1999: My Life In Poetry Form(Part 3) - Throwback Thursday

 

This is a weekly recurring series featuring 5 poems all written within the same calendar year. They capture a sense of what my life and my mind were like at a certain age. It will also show the evolution of my life, mind, and writing style. We return to 1999. I was still in college but was rapidly approaching the Quarter-Life Crisis turning 21 years old.

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Chips, Beer, and Boredom

Bored with life, nothing’s happening. Time is a mile-long journey per second, or so it seems. The silence of sound is deafening, but could it be any louder? It’s weird how the deadest of silence feels more intense than massive noise.

Bored with progress, everything is stalled. Need to kick start today, or get ahead on tomorrow. Bubbling under the lazy man’s face is the soul filled with lightning, flashing, and waiting for something to race. But in this dull and slow-paced world, it lay dormant; perhaps it will never reveal itself. A loud crash, not shaking me from this path I’m on. A compass with a predetermined destination can’t juggle fate, can’t change expectations.

Bored with it all, the cry of the feeble-minded. There’s always a way, just need to look with the mind, not just the eyes. Sinking in before it’s too late, color the air blind to avoid the realization of self-destruction. Thought the slate was cleaned for me, looks like I’ll have to do it myself. Being bored is bad for your health.

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I Fell

Once I fell in love, glasses and pigtails, all her world I felt in a hug. She a part-time interest with the miles to prove so. Spend 24/7 for 365 to get that one glimpse to keep me alive. The minutes we had together were minutes heaven sent. Months in between, I spent missing her, I thought was time well spent. But then I grew up. The letters and pictures that further disconnected her image from my mind couldn’t fill the hole. Didn’t want to hold on to hope, to hang on like a fool to the feelings for the sake of them. So I let go, and I moved on, to find out what lay up ahead.

Once I fell in love, bright eyes masking sunshine, blonde hair, couldn’t help but stare. She would stay a prisoner in my mind, with images emblazoned by the masses, it seemed to be the right time. Wanted so badly to be that guy, just a kid myself, to be him was not right. Shining armor with a backpack besides, guess when it’s perfection you’re thinking, the flaws are what decide. But then I wised up. Dreams of a place I’d never see weighed too heavy to stop from being free. Couldn’t stand the backward thoughts she felt, wouldn’t wait until she came around. Took me a while, but I walked on, left that door locked to keep the memories as just that, left ‘em all behind.

Once I fell in lust, thrown together oil and water, mix to fix and force the sense. Day after week after month spent trying to show false feelings and give in to lying. Saved her soul by being a hero, pedestal the excuse to stay near her. Made myself believe what wasn’t true, she was an option to being alone, just a time killer, only a space filler. But then I sobered up. Rays of light broken drunken spells, swallowed on mortality, grew the balls to let it fall away. I thought it was painful, a 180 to convince what was once unreachable, but I lived on. Hold was let go, mistakes and words unspoken, finally freedom welcomed me.

Once I fell in love, a seemingly untouchable goddess. She a ladder to heaven, blind eyes to my bruised senses. This love beat me into submission, her shake and twist led to heartfelt admissions. Sat and waited, empty bottle with a half-full glass. Sense from nonsense, knowledge from ignorance. Then I gathered up the words key to open my cell. So I marched on, up to her and revealed my identity, true expression, the lasting impression. Like a million pounds lifted, my feather in the wind floating body carried away with her response. I lived a hundred lifetimes for what I have right now, the time I fell in love with someone who loved me too.

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Recyclable Tupperware

She’s breakin’ up with me on my deathbed. Says time’s come to think about herself. It couldn’t wait another minute. She’s my savior, I’m her plague, and her loving pain’s pushed me to the limit.

She can’t cash in on a will I haven’t signed.

She can’t deny that her love for me has declined.

She wants me to climb her thorny vines.

She wants me to taste her rose garden.

But she won’t tell me that I’m okay.

She’s breakin’ up with me on my deathbed. Says we’ve grown apart in the last few hours. It couldn’t wait another minute. She’s my queen, I’m her pawn, and her hands are so gentle as she tears my heart out.

She melts my resolve with her eyes.

She leaves me stranded in a dream.

She’s chasing me down a dead-end street.

I stop to look behind and she runs away.

But she’ll chase again when I decide to run.

She’s breakin’ up with me on my deathbed. Says time’s come to move on. It couldn’t wait another minute. She’s my china, I’m her Tupperware, and she turns on the generator after pulling the plug, but she won’t tell me she loves me.

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Three Chord Romance

Tonight it feels like forever’s not long enough.

Tonight feels like I’ll never let go.

I believe in the fantasies and the words we dare not say.

Tonight is all rolled into one, dreams for which we pray.

You were there through this fantastic journey I made, you remained,

when the silence of the night crept in you stayed.

I believe I found it in your smile, brightly lit, asking me to stay a while.

I’d like to keep it simple right now, don’t want you to get the wrong idea,

but I’m not sure if I want the right one to slip out yet.

I got caught in the middle of confessions, deepest revelations,

the rest was swept away with the brush of your hair.

For now I’m stuck with half a thought that doesn’t make any sense.

You knowing the truth, the secret being out, 

would take the magic from my daydreams.

So many times I whispered your name into the trees and hoped it’d carry to you on the hint of a summer’s breeze.

If in our bliss the moon should fall, we’ll pick it back up,

put on a pedestal of stones thrown and collected.

Then we’ll lie in the shadows, a future of flowering meadows,

and let time drift by with the clouds.

Even when you have to go, the pain I feel helps my spirit grow,

cause if the first time never ends, how can the next time ever begin?

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In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 205: 1984 The Year In Pop Culture(7-30-2025)

 

This isn't George Orwell's 1984! Sorry for that 1940s reference.

Episode 205 features all things pop culture from the year 1984. Television, music, weird news stories, and more!

We kick it off by looking at the year that was in television in 1984. There are new shows like Miami Vice. There are ratings juggernauts like Cheers and Dallas. There are some massive failures, like who greenlit a children's show hosted by an R-rated comedian? Plus, we've got some beloved 1984 commercials!

Get ready for synthpop when we turn on the music of 1984. The rise of MTV, movie soundtracks becoming big sellers, and the crowning of kings like Prince and queens like Madonna. It's all here with all of the fake drums you can handle.

The Top 5 is overflowing with weird, bizarre, and sometimes funny news stories. Bulletproof food? Aggressive lawn watering? A magazine that is a felony to own? You'll find out. 

There is, of course, a brand new This Week In History and Time Capsule centered around the 1984 Summer Olympics.

This entire episode is a celebration of the birthday of my twin sisters, Lindsay and Ashley. I hope that you enjoy it! 

You can support my work by becoming a member on Patreon!

Helpful Links from this Episode

• Purchase My New Book Cape Cod Beyond the Beach!
• In My Footsteps: A Cape Cod Travel Guide(2nd Edition)
• Hooked By Kiwi - Etsy.com
• DJ Williams Music
• KeeKee's Cape Cod Kitchen
• Christopher Setterlund.com
• Cape Cod Living - Zazzle Store
• Subscribe on YouTube!
• Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog
• Webcam Weekly Wrapup Podcast
• CJSetterlundPhotos on Etsy

Listen to Mixtape #1 here

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog: #79 - Stupid Driving, RIP Ozzy, Demon Ducks, etc.

1. Nothing says ‘protect and serve’ like a police SUV driving down a bike trail. Seriously, I was at a bike trail parking lot, and what do I see in my rearview mirror? It was a police vehicle driving slowly down a path for bicycles. It is an unreal level of stupidity. They could have easily injured a rider, a runner, or anyone on the trail. To top it off, the section of trail they felt the need to drive their vehicle on? Yeah, there was a road about 1,000 feet away that they could have driven down instead of the bike trail. What was so important that the cops felt the need to put people at risk like that? Ridiculous.


2. The words icon, legend, and pioneer are thrown around pretty loosely these days. However, they all apply when speaking of Ozzy Osbourne. The Prince of Darkness passed away this week at the age of 76. It is very sad, as it felt like he would live forever because of all of the wild and crazy things he went through in his heyday. He is the godfather of metal. He has dozens of instantly recognizable songs. He even gained legions of younger fans with his now-famous reality show in the 2000s. Ozzy influenced so many people, including ones who didn’t even have anything to do with music. He will be sorely missed, but true legends never die. RIP to the one and only Ozzman.


3. A fun little flashback story to piggyback on what I just wrote about Ozzy. I believe it was 20 years ago. I was in a bowling league. I played on a team that included my stepfather and my now-former brother-in-law. We named our team ‘Crazy Train’ after the Ozzy song. In a fun twist, another team, made up of a lot of friends, named themselves ‘Crazy Frame.’ We used to give them crap about being knock-offs of us. This team of ours also included a few people we didn’t know. There was a husband and wife, and I believe their nephew, who is probably 10 years younger than I. The nephew was a reality show in and of himself. We all had small towels to wipe our balls off, bowling balls that is. The nephew would bring an oversized beach towel, which looked ridiculous. He also would routinely pitch fits when he didn’t bowl well. His aunt and uncle would have to talk to him like he was 6 years old. I am surprised they didn’t offer him a cookie. Anyway, it was a fun year, but it all began with our team name after a classic Ozzy song.


4. The weather at the beginning of this week on Cape Cod was my definition of perfect. Mid-70s, low humidity, some clouds but not enough to hide the sun. It was hard to be inside at all, but once I got off work, I was out for a run or at least a walk. I had debated going to the gym for some weight training, but days like the ones we had don’t happen all the time. After my exercise, I thought about just finding a spot under a tree and soaking in the day. Hunger typically would cut that short. I also figure there will be plenty of days when it’s cloudy and in the 30s or 40s, where I’ll be more than happy to hang out inside the walls of an overcrowded, loud, dirty gym. Well, maybe not happy, more like accepting the lesser of two evils. Until those days though, you can find me on most sunny days carving myself out a slice of the bike trail.


5. I took a walk off the beaten path this week. It was off the bike path. In Brewster, there is a private dirt road that gives you a more scenic route from one part of the trail to a parking lot at a trailhead. I enjoy this route as it gives me a chance to soak in nature. I also have to make sure that I keep my head on a swivel, as there are vehicles every now and then that take this road since there are some houses on it. During this walk, I came face to face with a horrific sight. There, sitting perched on a rock, were 3 terrifying duck demons. They were not happy that I was on their property. I would have ended up as a part of their summer barbecue if I hadn’t thought fast and distracted them with a piece of bread I happened to have in my pocket. It was a terrifying ordeal, but I did manage to capture a photo of the evil creatures before escaping.

They were every bit as terrifying as they look

6. I have always considered myself a very sentimental person. I keep so many things that remind me of special times and special people. Sometimes years go by, and I come across something odd or out of place, and I know it has sentimental meaning, but I just can’t remember what it is. My forgetfulness created such a sentimental moment this week. I try to clear out the clutter on my smartphone to save as much memory as I can. Old voicemails are one thing that I rarely go into and delete. For me, this meant that when I did scroll all the way down to the bottom of my old voicemails, I found several from 2018-19 left by a lost loved one. Brenda was, for all intents and purposes, my aunt. She was a family friend whom I had known for as long as I had been alive. She was there at so many holiday gatherings and other family events. Years ago, when I worked as a cook at a local retirement home, I was pleasantly surprised to find her living there. It gave me a chance to reconnect with her. When she passed a few years ago, it made me even happier that I had those times. When people die, their voices and images can fade. Finding several voicemails from her made me smile with a happy tear. I am glad I never cleaned out those old voicemails.


7. The week definitely ended on a far busier note. I was thrilled to get to go see my old high school classmate, Patrick Hinds, doing his one-man show for his book tour, up in Provincetown. I have seen his show before, but it is still a unique feeling paying money to go see someone you used to see in the hallways at school. He has worked so hard to get to where he is now as a celebrity. There were lots of rough times and bumps in the road before he hit his stride. I have told him that I use him as an inspiration in my own quest to be a self-sustaining content creator. For those who don’t know who he is, among other things, he is the host of two award-winning podcasts. One is all about true crime, True Crime Obsessed. The other is a deep dive into the beloved 80s sitcom The Golden Girls, appropriately called The Golden Girls Deep Dive Podcast.


8. On the subject of Patrick and his show. I mentioned to him that I’d be there, and yes, he was happy, but he was more interested in my bringing my mother to the show. Why? Back in high school, when he worked at Stop & Shop, my mother was his supervisor. He had a rough time, and My mother was very understanding and sympathetic. The fact that he really wanted her to be at the show told me all I needed to know about the positive impact my mother made on him all of those years ago. When we arrived at the venue for the show, it was fitting that Patrick was standing outside, and the first person he saw was my mother. I could tell how much it meant to him that she was there. The fact that she really enjoyed his show was just the icing on the cake.

A D-Y High School reunion after the show

9. By the way, on a side note, I need to remember that Provincetown on the weekends in the summer is a busy place. Parking is at a premium. My idea was to park in this lot, which was a very short walk to the venue. The only problem was that even though we got there way ahead of time, the spots closest to the venue were full. We ended up having to park way in the back and walk nearly the entire length of the parking lot to get out. On the bright side, it made the trip out afterward much easier, but on a muggy Friday evening, every extra step you need to take adds up.


10. Anytime I am in the Provincetown area, I stop at St. Peter’s Cemetery to pay a visit to the grave of Ruth Marie Terry, aka The Lady of the Dunes. As some of you might know, I have a connection to her due to my work on the book that accompanied Frank Durant’s 2022 documentary about the infamous Cape Cod murder mystery. This week also happens to be the anniversary of the day that Ruth’s body was discovered in the remote dunes of Provincetown in 1974. I brought a single pink rose for her grave, and also a single yellow rose for the grave of Susan Perry. She was one of the victims of serial killer Tony Costa. Frank and I found her grave a few years ago, and it was mostly overgrown by grass. We literally tore the grass and dirt up to expose her rectangular stone. After that, I made it a point to leave something on her grave each time I visit Ruth’s grave, as Susan feels like she is a forgotten victim. Also, Tony Costa is buried in an unmarked grave only a few hundred feet away, which is just a shame.
 


11. Speaking of Frank, in a funny twist, I was starting a morning walk when suddenly my music cut out. I immediately thought my headphones had finally died. When I looked at my phone, I saw Frank was calling. We chatted a lot about a project we are going to be working on in the fall. The funny part was that I was still doing my walk while we talked. This meant that I was now that annoying person having a loud conversation in public. Luckily, I was walking through some quiet streets, so I didn’t get too many looks. Also, it meant that I was breathing heavily as I walked. At one point, I had to apologize to Frank for gasping and sounding like I was on death’s door. Finally, I found a spot near a river to pause my walk and just chat. I honestly can’t remember the last time I got a phone call while out for a walk or a run.


12. A motel proudly proclaiming on their sign that they have internet in 2025 is the equivalent of motels in the 1980s saying they have color TVs. It’s like, duh, the internet has been widely available for 30 years, I’d hope your little rinky-dink motel has it. It’s one step above the places that brag about having hair dryers in each room. I guess if a place doesn’t have internet in this day and age, I’d be more worried. Those are the places with the screen door hanging off the office and a guy wearing cut-off denim overalls sitting on a porch whittling a spear out of an old chair leg.

Losing Your Spark

    I don’t know when it happens. I don’t know when the adventure of life slowly fades and is replaced by the repetitive and mundane. Over the last few years, I have slowly started feeling this way. I feel like my spark has faded and been lost.

    It is hard for me to tell if this is just a part of the ‘mid-life crisis’ that comes when you get deep into your 40s. Or perhaps this feeling of malaise and being lost has its roots in the series of unfortunate events that have dotted my last several years.

    When you lose a loved one, it changes you. When you lose several in rapid succession, it does irreparable damage. Your brain and heart don’t get a chance to process one loss, and another comes rushing in to knock you upside the head. And how do you process such losses when you feel like you have nobody to talk to about them?

    At this point in time, I feel like I have two types of people in my life. Ones who listen to me like they're listening to the ‘on hold’ music waiting for a real conversation to begin. Then there are the ones who simply cannot just listen. Any conversation devolves into a pissing contest over whose problems are worse. That usually ends with me deferring to them and just putting my problems, which we never come back to, on the back burner.

    But what of the spark? That zest for life, that yearning for the future. What happens to it? Some people seemingly never run out of fuel for that spark. Others, like me, are just staring at a cold fire pit, wondering where the lighter fluid is.



    When I was a teenager in the 1990s, the spark raged out of control. I was full of the angst that the Grunge movement and my own childhood had instilled in me. I was fighting for my future. I was working hard to do well in school so that I could have the future I wanted. I was planning on that future with friends, many of whom are still big parts of my life to this day. I was bound and determined to make it and filled with the energy to prove it. My apologies to 16-year-old me.

    When I was in my 20s in the 2000s, the spark was lit by an unending need for change. I did whatever I needed to do to find my path. If I had to leave a job that I felt was unfulfilling, I did it. If I had to move across the country a time or two, I packed my bags. I was lucky enough to find the love I had craved since I was a boy. I was also unfortunate enough to find that things like time and distance cannot always sustain love. Unflinching, I pressed on. I knew that each door that closed meant my future lay behind another one I had yet to find. I knew that risk-taking was the only way to truly change things. My apologies to 26-year-old me.

    When I was in my 30s in the 2010s, the spark engulfed me in the need for success and acceptance. The future I had dreamed of as a teenager felt like a raft attached to a slippery rope that I was slowly losing hold of. 

    What was success? What was love? The definitions changed with age. I wanted to be a published author, and that happened, now nine times over. Yet it didn’t lead to being a self-sustaining career. 

    I wanted to change day jobs so that I could at least feel fulfilled while waiting for my ship to come in. I did that, and yet my dissatisfaction only grew and festered. No matter the good that came to me, I was never fully happy. I was in the best shape of my life physically, but on the inside, I always felt not enough. I wanted to be as big as possible and yet still go as unnoticed as possible. That spark turned to an inward anger that burned me up and wore me out. My apologies to 36-year-old me.

    Now in my 40s in the 2020s, the spark lay dormant. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am still bound and determined to find the path I am meant to be on. Now it is far quieter and reserved, and cautious. It feels as though those losses I've suffered, 6 people in 5 years, have snuffed the spark out.

    There is no more teenage angst, though I wish there were. 16-year-old me would have a thing or two to say about my current mindset. 

    There is no more taking risks like you’re trying on a new shirt. I now worry more about the potential problems than the potential rewards. Maybe that comes with age, but 26-year-old me would tell me much of what my life consists of now is due to the risks I took back then. 

    There is no more ‘me against the world’ level of needing to prove myself. Shouting from the rooftops about who I am sounds like more effort than it’s worth these days. 36-year-old me would likely ask, ‘What in the world was everything we did for then?’

    These days, I feel like I packed all of my hopes and dreams onto the back of a snail and am watching it try to cross a busy highway. All of the various incarnations of myself would likely be shaking their heads for different reasons. Yet inside, I am still all of those people. There are times when I feel myself slipping into those old mindsets. But I feel like the ‘older and wiser’ version of me overrules them all. It says ‘Why push a sled full of rocks uphill when you can sail down a lazy river if both routes lead to the same destination?’

    Maybe in my 50s in the 2030s, I’ll look back on this and laugh because I found my spark again. Maybe I’ll apologize to the current version of me for something I haven’t even done yet. The spark inside you isn’t something tangible. It is a feeling, a movement, a driving force meant to get you through the journey we call life. It is also something that, if not cultivated and nurtured, can be lost. I will keep on looking for mine, and if you are looking for yours, know that you’re not the only one.

In My Footsteps Podcast: Mixtape #1: Classic Mall Stores of the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s(7-23-2025)

 

Grab your portable tape deck. Make sure it has fresh batteries, and pop in this mixtape!

It's something new this week on the podcast: the first mixtape. We are bringing multiple segments from past shows together in one super-sized episode. Every now and then, these will appear as a change of pace from the typical show. 

Mixtape #1 is all about classic mall stores of the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s. In total, there are 30 stores that we will take a look back at. 

The indoor mall is still a popular destination today; however, its heyday was definitely the '70s through the '90s. 

You didn't need much money, as the 'mall rat' identity only required you to be inside a mall hanging out with friends. Kids of the day could spend hours sitting on benches or wandering the corridors, looking into some of the stores that will be mentioned on this show.

How many of these stores did you spend hard-earned money at?

Become a supporter on Patreon! $5/mo. gets you access to bonus podcast episodes and more!

Helpful Links from this Episode

• Purchase My New Book Cape Cod Beyond the Beach!
• In My Footsteps: A Cape Cod Travel Guide(2nd Edition)
• Hooked By Kiwi - Etsy.com
• DJ Williams Music
• KeeKee's Cape Cod Kitchen
• Christopher Setterlund.com
• Cape Cod Living - Zazzle Store
• Subscribe on YouTube!
• Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog
• Webcam Weekly Wrapup Podcast
• CJSetterlundPhotos on Etsy

Listen to Episode 204 here