Taylor Swift, Why Are You Stalking Me?

Taylor Swift, why are you stalking me?

I'm playing in Cheyenne this Thursday night. 7 PM. So are you.

I'm playing in Rapid City this Friday night. So are you.

Coincidence? I doubt it.

I had my shows booked first.

So what if I'm the reason for the teardrops on your guitar? Get over it. I'm sorry, but I already have plans for after the show. Don't make this awkward.

For those of you who already have tickets to see Taylor, go have fun. And don't bring me up in conversation with her.

For those of you who don't, I'd love to see you at one of my free shows. Synergy Cafe in Cheyenne, 445 Lounge and Borders Books & Music in Rapid City.
I'll also be making on-air appearances at KIGN 101.9 in Cheyenne and KXMZ 102.7 in Rapid City.

In other news, I went to King Soopers in Colorado Springs, Colorado, to buy some shampoo, some conditioner, and some body wash. Yeah, occasionally
I have to stay in some motels that lack amenities. (I won't name any names, but they'll leave the light on for ya. But you probably have to pay extra.) Unless you count a stale bar of soap as an amenity.

In any case, I hit the jackpot: Suave 3 in 1! Bam! It's a shampoo, a conditioner, and a body wash, all in one inexpensive milky blue fluid. Apparently, it also doubles as a motor oil and a baby food.

Disclaimers: I've never made Taylor Swift cry. And, I'm pretty sure she's not actually stalking me. Also, please don't feed Suave 3 in 1 or any other bath products to your infant.

Dear Dad..

I can't actually address this blog post to my dad, because I'm pretty sure he never checks my blog.

Also, he's in Romania for a month. This is good and bad news: Bad because I don't actually get to talk to him on Father's Day, but good because I have a little extra time to send something to his home in Michigan and still have him think the gift was on time. I think he's still waiting for last year's Father's Day gift too, but I'm not sure.

I refuse to buy ties for Father's Day. I think the tie industry is being kept afloat year after year by countless thousands of unimaginative American drones who are convinced that their dad wants, even needs, yet another garish American flag tie. You know you're guilty. (It's also kept afloat by cheap slave labor overseas, but I'll save that for another blog post.)

Now, Father's Day ties come with a personal touch. Several online retailers are offering ties with the photo of your choice printed on them. Your picture, his picture, a picture of Ron Jeremy..the choice is yours. Whatever you do, don't send him a tie with a cartoon of the prophet Muhammad on it.

In all seriousness, I've been blessed with a world-class dad. He's one of the most patient, intelligent, funny, wise, faith-filled, well-balanced people I've ever met. We've climbed at least one mountain together every year since I was old enough to carry a backpack (which, in my family, was around the age of fourteen months).

The best thing about my dad is that he never tried to make my decisions for me. He taught me right and wrong through the way he lived.

I admire the way he's always been so real, so transparent.

I've seen him cry when one of our pets died.

I've seen him scream when our brand-new Ping-Pong table flew off the top of our van and smashed onto the pavement of I-80.

I've been demolished by him on the tennis court. He'll still be kicking my butt from a wheelchair in 30 years.

I've seen him, year after year, simply love my mom, my sister, and me in a remarkable way.

Good dads are hard to come by. If you are fortunate enough to have one, make sure he knows it this Father's Day. Do something meaningful for him, something more than buying that necktie.

If there's someone in your life who has been a father figure, who has ably filled in for the dad who wasn't there, I encourage you to do the same for him and let him know that he's made a difference in your life.

In the words of that timeless commercial:

Dad, you're my dad, and I love you man! This blog's for you.

Spellbound

Why is it that I can't go to a single restaurant without finding some kind of spelling error on the menu?

Tonight, at a fine establishment in Vancouver, WA, I was pleased to find a "Pomagranite Martini" for only $7. Yup, it's made with real bits of igneous rocks, so you know it's good.

There's a well-known and well-liked music venue in Portland named The Guffalo Bap (names have been changed to protect the ignorant) that has a sign on its wall that reads "LIVE MUISIC."

All I'm saying is that if you're a music venue, master the spelling of the word 'music.' No one asked you to spell "didgeridoo."

The inability to spell is widespread. But say 'nay' to the naysayers who would have you believe that it's a phenomenon being propagated by texting and pop culture.

It's long been a scourge blighting our country, right up there with poverty, war, and Texas.

Even the venerable U.S. Constitution contains a few misspelled words. Pennsylvania, for instance, is spelled Pensylvania. You can't just take n's out of words arbitrarily and expect to be viewed as a credible source. I don't want to live in Orego. Sounds like an herb. Would you listen to my music if my name were Jo? What if the second track on my CD were called "It Won't Be Log"? What does that even mean? A prediction of loose stool?

Of course, not everyone is a great speller. That's why God created spell-checking software. If you can't spell, no problem. Find a faceless machine who can. Even Bill Gates himself is famously quoted as saying: "I'm a terrible speller. Fortunately, my musk and good looks have gotten me everywhere."

(Bill Gates never actually said this.)

It's interesting to live in a society where the average schmuck can't spell 'intelligence', but can spell 'Kardashian'.

By the way, do you know what 'schmuck' means in Yiddish? Google it.

Just for the record, I don't judge people for misspelled words in text messages, considering the message was probably sent while driving, going to the bathroom, and reading my blog simultaneously. But when I read a book or magazine that's riddled with mistakes, it tends to lose credibility in my mind. Kind of like when former Vice Presidents insist that torturing people is a good idea. (Yeah, I had to slip at least one political line in this otherwise inane blog post somewhere.)

I think the real problem lies in the name 'spelling bee.' Kids quickly associate these with a cute, fuzzy, yellow-and-black insect. Think Honey Nut Cheerios. Childish. Thus, they lose interest. Why not the 'spelling wasp'? Faster. More dangerous.

It's 4 AM. I climbed Mt. Hood this morning, and I've been up for almost 40 hours straight. I wish I had a really witty closing line. I don't. Deal with it.

Ignorance: Not Always Bliss.

Swine flu.

It's everywhere.

At least it won't be in Egypt anytime soon. As you've probably heard, the Egyptian government ordered the slaughter of all 300,000 pigs in the country.

Unfortunately, they failed to Google 'swine flu.' Had they, they would've realized that swine flu is currently being transmitted from human to human. You're not gonna get it from swine at this point. Not by eating a pig, dancing with a pig, or even cuddling with a pig a little bit, provided you call them back later in the week.

Ignorance, it seems, is not always bliss, especially for these 300,000 swine, and for the farmers whose livelihood depended on them.

The World Organization for Animal Health says that "there is no evidence of infection in pigs, nor of humans acquiring infection directly from pigs.'' This hasn't stopped China, Russia, Ukraine, and other nations from banning pork exports from Mexico. Why would you import pork (impork?) from Mexico, anyway? Unless, of course, there are illegal drugs hidden somewhere inside.

Then there's the case of mistaken mushrooms. Several years ago, a Colorado newspaper published photos of Paddy-Straw mushrooms in their Food section, encouraging people to use them in certain recipes. Several of their readers went out and found some Paddy-Straws, ate them, and died. Apparently, the newspaper had mistakenly published photos of the similar-looking, yet highly toxic, Death Cap mushroom. I'm sure the newspaper staff was encouraged, at least, to know that people still read the paper.

I thought about this as I was eating a mushroom rice bowl at Portland's newest high-rise dining establishment, Departure, the other day. These mushrooms were delicious, but the Death Caps probably were, too. At least I hope so: it would suck to have a crappy last meal right before the nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and diarrhea set in.

Ever think about the etymology of certain words? Like 'mushroom'. What does it mean? That there's room for mush inside of them? Or is it named after a mythical room to which mothers send their boisterous children to eat their mush when they've misbehaved? Then there's the word 'cockpit.' I don't think I even want to know.

I digress.

The moral of all this is simple: ignorance is not always bliss. Our global society is so quick to take action that we often fail to fully comprehend what's going on. The invasion of Iraq would be a prime example of this, as would the deadly yet FDA-approved drug Ketek from 2005. Sometimes, in a rush to make things right, we end up doing the wrong things.

Let's just hope that the next deadly influenza strain isn't dubbed 'baby flu.'

Fight Cancer. Headbang For Health.

Cancer is a capricious killer.

It holds no regard for age, gender, race, or geographical location.

Practically everyone I know has a loved one who has died of cancer.

My uncle Bob passed away a couple years ago from malignant melanoma that metastasized.

I've had precancerous moles removed from my back.

Sure, we eat our antioxidants, we wear our sunblock, we quit smoking, we even stop re-using plastic bottles, in the hopes that we don't become a statistic. But is that all that we can do?

In 2008, there were 19,230 new cancer cases reported in Oregon alone. 7,450 people in Oregon died of cancer last year. In the US, 565,000 people died from cancer in 2008. To put this in perspective, that's just higher than the population of Portland, and just less than the population of Seattle. That's an astonishing figure.

Let's say Portland gets wiped out this year. Whether through a terrorist attack, through a natural disaster, or through some other means, the entire population of America's 30th largest city is destroyed.

Think that would make the news? You bet.

However, cancer is almost taken for granted. It flies under the radar, a killer to be sure, but one that's accepted as a tragic mainstay of society. We're all immortal until it's our turn.

It's time to do something. Not just for ourselves, but for society as a whole.

The American Cancer Society has been fighting the good fight for years. I love this quote on their website:

"Eleven million cancer survivors will celebrate birthdays this year. That's a sign of progress, proof that a world with more birthdays is possible. Together we'll get well, stay well, find cures, and fight back."

I've been privileged to play at numerous Relay For Life events over the past few years, and dedicated each performance to my uncle Bob. This Wednesday, my band Silversafe and I, as well as Portland indie band Tea For Julie, will be playing a benefit show for the American Cancer Society. The show will be held at Hawthorne Theater, which is located at 3862 SE Hawthorne Blvd in Southeast Portland. Tickets are $8 at the door, and all proceeds from the door as well as from merchandise sales will benefit the American Cancer Society.

This is bigger than music, bigger than entertainment. It's about saving and improving thousands of lives. Sure, you could write a check and put in the mail. I encourage you to do this, too. But here's a chance for you to rock out in the process, to headbang for health. Yes, headbanging is perfectly non-carcinogenic, and the American Chiropractic Association thanks me for promoting it.

I'll also be playing at several other Relay For Life events around Portland this summer, including the June 27 Relay in Oregon City.

This is not an arbitrary cause that I've elected to attach myself to. Another uncle of mine was recently diagnosed with cancer. My grandma is a brain tumor survivor. My sister has already had a cancerous lesion removed from her foot.

For anyone whose lives have felt cancer's icy touch, whether upon themselves or one they love, do something about it! Get involved. Volunteer your time. Participate in events. Donate. I urge you not to wait around for someone else to make a difference.

As for me, I'll be headbanging. For health. I hope you join me.

Water Balloons Over Baghdad?

Yesterday, as I watched some kids run rampant through their lawn in search of those ubiquitous pastel candy-filled Easter eggs, I reached for a bag of Hershey's Kisses. The same candy that was inside the eggs, the same candy the kids were going crazy for. I was a grown-up, though, and I got to eat as much candy as I wanted without even having to look for it.

I got to thinking: when was the last time I hunted for Easter eggs? Was I eight? Nine?

Granted, I've had some fun hiding eggs for various kids over the years. What kid would ever think to look in the toilet? In the litter box? I was just trying to help these kids curtail their sugar intake, after all.

So why don't we adults hunt for Easter eggs anymore? Perhaps the eggs wouldn't meet any need in our life, and the hunt wouldn't fit into our schedule. "If these Easter eggs don't come with 370 HD channels, a lottery ticket, and a weight-loss pill, then I'm not gonna waste my time looking."

What is it about growing older that makes us unable to experience the joy we once found in simple things? Why does everything have to have a reason? When did childish fun lose its appeal? Why don't we adults have pillow fights? Or play freeze tag? Or 'doctor?' Okay, perhaps we still play doctor, but simply call it something else.

Instead, we adults spend our time slaving away at jobs we never wanted, saving up for the vacation that never turns out the way we hoped it would. We fight wars, we fight at home, we fight at work. What if every disagreement were settled with water guns? What if every war were waged with Super Soakers? What if these deranged individuals I can't stop hearing about on the news stormed into churches and retirement homes and schools and office buildings, twin CPS 4100s in hand, and opened fire, simply drenching hordes of innocent people? What if CNN was full of reports of American planes dropping thousands of water balloons upon unsuspecting Baghdad?

If children ruled the world..

I'm not trying to trivialize the world's problems. I'm just saying that maybe if we learned to stop once in awhile, put away our 401k's and our Blackberries, and enjoyed an Easter egg hunt, the world might be a better place.

Life: It's Way Too Short.

Yesterday afternoon, as I headed home through the last gasps of rush-hour traffic on I-84 East in Portland, I popped in a Thrice CD. Yeah, I know. CDs are so 2002, but I haven't caved in to the XM oligarchy yet.

Halfway through rocking out to "Image Of The Invisible," a semi pulled into the fast lane. Into the exact spot that my car had been occupying until I slammed on the brakes and veered onto the shoulder. I stopped on the side of the freeway for a minute to hyperventilate.

At 5:45 AM this morning, I woke up suddenly to a stabbing pain in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I checked my pulse; it was normal. I've lost two family members to heart attacks, so I knew the symptoms, and I knew I wasn't having one.

I grabbed my laptop and went to WebMD.com. 14 seemingly life-threatening conditions matched my symptoms, and I was instructed to call 911.

I didn't.

My mind was full of thoughts of my own mortality. Somehow I knew that this pain would subside, but these two incidents left me thinking about my last day of life. What if this were it? How had I spent my time? Had I made anyone else's life better, or just my own?

Whatever your religious affiliation, or lack thereof, you cannot help but agree that life is precious. At 26, I've already lost six high school and college friends. Three to car accidents, three to suicide. I've been to ten funerals in my life. I tried singing at one of them, but couldn't get through the song without breaking down in tears.

What am I doing with these days and years that I still have?

I don't want to be remembered as just another entertainer, a guy with a good voice who put on a good show.

I want to leave a legacy; to use my time wisely; to contribute to the good of mankind. To have my music make a palpable difference in people's lives. To make them happy, to make them think about what's important. I want to break the cycle of self-gratification and use my talents for other people.

Am I tangibly putting these thoughts into practice? Am I living up to these ideals? Sometimes, but not often. It's so much easier to take the other route. In the words of a song you might recognize: "I can't buy a minute; maybe you'll get it figured out on your own."

I'm determined to deny my lyrics the right to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.