Author name: brotherjackslostcause

If you have been following along, you may remember that I recently had a weird dream about T. Swift. It happened again. I don’t know why she is showing up in my dreams. I’m not even a fan. I couldn’t tell you the title of any of her songs. I couldn’t hum the melody or recite the words form a single Taylor song. Her billion dollar tour is the epitome of everything that is wrong with the world. To be honest, I think her empire is kind of gross.

In the dream, I was in a big auditorium. I was watching an acrobatic carnival act perform on the stage. There was some commotion in the aisle and then Taylor sat down in the row in front of me. We started chatting. She was going to be taking the stage next. I told her I was a folk singer and she asked if I knew any of her songs. I grabbed a banjo and she invited me to join her on the stage. In case you were wondering, there was no actual music in the dream because I don’t know any of her music. The audience didn’t seem to mind.

By the time you are reading this, it should be safe to talk about without ruining the surprise. We are celebrating birthdays with my wife’s family. Every year she buys her brothers a bag of dill pickle popcorn. I guess it’s not much of a surprise since she does it every year. She and both her brothers have birthdays within the same two-week period of time. So they split the difference and celebrate together. We have a local candy store that specializes in amazing popcorn where she purchases her annual gifts.

Last winter I required a root canal. It was awful. It happened because I lost a filling on a piece of caramel popcorn. I vowed to never eat popcorn again. When she was out buying her annual bags of dill pickle popcorn, she brought home some maple pecan popcorn. It was amazing.

I had a meeting at my kid’s school. There have been a lot of changes in America’s school system since I was a kid. There are metal detectors at the door and a security guard. A large news ticker flashes motivational quotes in the lobby. When I was in school we had reading, writing, and arithmetic. There are a lot more opportunities now. Despite all of these changes, one thing remains the same. It’s the smell. It’s a combination of cleaning supplies and paste. All schools smell the same.

I enjoy watching televised sporting events. It really doesn’t matter what sport. I’ll watch anything but golf. I’m a sucker for a great story and they always find a way to deliver a great story. Some kid overcame tremendous adversity. A team is rebuilding after an internal scandal. One girl is playing her sister in the finals. I love cheering for an underdog. I can get sucked in quickly.

It’s different when you are watching your home team. If you are emotionally invested, it’s not a casual watch. If your team is winning, it’s a huge dopamine hit. If your team loses, it’s three hours that you can never get back.

The right song at the right moment can provide hope in a hopeless situation. I don’t really understand this alchemy but I know my life has been saved by a song on more than one occasion. I do the work that I do because songs are so powerful. I might throw a song out into the world and it could be the only lifeline available in a bad situation. I could be part of the magic moment that saves a life. This is serious business. I don’t always treat my job with the respect that it deserves. Sometimes, I just sing another song, going through the motions with no respect for the potential magic.

The only thing with stronger magic than a song is a smile. No pressure but it’s serious business. You could be the magic that saves a life today.

For all of time, the most fundamental goal of every generation was for their children to have a better life then their parents. My parent’s generation decided that we had to go to college to have a better life. So a lot of us went to college whether we needed it or not.

The school where my wife teaches had two early dismissals this week on account of record-setting heat. While I was at the hardware store, I overheard some old-timers discussing the early dismissals. “I never got out of school on account of heat… This generation is too soft.” These old timers want their children to have a better life and nothing says progress like heatstroke. They will know we love them by the suffering we inflict.

I’ve been painting our fence. It’s a wooden fence and it’s gotten very dry over the last couple of years. It looks great with a fresh coat of oil. I’ve been working for a couple of weeks and I’m not nearly done. This is not due to the size of the fence. It’s because I only do a couple of boards at a time. I squeeze it in when it’s completely convenient, the weather is perfect, and guilty feelings compel me to get out of the hammock. If you are an American male who is roughly my age, it is impossible to paint a fence without thinking about the Karate Kid. My childhood was spent pretending to paint fences because of that movie. “Wax on, wax off.” I also love Mark Twain. For half of the boards, I am the Karate Kid and for the other half, I pretend that I am Tom Sawyer. I keep hoping an unwitting neighbor will come by and pay me for the opportunity to paint my fence. So far that hasn’t happened.

I spent all morning dealing with a new washing machine and dragging out the old, broken one. We had somewhere that we needed to be at a specific time. I asked my wife if she thought that I should change my pants before we left the house.

“Yes”

“You didn’t even look to see how dirty they are.”

“We’ve been married for almost 18 years. If you are asking that question, you need clean pants.”

Upon further inspection, she wasn’t wrong. They were filthy.

Our washing machine died. It came with the house when we bought it in 2004. It wasn’t new at the time. I have no idea how old this appliance is but it’s outlived a lot of underwear. This old machine almost died two years ago. Did you know that a washing machine has a transmission? I did a lot of internet research and figured out how to keep the machine running. This old clunker requires a lot of gentle coaxing but it still gets out all of the stains… until now. It has a worn out agitator. It still runs great but it’s not actually getting anything clean, only wet. I could piece it together, baby it along, and get some more loads out of it. Unfortunately, a new agitator will cost about half of the cost of a new washer. It’s just not worth it. Now, I must say what you have already been thinking. This worn out agitator is really agitating.

I had a terrifying vision. I was standing in a huge room with a beautiful white carpet on the floor. I was holding a very full glass of red wine and my nose slowly began to twitch. I was going to sneeze and there was nothing that I could do to stop it. I know how this ends…

I have some good news. To the best of my ability, I have removed all tracking beacons from my website. The robots will have to spy on you somewhere else.

I am a fully DIY operation. I have been doing my own website development for a long time. I think I’ve learned a lot and I do a good job. But I am not so good that I would feel comfortable making a website for anyone else. At least not if they cared very much about having it work.

There was a point in time, I think it was about five years ago when it was mandatory to tie Facebook to your website. The theory was that Facebook would do a better job of keeping track of the enormous amount of allegedly important data. If I was to make an advertisement on Facebook, trying to convince you to purchase my new record, they would be able to tell me if you had already purchased the new record. We wouldn’t want to send a redundant advertisement. Google was also in on this deal.

The whole process feels like a scam unless you are a giant company. I am not a giant company. I am not running any advertisements. I don’t need the robots to track you just to tell you when I have new music. If you want to listen to my music, you will.

This is a great manifesto but the truth is that I was unaware that I still had Facebook linked to my site. I was doing some general maintenance and I found the little bug. I squashed it. Although, if the robots know that you listen to Brother Jack is that a bad thing?

I had a weird dream.

I was in a dilapidated shack with a bunch of scruffy dudes. It seemed like a standard hunting camp. If you aren’t familiar with a hunting camp, you have clearly never spent time in rural Pennsylvania. It’s a bunch of scruffy dudes in a dilapidated cabin for a long weekend. The beds are wooden cots built into the wall with plywood sheeting as mattresses. Throw down a sleeping bag and you are good to go. You spend the weekend scratching and burping. In the dream, we were cooking some meat and meat-related products with a questionable fuel source. It was all super masculine and perfect until she walked in. It was Taylor Swift. I’m not even a Swiftie. I have no idea why she showed up in this dream. She started bossing everybody around and telling all of the scruffy dudes what to do. The next thing I know, I’m in a side room with Taylor auditioning to be a dancer on her next tour. This dream was so weird. I don’t hunt, spend time at hunting camps, or dance. In case you were wondering, I didn’t get the job as a dancer for Taylor but I did wake up craving some bacon.

I love the Three Stooges. I know they are juvenile, violent, and sort of stupid but I have always enjoyed their physical comedy. I laugh at every eye gouge, every punch in the stomach, and every smack on the head. My favorite is the one where they are plumbers. I don’t understand why the Stooges aren’t still popular. I think people would enjoy watching the Three Stooges. A lot of people enjoyed watching my wife and I try to load a 12-foot-long board into our minivan. She was Moe.

We’ve been working on a house project this summer. I had a couple of 8-foot boards that needed to become twice as many 4-foot boards. I own a perfectly good power saw. It’s cut a lot of lumber but I would rather use the handsaw. If I need to cut a piece of wood, I almost always reach for the handsaw. As I was sawing through these boards, I was contemplating the reasons why I prefer to use a handsaw.

Rhythm: Maybe it’s because I am a musician and I love rhythms. There is nothing more magical than falling into a groove with a handsaw and a piece of wood. I just spent 20 minutes trying to type the sound that happens when a saw makes that magical vibration. It looked ridiculous. If you aren’t familiar with this sound, invest in a handsaw and hear it for yourself.

Exercise: The handsaw is a better exercise. If time permits, exercise is better than efficiency.

Legacy: People have been doing this particular task in this manner for a long time. The power saw feels like cheating. The handsaw feels like a connection to humanity. The handsaw is the way it’s always been done.

I prefer a handsaw. I prefer acoustic guitars to electric guitars. I grind my coffee by hand every morning. It occurs to me that there is a fine line between quaint and neurotic.

My wife has to report for jury duty. I’m not suggesting that she wants to shirk her civic duty but I casually suggested that if she appeared to be super weird, they probably wouldn’t keep her long. We decided that a costume would be a good way to get out of her civic duty if she was that kind of person. I am confident that if she showed up dressed as the grim reaper she wouldn’t have to serve on the jury. My kid suggested that was too over the top and maybe she should try going as a pirate. My wife insisted that the court enforces a strict dress code and she could get in trouble for such nonsense. I think she should tell them that she identifies as a clown.

We were sitting at a red light, waiting for our turn. There was a store on the corner. It was one of those stores that specializes in cigarettes and lottery tickets. If someone goes into this store, you know they are purchasing a tobacco product. Hannah said, “If I were a fat, old guy with two prosthetic legs, I wouldn’t be smoking.” I looked over and there he was, just as described. She wasn’t wrong. It seems like one too many throws of the dice, a chance he shouldn’t be taking. Maybe he was only going in for the conversation.

The number of Weird Folk in the world is one less today than it was last week. For anonymity’s sake, let’s call him Bill. You probably didn’t know him, he wasn’t a very vocal part of the community. He appreciated my music and I appreciated him. His dog was named Jack. He liked to send me pictures of his dog. He would often ask me how to play one of my songs. I would record a video demonstrating how to play the requested tune. Then he would ask, “how would a beginner play that?” He was a good human and I will miss him. He took his own life las Sunday. His family reached out and I’m going to remotely be a part of his funeral. It might be the hardest thing that I do for a long time. Life’s hard, please don’t give up.

I was sitting in the waiting room at the eye doctor’s office. My wife’s appointment required her eyes to be dilated and therefore she needed me to be her driver. While I was waiting, an elderly man and woman came into the office. They must have been new to the practice because this grumpy old man assured the receptionist that he didn’t need glasses and he didn’t know why he was there because “nothing wrong with my eyes.” They sat down next to me. She scrolled on her phone while he filled out a stack of paperwork. When he was finished, he threw the clipboard at his wife. “Take this up to the receptionist so we can get the (expletive) out of here.” She must not have trusted his ability to fill out forms because she carefully checked every answer on his stack of paperwork. She started laughing. “For marital status, you marked divorced.” “No, we’re married, I marked married…”

Sure, there was nothing wrong with his eyes.

Coincidentally, when my temporarily blind wife, stumbled out wearing giant sunglasses, she told me that I’d never looked better than I did at that moment. There’s nothing wrong with her eyes either.

When we got home from camping, we discovered a strong odor of natural gas in front of our house. As a reference point, natural gas is the standard means of heating and cooking in our area. The efficacy of natural gas as a fuel is far above my pay grade. I called the gas company to report the problem. They sent a guy who was able to confirm that it did indeed smell like natural gas. He called in a request for a crew to come and investigate the alleged smell. They showed up and began jackhammering to determine if there was an actual odor. Miraculously, we were all able to get much-needed, post-camping hot showers before the hot water was turned off. The heavy equipment started around midnight and pounded onward for 12 hours. They were able to fix the leak and the crisis was averted. I’ve never been happier that I don’t smoke. I spent three nights in a tent and my first night in my bed was spent listening to the gentle buzz of jackhammers. I could use some peace and quiet. I know it’s a “first-world problem” but I missed hot water.

We’ve been enjoying some quality family time in the woods, doing some camping. I am the rare human that enjoys the self-punishment involved with sleeping on the ground. I woke up this morning and watched the coffee gently bubble in the percolator. Then I did my morning stretches next to the campfire while listening to the birds. I do clumsy stretches every morning to remind myself that I’m not as young as I used to be and camping is no exception. I conclude my daily stretches with a brief trip to my toes. It’s a fairly accurate gauge of how I should spend the day. If I bend over to touch my toes and can’t get past my knees, I need to be more active. If I can get to the ground, I’m doing great. After a night in the tent, I was satisfied getting as far as my ankles. While hanging out in this inverted fashion, I opened my eyes to see a massive, raging chipmunk charging right at me from behind. In my experience, chipmunks are timid creatures. I was sure he would veer off. That crazy, maniacal rodent ran right between my legs. I screamed. He hissed. The family at the next site all looked over to see what was the matter. I told them it was a mean chipmunk and they should be on their guard. They laughed. I don’t know what was so funny about a grown man being attacked by a vicious chipmunk.

We are currently in the middle of what we assumed was a small house project. We needed to replace a couple of rotten boards on our deck. It’s an 8’x 8’ deck that extends off the front porch. The area affected by rot kept expanding. There was a rotten post and a couple of bad joists. I thought it would be a quick Saturday afternoon job. It’s been three days, four trips to Home Depot, and the deck is completely deconstructed. We are essentially starting from scratch. Our house is over 100 years old and it’s in great shape for the shape that it’s in. The deck is only ten years old and it is completely worthless. I’m not trying to imply that all new things are worse than their older counterparts. Some new things are fantastic. But overall, they don’t make them like they used to.

It’s a universal rule. When you go away from home, it’s impossible to find a meal upon returning. We were only gone for a couple of days. There was nothing obvious to make for dinner. The problem isn’t a complete lack of food. The issue is a complete lack of a plan. The refrigerator was mostly empty. I had a pound of ground beef, some rice, and a bag of frozen broccoli. After eating out for multiple meals in a row, a home-cooked meal is magical even if it’s mostly broccoli.

My kid had to do a project for her history class where she researched and presented her family tree going back five generations. She did a good job but more importantly, I got hooked. I spent some time putting information into one of the standard genealogy services. You dabble around looking at war records and gravestones. If you hit the jackpot, you stumble upon a  bunny trail that connects with a super highway that someone else has already paved. The work has been done and you follow the branches back until it reaches farther than you can comprehend. I stumbled upon one of those magical runs. It skipped through a couple of “sirs,” rambled through some Scottish clans, and came to rest on a Welsh king from the 500s. A random king is easy to find if you dig hard enough. The surprising part was the branch from which it was spurred. It was my Dad’s paternal grandmother. Grandma Hazel was a spectacular lady.  I had the privilege of knowing her for a couple of years before she died. She was diabetic and needed to hike her skirt and jab a needle into her leg every day. She was extremely amused that I enjoyed watching her spike that insulin into her leg. I will never forget her. 
I found many soldiers in my tree that fought in all of the wars. Regardless of the pension they received, I am grateful for their service. We are celebrating Memorial Day in the United States. Happy Memorial Day.  

We haven’t had a drop of rain in almost 10 days. This isn’t normal for the month of May. I had no intentions of planting a big garden but I did tuck some seeds into the ground. I planted some cucumber seeds, some giant pumpkins, and a row of beans. It wasn’t meant to be a labor-intensive project. I don’t have time or patience for tomatoes or peppers. During any normal year, these seeds would have gotten some rain and sprouted on their own. Mother Nature is supposed to take care of everything. We didn’t get any rain, the seeds haven’t sprouted, and I am starting to suspect that they never will. I guess I should have helped out.  Ironically, the weeds continue to grow without any assistance at all. This seems like it might be a great metaphor involving habits. All of the good things, like eating right and exercising, would be much easier if the conditions were perfect. All of my bad habits seem to thrive without any encouragement at all.    

When I woke up today, my plans did not include a nap. Despite this fact, the most important thing that I achieved today was a nap. I had a written list of intentions that were not accomplished as a result of the nap. This does not change the fact that the nap was good medicine. It’s hard to do your best work when you need a nap. If you are reading this and you feel beat down by the day, take a nap. It might be the most important thing that you do.  

I know that this kind of holiday can be hard so I will be brief.  If you are a mother or motherly type, thank you.  I appreciate everything that you do.  If you are not celebrating Mother’s Day, today also happens to be National Dance Like a Chicken Day. Today has something for everybody. Crank some “Chicken Skin Shake” and jiggle them arms.  

There is an expert out there writing a book on every imaginable subject. I was recently listening to an episode of Freakonomics about the benefits of saying bad words. They interviewed an academic who discussed the cultural trends associated with bad words. He said that there were three eras of bad words. The first phase included blasphemy, religious taboo, and broken oaths. The second phase was mostly poop jokes. The third and current phase involves disparaging different people groups. It was an interesting episode but they over-intellectualized the topic. When it comes to cuss words, I am an expert. Just yesterday, I was running up the steps, smashed my knee on the cupboard, shed some tears, and invented two brand new bad words. I should write a book on cuss-ology.  

It was a breakfast-for-dinner kind of day. I know there are people in this world who don’t approve of breakfast foods being eaten at non-breakfast times. I could never trust a person who wouldn’t indulge in a pancake right before bed. Some days you just need bacon in the evening. My favorite restaurants are the establishments that proudly display in great big letters on the front of the menu the announcement that “Breakfast is served all day.”  Pass the butter and keep the coffee coming. 

I’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch. My twins have been absent from school more days this winter than they have attended. Between the two of them, we have dealt with strep throat five different times since the end of February. My health was less than optimal for a while. We have been trying to manage a health crisis in the extended family.  It’s a situation where they are completely denying the problem and there isn’t much we can do. It’s been a bit of a rough patch. I’ve been operating in survival mode and doing the bare minimum to simply get through the day. Life has been exhausting and overwhelming. It’s okay because I am sure that I will get through this rough patch and things will get better. Maybe not right now. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, it will get better. I tell you all of this because someday it may be important. If you come to a point in life where your heart is so heavy that you don’t know what to do, remember this post. I’ve spent some time in that rough patch. You are not alone and it will get better.   

Nothing happened today. I usually sit down and write a post based on something that happened during that day. I have nothing to write about today. This isn’t really a bad thing. It was a fine day. Absolutely nothing happened. 

Today, I want to talk about fonts. I don’t know much about fonts. I know the default option is probably not the most artistic choice. I am familiar with the word kerning and that it has something to do with letter spacing but I have no idea what it does. I have no formal training in graphic design. I tend to go with my gut. When searching the list of fonts, I use the one that reminds me the most of my favorite flannel shirt. I compliment that font with the choice that reminds me of drinking coffee. Hopefully, it translates on the screen.  
I installed a new application on my website. It is supposed to allow me to tweak and fine-tune every aspect of the font. That level of control feels like an awesome power. Unfortunately, it prevented the text from showing up in emails. I can write a post and tweak it all night long but when the email is sent there is no text. You may have noticed on Thursday. All of this power is worthless if I can’t connect with anybody. This is a great metaphor for everything that is wrong with the world. Maybe I should grab a pencil and some envelopes and start sending letters. No one would be able to read my terrible penmanship.   

I read an essay about one man’s ever-expanding stack of books. I am sorry that I can’t give proper credit. I don’t remember where I read it or who wrote it. The author was in his forties. He knew how many books he typically reads in a year. He used average lifespan to figure out how many books he would be able to read before he was too deep in the ground to care. It was an alarmingly small number of books. He would never get through all of the books on his list. This doesn’t take into account any new books that might spark a higher level of interest in his limited future. I guess this is depressing and somehow reassuring.
When I am trying to find something to watch, I often get stuck scrolling through the infinite loop of choices. If I see something remotely interesting, it gets added to my watch list. I won’t lie about the amount of time I spend in front of the television. However, I rarely get a block of time that is long enough for a full movie. I had an opportunity the other day to watch a movie and I panicked. There are so many movies on my watchlist. I will never get through them all before I am too deep in the ground to care. Initially, this was a very overwhelming thought. I will admit that I got a little depressed thinking about having to prioritize some of the classics. Then I embraced the freedom that comes with limitations. I will never get through them all and that’s not going to change. Life is too short for dumb movies. So I cracked open one of the dumb books from my ever-expanding list of books I want to read before I am too deep in the ground to care.  

It happens to everybody at some point. One day it is “Wheels On the Bus” and all of the toddler classics. There might be an intermediary phase where you become aware of your parent’s music. You might even know all of the words to Neil Diamond’s greatest hits. Then suddenly, you have your own music. There is no science involved. It’s like alchemy. Your own personal taste bubbles to the surface. You have a musical identity that will stick with you for the rest of your life. It happened to my oldest kid sometime during the last year or so. I’m not sure how or when it emerged. The important thing is that she has great taste in music. I’m learning a lot. 

Millions of people all across America just enjoyed some Easter ham. The perfect breakfast for the day after Easter is some leftovers. It’s ham fried up on the skillet, a hard-boiled egg, hot coffee, and a side of jelly beans. I have the perfect soundtrack for your Easter leftovers and you can listen right here.  

Easter is all about fresh starts. Regardless of your religious persuasion, this is a perfect opportunity to reassess and become a brand new version of yourself. Everybody talks about making resolutions at New Year’s. It’s because we are still bloated and guilty from all of the holidays. But it’s a really bad time to try and start anything new. Winter is brutal. Springtime brings a fresh energy. If you are starting something in the spring, the odds of succeeding have to be much better. The days are longer. Nature is getting started again. It’s chicks and baby bunnies. Nothing feels as good as a clean slate. It’s time for a fresh start. Happy Easter.  

What is your favorite flavor of jelly bean?  
I don’t like most candy. I love chocolate but that doesn’t count. I don’t like fruity candy, sour candy, or anything cinnamon flavored. The only candy that I like are black jelly beans. I understand this is a divisive standpoint. You either love them or you hate them. There are no moderates when it comes to black jelly beans. I love black jelly beans.  
You might have noticed that today’s dispatch is late. It’s because the Easter Bunny brought us another bout of strep throat to go along with the black jelly beans.    
Regardless of where you fall on the black jelly bean debate, enjoy some candy!!!

I’ve been experiencing the physical ramifications of stress. I don’t know why.  My life is good. I just started a new project that feels really important. I spend my days doing the thing that I love most. Maybe I have been allowing all of the negativity in the world to affect me. I didn’t realize what was happening until my body started shutting down. I was oblivious to the signals being sent at the beginning of the week. By Friday I couldn’t ignore it. I wasn’t sleeping. Looking at food gave me debilitating heartburn. My mind was scattered. So, I took the day off. I didn’t do any work. It’s somewhat surprising that I took enough time to type this dispatch. The twins and I sat down and watched some cartoons and we ate a whole bag of cheese curls. I feel better already.   

I have been very out of shape for far too long. I’m trying to rectify this situation and I started exercising. It’s nothing too strenuous at this point. I’m just trying to be more active. As a result of this activity, I found myself thrashing about on the floor with a serious charley horse. In case you aren’t familiar with the term, a charley horse is a leg cramp. After identifying that it was a charlie horse and not a demonic poltergeist, my wife quipped, “I wonder where did the phrase charley horse come from?” While rubbing out my leg cramp, I spent some time on google.  The term originated in the baseball culture of the late 1880s.  The exact origin is unclear. It might be related to the horse that pulled the roller that maintained the field in Chicago.  It might be related to a pitcher named Charley.  It might be because when a player ran the bases with a leg cramp, he looked like he was riding a wooden toy horse. I think it’s because that is the sound I make when I’m thrashing about in pain. Charrrrrrrrr-leeeeeeeeee! 

I got new glasses. According to the eye doctor, I’ve been wearing my old glasses since 2012. I only required a very minor prescription change. It was enough of a difference to require a major adjustment. I’ve been nauseated since putting them on my face. It feels like the floor is rushing up to knock me down. My vision is very clear but the vertigo is overwhelming.  I am sure I will get used to them. My live studio audience says that they look good. I know there are many people who need glasses in this world without access or the means to acquire them. I don’t want to seem ungrateful but I am not enjoying this intermediary transition. Hopefully it won’t be long until the ground stays where it is supposed to be. Maybe I should just rest my eyes for a little while…  

I just saw that the last original member of Lynyrd Skynyrd has died. This news reminded me how much I love that band. I know that the Beatles created a genre. I understand the importance of The Rolling Stones. I often joke about a bar fight between the Eagles and CCR. These are all great bands but the one band to rule them all will always be Lynyrd Skynyrd. 

We were discussing the weather. I mentioned that they were calling for a “wintry mix.” Someone suggested that a “wintry mix” sounds like a fancy drink.  How would you concoct a “wintry mix?”  I am thinking hot cocoa and ginger brandy.  Maybe it’s something more in the ice cream department.  Maybe it’s vanilla, watermelon, and pecans.  “What is a wintry mix?”

On Thursday we attended an orchestra concert. The school has this annual concert that includes three different groups of kids. It showcases the string program from beginner through the advanced kids. The first group was composed of the youngest students. The majority of students have been playing for a year and half. The middle group was more advanced but not great.  Their biggest problem was related to knocking their music off their stands. It seemed as though someone was constantly on the floor searching for music. The older group was great. They were a perfect representation of a high school orchestra. The whole event was quite enjoyable. They hold this event for marketing purposes. They want to get the kids and their parents invested in sticking with the orchestra throughout the school process. I wish we had more opportunities in life for this perfect representation of progress. It would be great if we could take three slices of our development as human beings and see them sequentially in one sitting.  It would be great to see where we started and how far we have come. Although, now that I think about it, I’m glad I don’t have to relive that train wreck. 

I am not too proud to admit that this next fact came from the “Wild Kratts.”  If you aren’t familiar, it is a children’s nature show on PBS.  This is crazy, here it comes.  
No two tigers have the same stripe pattern. Their stripes are like our fingerprints.  They are all different.  The craziest part is that they have the same pattern on their skin, under their fur!!! If you shaved a tiger, it would still have stripes. Who was the person that was crazy enough to shave a tiger and discover this fun fact?
Also, I was just wondering, are zebras black with white stripes or white with black stripes?

When did it happen?  It wasn’t that long ago that Saturday nights were spent trying to decide which watering hole to visit. To be honest, sometimes it was less about where and more about how many watering holes to visit. I am now at the point in life where I get excited because the 20-pound bag of Jasmine rice is on sale.  It was a great deal. 
A friend was playing at a local watering hole from 8-11. We talked about going to support her.  It would have been great to hang out and hear her music. We tried talking ourselves into going for an hour. Surely we could handle 8-9.  But then I sat down on the couch and that was the end of the story. This might be related to why I don’t play more shows. I am very confident that I would be a much more successful performer if I could stay awake beyond 8 o’clock on a Saturday night.  

It started with a splinter or a paper cut or some little nick.  I don’t remember how it happened but I found the tiniest little cut on the ring finger of my strumming hand.  I didn’t think it was a big deal but after an hour of practice, it had become an issue.  It wasn’t exactly a blister but very much like what happens to the back of your heel when your shoe doesn’t fit.  The next day’s practice ended with blood running down my hand.  This little boo-boo was now an issue.  But of course, I did nothing about it.  It would be fine.  The next day was worse so I had to do something.  I grabbed a bandaid and wrapped it up.  It was a small “Puppy Pal” themed bandaid. I am sure there were some regular bandages in the closet but I went with my first grab. Unfortunately, when I washed dishes I lost that little bandage down the drain. I had no choice but to use an authentic, adult bandage.  It was one of those cloth bandages.  I don’t know the brand but I think it said sheer on the box. The whole point of this story is to sing the praises of these bandaids. It’s been two whole days and it’s still going strong. I know that is disgusting in a whole different way but this bandage is fantastic.  

I had an epic fever dream last week. I saw the mother of all humanity laying down on her side. She was spread out over the entire continent of Africa. I was looking down from above like I was in the sky. I wasn’t a deity, just an observer.  The mother of all humanity was about to give birth. She rolled over and humanity was trying to burst forth. It was like the scene in The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. The Uruk-hai are born from the mud and all of that ugly bursts out of a weird membrane. I was looking down and I could tell that humanity was struggling to get out.  So I reached down with a long knife and made a slit so that humanity could break free. Humanity crawled out of a clear plastic amazon bag.  I don’t know what it means but it was epic.    

Hannah had a wonderful orchestra concert. They ended the program with the Raiders March. You would know it if you heard it. It’s from the first Indiana Jones movie. The conductor said he chose to end the program with this piece because “you will all know it and everybody will walk out of here humming the same thing.” It was a beautiful moment of solidarity as we all left whistling the triumphant melody. You can watch a good version of the song on YouTube. 
On the way home I was thinking about the Indians Jones character. Did you know there is a new movie coming out this year? He is old. If he can still have epic adventures at his age, I can do better. I spent an hour sitting in an auditorium seat, my back got stiff, and I turned into a giant, whiny baby.  Alright Indy, time for another adventure.  

I’ve always thought that if times got tough, I could do anything.  I know there are a handful of professions that I am excluded from due to physical limitations.  I could never be a professional basketball player. There are a couple of morally objectionable professions that I would try to avoid. I’ve done some time in the janitorial profession.  I’ve cleaned up some nasty stuff.  I think I could do most anything.  But I’ve found another entry on my short list of jobs that I refuse to do.  
Hannah is away at a district orchestra festival. They are all staying in a hotel for three days and two nights. It’s a hotel full of high school-aged orchestra nerds.  Can you imagine what four fifteen-year-old girls could do to a hotel room? You couldn’t pay me enough to be part of that housekeeping staff.  Hannah is very neat for a teenage girl (I have to say that, she reads all my posts).  Honestly, she is very neat but with four girls, that is a tremendous amount of long hair stuck in that sink drain.      
Other than time with her grandparents, this is the longest we have been without Hannah.  We have all missed her.  I hope she had a fantastic time. I hope she made some great friends and some great music.  We will be really glad to have her back at home.  I’m glad I don’t have to clean those hotel rooms.  

I’m bad at being sick.  I know, I know, nobody enjoys being sick. But you can ask my wife and she will confirm it. I am the world’s worst patient.  I refuse help. I refuse to admit when I am sick.  By day two of my week with the high fever, I had n choice. I became a much better patient.  
Fevers have always made me weird.  I could probably count on my fingers the number of times that I have had a fever in my life. I rarely get a fever but when I do, things get kind of creepy.  Ask my dad, and he’ll confirm it.  On the first day of my fever, I was very confident that bats were flying around the room.  I also saw some bunnies, squirrels, raccoons, and other woodland creatures scurrying across the floor.  I was aware that they were hallucinations but I had no power to stop them.  My mind tends to wander aimlessly under normal operating conditions.  With the fever, it was wandering aimlessly at a breakneck pace.  I saw many past events flashing in my head.  They weren’t good or bad events. They seemed to all be strangely irrelevant events. Although, I was hallucinating so maybe they were just weird fever dreams.  I had a real doozy on day four.  That might need its own post.  
I also got strangely sentimental over weird stuff.  My baby girl was on the couch watching a movie to occupy herself.  I was a worthless parent at that point and Mrs. Brother Jack was busy doing everything.  We were watching the first 
Despicable Me movie. It’s a good movie but it has never been my favorite.  For some reason, the end choked me up.  The girls have been kidnapped and Gru is at the door to rescue them.  Little Agnes says something like, “our Dad is gonna kick your butt.”  At that moment I realized that I was weeping.  Not just a sentimental tear but blubbering, snotty, sobs.  Fevers make me weird.  

I’ve been working on making some goals. I’ve never been good at setting short-term goals but I’m trying. I’d like to make a new record this year. It would be amazing to get on the road and play some shows. I’ve done a lot of physical contests in my life but I’ve never run an actual marathon. I would like to run a marathon. I should probably try to accomplish this one sooner rather than later. Before I die, I want to write a novel. Even if nobody reads it, I want to sit down and write an epic narrative. Speaking of “before I die,” end-of-life planning is very important. Someday, I should spend some time on that. All I know for sure is that at my funeral, I want someone to play Swing Low, Sweet Chariot on the tuba. Well, this list of goals has taken a strange turn.  

I am sure you are familiar with the digital hermit. He is an elusive beast but everybody knows one. On tv shows and movies, he is hunted down by a crack team of highly trained operatives. Maybe they are crooks trying to steal a rare artifact or it’s a spy thing or he is the bad guy that they are trying to take down. Either way, he is the mark.  There’s always a tech guy that says, “I can’t find anything. He’s got no social media presence. He’s got no digital footprint. It’s like he is a ghost.” I have a tremendous amount of respect for the digital hermit.  He doesn’t need constant validation. He is completely free. He can live his own life. The digital hermit is a modern folk hero. I am not a digital hermit. My life is an open book… a digital book… an ebook.  And it’s not a very exciting book.  

We just watched the Sherlock Holmes movie with Robert Downey Jr. He’s not my favorite Sherlock but it’s a solid movie. I am a sucker for anything Sherlock. I think it might be related to growing up watching Colombo and Murder She Wrote. I haven’t yet met a Sherlock that I don’t love. Although, he is nothing without Watson. They are like peanut butter and jelly. I’ll eat a spoonful of peanut butter but I’ll know it would have been better with some jelly. The original Sherlock Holmes entered the public domain this year. I am not sure what this means but I think that I could legally set the whole thing to music. I could make a Sherlock song using the original text and it wouldn’t be plagiarism. I love Sherlock but I don’t think I would listen to that.   

Back in the good old days…
When we got a big snowstorm, everything would shut down. School would be canceled. We would begin the day by helping dig out the driveway. This would quickly evolve into making snow forts, a snowman, or at least snow angels. There would be sled riding and snowball fights. There were always some boys that went all over the neighborhood shoveling out the old ladies. This wasn’t charity, it was a money-making scheme similar to a protection racket run by the mob. If they came to your door, you paid up or you would find yourself buried even deeper. After the sunset and your wet socks would start to freeze, you would start to hear various mothers announcing dinner time. When your mother called, you would run home as quickly as you could. There would be a steaming bowl of bean soup. You would sip a big mug of cocoa and dream that you could do it all again tomorrow.  
We are facing an impending snow storm and they have already made the decision. Thanks to our advanced technology, we will be doing school at home tomorrow.  Snow days are obsolete. My children will never get to know the joy of barreling down a giant hill with twenty other kids piled on top of a truck innertube or the way it feels to peel bread bags off your feet while warming up next to an oven full of chocolate chip cookies.  

Let’s talk about the movie Home Alone. It’s a fine movie but it’s never been my favorite. Despite  some ridiculous plot points, I love the story. The premise isn’t my problem. My problem is all of the abuse that those two guys have to endure. Sure, they are the bad guys but they didn’t deserve all of that.  At this stage in my life, I’ve had many of those things happen to me.  I can’t imagine having it all happen at one time. The main thing that I want to talk about is Kevin’s bedroom. They have this great house.  It’s a big house. I would go as far as to call it a golden tuna. They show us the attic, the basement, the parent’s bedroom, and Buzz’s bedroom. The kid is home alone for three days and he never goes into his bedroom.  I think if we had seen his bedroom, there would be Ninja Turtle sheets on his bed.   

We had the opportunity to attend a spectacular Christmas concert over the weekend. Hannah is a member of our local youth orchestra and they were invited to play with the Symphony Orchestra for their annual holiday event.  It was a great opportunity and we are vey proud of her hard work with the violin.   It was a magical event.  We got everything from the Nutcracker to “It’s a Wonderful Life” to “Home Alone.” Hannah’s group played a haunting arrangement of Greensleeves. There was a local children’s choir and even an appearance from the big man in red. It was a wonderful event and it really did a great job of jumpstarting my holiday emotions. As a perfect ending to a magical event, I found a half-chewed butterscotch glued to the inside of my pocket. It wouldn’t be Christmas without some sticky candy.  

I was at the grocery store to buy potato chips. There was a sale but it only covered BBQ flavored. I couldn’t pay regular price, that would be crazy.  I love BBQ chips but I am the only person at my house that will eat BBQ flavored chips. This is a serious ethical dilemma. Should I buy the BBQ chips?
I couldn’t pass up a great deal…

To everything there is a season…turn, turn, turn.  I tend to live very seasonally. Everything about my creative process happens in cycles. Songwriting, studio time, and playing shows all tend to be cyclical. My song choices are seasonal.  My exercise and every facet of my diet are seasonal.  My recreational activities and leisure time are seasonal. I love holidays.  I really enjoy how different times of the year impose their own vibe.  To everything there is a season.  
I just ate some asparagus purchased at the grocery store that was imported from a far and distant land. I love asparagus but it felt dirty.  This is not asparagus season. It feel so crazy. I don’t know what will happen next.  

We are continuing to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday. We have three feasts down and one to go. Currently, my fingers are too fat to type a post. At least I will be in perfect Santa shape for the next holiday season. Send more cookies, please.

Today’s dispatch is being brought to you by my song Thanksgiving Day. This week we are celebrating Thanksgiving in the United States. I know it’s not a universal holiday but it’s one of my favorites.  How could you go wrong with a holiday built around eating and napping? If you find yourself with some silence, you couldn’t go wrong by filling it with the sounds of some weird folk music.  You can listen to Thanksgiving Day everywhere that you stream music (links here, track 6).  I hope it helps you find some meaning in the season. Save a slice of pie for me.  

Three weeks ago, while raking some leaves, I hit my head on a tree. Don’t laugh, it jumped up out of nowhere and attacked me. It wasn’t a significant injury but after I cleaned up all of the blood, I found a big gash on the top of my noggin. This head wound made it impossible to maintain my preferred hairstyle. I grew a beard when I was young because I hated shaving. Now I shave my head every day. It’s difficult and somewhat dangerous to shave your skull with an injury like this. I figured I would let my hair grow while waiting for the wound to heal. It was a nice reminder of why I shave my head every day. It did not look good.  It was time to go back to my standard hairstyle. Something happened to my razor during the three-week hiatus. I don’t know why it happened but I chopped up the back of my head. I didn’t realize it had happened until my son started screaming in absolute horror. It was something about all of the blood running down my head and dripping from my neck. All of you with hair can’t imagine all of the hard work that is required to maintain a perfect scalp.  

I’m trying to decide what to do for the Christmas season. 
Some people love Christmas music. They use “Jingle Bells” as their ringtone. They start decorating in August. They can’t get enough of the holiday music. 
Other people hate every bit of Christmas music. They hear a Christmas song and start to froth at the mouth. 
As a performer, you can’t please everybody.  I think I will play some Christmas songs and also some non-Christmas songs. Best of both worlds means that I will end up pleasing nobody. I’ll approach the season with realistic expectations and hope for some Christmas magic.   

There was a recent lottery drawing with a record-setting payout. It was a huge amount of money.  Even with all of the taxes and hassle, it would be life-changing money for multiple generations. Somebody got lucky and won it all. It wasn’t me.
I hope that whoever it was doesn’t get weighed down and swallowed up by everything that will come with their sudden windfall. I’d like to think that no amount of money would change who I am and how I spend my days. I’ll get up tomorrow and do the work. I am the luckiest man alive. I’ve already won the jackpot. 

On Sunday afternoon, I was privileged to help some Girl Scouts earn their musician patch. I’ve given my songwriting presentation to many groups of kids and every time is completely different. It went great and I hope they had as much fun as I did. When I do this presentation, we start with some songwriting basics and then work together as a group to write our own song.  I would be lying if I said this wasn’t the most difficult group song.  It was like pulling teeth.  Who knew that 10 year old girls could be so insecure? 

I’m a musician. I just heard that there are 60,000 new tracks uploaded to Spotify every day. That’s a lot of music. It’s a musical deluge. That is more than enough songs. The world doesn’t need mine. The world doesn’t need me. But that’s ok. Maybe one person needed one of my songs today. If one person needs one song, that is enough. If it was you, thank you. I want you to know that the world doesn’t need you either. But maybe you are needed by one single person. It was me.  

At the bottom of my Daily Dispatch, I include a question for the purpose of sparking conversation. For the duration of spooky season, the question was as follows: 
“If you could be any classic monster, who would you be?”  
In case you were wondering, my answer is the wolfman. I don’t have a real strong reason why I chose him. Dracula is too arrogant and Frankenstein is always running from the torches. I guess I like Wolfy because we have so much in common. We are both fuzzy guys that get grumpy when we are hungry.   

I’m working on a commission. I can’t eleborate on the details because it’s meant to be a surprise. I have been asked to set some words to music and record the whole thing. This is a tremendous honor and also a lot of pressure. They are intense and heartfelt words that describe an emotional relationship and I am turning them into a song. There are a lot of ways that I could ruin this special moment. Merry Christmas and here’s the world’s worst song.    

A carpenter wouldn’t go to work without her hammer. A lumberjack couldn’t do his job without a chainsaw. Without a ship, a pirate is just a weirdo wearing a big hat. A known raconteur is nothing without my voice. I’ve been a little under the weather. I don’t feel bad but I can barely manage anything above a squeak. 

I broke the chain. I missed a day. You probably didn’t notice. I write a post every day.  It is called my Daily Dispatch. You are reading today’s post right now. There was no Dispatch on Sunday, October 30.  We were at a Halloween parade on Saturday. I had intended to write a post about the parade after we got home.  It was very late when we finally got home and the twins had consumed an enormous amount of candy.  Things got out of hand and I completely forgot to write about it.  It took a while on Sunday before I realized what I had done. I had broken my commitment, let myself down, and betrayed my expectations. I almost spiraled out of control as a result.  When you become disappointed with yourself, it is hard to turn things around.  This kind of moment can be a minor blip in the system, something that is forgotten as soon as it happens. Although, sometimes a blip can lead to the sky turning purple, planes falling from the sky, and civilization crumbling. I have accepted my blip and moved forward without any major repercussions. Today is day 2… again.   

What are your deepest fears?
I am afraid of clowns. I am comfortable with snakes and spiders. I don’t want to cuddle with them but we can get along. I’m not afraid of doctors or strangers. I’m not very fond of bats but the fuzzy flyers and I have a live-and-let-live kind of agreement. I’m not afraid of natural disasters, germs, or apocalyptic disasters. Sometimes I worry that I am irrelevant but that’s not a real fear. Yup, just clowns. I don’t know why…
Ok, I guess that I have a hunch about why I am afraid of clowns. If you are a psychoanalyst, I’d be happy to hang out on the couch and talk it out. The truth is that it doesn’t matter. I am sure there are some fantastic clowns in the world.  I don’t wish death and destruction on all clowns. I just don’t want to hang out with any clowns. It’s nothing personal, I would just prefer to pretend they don’t exist.  

One of our neighbors spent a lot of the weekend decorating his house.  While his lights were making it difficult to fall asleep, I was contemplating the three major categories of fall decorations.  They are as follows:
1. Skeletons, witches, etc. - spooky for Halloween 
2. Scarecrows and pumpkins - to celebrate the Harvest
3. Christmas - ughh
Guess which one the neighbor picked. 

We were having some pasta for dinner.  I was running in and out of the kitchen, doing some odd jobs while waiting for the water to boil.
Me: This is crazy. That pot of water has been on the stove for over thirty minutes.  I can’t believe it still isn’t boiling!
My wife: I know, I’ve been watching it the whole time.   

It’s national taco day.  I know it is the food equivalent of a greeting card holiday.  It’s a fake occasion created to enable restaurants to attract customers and sell more. I am fine with all of the deceit because I love tacos.  Whether you are celebrating this fake holiday or not, you should listen to my song called Taco Time.   

We are in the middle of a weekend roadtrip to visit my in-laws.  I had forgotten about the leaves. The trees were not yet in their full splendor but they were showing their colors.  There were some deep purples and some bright reds.  All of the colors made the trip magnificent.  
	“I’m so glad to live in a world where there are Octobers.”   
	 -Anne of Green Gables

To the best of my knowledge, my post from yesterday was never sent.  It was posted to the website but the email version is missing. I am sure that your life is no different without my daily dispatch. You probably didn’t even notice that you missed it.  Normally, when I tap the button labeled publish, everything is set into motion.  The new post goes to the website at the scheduled time.  As soon as it posts to the website, my mail service provider sends out new posts at the same time every day.  I can’t figure out what went wrong. I have no idea why yesterday’s message didn’t show up.  Maybe it will show up tomorrow. Maybe some random day in the future you will get an unexpected message from me.  It was supposed to show up yesterday but you will get it precisely when you need it.  Automation is great until it fails.  Hope you get this message sometime soon.  

I’m supposed to write a post every day. It’s called the Daily Dispatch. Daily is in the title.  It’s something that I have decided is important.  It’s a goal. But not today. I don’t feel like writing today. I’m tired and I don’t want to sit down and write. I’m skipping it today. I will not write my daily post… I guess I already did. 
Writing a daily post is not hard. Coming up with something to write is not that difficult. Making the commitment is the hard part. Commit and don’t quit.   

This is one of my favorite days.  Christmas is fine but I don’t go crazy for it. I’m rather indifferent to my birthday.  I love the autumnal equinox.  Grab your favorite old sweater.  Happy fall!!!
Listen to some fall vibes here.  

Somedays, I have trouble thinking of something to write about. Somedays are very boring. Today was a boring day. I had some phone calls to make.  I needed to run an errand.  It was the boring kind of errand, no fun adventures. I paid some bills. I didn’t do any laundry.  It was so boring that laundry would have made the day more exciting.  The high point of the day was when I opened the windows and listened to the rain.  Boring days are the best. 

If you live in the northeastern part of the United States, you are aware of deer ticks and Lyme disease.  It’s a part of life.  If you have a dog, you deal with ticks often.  If you spend a healthy amount of time outside, you’ve pulled a tick from a warm intimate spot of your body.  You’ve probably taken the corresponding, high-octane antibiotics. If you aren’t familiar with the many conspiracy theories regarding the history of Lyme disease, they make some great late-night reading.  
I pulled a tick off my thigh today.  It’s already red and inflamed. This is not a good sign.  I’ll take the magic pill and all should be well.  Isn’t modern medicine amazing?  The telltale sign of a problem with a tick bite is a rash that emanates from the bite in concentric circles. My first time dealing with a tick bite involved a giant bullseye on my right butt cheek. 

Does the proper usage of a trash receptacle require fun and whimsy?  If you know me, you know that I have a pathological fear of clowns.  I don’t understand why anybody thought this was a good plan.  Clowns are trash.  

God willing and the creek don’t rise…
I close my live streams and most of my other videos with this sentiment. It’s an old saying.  It’s the kind of thing that was often said by my grandparents.  It fits my vibe and sets a tone. I like it because it expresses intention with some wiggle room. I will do my best to show up when I said I would show up.  Although life could get in the way and throw off the schedule. But I’m still doing my best to be here for you.  
We received two inches of rain in the last 24 hours. The creeks did rise.  Don’t worry.  I’m still going to be here even if I have soggy shoes. 

The fall equinox is still a couple of weeks away.  The weather continues to feel like summer weather. But my internal calendar has flipped to autumn.  
The Christmas season has its songs. Some songs feel like pure summertime. Every major holiday claims its own songs. But the fall song category is a rare beast. Nobody respects the notion of fall songs. This is my favorite time of year. I tend to change the majority of my repoitore during the fall months. There is a subset of my original catalog that was written during the fall and rarely gets played outside of the autumn season.  There are cover songs that are my favorite during fall that will get no love during the rest of the year.  
Get ready for the fall songs, here they come.  


Do you have a favorite fall song?
 

I just completed my yearly physical with the doctor.  I am blessed to live where I have access to good doctors.  I feel extremely blessed that my family has an adequate health care plan. The doctor said I should be good to go for another 1000 miles. Although I fear that there may be some rust forming on my frame.