The First Annual Montgomery Burns Award for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence
Yesterday I was able to get in a good ride, 3 hours. First time I've ridden longer than an hour in about a month. Next Saturday is the Mad Anthony. I haven't been able to devote time to training up to the full century, so I'll have to settle for the metric (62 miles). Maybe I can find another event in the next few weeks.
Bike riding is fun.
I went out for 2 hours today. Tomorrow 1.5, then an hour, and so on. The last week before an event taper is holy, man. Don't mess with it.

Stroke My Satiny Maple Neck
I do it all the time.

I think that's F. I am on better terms with F and B (not to mention Bm) than I used to be--proof that the world is getting better all the time.
Oh, and here's a little something I learned. If you want to play music for people to sing along to, you need to give them a little introduction before you launch into the song. Also, you have to play the melody, not just accompaniment.

I was visiting somebody in a nursing home yesterday and a crazy old man rolled over in his fancy wheelchair and said, "This is an unauthorized gathering. We have an ordinance against that in this town. This is an unlawful assembly. Even now, the building is being surrounded by police officers. They have come to arrest you. I am placing you under arrest! I will see you in jail, sir!" Some sort of Patriot Act dementia?

Trudging Slowly Over Wet Sand
To everyone who keeps wondering: I'm really OK.
I appreciate that you care enough to worry about me. I really do. But I am OK. I'm not in denial. Plus, if I was I wouldn't even know it...

Sometimes A Kiss Is Not Enough


I smashed my glasses the other day. I'll get a new pair under warranty, but I have to wait a week, so I'm left with the $20 glasses I ordered off the internet from Hong Kong.

Let me clarify. Not on purpose.

You Know, My Wandering Days Are Over
Well, I can at least do some cycling art this summer.


Children, don't let your parents grow up to be amateur woodworkers because sometimes a board will kick back from the blade of the table saw. Unfortunately, it'll do that when the van is parked in the garage.

Back In The Garage
I made a Joe Strummer shrine today.

Roots rock rebel, indeed!

Another Fine Mess
The rest of my July:
Tour de France
Art in America
Ride like the wind, Bullseye!
Noise on Guitar. I've discovered Open G tuning, which means you can play barre chords with just one fat finger across all 6 strings. Championed by Keith Richards, I suppose so he could keep playing and be stoned out of his mind. For many years he got rid of the low E string. I don't know why. Maybe it fell off and he never noticed. I've tuned my fake Tele to it (DGDGBD) to see what it's like. The laziness of it appeals to me, but the novelty may soon wear off.

Here's some art:

The Fake Headlines
Again?

Also, I'm not going to Hell again this year. It must be meant to be that's it's not to be.

Home, sweet, home.

With A Map Of The Endtimes I Can Follow A Straight Line
My mom has a wheel on the bottom of her bass for transport. I think it's hilarious.
Apparently, no one else does.

You Tell Me I'm Not Not Cute, Its Truth Or Falsity Is Moot
I hope the flowers are doing well back home...

...anyone know?

If this is paradise I wish I had a lawnmower.

Well, The One On The Right Was On The Left And The One In The Middle Was On The Right And The One On The Left Was In The Middle
Still not on vacation, just in case anyone was wondering.

There's a fascinating debate all over the internet about guitars and handedness. Specifically, relating to lefties, like myself--and Paul Simon, Neil Young, David Byrne, Joe Strummer, a bunch of jazz guys and who knows who all else--who play(ed), or in my case, attempt to play, "right-handed." It seems there isn't really such a thing as a right-handed guitar, according to many. It's just a question of where you want to employ your dominant hand. Some people want to do more fretwork with their good hand, so they strum with their right. Some say that means you sacrifice picking agility on the strings, but not necessarily. There is no rule that lefties have to play flipped over guitars. Some lefties like to play with an actual "left-handed" guitar, some play with a right-handed guitar upside-down, some play with a right-handed guitar upside-down with the strings right side up, some just do it the "normal" way. I've always been very ambidextrous. I write and throw lefty, but bat and kick righty. I have a set of lefty golf clubs, but they don't feel natural to me. I can't get lefty scissors to work at all! I hold coffee mugs in either hand. I've held and fiddled around with lefty guitars and they don't feel right to me. (Get it?)

The Rocket's Redneck Glare
We went to the fireworks last night (3 generations, all at once!). They were pretty good. I made a movie for Sam, who fell asleep (yes!) halfway through. Off in the distance we could hear the PA pumping out the jingoistic warblings of Toby Keith (right after Woody Guthrie, which made me mad). Since when is "a boot in your ass" the "American way"? That kind of crap only invites people to hijack planes and blow up buildings, you dumb redneck. But then, I've never believed in Toby's patriotism. I'm sure the emergence of that vile slime of a song was purely a business decision on his part. I thought it was fitting that the sound was distorted by the time it got to us, since that song sort of twists loving one's country into an international bar brawl.

Trying To Lead A Middle-Aged Life--Well, It's Either That Or Drop Dead
There's a lot of people in my folks' house right now, and perhaps even more cats.
I had to stash my guitar in a basket, amidst the clutter of knick-knacks and artifacts.

As much as I love techno-gadgets, I have to say, I'm not impressed with camera phones.

Sometimes When I'm Lonely, Baby, Then I'm Only You
Finally went on a ride again today. Hit 1K for the year. So, despite my earlier protests, I am way behind.
But 1 hour in NJ has got to be worth at least 2 in OH. There is nothing flat here! Everything is a hill, perhaps even a small mountain.
So, yeah, I took, "preciousss" out this morning and got all sweaty.
I went by Greystone, the famous mental hospital where Woody Guthrie spent the last years of his life. It's only about a mile from the old family homestead. Which seems apropos.


Also, Blogger fixed the big blank space problem. I'd say "Thanks," but I'd rather say, "It's about time."