One of my regrets is never having been able to sing. I can't draw either, which is another regret. I can't draw a straight line with a ruler. My stick figures don't even look like sticks. I have trouble drawing a conclusion for that matter.
But at least with a computer I can do some “art.” Just ask my brother Chia Bob. As long as it's humor related that is. To do something serious is beyond me.
But at least the dogs don't howl when I draw something.
Musically speaking, it's not that I can't hit the notes, it's that I can't keep from bludgeoning them to death. In my fantasy life I would be a singer-songwriter. There is only two things keeping me from fulfilling this dream; my fingers are two stubby to play the guitar and my voice causes chickens to stop laying eggs.
Of course, it would also help if I wrote a song once in a while. Other than “I Feel Sick and It's All Because of You” my one and only classic.
Perhaps if I could play the guitar I could join the ranks of such “singer”-songwriters as Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Rod Stewart. They certainly haven't let a lack of singing ability hinder them. If you've heard Bob Dylan's Christmas album you know he's in the “I can do whatever I feel like” category of humans. All I can say is it brought tears to my eyes. It set Christmas back two thousand years.
Gordon Lightfoot was one of my two all-time favorites but he continued to sing, well after his voice had given up the ghost. Carole King also comes to mind. Great songwriter. Her voice? She's a great songwriter.
Maybe it's worth a try. I'm going to sing my only song for you now, just read the lyrics and try to accompany them in your mind to the sound of tires screeching and babies crying;
I feel sick, and it's all because of you
I gave you a goodnight kiss and you gave me the flu
And now you sit there wondering, What is wrong with me?
What's wrong with me is you my love; You're an allergy.
There's more verses, but I'm guessing that you can't hear me over the dogs howling.
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