Inspiration: A backstory

Reach for the stars... 





Sometimes, when I catch a glimpse of true genius, it makes me feel inadequate as an artist. But, as always, I regroup and carry on. It takes a while, but I always get back on my bike and begin pedaling again. Like the resurrection of my improv "career," a decade in the making.

So I was both happy and sad to see my favorite aspect of Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was right where it was the last time I visited the place a few years ago.

Happy, because it's an amazing glimpse into the impetus of one of the greatest works in the history of rock and roll. Sad, because it reminds me that I may never reach that level. Put another way on one of my down days, it reminds me that I suck.

 



 Intimate stadiums?

Back in the Hall of Fame once again, I headed up the elevators to take another look at the exhibit for Pink Floyd's The Wall.

Turns out, Roger Waters was pissed off at himself. But he's so brilliant, he used his childhood education as a metaphor.

 

 Uh oh, it's magic

 

Leave them kids alone, indeed

 

It's kind of shocking to learn the backstory: He was talking to himself as well as a system that beat him down. Not only was he angry at an educational institution that walled him off, he had internalized that and later built his own wall between himself and his fans.

 

It's hard to blame him. Unless you're one of those egotistical showbiz freaks - I'm looking at you, Bill Cosby - I'm sure it's a very, very strange thing to find yourself adored by millions of people.  

 

People who don't know you, despite the fact that your work makes them feel like they do.

 

 The burden of insight

 

A long, long time ago, a guy named Mike Starcevich told me that the true greatness of improvisation was in "turning your fuckups into triumphs."

 

I think that's the lesson I learned here. The only problem is that I've learned this lesson about 20 or 30 times. So apparently, I'm not a genus jeanius genius. I guess I may never make it into the Writer Hall of Fame, strategically located in Woodfield Mall, Schaumburg, Ill.

 

But this time, instead of getting angry and spitting at myself - like usual - I'm writing this blog post to drive the point home. Let's see if I make the right choice this time.

 

How about you?





There's a peanut on your roof

Peanut Wallenda

I love yard work. I hang outside in the sunshine, work weird muscles that only come into play when shoveling mulch around 33-degree corners, and try not to step in dog poo.

You know, living the dream. The only thing I miss is improvising with funny people. The last part of that sentence is the tricky one. I'll figure it out, but I'd better do so soon before I lose all my marbles. (I only have a few left. One is glittery pink, which I can't stand.)

Anyway, there's been a lot going down in the backyard at 54 Madeline lately, but before I catch you up on everything, I had to stop my diligent work to show you what happened as I was shoveling mulch yesterday.

Just like Batman, kind of

Every now and again, as if it was a ghost floating in the wind, I heard Peanut's meow. I looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. As soon as I would pick my shovel back up, I would hear it again.

"Meow."

Then I looked up. There he was, that idiot.

"How did you get up there?" I asked. "More importantly, how the f*ck are you going to get down?"

So cuddly, so dangerous, so destructive

We figured out how to get him down, but a minute later, he was right back up there.

"Suit yourself, idiot," someone might have said.

Awesome yard art

I... am... Iron... Man!

It's been a while since I've posted pictures of the wonderful yard art around Asheville. That ends right here, right now.

Here's a unicycler located a few hills away from our house. 

Is he alive or his he dead? You tell me.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Oh, Billy BaRue...

This is a big one Billy

Son of a...

I recently returned from my six-week, post-surgery appointment with my surgeon. While he might be a genius, I did not like the words that came out of his stupid, stupid mouth hole.

Essentially, he said, "For guys like you, this is the most dangerous time. You feel great, your flexibility is back, and you're strength has returned. So you want to fly down another mountain."

True, true, true.

And TRUE.

"But," he continued, "if you take a shot to your shoulder right now, it will completely undo everything we just reconnected. And I might not be able to fix it."

Of course, as I was writing this, my roommate from college – plucky rider Brian Mears, who himself had a downhill incident with a tree that wouldn't get out of his way – sent me the following picture. It's the shoulder of a friend of ours who used to ride semi-professionally in Europe.

I'm going to start a bike team 

called "The Clavicles"

Clearly, said shoulder has seen better days.

As a highly-respected doctor on the Internet, I can tell you that's a broken shoulder. And that pin. Holy shit, it's a big one. It also looks like the surgeon left a few needles in there.

Rookie.

Hello... hello...hello...

Is there anybody out there?

There'll be no more, "Ahhhhhhh"

...But you may feel a little sick. (Continuation of Pink Floyd lyrics from above, yo.) Especially after I tell you what Cricket, Barb, and I found on a wonderful hike over the weekend.

Cricket started licking something on the trail. After he refused to leave it alone, Barb went to investigate. Turns out, it was a bloody helmet.

Actually, it was a piece of a bloody helmet. I'm hoping the reason the helmet shattered into 50 pieces was because people were riding over it and not because there are helmets out there that explode upon impact.

Based on all this, I keep asking all my friends who ride an important question, "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

Each and every time, the response is laughter. Maniacal laughter. Because if you have a certain disposition, and you experience the hard work of biking up a mountain, followed by the adrenaline rush and exhilaration of flying back down that mountain, you're hooked.

And you're screwed. Pun intended.

Therefore, today's blog post ends with a plea: For the love of god, always wear a helmet!

I don't care where you're riding, for how long, and if there's only a 0.003 level of difficulty, wear a helmet. If you don't, you're an idiot.

I'll still love you, even though you'll most likely be a drooling idiot.

Fairyville cat update

I'm... very.. confused...

Hi friends! Hope you're having a super-duper spectacular week! Because it was a good one for the Fairycats.

As you can see above, Peanut became daring. Which set the stage for everyone else.

Wait... what?

Sugie woke up from a nap and realized, "Hey, I can blow this joint if I want to!"

Dude! Where are you going with my bird?!

And Honey killed her second bird.

Picking Apples in Fairyville

Pickin' ana grinnin'

Did you know that many grocery stores chemically ripen their apples? It's true.

But you don't have to worry about that if you go to Sky Top Orchard and pick your own apples. 

My man MCA's got a beard like a billy goat

I've picked apples before, but holy moly, STO has some delicious apples. The Honey Crisps are unbelievable.

Finding some good ones

Barb was so inspired by the day, she learned how to make apple sauce!

I don't work here, I'm stealing this tractor

I don't see the parts about GMOs, 
picking them before they're ripe,
and then spraying them with chemicals

33 times per day

Let me in

Honey – aka"Killer" – loves to go outside.

And then come inside. Then go right back outside.

Repeat ad nauseam.

I said, let me in!

Since I work from home – diligently, if I do say so myself – I constantly hear her meowing at the front door. So, I'll let her in. Half the time, she runs right back out the side door.

Oh, the glory of living with cats.