my dad took a long time coming around to my making art a career move. it's insecure. i don't have insurance. worrisome dad things. his family were gospel singers in the 70s; very good ones. toured and all that. they fucking /love/ the Gaithers, pedal steels, and Jesus Christ. he watched his brothers futz around with their music without really doing it. they got married/divorced/remarried, had kids, and kind of withered away into bullshit jobs, anxiety and health problems: easier things. dad does and doesn't want that for me. so, ya know, driving force to take myself seriously and not let fear compromise me into complacency. take lots of risks. jump off lots of cliffs into nowhere. i still fall flat on my face a lot, but taken enough successful flights of fancy to have made him proud. i'm doing it and he thinks it's cool; tells his friends, comes to my shows.
he still doesn't know i'm an atheist. baby steps.
WOO! Giants! baseball. an unexciting thing to watch, but the stories are good and
Hunter Pence signs were delightful. the Giants all looked very rugged and old school.