Christopher Setterlund, In My Footsteps

Thursday, May 21, 2026

In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 245: Michael Jackson's Moonwalker; Me v. AI Bad Movies with Great Soundtracks; 1990s How It Started, How It Ended; Andre the Giant(5-20-2026)

How the 1990s started vs. how they ended. Some terrible movies with great soundtracks. The King of Pop's feature-length film debut.

Episode 245 is a perfect picnic of GenX nostalgia as Memorial Day Weekend approaches.

We kick, spin, and awkwardly lean to one side as we look back at Michael Jackson's Moonwalker. A feature-length film and video game, this project came out at the peak of Jackson's fame. How were these received? We will dive deep into both.

A decade is a long time. So much can change in that span. In a new segment on the podcast, we are going to compare and contrast a decade from the first day to the last day. It will be the 1990s, how they started compared to how they ended. Music, television, fashion, pop culture trends, technology, and more. We will look at it all.

It is the return of Me v AI Top 5. The sixth installment is a look at some bad movies with great soundtracks. These were films that were critically and/or commercially panned, yet the music was worth listening to. As always, ChatGPT's list is read out by beloved early 2000s malware program Bonzi Buddy.

There is, as always, a brand-new This Week In History and Time Capsule featuring the life and legacy of wrestling legend Andre the Giant.

To support me and the show you become a member on Patreon.

Or you can support my work and Buy Me A Coffee!

Helpful Links from this Episode

Listen to Episode 244 here

Monday, May 18, 2026

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #121: Aging Gracefully, Mall Dreams, Fox Family Fun, etc.

1. I am now at the point where I feel weird if I am not actively involved in watching a show on Netflix. I finished the Stranger Things animated spin-off and rolled right into the thriller series His & Hers. That was also really good. It was only 6 episodes, though, so I ran through it in less than a week. Now I have moved on to another suspense/thriller series, The Beast In Me, starring Claire Danes. I already like this one as well. I must admit it’s different seeing the same Claire Danes from My So Called Life as a middle-aged actor, but it can’t be that strange since she and I are basically the same age. It must be something about aging. Like when I was 15, seeing someone near 50, they looked old. Now at 48, I look at Claire Danes, who is 47, and she looks great. She looks her age but has aged well. Not sure how to describe it. Is it something in our minds that makes us look at age differently when we reach those same numbers? 48 doesn’t look old anymore because I am it. I guess I’ll have to wait and see if I still think Claire Danes looks great when we’re both in our 80s.

2. I have gotten a lot of positive feedback on my driving videos on social media. I extend my selfie stick up through my moon roof and lock it into place while I take a drive to somewhere on Cape Cod. I typically drive to a beach. Luckily, there are a lot of beaches for me to showcase on social media. The question remains though, what happens when I run out of beaches? I suppose I could just drive every random road. It would be the law of diminishing returns, though. I got from driving to a beautiful beach, and then it goes to me driving to the nearest Cumberland Farms or Dunkin’ Donuts. The more I think about it, the more I believe that there would be an audience. It would likely be old-time Cape Codders who would want to comment by mentioning what used to be located where I was driving. We’ll see if it comes to that. I still have a long way to go until then.

3. I have vivid dreams quite often. I also am pretty good at lucid dreaming, which is when you become aware you are dreaming and basically can start to control and manipulate things. That being said, I can’t tell myself before I sleep that I will dream of X, and then it happens. So when I have had a pair of vivid dreams over the last few weeks that include me hanging out with family and friends at some sort of 1990s mall, it must mean something. Either I miss hanging with certain people, or I miss standing around in the mall with nothing to worry about except whether I can afford something from the food court and a new CD. The first dream had family, including my three sisters, but also my Nina, who passed in 2021. We were out in front of where Filene’s used to be in the old Cape Cod Mall. The second one was weirder, including one sister and another good friend. The weird part was that the mall was a circle with five long hallways extending out from the circle. This is where the stores were, including Kmart and a Hallmark store. To top it off though, there was a kiosk that was selling pretzels stuffed with buffalo peanut butter. I am assuming buffalo like the spice, not like the animal, but I didn’t try one, so who knows?

4. Over the last 30 years, I have tried pretty much everything when it comes to supplements and energy drinks. There have been some that I have really liked and thought that they were well worth the price, and possible risks. I have tried some things that have been banned, like Ephedra Tea. I have tried things that have had their formulas changed, like Jack3d and NO Explode. I have tried things that have been discontinued, like Speed Stack. That being said, I have never tried an energy drink because its name made me laugh. That changed this week. I am sure some of you have heard of BUM Energy. I had never had a desire to try it until I saw one of their flavors. Dr. BUM. Just its name makes me laugh. It sounds like a name that should be reserved for a superhero proctologist. If you have it, you will quickly notice that it’s a take on Dr. Pepper. I like it, but the name bumped a 6/10 drink to an 8/10. Ha ha, Dr. BUM.

5. It was a comedy of errors this week, one day at work. The rest of the staff was done early, but I had more than an hour to wait for my last client to show up to train. I wasn’t sure if she was going to make it, so a text was sent to try to confirm. I didn’t want to sit around and wait for nothing. Unfortunately, mere minutes after that text was sent, an auto text went out to remind her of the appointment, so she never saw the previous one. So I waited. Another patient had forgotten their coat, and they were coming in to get it. I had to wait by the front door since there was nobody at the desk. While I was chatting and handing off the coat, my computer decided to install updates and restart. It took way too long to come back on, and then when it did, I had trouble remembering the password since we recently changed it. I was figuring the client would have responded to the text by then. By the time I was back online, my last client was late. I needed to take the trash out, but didn’t want to have her show up to an empty office while I was outside. In the end, she did show up, 25 minutes late, as I was reaching for the front door to lock it. We still did the full training session, plus I was getting paid, so it was no big deal.

6. After seeing a pallet of sod rolls while out on a walk this week, I am suggesting that we change their name to ‘grass Yodels.’ You can’t look at a roll of sod and not tell me it looks like a green, far less tasty, version of the snack cake. If you want to call them Swiss grass Rolls, I will accept it as well. Not sure how much more expanding on this random, foolish idea I can do. It made me laugh, and of course, I have photos so that you can now not unsee the similarity. I will say, don’t try to eat a grass Yodel. Hey, I can’t stop you if you’re really determined to eat grass, but I can say I tried.

7. It was seven years ago this week that my hero, my Grampa, passed away. He was the epitome of strength right up until the last several months when dementia finally got its claws into him. Despite being gone for so long, I do my best to keep him as a part of my life. Upon his death, my mother gave us kids each a green Irish Beanie Baby, sort of representing Grampa. I have that on hand at all of my author events. I also have his old compass. It is about a hundred years old and makes for a great photo prop. This week, to remember him, I went past my grandparents' old house on my walk. They lived there back in the 1990s, but outside it still looks the same, so it’s a nice flashback. In the afternoon, I took the compass and my new large crystal ball and went for a photo trip to the local beaches. I know one particular beach where there is a cherry blossom tree. My Grampa was a jazz singer, and we kids all remembered him singing ‘It looks like rain in Cherry Blossom Lane.’ I like combining the cherry blossoms with the compass. The photo session mostly consisted of me trying to balance the giant crystal ball and the compass on branches in the tree. The last thing I wanted was having the compass fall and the ball drop on it, and both smash. It ended up going well, as you can see in the photo.

8. I always admire and get a bit jealous of nature photographers. I can’t afford a $10K zoom lens, so typically I have to settle for long-distance shots. Then again, sometimes I get lucky. While at the same beach where I was shooting the crystal ball and compass, I noticed something, actually several somethings. I was trying to set up a photo when I saw a fox sitting on the other side of the parking lot. Even better was that behind the fox I spotted three little kits, or pups. My crystal ball photos immediately took a back seat to filming little foxes jumping and playing. It was the type of video I’d always hoped for but never expected. During the half hour or so that the foxes were around, the babies played, and the mother left and then returned with dinner for the little ones. I think it was a rabbit. At one point, the mother circled me, but not menacingly. She had spotted what looked like a chicken leg that some dumbass had just left in the grass. So I had the mama fox behind me and the babies in front. The only thing I didn’t get that I wanted was the babies coming and inspecting my camera. I kept leaving my camera on the tripod in different areas where the babies were hanging out. I had my remote shutter and was hoping they would be curious. Nah, once the mother brought back dinner, they all retreated. I plan on going back to that spot next week to see if I get lucky again.

9. I returned to the new Parker’s River Landing in Yarmouth this week to visit my Uncle Eric’s memorial plank on the boardwalk. This time, though, it was a family affair as his son, my cousin Patrick, and a few longtime family friends, went to toast to him. It was a beautiful sunny day, and we shared a few stories and laughs, but it was bittersweet. My uncle’s death three years ago wrecked me. Most don’t know how badly. This is mainly because I don’t talk about it since I believe nobody would listen or care. I have learned as I get older that few people will actually listen to you. For the most part, people wait for you to stop talking so they can then try to one-up you with whatever issue is going on. ‘You think that’s bad, well I have X going on.’ So I just keep it to myself, or blogs like this. I look to my cousin and aunt and see how they hold it together, so I owe it to them to do the same. I mean, if they can pull through after losing their father and husband, what right do I have to feel so bad about losing my uncle, right?

10. After visiting my uncle’s plank it was time to venture over to his favorite restaurant, Capt. Parker’s. Luckily, it is literally right across the street from the park. We walked over, having to wait for kind drivers to let us cross the busy Rt. 28. Hopefully, they will put a crosswalk in there because we aren’t the first, and sure won’t be the last, to try to walk across to Capt. Parker’s. The food was great. The prices were fine, depending on what you got. Fried chicken sandwich, $17, I guess that’s to be expected in this day and age. Fisherman’s Platter? $45. Nah, I’ll pass. I could get myself food to make 6-7 meals for that price. The best is the several items that were listed as ‘market price.’ This basically means they can charge as much as they want and say it’s because of how much the product costs, typically lobster. Thankfully, I can’t stand lobster, so I’d never have to play the guessing game of ‘market price’ before having to make a car payment on a child’s handful of lobster in a roll. We enjoyed our food and then, to make sure we got our money’s worth, stayed an extra hour chatting and laughing, all while the waiter kept walking by. Hey, we paid, and you got a good tip, so relax.

11. It is mid-May, so to no surprise this was the week to get my first sunburn. It wasn’t bad. The day was sunny and low 60’s and breezy by the water, so I had a thin long-sleeve shirt on. Plus, now that I have hair and don’t shave my head weekly, I don’t have to worry about sunburns on my scalp. Those sucked, I probably could have fried eggs on my head. This time it was just my forehead and the back of my neck. Well, and one other area. The long sleeves covered just below my wrists for the most part. At the end of the day, I ended up with half of my hands red. It literally looked like I had stuck my fingers in boiling water. I guess that’s not as bad as getting the driving tan where one arm is red, and the other is not, from resting your arm on the open window while driving.

Friday, May 15, 2026

I Appreciate You, Grampa

I appreciate you, Grampa.

When you’re young, you look around you for people to emulate. You don’t start life looking to be like someone you see on television or hear on the radio. It is typically those closest to you who form the first impressions of life and what you want to do and be when it comes to your own. If you are lucky, you have one or more good role models to choose from.

As a young boy in the early 1980s, I was looking for someone like that to show me the way. I needed someone to be the guiding light, to teach me how to live not just as a boy but all the way up through life as a man.

I looked to my father. My first memories of him are not those of a parent, nor those of a male role model. My first memories of my father are of a man who acted more like an older friend. He had funny jokes to share. In fact, he taught me a lot of what would later become my own wacky and sarcastic sense of humor.

He taught me about the Three Stooges. He introduced me to Foreigner, Steely Dan, Kate Bush, and, for some reason, called every cat he ever saw ‘Goot,’ which was the name of his cat when he was a teenager. I loved my cat Tigger when I was a teen, but don’t call every cat by that name, so it’s a bit odd.

We had cookouts on Sundays. Sometimes we’d go on trips to local playgrounds. Christmas and Easter dinners aplenty. It all sounds great, right? When compartmentalized, it does, but it was window dressing. The one thing my father never taught me was anything about how to be a man. The one thing he never showed me was love outside of awkward handshakes and pats on the back.

I saw him once or twice a week for most of my childhood. He and my mother had gotten divorced when I was very young. He was not interested in being a parent. Oh, sure, he enjoyed what creates a child, but couldn’t wrap his head around being there for said child.

The final straw came when he passed out on the couch and allowed me, as a toddler, to wander out our front door after dark wearing only a diaper. My mother, coming home from work, spotted me with my blanket walking under a streetlight. Sure, mistakes can happen, but the lack of responsibility from a parent was staggering.

That’s not to mention the times he would leave my sister and me, as toddlers, home alone so he could go out. Neighbors would tell my mother they’d hear my infant sister crying from her room.

There was the time my mother gave him a professional portrait of my sister and me, and he proceeded to tack it up to a corkboard at a bar. My aunt found it and called my mother. I found out when I was in my 40s that my father offered to waive all parental rights to get out of paying child support.

You read that right. He wanted to disown his children so he wouldn’t have to pay his fair share to help support the people he helped to create. What stopped it from happening? My mother told him my Nana would then not be able to see her grandchildren. This stopped him from disowning us, but didn’t make him care enough to pay full child support.

He would quit jobs abruptly when child support came calling. He would make plans with us kids and stand us up to go to a bar. Of course, none of this was wrong in his mind, and my mother was evil for daring to hold him accountable again for the children he helped to create. I was too young to see what a rotten excuse for a father he was.

As I got older and started working, my father was right there to be the first to ask for money. It is an odd feeling to have someone who is a parent in name only constantly wanting to use you as their own personal ATM. It was nearly every time I was in the car with him, he’d say his typical 'Do you got any dough?’ line. Still wanting his approval, I loaned him, sorry, gave him, money that likely ended up being somewhere north of $2,000 in total while in high school. He would tell me he’d pay me back, but I likely recouped little more than half of what he got.

Giving money to help out a parent who supports, feeds, clothes, and houses you is not a big deal. Doing the same for someone you saw a handful of hours a week at best was a damning indictment of what I thought a man was. He neglected me unless he needed money.

The older I got, the more I learned that my father had shown me a blueprint of how not to be a man. He was lazy, selfish, immature, a drunk, and a professional victim who, to this day, cannot accept that the fact that his children and grandchildren want nothing to do with him is his fault alone.

So I could not count on my father to show me the way as far as being a man. Hell, I had openly wished either of his two brothers had been my father. I then looked to his replacement, my first stepfather.

The first memories I have of my stepfather were confusion. I wondered aloud where my father was when confronted with this new man. I am not sure if my resistance to him caused immediate resentment toward me. He was around more and more. It became obvious that he was going to be in my life whether I wanted it or not.

When he was first around, my new stepfather was in the throes of alcoholism. He did give it up, and that is to be commended, as I know all too well how hard it is to slay that demon. However, that is where the commendation toward him ends.

If you look at it from a wide view, my life improved with my stepfather. He provided a roof over my head, helped with clothing, food, and medical care for my sister and me, despite us not being his kids. But the saying goes, ‘you don’t know what goes on behind closed doors.’ I know it because I lived it.

My stepfather was physically and verbally abusive to me, full stop. I don’t remember the first time I was hit or told I was nothing, but they became a part of my life in childhood up to midway through high school. Maybe it was when he had his own kids with my mother that he really began to look at me as an annoyance that needed to be kept in line. I don’t know what was in his mind and really don’t care.

I was an honor student. I never got in trouble. I did my best to be a positive example for my four younger siblings. Yet still I was routinely hit with belts, wire hangers, or just plain old hands when he was too lazy to grab something. I can only imagine my fate if I were a problem child. I guess in his mind, I was.

Things escalated when my brother and twin sisters were born. Now I was truly an outsider in his family. There was always favoritism shown toward my brother. If I told on him I got hit. If he did something and I didn’t tell on him, I got hit for letting it happen. There were times my brother got in trouble, and I got it too, maybe just to make sure I didn’t think I was special. There are times when I feel bad. My brother has caught strays in life from me because I hate his father so much, but that falls on his father and not me.

I was a witness to him abusing my mother when he thought the coast was clear. That night, she called the police. I, barely 10 years old, was hiding under the kitchen table. I listened to him deny things I saw. My mother was the one who always had my back, so I owed it to her to have hers. I stepped out from under the table and told the police what I saw, in full view of my stepfather.

I don’t know if anything came of it as far as the police went. I do know that I became his target after that. It came to a head in the basement, likely a few days later. The door was closed, and I was handed a miniature basketball. My stepfather said all I had to do was score one basket in my basketball hoop stuck to the wall. It was not so easy.

I was kicked, hit, tripped, and shoved by a grown man twice my size. Why? Because I dared to call out his spousal abuse to the police. Once I finally scored, he smugly said to me ‘nice shot.’ Then he left me in a puddle of shame and embarrassment on the basement floor. In his evil, warped mind, he likely thought he was teaching me to be a man. In reality, he taught me anger and hatred like nothing I have ever felt before or since.

For years, I was beaten down physically and emotionally. I was told my feelings and my problems didn’t matter. Things that meant the world to me were meaningless according to him. I learned the only way I could safely navigate life in that house was to make myself as small as possible. There are too many other incidents to speak of. Just know that most of my childhood was a constant fight or flight loop that made a day where I only got yelled at feel like I was getting an award on stage in front of adoring fans.

These things from childhood remain issues for me to this day. My confidence and self worth, they are tied to two men who are poor examples of that word. A father who didn’t care, and a stepfather who abused me.

Eventually, my mother had had enough, and my stepfather was kicked out of the house. It was one of the best days of my life. Where I kept giving my father the benefit of the doubt for decades too long, I was all too happy to begin erasing the memory of my stepfather. However, my simmering rage wanted revenge.

I began working out at sixteen. I had weights, a bench, and a heavy bag. I vividly remember scuffing up my knuckles, hitting that bag with all my might until it came crashing down from the beam. All I could see was my former stepfather’s face.

Sure, I could say I was working out to possibly play sports, but that was not the main reason. I didn’t want to feel helpless anymore. I wanted to gain strength to feel confident. I wanted to gain strength so I could get my revenge on him.

The bottom line is, I wanted to do as much physical harm to my former stepfather as possible. If I ended his life, so be it. He deserved whatever came to him because of what he did to my mother and me. He is still alive today. I did not follow through with any bad thoughts. It was my second stepfather, my current stepfather, who was able to get through to me. It was he whom I first confided my anger toward that former stepfather.

By this time, I was eighteen and could have been arrested and tried as an adult. It was that fact that stopped me. It was my new stepfather who showed me through words and actions that it wasn’t all men who were evil. I was just dealt a bad hand with the first two ‘most important’ men in my life being neglectful and/or abusive.

We come all the way full circle. I appreciate my Grampa because I was able to find the role model I needed. Where my father and first stepfather didn’t have the capacity as men to be decent husbands and fathers, my Grampa excelled. He worked hard. He stayed true to my Nina for over 70 years. He was firm but loving to his children. He was, and always had been, the example I was looking for.

It’s not that I didn’t appreciate my Grampa when I was growing up. When you’re treated well by someone for a few hours of cumulative time in a year, but the rest of your time is spent being ignored or fearing a heavy hand, the good times don’t make a dent. It wasn’t until I got out of my teenage years and my father and former stepfather became less relevant to my life that the light that as my Grampa started shining through.

Some could say that grandparents are naturally seen as angels compared to parents because parents are the ones who have to dole out the discipline. Grandparents are more apt to let the grandkids do whatever they want. That is usually true, but I’ll use my father as Exhibit A. He has three grandkids, and I guarantee he doesn’t know their birthdays or middle names. I am thinking he hasn’t seen them in many years, despite living relatively close to them all. So no, not all grandparents are made the same.

I felt seen and appreciated by my Grampa. He had genuine advice. He had genuine, kind words that made me feel worthy. In my 20s and 30s, it was my Grampa and my current stepfather, Serpa, who began to paint over my image of what I thought a ‘man’ was.

It was my Grampa who was at many of my author events, not my father. It was my Grampa whom I confided in about my struggles with self-worth and chasing my dreams, not my father. It was my Grampa who became my role model and the one I emulated.

I wanted to be at least half of what my Grampa was because I knew I could never be him, but if I was half, I knew I would have been a success as a human. I don’t want to be like my father. I don’t want to be like that first stepfather. They taught me what not to do.

I was devastated when my Grampa died 7 years ago this month. I reflected and decided that he had given me all of the lessons he could and that it was up to me to put them into action. Some days I feel like I get close. Other days, I feel like I am failing him in every way possible. But I woke up the next day knowing that anything is possible because he told me so.

I still have a handwritten note he gave me way back in 2015. It says, ‘it’s never too late to be what you might have been.’ Yes, the quote is from novelist George Eliot (real name Mary Ann Evans), but my Grampa wrote it for me when I was unsure of who I was supposed to be and where I was supposed to be going. So I will always associate it with him.

When I say that I appreciate my Grampa is goes much deeper than words or how he lived his life. He was there, setting the example for me throughout my life. I just was not ready to see it until I got older. Perhaps if I hadn’t had such terrible male role models in my father and first stepfather, I wouldn’t have found my Grampa to be the guiding light. I am glad I don’t have to wonder about that.

His teachings were never overt. He never said ‘here is how you act as a man.’ No, he simply lived by example. I saw his work ethic. He worked until he was 90. I saw his stability and love as a partner because I was witness to his marriage to my Nina lasting over 70 years. I saw his teachings as a parent through my mother, aunts, and uncles. I saw his importance to his friends and community. I heard the kind words people said to him, about him, when he was there, and when he wasn’t.

I don’t know who I would be without my Grampa. Would Serpa have been enough to break me out of that cage I was put in by those other two ‘men’? I don’t know. Maybe I would have been fine. Maybe I would have been so beaten down that I succumbed to alcohol, depression, or any other issue I have dealt with. You know, the issues that I’m sure that first stepfather would have said were ‘petty?’

I am still here, though. Closing in on 50 and trying to figure out my place in this world, but still here. When I feel like the answers are getting away from me, I look at that note my Grampa wrote me. I also just sit back and think of him, his life, his actions, and know that his DNA is in me.

Seven years have passed since my Grampa taught his final lesson to me. I will always keep his memory alive as often as I can. He deserves to be remembered, unlike other ‘men’ whom I will not shed a single tear for when they go. I put all of my energy into thanking my Grampa and Serpa, and while I’m at it, Uncle Eric, Uncle Bob, Uncle Steve, Uncle John, and Maui. Any successes I have in life as a man are reflections on you and your teachings.

I appreciate you, Grampa, and I appreciate all of those second fathers I just mentioned. You all filled the hole left by those other ‘men’ who let me down in every possible way. Thank you.

Wednesday, May 13, 2026

In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 244: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, What In the World Was Gumby?, Funniest Weekly World News Stories(5-13-2026)

The story behind the 'Heroes In A Half-Shell.' What in the world was Gumby? Some of the funniest Weekly World News stories.

Episode 244 is bringing you a fresh batch of GenX nostalgia.

It starts in the sewers and the story of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. 40 years ago this month, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello first graced the pages of a comic book. Since then they have become pop culture icons with TV shows, movies, toys, and more.

From mutant ninjas to a pioneer of claymation. Gumby burst onto the scene, in and out of books, and into pop culture in the 1950s and 1960s. What was he? Why was he so popular? Learn the story and how Gumby blazed the trail for claymation.

Laughs abound in a new Top 5. We will be taking our first (likely of several) looks at the funniest stories to ever grace the pages of Weekly World News. Bigfoot, mutant insects, half human half animals, and more.

There is as always a brand new This Week In History and Time Capsule centered around the debut of the waltz dance and the controversy that came from it.