breakfast the morning she left before taking her to the airport.  She expressed that she would like to come back again if I did not mind.  I told her jokingly that she did not get to leave me twice.  It was at this moment that her face took on a very painful look and she said “I gave you away.”  I told her she did what she had to do and she did the right thing.

    After the plane left, I realized that she did not give me away.  She gave me everything.

    There have been a few life changing moments for me.  Learning the bass, surviving my heart surgery, the death of my daughter, and…now…this.  I am so happy to get a chance to include her in my life and the lives of my family.

    Every emotion is represented here

    Every emotion is represented here

    Later on I would discover that the picture of me that I posted on Facebook holding the sign was first posted on her birthday.  How cool is that.

    Maybe we can sell the story to Lifetime.  I could use another Stick.


The Power in the Melody

•November 27, 2014 • 2 Comments

Happy Thanksgiving to all of the Froth Army.

I constantly hear music in my head.  I’m not talking about the jingle to “Demon Energy Drinks” or “Satan in a Can” either, but something else.  A song…yet not a song.  An unheard, unvoiceable melody that, while undeniably existing…is almost impossible to put into a tangible medium.

And yet, the head bobs and the toes tap.  This is the beat of the drummer that many of us march too. And yes…they are all different.

Is it this way for all creative people?  Is it this way for everyone?  I suspect the second option.

Do you hear your music?  This is your private soundtrack of motivation.  If you can sync yourself up to the music inside of yourself you can find the motivation to achieve your true goals, may they be artistic or otherwise.  When you create and mold yourself after your natural inclinations (versus what you think you ought to create or become) you can achieve your full potential.  This does not mean you will be better or worse than others.  Your potential is not in competition with others potential.  It is yours and yours alone.

If you can’t hear the music, ask yourself if you are listening.  Your soul is probably singing to you.  Find that song…and for all that you are worth…sing along.

There is power in the melody, release in the rhythm, and magic in the changes.

It does not matter if this private sonnet brings you to craft amazing furniture, design a skyscraper, heal the sick, teach our children, write a book, or compose a symphony.  It is your song, your goal, your life.  It is the true you expressed in the secret language of the spirit.

This Thanksgiving I am very thankful for the music.  Both the kinds that we can hear, and the kinds that are inside all of us.

Happy T-Day to you and yours,

Dr. Froth

Acid Head

•November 10, 2014 • 1 Comment

“How do you accidentally drink battery acid?!”   — David Gonzalez

Yes…I ate battery acid today.

No…it was not intentional.

I might, under other circumstances, not write about my adventures earlier today but have decided  too in response to…well…mostly in response to this:

facebook reactions

facebook reactions

So I do realize that in addition to being just plain fucking hilarious, people are also dying to know what the hell happened.

It was a slow day at work today, so Austin and I decided to take a job and split it instead of one of us having to take the day off.  It was on older alarm system that I needed to replace, one of the wireless jobs, and I needed to pull the old battery to power it down.

This battery was so old I think it might have been confiscated by the Union army.  It had corroded at the terminals causing some of the acid to be free.  Of course, as I pry this bastard out of the unit I chip part of my fingernail and reflexively put my finger in my mouth.

It was within moments of this that I realized that the universe was playing a horrid joke on me.  I instantly realized my tactical error and knew what had to be done.  I calmly surveyed the ladies entryway but could not find a suitable place to vomit.  I did not really think that I should swallow the acid either.

It seemed like a good time to go outside.

I found a patch of grass that seemed like it might die soon anyway and…uhhh…watered it.  I still had a soda in the car and tried to use it like mouthwash.  This did not really do much of shit.

Austin decided that I might require medical attention and informed the customer of the situation.  Normally, this violates the “Frothy Method” that I like to employ when I fuck myself up, but in this case it worked out.  Turns out, as luck would have it, that our customer today was a chemist that worked at Haliburton.  She whipped up a base heavy solution for me to use as a mouthwash to neutralize the burn.  She did not realize that I was already base heavy since I was a bass player.

She warned me that the solution would not be very nice to taste.  Fortunately for me, I had already burned off over half my taste buds so I did not really notice.  Whew…dodged a bullet there.

We completed the installation without further problems and as we were leaving the woman advised me to be careful in the future.  Austin reassured her by stating that I require constant adult supervision.  It would be funnier if it was not accurate.

Does this mean I have done acid now?


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