Blame it on old writer friend, who not so long ago admonished me for not putting pen to paper in far too long. Blame it on too many a memory, stacked tight over a fleeting lifetime of mistakes and missteps. Blame it on turning 43 and finding little reason to still consider myself worthy of claiming any right to being a crafter of words.
I could blame life, which tossed me one too many breaking balls in the ninth to drive my runner home; a job that robbed me of energy and inspiration as days became weeks; a family that simply walked away, no kiss my ass, auf weidersehn or goodnight.
Truth is, I got lazy. Angry. Pathetic.
I became a sad sack. A Glory Day-ser. An asshole.
I rode my meager success to mediocre, proud and pompous.
But I’ve always wanted more. I embark on that journey, once again. Thank you, Richard, and the many who came before you.
So what’s with the title of this endeavor? Boots: I have a pair for every day of the week. I are a Redneck, just a bit overeducated for the title. Bars: I enjoy my drink, often to the dismay of those I love most. Just ask them, they’ll readily agree. And motorbikes: I enjoy life on the road, if I had my druthers everyone should see it pass them by on two wheels rather than four.
As a brand-new grad student at my age, I can’t guarantee what you may find here. But it will be an adventure, I’m sure. Something that sticks close to my life motto: Search out the quaint and unusual. Relish it. And then move along jackass. You’re blocking the view…