Happy Birthday


I couldn’t tell you the exact date I met my wife. At the immortal age of 22 you really don’t think about things like dates. You’re going to live forever, so what difference does it make when you met somebody. I do know where though, that part’s easy. There used to be this tattoo shop and hair salon where I live. She did hair, and I there a lot. We played shows there often that first spring. Once, while police helicopters circled overhead. ATF stormed the parking lot and we had to break up the festivities. Crazy times, but what’s life without them?

I would always see her there. Even though I was with someone at the time, I always seemed to gravitate toward her. She was the Sun in the sky and I was a helpless planet.

The first night we talked, I’d just finished performing at a river side bar – we played there most every Friday night. We sat there in the aftermath of a set and talked all night of ideologies, peace, and music. A couple months later, she was mine and i was hers. Bought and sold, part and parcel, head over heels.

She had a little girl; a tall dark haired little thing with an incandescent smile and tenacious smart mouth. They rocked my world. Suddenly, a life I never knew I wanted was placed in front of me.
I did the only thing a sane man would do, I held on to her and never let go.

It is hard to give a gift to someone who has given you as much as my wife has given me.  A life full of laughter and love, beautiful children, in short, a home. She gave me a family to call my own.

There are a few rare moments in your life that are the forks in the road; the map of your story. The day I first laid eyes on my wife is one of those. It is that time you refer to when telling a story of a time gone by. “It was a month after we met, remember?”

If life is a series of intersections, meeting Megan is the largest. It is certainly the most defining moment in my short life.

My wife is without exception the most amazing woman I know, and I am honored to share my life with her. Happy birthday Megan Elizabeth you as ever, rock my world.

The Best Of You, For The Rest Of You


The road out here is dark. Highway 95 south to Vidal Junction is a mix of starlight, and the occasional passing big rig, and me. Another day on the clock at 5 am neither pleased nor displeased with myself or my fate; feeling once again like a whore to my paycheck. The dollar is a ruthless pimp.

Give and give and give.

Can I stand on the edge of a double edged sword?  I am grateful to be able to provide for my family. They deserve it, there’s no doubt in my mind. I would give every minute of every day just to know but they are fed, sheltered, and otherwise taken care of. There is no end to what I would sacrifice to ensure their comfort.

What bothers me is snapping at my kids when I get home. Seeing my son heartbroken when I raise my voice at him, over something stupid like a video game no less. As cliché as it may be to say, I spend so much time making a living sometimes, but I forget that it’s important to also make a life. Remember, you are the Sun in someone’s sky. That someone may stand on four legs, that someone may stand on two. That someone may not know when to stop talking, or that someone may not speak at all…yet. It makes no difference – not to them anyway. The point is, work is not the Sun in the sky. No matter if it’s your life’s passion, or just the job. Be prepared to leave that baggage when you come home.

Hmm. Sunrise…finally.

Helps my mood, when the Sun comes up. It’s a reminder that everything changes. In the distance, I can see the perfect V of migrating birds headed back north in the pale pink and orange of the pre dawn sky. Everything changes, in a cycle of opposites. Happy, sad, good, bad, sober, drunk, it’s all in a state of flux.

The constant – the nuts and bolts of the thing is (for me anyway) being pounced at the door by little faces with big eyes the color of dark caramel, 1000 questions, big hugs from little arms, and smiles. They live for the moment when you walk through the door. When I walk through the door.

Next week, your job will not remember how many hours you put in, save for payroll perhaps. The living thing to whom you are everything though, they will number the extra hour you gave just so they can have the best of you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised a little boy that I would play Legos. Snapping together little blocks will take half an hour, but he remember it for the rest of his life. That has to count for something.

The Science Of Adoration & Procrastination


Here it is, my admission of procrastination. Well, only half procrastination. The other 50% I am proud to say borders on workaholism. The last 6 days I’ve written 22, 341 words which the total of 58 and a half pages of a story that I thought was going to be about something, and it ended up being about nothing I could have imagined.

I think I’m done trying to figure out outlines. Every time I do, I’m surprised by characters I have not yet developed. As they become human, the story that I have laid out for them becomes alien, as they make decisions of their own. Truth be told, I did at first, make these characters shadows of people that were in my life at one point. That my friends was a mistake. I don’t know these fucking people, I only thought I did. Enough about that though, that is not what I came to write about today.

Those of you that follow the “journal” aspect of this blog, know that I have recently celebrated a birthday and a wedding anniversary in quick succession. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about marriage as a result. Not marriage in general, mind you, but my marriage.

For someone who never imagined being married, let alone having children of his own, I am pleased everyday by the life that I live. I’m not sure if its just the new vitamins that I’m taking, chasing my dream, or perhaps the fact that I finally being honest with myself about who I really am, but I am happy.

Things are going well, and I foresee things getting better everyday. Just think, all it took was 33 years who I wanted to be when I grew up, one  year of living in a limbo of confusion, and 1 year of carpe fucking diem.

Am I successful?

Well, I guess that depends on your definition of a success. I like what I’m doing, I like who I’m doing it with. I adore my family, and I am chasing my dream. I asked you this friends: are you successful?

I’m almost at an end with WordPress, I fear. Not that I don’t enjoy it as an interface, but I think it’s holding me back from what it is that I want. Shame though, I really wanted to be featured on freshly pressed before I left.

That’s the part that I am procrastinating about. I’m really trying to find the platform option that is the most suitable for my needs believe me, if I could find it here, I would stay. Who knows, maybe I will.

Can’t Stay Away


I am in violation of my own mandate. What a filthy liar I turned out to be, huh? I said I wasn’t going to blog, but here I am. It had nothing to do with not wanting to mind you, but more to do with finishing other things on a short list. The largest of those things being the manuscript for a story I have been giving away piece by piece entitled Broken Glass.

I reached the point in that story where I had to make a move, and the time I was dedicating to it just wasn’t enough. So, I have focused all of my writing attention on that to see were goes. I’m not going to lie, I thought I knew how that story would end, but as I get closer and closer to that end, I am not so sure.

So not only do my kids not listen, but my fictional characters don’t either. Nobody wants to do what I tell them to. As a plus though, I think the story is better this way. The characters seem more alive, at least to me anyway. What started as are young man’s addiction to a woman has turned into something a lot darker.

You know me, I like the dark.

Image courtesy of my youngest child – vampire in training.

The Intervening Years


Lots has happened in the intervening years between childhood and adulthood. I have sang and I have screamed, laughed and cried. There have been moments of triumph and joy, heartache and failure. Growing older does not however indicate growing up.

Not always anyhow.

I drove my son to school for the first time today. Interesting, he’s been in school for the last couple years but for some reason or another, mostly work, I have missed the opportunity to take him to that age old place of learning.

Today is my birthday, I guess that’s the only reason I needed to take a miniature vacation from the daily grind. Not that I’m celebrating getting older mind you, but it’s a great jumping off point for any sort of self reflection or decision making for the following year. The reason I mentioned taking my son to school, it’s because he reminded me of something special today. As I was driving off, he ran back to the truck and call to me. He said, “happy birthday dad and I love you.”


I want more opportunities to have moments like that in my life. Opportunities to share in tickle fights, wrestling, science projects, tears, and joy. They are so much more important than earning a paycheck. I would like to make it my job from now on to let my family know that they are more important than anything else I do.


That happy birthday from my son outside is red brick school was better than any gift I’ve gotten. I want to return it to him everyday with my love. There are going to be some big changes in my virtual world, so this is going to be the last post for a week or so. When I return, the game will have changed. Take care friends.


Vows 2.0


Today, my wife and I celebrate 11 years of wedded bliss. We wrote our own vows, because we are artsy as fuck. She is still the cream in my coffee. Well, she is the butter in my coffee anyway – I don’t use cream.

To commemorate this special day, I have written a few new vows, now that I understand this marriage thing a little better than I did as a young pup.

To you, my dear wife, I promise to always put the toilet seat down and clean up any mess I might make while relieving myself in the middle of the night with my eyes closed. This I promise forevermore. Also to you, the beautiful mother of my children, I promise to never strangle one of them out of frustration even though you can just make more…Super easily.

On this day of joy, I promise you that I will always be at least this sexy, there may be a little bit more grey in the years to come. You said you liked that, you do still like the Silverback look, don’t you?

I promise to you my sweet, that I will never leave you for someone younger, unless she agrees to be my sugar momma and lavish me in a lifestyle more affluent than the one I am used to, and she agrees that you can come too. So I guess that means I’m not leaving, rather I am exploiting a younger woman in this senario.

I promise to always like your cooking, even when you make something that I think I can make better. I will never tell you that I can, I was simply wait until it is my turn to cook the same dish, and blow your fucking mind. You’re welcome baby.

I promise never to obsess over Final Fantasy VII again.

I promise never to spend a whole paycheck on crack cocaine ever again.

I will always give you the last piece of pizza. It’s still in the fridge taunting me as we speak. I may have to rethink this one.

I promise to make sexual advances toward you no less than 13 times a day, unless otherwise provoked.

I promise to tell you that you’re beautiful every time I see you.

I promise never to go to bed too mad to tell you I love you.

I promise I will be your shoulder to cry on, and only fight your battles when you need me to.

I promise I will love you this much for all of my days.

As always, if Hell was a place, and I knew you were going there I would hold your hand through the gates so you didn’t have to walk alone.

You are my shining light, a light the will not dim…

Here’s to another 11 years of good times, bad times, take out, bad horror movies, laugher, and love. It has been a blast beautiful. You truly rocked my world.

This Writing Thing


It takes up a lot of my thought processes, but it is not everything. Stephen King reminded me of this in his book On Writing with a very simple line. He said, “put your desk in the corner, and everytime you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support system for art, it’s the other way around.”

That said, this writing thing is often simultaneously the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. Somedays, I stare at the screen wondering what keeps me coming back. Other days like today, I can’t seem to stop, and the words fall from me like a broken faucet flooding the floor with metaphors; like houses in disrepair litter the vast hot desert. Those are both similes, but who’s counting.

Most often, I use this blog as a platform to experiment with different ways to say similar things. Like sharpening a knife, I scrape away at the dull edge of my skill, making it keener most all the time. This whole thing is a journey you see, and you sexy mother fuckers are along for the ride.

I admire you, not because you read this, but because you inspire me to do what I love by watching you do what you love. In this age of information, we share our lives like never before, and I am honored that you allow me into yours.

Now, I’m coming over for dinner. I’ll be there in 45 minutes. I do not like Turkey, so please keep that in mind.