Quick Hits

Well. I post like mad on Friday, schedule a post for Monday so I can play hooky from work and blog, and all hell breaks loose. So, quick hits once again.


I think Rob said it better than I could, but I’ll miss George Carlin.


I have to admit, the review of the new Yamaha Supermoto on Superbike Planet makes me think, “Hmm. Supermoto. Light, handles fantastically, super gas mileage. Hard to crash, cheap to repair…hmmm.”

Like I need any more delusional thoughts about spending tons of money right now. But we’ll get to that later…


(Everybody ignore this so nobody gets embarrassed.)

Happy birthday, Sarah! Enjoy the ink, and heartfelt congratulations to you.


The radio show is all systems go for 11pm Eastern time tomorrow night. Dys and I gave it a quick, 5-minute trial run yesterday and, after some fiddling around, everything seems to be working correctly. The only goofy thing is that I can’t seem to find a way to fade music in and out. So if I do “intro” music, I’ll have to just cut it abruptly.
Or I could not be a lazy ass, and cut and edit my own music clip. But let’s not get crazy here.

I’m nervously awaiting my return to the airwaves. Or the ‘net waves, or whatever the hell you’d call an internet radio station.


My son and I were sitting in a Bob Evans just off the interstate, waiting for my folks to pull in for lunch so he could head back home with them for his weeklong visit. Our waitress, a lady in her late 50s or early 60s, saw us sitting alone at a table with four menus laid out.

“Are you waiting for someone you don’t see very often?”
“Yes, actually. We’re waiting for his grandparents to come by, we’re meeting them so he can spend a week with them. He hasn’t seen them since December.”
“Oh, well honey, take as long as you want. And let me know before you go and I’ll get you some refills for the road.”
“Why, thanks, that’s really nice.”
“It’s okay, I could use the break anyway. I got a ticket on the way in to work this morning. I didn’t know that the right side of the road [outside, a construction zone] was closed until a cop came up hollerin’ and wavin’ his arms at me.”
“Aw, man,” I said, sympathetically.
“And then while he was writing the ticket, another woman came along and he just waved her by. I said, ‘why didn’t you wave me by? I would have gone along if I’d known what I was supposed to do.’ And he said, ‘I let her off because some people are dumb enough to just follow the leader.'”
“Well THAT sucks.”

It immediately made me think of my buddy Rik, who finds himself in these kinds of situations all the time. Rik would have played it and come out with a story, for sure.

Me, sitting there with my son, I just let it go. Another bit of humanity, another story, passing along down the highway.


So during conversation, my mom indicates that her blood work has just come back and she’s learned that she’s mildly diabetic.

As is my father, and one of my grandparents. (Well, she’s not “mildly” diabetic, she’s plain ol’ diabetic.)

Hmm. When both of your parents are diabetic, it might be wise to start watching your diet. I have no symptoms, I’ve had a buttload of blood work done for my life insurance and so forth from time to time and I’ve always come out golden…but it sure as hell seems like one of those situations that calls for an ounce of prevention, wouldn’t you think?


And speaking of “on the road,” on the way back I noticed a truck a bit farther up the interstate, pulled off onto the shoulder. I didn’t pay much attention to it, until I got nearer and noticed that, before the truck, there were two women standing in the shade of an overpass.

“What the hell are those women doing out of the truck?” I asked myself. Only to get something of an answer.
“Oh,” I said to myself. “The truck is pulling an empty trailer. Which is probably explained by that boat lying keel-up in the median just past the two women.”

Sucks to be them, man.


Gas prices ranged from $3.89 to $4.19.

And I made the trip back, 255 miles, in 195 minutes. You know what that means? I am such a guy.


So what did Dys and I do with our weekend? (Or “weekend,” as I spent most of Saturday on the road and took off on Monday to compensate.)

  • Over two nights, she drank most of a pitcher of Malibu Strawberry Daiquiris while I plowed through Bacardi & Coke and then Maker’s & Coke.
  • We slept in both days. Hells yeah.
  • We listened a lot to the two CDs I nabbed just before the trip, Rush’s “Moving Pictures” (my choice, long overdue) and The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Stadium Arcadium” (her choice, likewise).
  • We ate a late brunch at the most kickass breakfast-serving place in town on Monday when everyone else was at work. Suckers. While at breakfast, we got a call from my mom that says that, while swimming with them, our son has started swimming completely underwater without holding his nose. Our kid, who last year at this time wouldn’t get his face in the water. She was stunned. Even we were surprised…he’s been getting better about swimming, but the completely-underwater swimming was new even to us. Awesome.
  • We played a shitpot full of Rock Band. And I played drums the whole time, because I could do so all night without waking up my son with the “whacka whacka whompa whacka whacka.”

Quote of the weekend’s worth of Rock Band:

[We finish a song and there’s a note that we receive $45.]

Me (as fake rock star): “$45?!?!? That won’t pay for the condoms I’m gonna use tonight.”

Dys (as bandmate): “EW. You are NEVER sitting in my seat on the tour bus again.”


And our other big “weekend” activity was touring some music stores. Yes, I desperately wanted to show Dys the very very expensive guitar I’ve been in love with for months and months so she could pat me on the head and say, “Yes, it’s very pretty and it sounds gorgeous” in a way that is neither condescending nor condoning. But there were two other big reasons.
One, I’ve been playing so much Rock Band drums that I want a cheapo drum throne to sit on instead of the damned hardback wooden chair that I’ve been using because it’s the only thing that’s remotely close to the right height to play kick drum. Struck out on that one…but I’ve got a line on one now, woohoo!

But more importantly, the little guy has been very much into drums lately, ever since we borrowed a kiddie set from his friend over Mother’s Day weekend. (Strangely, the friend’s parents haven’t been asking for it back.)

Dys and I are music junkies. I’ve wanted to play guitar since I was in kindergarten; I’ve actually been playing almost 20 years now. She’s been a singer since she was old enough to talk; I’ll let her give her own resume but it’s impressive. We’ve always had music around the house, always had instruments that our son could pick up at any time, but he’s never really shown the drive. Now, he’s showing it.

This is our weak point. If the boy shows an interest in skydiving, scuba diving, lacrosse, we’ll be appropriately supportive, of course. Music? We’re there with tambourines on. And wallets open.

We found an awesome music school/store in town that will gladly give half-hour drum lessons to an 8-year-old for $20 a week. We’re not ready to make the leap quite yet, but we think this is something he can be excited about. And a half-hour lesson, one on one, is probably perfect for him.

While it’s not a done deal, the little guy may be getting a BIG box for his Christmas/birthday present. And who’m I kidding, for my Christmas and birthday present too. Because I’d be all over that.

Tama Beginner\'s Drum Kit

Tama Beginner\'s Drum Kit

(And yes, he told my wife weeks ago that he wanted red drums.)


3 Responses

  1. A comment that has nothing to do with your post… can you or Dys send me your snail-mail addy?

    A comment that HAS to do with your post will be coming forthwith.

    Done, earlier this morning!

  2. I love the Bob Evans story…so funny how much some people are willing to tell strangers [I was about to say that I don’t do that, but then I remembered the whole blog thing….seems different to me though.] Bob Evans has the best carrots and mashed potatoes.

    Good luck with the drums! (I’m seeing Bobby Brady playing his heart out right about now.)

    I think talking about your life or your feelings via a blog is MUCH easier than looking into a stranger’s eyes and doing the same thing. Especially if you hide behind a mask of anonymity like I do.

    But my friend Rik is a perfect example. Strangers tell him the oddest things sometimes. He must just give off the aura of a sympathetic ear. I could read his stories for days. Try this one or this one or this one.

  3. We’ll make a scuba diver out of your son yet. *evil grin*

    I hope so!

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