I am not ashamed

Before you laugh, let me explain a few things. This was the most unjustly attacked band of the early 90's. The guitarist, Reb Beach, was one of my teenage musical idols. If you listen to both solos with an open mind, you’ll hear why. Grifter, you may recognize the dude on the skins. I still think Kip Winger has a great voice. If you remember, this was the band that Beavis and Butthead’s moron friend really liked. That was the beginning of the end for their spotlight. Lars Ulrich liked to take pot shots at them as well. With all due respect, I think that Lars could learn a thing or five from Rod Morgenstein. At any rate, enjoy.....and you can laugh now.

The Summer of my Unencumbrance

Too often I acquire projects, especially if they are of a mechanical nature. Over my college years, I found quite a few projects. The idea was that when I finished college, I would magically have oodles and oodles of time to restore, repair, rebuild, etc. During classes, I found my mind wandering to magical restoration land, wherein I solved various and sundry mechanical maladies. I saw in my minds eye (to use church argot) myself as the weird guy that drove his weird motorcycle/truck/car through town and turned the stunned heads of my fellow villagers. What I really became was the super stressed out guy that maintained a fleet of motorcycles, three wheelers, cars, trucks, SUVs, go-karts, rabbits, chickens, and a 102 year old home with a 60 year old coal furnace. Don’t let me forget to mention my church callings!

I had an epiphany while talking to my boss one day. She said, “People with so many projects don’t realize how much energy they put into keeping all of that stuff.” So true. I never had time to enjoy any of them, because I could only afford to do the bare minimum. Most of my motorcycles were never even touched. In fact, I felt suffocated by the very things that were suppose to bring me joy.

I must admit that this little realization caused me to be ruthless to some of my machines. You see, they were hurting me and I was a bad master. It was like that cute puppy you bought and now you don’t have time to love. And the puppy has a problem known as a butthole. And that butthole poops everywhere. And you have to clean the poop. What I am really trying to say is that my machines have metaphorical buttholes.

Metaphorical Butthole #1
1970 Suzuki TS125II Stinger. I had some real hangups parting ways with this one. I love the lines on this bike. The picture you see here is not mine. The picture is of a bike that is restored.

Metaphorical Butthole #2
1973 Kawasaki F11 Enduro. The hills of Eureka won’t be the same without you.

Metaphorical Butthole #3
1973 Yamaha DT250. This was another classic. Alas, I have other, better toys to play with.


Metaphorical Butthole #4
There was also an old go-kart frame, which I chopped in half and threw in a dumpster. Goodbye and good riddins.

Metaphorical Butthole #5
In addition, there were quite a few bikes and assorted parts that made their way to my trash can.

Well, I’m not quite finished getting rid of stuff, but I am well on my way. Wish me luck in this endeavor. It has been a relief encumbering myself no more. I find that after each of the offending items is removed, I feel peace and breathe a little easier.

“The things you own end up owning you.” Tyler Durden