Well, it's time for me to
turn in my piece for the September issue and, as usual, my mind's a blank. This
writing stuff ain't easy, ya know! I admire those who write under a daily or
weekly deadline. The pressure must be intense!
So
I figure I'll just sit here and tap out whatever passes through the colander
that I call my mind. Wait! Why did I just call my mind a colander? Couldn't I
have left out the allusion to my mind being a sieve?
When
I played softball in the 1980s with my radio and musician pals I was nicknamed
Sieve Colander for my fielding abilities at first base. In fact, Chris Sullivan
(ex-Penetrators bassist), who was our erstwhile coach, once awarded me a
square-foot section of astroturf, representing the amount of infield I could
cover on ground balls to first. But what the hell?
I'm
flat-footed.
Being
flat-footed (or pronated, in medical lingo) has been the bane of my existence.
Every time I'd get new shoes, they'd hurt like the dickens ('dickens'?) because
they'd come with built-in arch supports...to support my non-arches.
I
love to play basketball. I played three to five times a week for 22 years,
mostly oudoors. It was the constant pounding my shock-absorberless feet took on
asphalt and cement playgrounds that caused my ankles, knees, thighs, and,
ultimately, my back to ache.
In
1999, during a Modern Rhythm Band rehearsal, I herniated a disc in my lower
spine. There is no scarier feeling than believing that you'll never walk again,
which was my reaction when I awoke the morning after that practice. A botched
laminectomy in 2001 aggravated my condition and required an eight-hour spinal
fusion operation in 2004, from which I am now half-recovered. Four of my
vertebrae are held in position by titanium rods and screws and have fused into
one big vertebra.
It's
only in the last few months that I've been able to play the guitar while
standing up again!
Speaking
of guitars, am I the only writer for the Troubadour who plays electric guitar
exclusively? I have never played a folk song in my life! That would scare me.
Put me on stage with a group of fellow noise makers, though, and I'm fine. You
solo folkies are something! I admire you, too!
Which
reminds me...Sandi and I saw Joe Rathburn at The Tin Fish before a Padres game
a couple nights ago. Tough crowd, Joe. Great job!
I
did, however, take an interest in learning the guitar during the great folk
music scare of the early sixties. Hahahahahahahaha! I love that term 'folk
music scare!' That's a quote from a Martin Mull album. Also on that record,
Mull describes a blues band as 'five guys with matching suits and shades and
big amplifiers, with maybe a heavyset guy in front who plays the harmonica.' I
wish I could find that album.
Lemme
see, have I reached 500 words yet? Wait a second while I count them...oops!
Needed three more.