Elliott v US Postal Service

In a move compared to what North Korea would do, the United States Postal Service has taken our mail hostage. Yes, hostage. And yes, it has been a trying few days in the Elliott household.

The mail was checked on 9/21 and then again on 9/24. Two days. That's all the time the mail wasn't checked. Two days.

On 9/24, instead of letters, bills and junk mail, I found a green slip that said that due to our laziness, our mail was taken back to the post office. It then threatened us that if we didn't pick up the our mail by 9/23, all of the letters were going to be sent back to senders.

A reminder, it was two days. And we actually had to get the mail the day before the slip was actually inserted into the mailbox. Only Doc and a DeLorean could pull off that magic trick. Needless to say, I was pissed.

Fast forward to today.

This morning, it was unknown if our mail was been the basic rights under the Freedom of Mail Act of 1623½. We were told nothing. We were given no notice.

Inspired by President Clinton, I’m traveled to the post office to attempt to free our mail. While I was unaware of the situation I was about to walk into or the consequences I could have faced, I knew, deep in my heart, that I was doing justice.

I was willing to risk it all to free our letters, bills, junk mail and the boatload of catalogs that were probably locked away in some dirty, dark, slightly chilly room. If negotiations broke down, I had a dummy dressed as a postal agent with a bucket over its head in my trunk. I knew that this would only be used if the situation grew grim as we know know civil unrest would break out leading to violence.

Let it be known that I was prepared.

I also took this opportunity to highlight our experience with top post office officials to ensure no other families will have to deal with these vicious acts on humanity.

The strong arm of the post office has gone too far this time. No family should endure the pain, suffering or loss of all that is good in the world like we have.

Others were there when I arrived at the post office. For all I knew, they too had mail seized by the vicious postal carriers probably all hawked up on meth and Red Bull.

Conversations swirled around freedom, liberty and how one guys watch was synced by satellites. That part held us together as the clocked moved slowly toward 9am. The hands of time moved slowly this day my friend.

When I finally got in and was able to talk to one of the evil-doers, I was told awful news. This woman from hell with fire spewing from her mouth informed me that my mail wasn't at this post office. These dirty bastards carted my mail to another facility. To a more "high-risk" facility no doubt.

I quickly ran out of the post office and jumped in my car, headed for the next chapter.

When I arrived, it was just like how I imagined it. It was smaller. Bars on the windows. There was a smell of tear gas and burnt glue in the air. While I can't say for sure, but I swear I saw shredders in the lobby lining the wall. An old lady chuckled in the corner.

This was it. This was the moment. The moment that I got my mail was anti-climatic. They merely just handed it to me like a waitress hands you a roll with your soup.

It wasn't even a large set of mail that caused the post man to seize it. It was just a normal amount. However there were a box of checks and a small package for Zak-- two items THAT COULD HAVE BEEN PUT IN THE LARGER MAILBOX THAT IS FOR LARGER PACKAGES. BUT THE STUPID F'ING MAILMAN DECIDED TO BE AN ASSHOLE AND PUT MY FAMILY AND OUR MAIL THROUGH HELL.

All in all, no one was harmed. The mail was fine. No bills were lost. No catalogs were ripped. But for god's sakes post office, why do you people have to be total douchebags?

Minus 50 Rows.

Mark another big item on my "must do before I die" list.

While it may not seem like a big deal to you, I've always wanted to see Pearl Jam perform in Seattle.

In 1992, I saw Pearl Jam play for the first time at St Andrews Hall in Detroit. I didn't know PJ very well when I got the tickets, but that changed quickly.

I remember it being a very, very cold Detroit night and I wore a heavy jacket into the Hall. I kept the jacket tied around my waist the entire time and when the concert was over, not only was I soaked from sweat, but the jacket was too.

When the concert started, I was in the back of the Hall, but after about three songs, the energy of Eddie Vedders voice took over me and I was front row for the rest of the show. Despite me being skinnier and smaller than most people (at that time), I managed my own up front.

I remember Eddie's lyrics power-driving into my ears. His voice was like nothing I've ever heard before. His stare was haunting. I remember thinking that this guy wants to kill me as he song "Ten" songs right at me. But I couldn't move. He had me at "Once". Later, he dove from the balcony to the waiting arms of the crowd-- something he doesn't do or hasn't done for a while now.

Later, I caught Jeff Ament when he stage dove.

It was one of the best moments of my life-- top 10 for sure. Something I will never forget and something that will never be repeated.

From that moment on, I wanted to be part of grunge. I wanted to wrap flannel around my waist, grow out my hair, and be anti-everything. I achieved the flannel. I had the hair. The anti-everything didn't stick but I found my way without the angst. It was also at that moment, I desperately wanted to see Pearl Jam in their hometown of Seattle. Little did I know on that chilly/exciting/scary/memorable Detroit night that one day I would live in their hometown.

This past Tuesday, I finally got to see PJ play in Seattle-- 17 years later. Wow-- I feel really old writing that sentence. Has it really been 17 years? It was also the 50th time they played in Seattle. How fitting.

Along the way, I've seen PJ play a few more times (five outside of the concert at the Hall) in various venues. But never in front of their hometown crowd.

Not only was this my first Seattle/PJ show, it was also the first time Kristen had ever seen PJ. To be honest with you, I wasn't sure how it was going to go over. Kristen has always kinda-liked PJ but was never a big fan. She likes to understand the lyrics coming out of a singers mouth and Eddie tends to mumble the words a lot. However when he came out with his "Into the Wild" soundtrack, that change. She started to really like him, and more importantly, PJ.

I was nervous though as she didn't know a lot of their material. What if she didn't like it? What if she wanted to go? Would I stay and take a taxi home? But two songs into it, she was bobbing around and told me, "Now this is a rock concert."

They sounded perfect. Just like they always did. And when Eddie and the boys played "No Way," my eyes filled with tears. Goose bumps started popping up on my arms. My heart broke into a million pieces as my eyes reached up to the heavens. You see this was the song that reminds me the most of the moment when I lost my mother.

I was on my way back to Central Michigan University from my internship at WNLS in 1998, when my pager went off. It was my parent's number with 9-1-1 after it. This wasn't good.

I pulled over at a gas station and pulled up to a pay phone. From my car, I dialed the number and my brother picked up. Sobbing. He told me there that my mother had died.

I'm really not sure what happened next but I do remember crying in my car, alone, for about 30 minutes. Uncontrollable tears. Full on gushing crying. I think I may have called someone at the Barn (what we called our house at CMU) and then needed to drive myself an hour back to my parents house, alone.

Somehow I managed to fight back the tears enough to actual be able to drive. One thing that helped me drive that day was Pearl Jam's Yield album. Without it, I might have not of made it home safely. It helped me steer. It helped me remember. It help me mourn.

The song that put me over the edge was "No Way."

Long story short: I tried to help my mom over the years fight her addiction to alcohol. I cared for her. I lied for her. I helped her. I yelled at her. I threatened her. I held her tight. I loved her as much as I could. From the youngest age, I always remember my mom having this problem to alcohol and as I grew, it just got worse. But I never, ever, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER gave up. And for me, the lyrics to this song symbolized my unwillingness to let alcoholism absorb my mom.

"'Cause I'll stop trying to make a difference
I'm not trying to make a difference
I'll stop trying to make a difference
No way"

There's also a line in there that says "Ooh, let's call in an angel."

To me, an angel was the only one that could help my mom.

I made it home that day thanks to Yield and to PJ. Since I first saw PJ 17 years ago, they've impacted my life in many ways. But this one is the most important and memorable. They will always be my favorite band in the world for what they've done for me.

By the way, the show was amazing, powerful, emotional, transforming and magical. Just like the first time I say them, minus about 50 rows.