No matter the activity, there’s always a way to make it MORE fun.

That was my mission as a kid, and to a much more measured degree as an adult as well, but certainly less zeal than I applied as a young boy. My constant companion was my sister Carrie, who is just a year younger than me, but a firebrand from the word go, and always pushed us both to make whatever we were doing EXTRA however we could. I often am blamed for the excruciating back pain she suffers as an adult from childhood injuries I helped orchestrate, but I insist we may have both been to blame for the ruinous nature of the stunts we attempted.

One such incident involved a giant pink stuffed elephant.

We had a sometimes Dad. He came around more often as we got older, but when we were really young his restless spirit kept him away,(sometimes incarcerated) but OH when he did show up, it was like Gandalf had arrived to whisk us away for serious hijinks. If we hit a street fair/carnival type deal, he absolutely had to win his little girl a giant god-damn stuffed animal, and he’d throw down serious money to do so, but eventually he’d win. That’s how a ridiculous monstrous pink elephant ended up in our house, much to my Mother’s chagrin,(single Mom’s can be kind of a wet blanket if the kid’s rave on about how awesome their Dad who doesn’t pay child support is).

One afternoon we decided the best possible use for this elephant was to break our fall as we leaped from my bed onto it. The attempt would include a couple good jumps in place, then vault forward for a final big bounce before cannonballing into the elephant splayed out on the floor. Poof!

This is indeed fun.

However, it was up to me to figure out how to make this MORE fun so I decided if I began the attempt atop the headboard of the bed, I’d rise higher INCREASING the fun. Without any attempt to gauge whether this was too dangerous, I scrambled my tiny eight year old body high atop the bookshelf laden bed frame like my hero Burt Reynolds in the movie Hooper,(a late 70’s movie about stuntmen that screwed me & my friends up pretty good), and hurled myself skyward with all my might. As I made my descent onto then mattress I remember pulling my knees into my chest to EXPLODE high as I could, and I did.

The next few seconds in my memory are blissful. Aloft, and flying through the air with a maniacal grin on my tiny face, and then POOF!

The next few moments are pretty confusing to think about, because the elephant burst into an explosion of tiny bits of styrofoam. Everything went white, and I heard the door fly open, and my mother shouting. I scrambled to rise, but my new environment seemed to shift with me, and my skinny limbs just flailed. Mom’s hands took hold of my shirt, and hauled me up out of a fluffy hell of my own making while my sister took over shouting at me.

The elephant was ruined, and it was my fault.

For a long time afterwards she would insist that I owed her an elephant, and I had no idea how to make good on that, but eventually she stopped berating me for it. That’s not going to wrap this tale up in a very satisfying way, but I’m a little rusty at writing, and some of these things I’ll be sharing here are just fragments of memories I’m recalling that have faded with time. I thank you for reading this far, and I hope you continue to read my thought vomit here.

As ever,


I see bitches on social media complaining about missing going to concerts, and it’s me. I’m bitches. When I say concerts though, I really mean local music played in venues that hold 75-200 people max. It’s cool that we at least live in an age where a lot of bands have streamed their shows live from their bedrooms & whatnot, but it’s just not the same.

I’m almost half a century old people, and although it doesn’t feel quite like that in the morning compared to many my age who don’t take all the measures I do; it’s not awesome. I remember a time when a workout, shower & strong black coffee would remedy a hangover, and somehow make up for 4-5 hours of light, disturbed sleep. Now though, that same routine does little good to make up for the abuses I employ to treat myself a couple nights a week. No matter. The rest of my time is spent in diligent pursuit of earning/amping up my hobbies, and I’m having a blast.

As I’ve stated I have the privilege of fronting rock bands, and it’s been well over a year since I’ve played a show, so the pent up angst & stress I work out through this activity has been restricted to rehearsals, and that’s cathartic, but not at all close to what I want. There’s a bit of anxiety that always comes from putting it out there, but that challenge & overcoming those nerves is a facet of the experience we’ve all been robbed of since a wicked virus ripped it’s way across the globe, and shut down so many things we all took for granted.

One thing I’ve had to ponder, is part of the duties expected of local bands isn’t just to get out there, and play shows, but to attend & promote local music. Digitally is fine enough, but it’s not as impactful as having your ass in the venues devoted to hosting those shows, forming bonds with regulars, and artists that make up the community that make such a thing possible.

In other words, a “scene”.

We’ve all read the stories of how these things take off, and become the musical fore-runners to a movement that grows into Seattle in the early 90’s. However, that’s an overblown take that isn’t what we do this for. People here in NE Ohio recall fondly a time when it wasn’t all that hard to pack a club with people, the venues granted the bands drink tickets, and even tossed you a cut of the door for gas money to boot, and that dried up for the most part. Just before this went belly up a year ago, we were scrambling to get a scant few people to attend shows through social media, phone calls, and yes face to face leaning on anyone who might listen to please-to-christ come see my band playing this weekend! All those interactions would be met with the following-

What kind of music do you play? Is it the kind where I can’t understand the lyrics?

What time does your band go on?

Can you put me on the guest list?

I wish you guys played closer.

You might not understand why these responses would grate on an artist,(fuck yeah I’m an artist) but I assure you we bristle no matter how many times we hear it, but you know what? I’d LOVE to be pushing my way in front of everyone I know right now to have a show to send my contacts a barrage of invites for, you know why?

It’s not just the bands.

There’s bartenders, door security, sound guys, Merch creators that all took a hit from this whose livelihood went up in smoke. A ton of people involved in furthering music, and other things to consider. Wherever you live, there’s a slew of folks who started out honing their skills in bedrooms, basements,(a lot of basement bedrooms too) & writing songs for nobody, but that music has a really good chance of being your favorite song. Music captures moments in time for good & ill that bring those memories to startling life in ways that even photographs can’t, so you owe it to yourself to seek out local music wherever you are, and champion them for your own good.

Full disclosure though, I’m not a sterling example for these values I espouse. SO many times my support for local music really is evidenced by shows my band is playing, and I will pick up a cd, t-shirt from other bands, etc but at the show I’m already at. Rarely did this wannabe never-was do the thing I’m insisting you, gentle reader do, and drive 30-45 minutes to stay out late seeking out local music. Somehow falling asleep on my couch before eight o’clock won out every time.

I have such grand plans to turn that around when things open back up, and I have every intention of making good on that goal I’ve set.

But you know.

Thanks for reading!


Hello there kitty cats & sharky sharks! My name is Curtis Ray Meade, and I’m already grateful you were curious enough to wander in here to take a peek at what I’ve got going on, and I’ll do my damnedest not to waste your time. Since I appeared on this plane of existence the year our lord nineteen hundred seventy one, I have made it my modus operandi to wring the joy out of every second I’ve been given. My aim here is to record, and share those memories, and plans for future shenanigans to inspire, and entertain,(or at least to remind myself to choose worthwhile pursuits in the name of new goodness).

These days the enemies of joy abound, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t apply my clown makeup,(literally, and figuratively) to meet them on the battlefields of every day life. It’s possibly a bad analogy given the gut-wrenching examples of human trash that have adopted The Joker persona when committing atrocities, but I BELIEVE in the power of clowning in earnest, and love nothing better than making people laugh. So long as there’s an opportunity like this to put it out there, well you bet I’ll be bouncing my clown-shoed feet in the most fun direction possible.

I’m also eaten alive with anxieties, and insecurities like many of you, which means I’ve typed this out a couple times, and deleted it for fear of looking foolish. Somehow I’ve managed to do a lot despite that, and I credit it to the good many people I’ve surrounded myself with in this life. Because of them, I’ve been brave enough to somehow sing for rock bands that gave me the opportunity to create music to share in empty,(sometimes half-full!) dive bars across NE Ohio! This pandemic has postponed that activity I cherish for well over a year now, and what I wouldn’t give to be hollering terrible jokes, and screaming my lyrics at a handful of disinterested barflies right now.

Dungeons & Dragons has been a fixture in my life for decades as well, but unlike being a rock singer, this quarantine has allowed some adjustments that have taken this creative diversion of mine to whole new levels. As a sort-of luddite member of Generation X,(it sounds cool, but it’s not) I’ve always held my nose over the notion of online exchanges being ACTUAL social interaction, but as with many of our antiquated notions I was wrong. Over the past year, I have spent more time consistently playing D&D than EVER! Although I love the tactile euphoria associated with my mini’s, maps, and rolling actual dice, it’s way better to routinely gather in virtual spaces with friends to play this beloved game that has brought so much joy my way. Hundreds of hours of role-playing later, and I’m sold on it, so there’ll definitely be more said about this in future posts.

I don’t know how you, gentle reader of this blog, are weathering the challenges these difficult times present, but I’m planning on showing up here weekly to share a bit of how I’m figuring out how to transcend mine. Are you hiding from, putting off or pretending that tackling those problems isn’t necessary? Yeah, me too, but maybe if I continue to reach out here, and articulate my adventures in running from my problems, it’ll make it easier to emerge disgusted, and ready affect some purpose-driven changes.

I’m excited at the prospect of joining forces with the rest of these curious folk here at Kittensharks, and I look forward to sharing what we’re collaborating to produce together. Thanks for reading this missive, and I hope you stay tuned for what’s to come!

Yours in truth,