Yesterday we went to the Botanical Gardens because we thought that heat stroke and dehydration was a small price to pay to get to see some plants.

I am unable to save the kid from a sure spinal cord injury and carry this water at the same time – now hold this.

Riley learns that what goes up must get scared.

These are the trees that money grows on. Just ask Dale Chihuly.

Chihulyhulahoop.

This is why we can’t have nice things. The lady we bought Lilly from suggested that we get Lilly her own mattress to sleep on. We just so happened to have Riley’s old crib matress so we gave it to the dog. Here’s what she thought of that idea.

Riley had been drawing on the sidewalk with some of his chalk when Lilly decided to give it a taste. This was way funnier right before the picture was taken when she hadn’t yet licked off half of her pink mustache.

We walked to the store tonight to pick up a prescription for Angel. We thought it would be nice to walk instead of drive because the weather was pretty tolerable but mostly because I’m fat again.

The quickest way to the store is to cut through the graveyard behind our house, so we did. Angel was pointing out the dates on some of the gravestones to Riley and explaining to him what they represent. After checking out quite a few Riley said “Almost all of these people have died.”

Maybe he just didn’t quite get it or maybe he has a sense for the undead.

When we got home with Angel’s drugs she was reading the possible side effects. She read them out loud. “Weight loss, decreased appetite, diarrhea, vomiting. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Promises, promises.”

If I see one more Cardinal reliever come in and go 0-2 on a batter and then susequently walk him I’m going to become a Cubs fan.

Grocery shopping on Monday evening is the most depressing way to spend money.

Who does my DVD player think he is always telling me that this operation is currently prohibited?

The “back” button on my mouse doesn’t work in Firefox or Opera. Always moving forward ’cause we can’t find reverse.

Riley wrote out the words to the Doxology tonight. Here’s what it said.

Praise God from who ma blessings flow

Praise him all creachers here below

Praise Him up of he hevenly host

Praise Father Son & Holy Ghost

On the back of the page was “Amen. Presbetierien song.”

Monday night at the family birthday party for Riley I was talking to my uncle about guitars like we always do. He was telling me that he recently took his old Fender Jazzmaster to the guitar shop we both use to have some work done. A few days later when he went to pick it up, the guy who owns the shop handed him the case with his guitar in it and attached to the case was a certified check for $15,000.00. Someone had seen the shop owner working on the Jazzmaster and told him to offer the owner of the guitar this check to see if he would sell it. My uncle declined.

There are a number of guitars in my family that could bring that kind of money. In fact, the last time I picked up my guitar from the shop there was a pack of gum taped to the case. I declined.

My other uncle (second cousin actually, but I’ve always called him my uncle) just sent me a bunch of CDs featuring some truly outstanding guitar players. Doyle Dykes is one of them. Doyle Dykes is one of those guys who always shows up on the Internet as one of the greatest guitar players you’ve never heard of.

Check out this video of Doyle. I’ve never seen anybody use this string-bending technique before. This is really incredible.

Riley turned six today. He got a Nintendo DS so we don’t expect to talk to him for at least three years.

We’re very thankful that God has blessed us with such a great kid. He’s funny and he can sing. I’ve found these to be very important qualities being that I was able to get a wife by possessing these same qualities despite my homely appearance. Besides, if we had learned that he wasn’t able to sing we probably would have put him up for adoption. Either that or we’d have had to teach him how throw a curve ball.

Today I took Riley with me to get a new remote control for our cable from Charter. Lilly seems to love the taste of them. When we got there I told the lady we needed a new one and Riley said to her “We’re sorry for wasting so many remotes.” She gave it to us for free. I love that kid. We stopped by the Mercedes dealership after that but Riley’s pitch didn’t yield quite the same results.

Last Saturday was such a beautiful day that we decided to revel in the beauty of God’s creation by going to the library. Being outside is highly overrated. Besides, who can honestly resist the smell of a seventy-five year old book?

I read a lot, and up until a few weeks ago I was on quite a tear reading one book on theology after another. Then I decided to take a break from the non-fiction stuff and read The Pilgrim’s Progress. A few pages in to that sucker and my reading frenzy ground to a complete halt. Sorry. I know it’s one of the most famous Christian books ever and all that but I just couldn’t do it. I’ll get back to it on my death bed or something.

So back to the library. I wanted to get back to the historical Christian non-fiction genre so I found St. Augustine’s “Confessions” (397-398) and Thomas A Kempis’ “The Imitation of Christ” (1418) in one volume. These are probably two of the most influential non-fiction books in the history of Christendom. And the smell of the book was downright stellar so I grabbed it.

I also grabbed “The Story of Our Hymns“. I’ve read just enough of it to realize that I’m a hack songwriter. I also learned that church organists are never to put the seventh in the dominant chord of a hymn. Interesting. No, seriously. That’s very interesting. I guess I’d never considered it before. Too much pull back to the tonic might just send the crowd into a frenzy.

The last book I grabbed was a gigantic book of lullabies. Lots of babies falling out of trees and the like. Really captivating stuff. I’ve actually written a few of my own. My favorite one goes like this.

Hush little baby, if I have to tell you one more time to turn your light out and go to sleep you’re going to be sorry.

Gentle child, be quiet. Be quiet. BE QUIET! STOP SINGING AND GO TO SLEEP!!!

You’re not hungry. You’re sleepy.

No you don’t need another drink puddin’ cakes.

I told you to go potty before you got in bed now just hold it oh apple of mine eye.

When we all woke up this morning Angel, Riley and I all gathered on my bed to wrestle with the dog and enjoy the fact that nobody had to go to work today. Angel thought that Riley and Lilly were being so cute that she grabbed the camera to capture the moment. Here’s what she got.

Happy 4th of July and may all your puppies be as sweet as ours.

Last Friday morning we flew to San Antonio, Texas for my stepsister‘s wedding and my brother‘s high school graduation. We got back into town yesterday afternoon sunburned and tired.

This was the first wedding Riley had ever been in and he did surprisingly well. He was the lord of the rings and he looked rather dashing.

We had a good time.

There may be some music news coming soon. There are a few things going on in the next couple of weeks that might yield some exciting possibilities, sorry for the vagueness.

A few moths ago my step-dad Ed received some very bad news from the doctor. One of his kidneys had a sizable, not-so-benign tumor and the other kidney was bleeding. This would require two separate surgeries. The first surgery would be to fix the bleeding kidney, the second would be to remove the other.

The first surgery was a success but was very painful and the recovery was anything but pleasant. The doctors wanted to give him plenty of time to recover before diving right back into another surgery.

Today he went to the doctor to begin the whole process leading up to the second surgery. The doctor did an MRI and found that the tumor was gone. The doctor consulted the head MRI guy for a second opinion and it was confirmed that the tumor is nowhere to be found. There will be no need for a second surgery. To God be the glory.

My post yesterday may have left some with the impression that I don’t believe in miracles. That’s not true at all. I absolutely do. I just don’t believe in faith healers.

Ed’s miracle was not the result of someone kicking him in the face. It was not the result of some $1,000.00 “seed” he planted into a TV ministry. It was not the result of some red-faced evangelist calling down angels from heaven to carry away the disease. It was the result of God’s mercy. The answer to many prayers offered by God-fearing Christians.

Check out this Ian Moore video for a second. Well, at least try to get to the chorus.

If you don’t know who Ian Moore is he happens to be one of my musical heros. At the beginning of his career he was one of these impossibly-good-looking-Texas-blues-guitar-player-stud types. He also happens to have one of the most awesome singing voices I’ve ever heard. The Drew Johnson Band opened for him a number of years ago and I got to hang out with him after the show and pick his brain quite a lot. Definitely one of the highlights of my musical “career”. But that’s not the point of this post. The point of this post is that he’s wearing a ton of glammy makeup in this video. I was shocked when I saw this being that it seemed so incredibly out of character for him.

That got me thinking about something that I’ve considered many times before: how does a band make the decision to wear makeup? There have been a few bands around town that I’ve known and gigged with who have worn makeup and I always wanted to ask whose idea it was. I always imagined a band rehearsal where one guy finally works up the courage to say “Hey dudes, what are your thoughts on lipstick? Because, I like, totally think it’s right for us.” Maybe that’s not how it works. I don’t know. I just think of the severe beating I would have gotten had I suggested such a thing to any of the bands I’ve played in.

Next thought.

Here’s a video I found of Fiona Apple, Jon Brion, and Nickle Creek singing “Tonight, You Belong To Me.” I love this song and I happen to think that this song provides the most touching moment in The Jerk. I wish I could write songs like this.

Next thought.

A bizarre string of Internet searches this weekend led me to a picture of the store Angel and I worked at in Nashville. It was the Sam Goody at Harding Mall. It was this very store where Angel first cast her gaze upon me and my long, golden locks. She was walking by the store (this was before she worked there) with one of her friends and saw me standing behind the counter and said to her friend “That’s the guy I’m going to marry.” That is the honest truth. So she picked up an application and the rest is history.

Here is a link to the picture. It’s the second store on the left with the pink neon sign.

Next thought.

Angel had a wonderful opportunity this weekend to show just how much she really loves me. This story is rather gross so I’ll try to be as Christ-like as I can in the telling.

We were watching TV Friday night and I got this really bad itch on my left cheek…and not the one on my face. I didn’t think much of it because I happen to be a bit of a bug bite collector. But this itch was pretty intense and there was quite a lump to boot. Angel and I went in the bathroom and closed the door so she could take a look; possibly the most un-flattering moment of my life. She said “There’s a big black spot right in the middle of it.” I told her it might be a tick. I’ve never had a tick before but the thought just jumped in my head.

I’d always heard that tick-removal involves heating up a needle over an open flame and then using in to politely encourage the tick to step away from your skin. We didn’t have a needle handy but Angel grabbed some tweezers and got them red hot. At this point she was pretty sure it wasn’t any kind of creature, she just thought it was the head of the bite. When she touched the tweezers to the thing she immediately became convinced otherwise. I could tell by her repeated screems. “It’s legs just moved!!!” Ok well now we both agree that it is in fact a tick.

The digging and grimacing went on for about five minutes. Ticks have quite the little grip.

She was finally able to remove the thing from my rear. My first point of business was to make sure she still loved me after such an incident. She did…a smidge.

After some Internet research she informed me that the particular type of tick that had violated me didn’t really pose much of a threat as far as diseases go. The Internet said that it would continue to itch for about twenty-four hours and then everything would be fine. That has not been the case. Now the skin around the point of entry is all hard and irritated and it itches like nobody’s business. I’ll be going to the doctor tomorrow since I not only collect bug bites, I also collect humiliating incidents in the presence of women.