I ride my bike year round.  My bike is a work horse, not a show pony.  I have a perpetual tan on my arms from the shoulders down.  I go to bike rallies, biker bars, and poker runs.  It is more than just an image, it is a way of life.

That said, I also love music.  I was in show choir in high school.  I was a member of the Oklahoma City Metro Men’s Chorus.  I sing karaoke on occasion.

Recently, those two worlds have been in conflict because of a simple little MP3 player.  I discovered that I could listen to my MP3 player while on the bike.  You would think that I would be smart and stick with Steppenwolfe or George Thorogood.  Bad to the Bone or Born to Be Wild would have been fine.  But alas, no.  No, I had to load my MP3 player with, not only Steppenwolfe, Thorogood, The Who, etc., but also the sound track to The Sound of Music and My Fair Lady.  Jewel and Madonna also reside on my playlist, right alongside Ozzy and Mickey Mouse.  Yes, my love of music had me cruising and singing along.  All was well until I forgot to turn it off as I went into work.  It is hard to be taken seriously as a bad boy biker when you walk in dressed in leathers singing “Wouldn’t It Be Lovely” along with Eliza Doolittle.

“Someone’s head restin’ on my knee; Warm and tender as he can be,
Who takes good care of me; Oh wouldn’t it be loverly?
Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly. “

Some very dear friends of ours open their home twice a year for a musical gathering.  I’ve been twice now to the one they refer to as “Spring Jam”.  One can only assume that means the other is “Fall Jam” but I’ve never been to that one.  I think it has to do with alcohol and it taking them a year to forget what I’m like.

First, let me tell you that I suck on guitar.  I know fifteen chords, can play almost half of them clearly, I play one fingered, and I have a capo.  Someone once said that if you use more than three chords, you’re showing off.  As it is, these people allow me to sit in with some extremely talented musicians.  This year they even let me take the lead. After they played Delta Dawn, I decided I could lead with One Tin Soldier.

This is when I learned a valuable lesson about drinking Captain Morgan’s & Dr. Pepper through a straw.  One minute you are completely sober, you know your limitations on the guitar, and you’re fully dressed.  The next minute, not so much.  By the end of the session, I was hollering for Jesus Christ Superstar and I Am Woman.

First, I would like to thank L33t5k33t3r or l0nlyT33n or whatever his nick was for hacking my site.  It’s always impressive when you can break someone’s nonsecure website and screw around with their hobby.  You reminded me of an old joke:

Jesus and Satan were arguing as to who was the better computer programmer.  The argument got so heated that God stepped in and decided to settle things with a little competition.  “I will give you each a program to write.  After three hours, whichever of you has the most done will be consider the greatest programmer of all times.”  Jesus and Satan took their seats and when the harp strung, they started.  With fingers flying across the keyboards, they were neck and neck.  At two hours and forty five minutes, God cut off the power.  When He restored the power, Jesus whipped in a few keystrokes and finished just as the three-hour harp chimed.  Satan was furious.  He screammed, “Jesus cheated!  There’s no way he rewrote that entire program in just that few minutes!”  To which God replied, “No.  Jesus saves.”

I haven’t been updating or backing up my site as I should have been, and I would like to thank you for reminding me to do so.

I have seriously been neglecting my figure drawing. I know this because my manequin has been giving me attitude lately. I constantly think, “hey, that would make a cool drawing” and begin gathering resources, but I just haven’t made the time to get to it. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve even touched my pencils in two weeks. I spend more time thinking about new tools I want, or classes I want to attend, or websites I might subscribe to for models. That seems to be as far as I ever get lately. Like a writer with a brand new ream of paper and a fresh ribbon in his typewriter*, I’ve run out of excuses but am lacking in motivation and inspiration. Tonight, I was considering doing some figure drawing. I twisted and pulled the little wooden figurine into poses I thought I might like to draw. Somehow, every time I stopped, his arms were crossed and he seemed to be glaring at me. I think this weekend I will have spend some time gruntling my manequin.

*For those of you born after 1980, a typewriter is a kind of “crash-proof” word processor

I have had dental problems my whole life. This is one of those compounding problems because the more problems you have, the more problems you get. Let me ’splain. You see, when you’re riddled with gum disease and cavities, it hurts to brush and you learn to fear the dentist. This encourages neglect which of course causes gum disease, cavities and painful trips to the dentist. Joseph Heller would be proud.


Today, in my continuing effort to right a lifetime wrong, I had my full lower left jaw worked on. A root canal, a new tooth face, and several crowns later, I can once again take a breath through my mouth and not wince in pain. This comes in handy during allergy season in Oklahoma.

This time, I was smart. I went for the nitrous. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, laughing gas makes all the difference in the world. Before, not only would my mouth be sore, but my entire body would ache from being so tense. Today, I was so relaxed I almost enjoyed it.


The problem with being that relaxed during a dental procedure is that you forget someone is using a power drill in one of your more delicate spots. You see, as I was laying there, some of my favorite songs were playing on the local radio station lilting through the office. I had sense enough to not try to sing. I put forth an amazing effort to not sing along with the radio. When Dawn, the dental assistant, began singing, however, I lost it and started giggling. The Doc was very patient with me and simply asked me to keep still. Feeling like a teenager who had just been busted for being drunk, I of course giggled some more. That’s when Born To Be Wild came on the radio. Those of you keeping up with this blog will know that I am a biker (sort of). One simply cannot sit still to Steppenwolf, especially a 36 year old, drunken, giggling teenager. Apparently, when you tap your foot, it is connected to your head. When your head wiggles while a dentist is using a precision drill on your teeth, it causes the drill to slip. When the drill slips it grabs things and throws them across the room. Yes, I was quickly brought to reality when the cotton swab started flipping around at about a million RPMs. Again with a deep sigh, the Doc calmly asked me to open wide and hold still for him. The lesson here is that one should not dance in the dentist’s chair.