The band has changed a little. Shawn now primarily plays electric guitar rather than drums. Colin Young has taken up the drums in his place. Mike Jock, our original bassist, has decided to pursue other things. John Hatcher has replaced him on bass, and has introduced a banjo into some of our covers. Kenn Matthews maintains his role as lead vocalist. My brother, Todd Vandervort, and I bring up the rear on our respective guitar.
Aside from playing guitar I’ve started singing a little, too, lending backup vocals for Kenn as well as the occasional song. I joke with the guys that I have exactly two octaves to play with, but I’ll leverage them to the hilt if they’ll let me. The shower is now my studio and my family, the unfortunate audience. As for guitar, I find myself mostly playing acoustic. At band practice, surrounded by amplified electric guitars, it can be like bringing a knife to a gunfight, but I manage.
As far as the future of The Rubber Band? We’re trying to get out of the garage and start playing live more. It’s tough, though. We’re all Dads with families, jobs, and responsibilities vying for our attention. It’s hard enough to find time to practice alone, let alone as a group. But, we manage. And the good news? We’re getting better, too.
Maybe someday we’ll be the best band in a four block radius.
Let’s go Broncos! Make us Proud! Touchdown Broncos! For the Crowd! Stomp Your Feet! Rattle the Stands! We cheer for you. Your biggest Fans! …..BEE!
Pop Warner is over for my cheerleader, which means it’s competition season. On January 20th we’ll be headed ( again ) to Last Vegas for the 2024 JAMZ Nationals. It will be our third such trip. Our first competition was met with the untimely demise of the family van. The second resulted in a new pet. Who knows what will happen this time. Hopefully? Just a trophy. First place would be nice.
Calling it a “cup” is probably the worst decision in the history of naming things. At best it could be some sort of headgear. At worse, you’re just confusing young boys as to what the heck it’s actually for, much less where it goes.
If there’s one thing COVID taught me, it’s how important it is to get up and move. Being confined to a desk for work is bad enough, but being confined to my house is something else entirely. After dealing with lower back pain for a months I tried some things.
First, at the recommendation of my friend and neighbor, Missy, I bought a standing desk. It’s a relatively affordable tabletop model from Vari, just big enough to fit a single 27″ monitor. Unfortunately, my monitor was 32″, just big enough to hang over the sides of the platform and bulky enough to max out its’ hydraulic lifting mechanism. After cannibalizing a smaller monitor from my kids’ gaming setup, my back pain was better, but persisted.
Next, at the recommendation of my wife, Jodie, I started following an online Yoga Instructor, Adrienne. Adrienne’s video, Yoga For Lower Back Pain, is short, concise, and effective. I’ve been doing some variation of her routine nightly before bed ever since, effectively serenading my wife with a cacophony of cracking, popping, grunting, and ( yes ) occasionally farting noises as she drifts off to sleep. Again, it helped a little, but the back pain persisted.
Next, I submitted myself to a chiropractor, specifically Cooke Chiropractic in Rancho Bernardo. I survived 47 years without ever seeing a chiropractor and only did so at the recommendation of my wife. First off, Ian Cooke is awesome. He showed me massaging techniques with a racquetball, various stretches, and encouragingly told me that I would, in fact, be back up and running in no time. Near the conclusion of our first session he positioned me on a small massage table, gently placed his hands on a couple of spots on my back and hip, and rearranged every single vertebrae in my back with a violent jerk. This resulted in a loud audible crack, an even louder shriek from me, and hysterical laughter from my wife. It helped a little, but the back pain persisted.
Finally, I bought a Fitbit and started tracking my steps. I never gave the 10,000 steps-a-day thing much thought until I realized how little, in fact, I was actually moving throughout the day. Sure, I’ve made a habit of regularly lifting weights, prefaced by a short warm-up on a stationary bike. I’ve even been a devotee of Shawn T’s T-25 workout for several years ( basically, Insanity for the less-inclined ). But, I was averaging only 3,000 steps-a-day. Cranking it up to 10,000, with the help of Adrienne, a standing desk, and a few sessions at Cooke Chiropractic finally did the trick. My back pain is gone and I am even running a few days a week, too.
At this point you’re probably wondering what in the hell this long winded monologue has to do with an illustration of a misplaced athletic cup. Well, 10,000 steps is roughly 4-5 miles and can take a couple of hours. It’s a lonely plod without someone to talk to, so I often walk with my family and friends. On these walks I’ve realized that walking not only loosens up ones back, but ones mouth, too.
To my friend, Missy, thank you for sharing your story. And to her son, Allan, I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.
An illustration I drew for a book my friend Kevin and I are working on. It portrays the powerful, but weary Dragon King staring down the evil sorceress, Karakow.
“If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail.”
My first hundred or so sketches of dragons looked either like anthropomorphic dinosaurs, or “Bowser” from Super Mario Brothers. The problem, as the quote so eloquently states above, is that I tend to draw what I know. Fortunately, as luck would have it my family and I visited “Book Off!”, a used book store in the Kearney Mesa area of San Diego a few months ago. While my daughters searched for Manga and Anime, I dove into the art books and discovered a used, tattered, and very cheap copy of “DragonArt” by J “NeonDragon” Peffer. For a couple of bucks Peffer’s illustrative step-by-step book showed me that there were other tools at my disposal than hammers. It still took a few sketches but I finally got a design that I liked for the Dragon King : Haggard, yet powerful. Intimidating, but intimidated.
Karakow
Karakow was a little easier. She’s an aging sorceress that’s one of the main antagonists in the book. I couldn’t help but lean heavily on Disney’s villainess’ such as Cruella de Vil and the evil ( unnamed ) stepmother from Cinderella. What I came up with is the vain, unyielding woman below. She has sharp, angular features, a big crooked smile, and a wardrobe that is conservative yet loud at the same time.
As always, I like to include some of my rough sketches and design work. As a budding artist I always try to remind myself that behind every finished work is lots ( and lots ) of hard work and mediocre barely-coherent scribbles. Admittedly, the “scribbles” shown here are some of my more refined ones. Trust me, there’s a lot more in the trashcan on the floor next to me.
New toys!
In other news, I broke down and bought an iPad Pro and have started working in Procreate. My old setup was a Surface Pro 7 running Clip Studio Paint. Why the change?
First, although compact, the Surface Pro 7 is far bulkier that the iPad. Although it’s a fully functional Windows machine, it makes for a mediocre tablet, a jack-of-all-trades / master-of-none, per say. Menus are tiny and finger gestures ( pinch-and-zoom, for example ) aren’t always responsive.
Second, the Surface Pro 7 only supports the original Surface Pen, a instrument that requires so much software-enabled “line correction” to function that I never really felt like I was working with a drawing instrument. The Apple Pencil, aside from a slippery glassy screen, is remarkably better in every way.
Third, Clip Studio Paint went subscription-based for it’s latest version. I blame Adobe for this trend and I refuse to subscribe to any of its software products because of it. Clip Studio Paint, like Procreate, was initially a one-time purchase. Now? No longer, so bye-bye. Subscriptions are for magazines that have new content each month. Software, by nature, is far more static; even if new features are introduced I seldom use them. And if they’re good enough? I have no problem buying a new version. Outright. Without a subscription.
A logo I created for the Dad-based Garage Band that I am in. It’s based on a vector image that I created, but rasterized with some distressing thrown in.
I have been playing guitar with a group of dads in a garage band for a little over a year now. What started out as a breakout session in the bedroom of my friends’ sons’ bedroom has grown into a full-fledged 5-person band. Although we try to meet weekly, a plethora of other dad-related duties compete for our time, making our practices inconsistent at best, but we try. Our adoring fans include passers-by and neighbors, either too young to know good from bad, or just too curious to turn away from the train wreck/spectacle that is transpiring in the garage.
We call ourselves “The Rubber Band“.
Part pun. Park joke. The Rubber Band expands to accommodate – whether that be each others’ schedules, talents, or even new members wanting to “give it a try”. The truth is? We’re not all that good, but we sure have a great time not being that good.
Thank you Shawn Burgwald ( Drums ), Kenn Matthews ( Vocals ), Mike Jock ( Bass ), Todd Vandervort ( Guitar ) and to that 20-something couple walking their dog three months ago that decided to pick up the open mic and join us for a song.
I’ve been to more football games since my daughter, Kaylee, joined Pop Warner Cheer than I have in my whole life. The competitions? They’re just the icing on the cake.
It’s been nine months since my last cancer treatment and in another couple of weeks I’ll be “celebrating” my cancer-versary, or three years since my initial diagnosis. According to recent bloodwork which I get done every three months, my cancer remains undetectable, too. For now the boogeyman is bound, gagged, and ( mostly ) silenced – well, at least until my next bloodwork and inevitable scanxiety.
Last weekend my friends, family, and I walked in the 2022 Prostate ZERO Walk in San Diego. This was our first time joining a physical event after COVID forced us to come up with our own last year. I felt a little guilty urging everyone to wake up early on a precious Saturday morning to attend, but they did. Later, I laughed as the DJ had everyone warm up with what I can only describe as Zumba-meets-line-dancing prior to setting foot on the course. We were the second biggest team and rose $2,382, putting us behind only Poseida Therapeutics. For everyone who participated, thank you!
For those of you men who are undergoing treatment I can assure you, that if you take care of yourselves you will be okay. Even though it may not seem like it, there is life at the end of the tunnel and, although it’s going to be different than the one you left, it can be a good one, and maybe even a little better, at least in some ways. The big things won’t seem so big anymore, the small things won’t bother you as much, and you’ll start to realize how important the things are that you always just took for granted.
On the upside, the smoke kept the mosquitos away. No one complained of a single bite!
William Heise Campground. Seven families. Thirty people. And one bathroom, at least for the first night.
Apparently, at some point in my distant past I was a camper, because I surprised myself and my much more outdoorsy neighbor, Missy, the organizer of the expedition, by the sheer amount of camping equipment I had stuffed into the deepest, darkest corners of garage. It was almost as if I never wanted myself to find it again. Planning ahead I had bought a brand new tent in celebration of Amazon’s Prime Day, only to find two more hidden in my garage during my excavation.
“This new tent will work out better“, I insisted, “It’s bigger and we’ll all be able to sleep together!”
Mistake.
On the first night I realized that our massive 6-person tent was a tighter squeeze than I expected. Worse, I shared an air mattress with Kaylee. Being heavier, I created a depression that she couldn’t help but roll into and subsequently, on top of me. I escaped to the van and spent a sleepless night reclined in the driver’s seat, sleeping for maybe an hour or two in 15-minute spurts. I wasn’t the only one, either. Jodie ended up reading through the night. As for my other daughter, Ashley? She rolled off the air mattress she shared with Jodie and slept, face-planted on the bare vinyl floor of the tent. To each her own.
The toilet and showers gave out early the next day. Suspiciously, the outage coincided with our fearless leader, Missy, contracting a very nasty stomach bug. Being the trooper she was, she insisted on toughing it out, to the extent of trying to follow along on a 3-mile hike in 90+ degree weather. Mercifully, she retreated back to camp only to be voted “off the island” and chaffuered home with a crate of Gatorade and saltine crackers.
A trip to Miner’s Diner in Julian and heaping scoops of ice cream cheered everyone up. Heck, I would have paid good money just to sit in the air conditioned splendor. As luck would have it the diner had an entire basement full of candy which each of the kids took turns exploring.
Some campers truly roughed it, if only by keeping their car’s A/C above 78 degrees.
“Hey, Kay! “Check these out!”, I called to my youngest, Kaylee.
“What are those?”, she asked.
“Sugar candy cigarettes!”, I announced.
“I haven’t seen these in years. Pretty inappropriate for this day and age.”, I reminisced.
She nodded in agreement.
Later that night, back at the campsite, we dined on packaged ramen, canned beans, and store-bought tortillas in an effort to hedge against any more food poisoning stemming from the BBQ’d burgers we had eaten the night before. After getting the campfire started my friend, Mike, strummed guitar while the kids all lined up on a squat fence bordering the campsite.
“Uh, what are they doing?”, Jodie asked.
“Smoking cigarettes.”, I said.
I averted her eyes.
“Don’t worry, they’re sugar. I couldn’t resist.”, I smiled. “It’s nostalgic”.
The second night was quieter. Unsurprisingly, many campers decided to hoof it rather than risk stumbling through the brush in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. My bedroom, the van, was commandeered at least once to make the journey to the remaining operable bathroom a half mile down the road. Sleep was elusive, even more so when Kaylee popped her head in.
“I can’t sleep in the tent”, she moaned, “Can I sleep in here with you?”
“You can try”, I laughed. “I haven’t had any luck.”
She was out cold within minutes in the passenger seat next to me, snoring.
I would say I was up early the next morning, but as I never really went down it’s kind of a misnomer. We managed a pretty good spread of pancakes and scrambled eggs before everyone decided to cut their losses, beat the heat, and head home early.
“Next time? Cabins.”, Jodie suggested.
“Right?”, I agreed absent-mindedly. My exhausted mind theorizing where in the garage I could re-entomb my collection of tents and camping gear so that they would never, ever, be discovered again.
It has now been six months since my oncologist paused my treatments for prostate cancer and it remains undetectable. My doctor calls it a treatment “holiday”, and it’s one holiday I never want to return from.
I had forgotten what it’s like to have energy. I started running again, something I thought I’d never be able to do after recovering from surgery, radiation, and having zero testosterone for two years. I’ve also started playing paddle ball and pickleball a couple times a week, too. On some days I probably push myself a little too hard, but for me, applying a ice pack and swallowing an Ibuprofen is more symbolic of me being fixed than being broken. Life is good.
One day in particular that I am looking forward to is Saturday, September 17th. On that day my family, friends, and I will be walking in the 2022 ZERO Prostate Cancer Walk at De Anza Cove Park in Mission Bay. Last year, we, as “Team Vandervort”, raised $4,134, making us the second highest fundraising team in San Diego. We were also the second largest team with 44 people participating in the walk. This year I am hoping that we can do even better and I have set our fundraising goal for $5,000 and would love to have a team of at least 50 people. If you’d like to join us please go here and register.
In my defense, she did encourage me to swing harder.
My family and I were recently introduced to Paddleball by Jayme, my sister-in-law. Jayme and my wife, Jodie, were avid racquetball players before the onslaught of our children. A few months ago Jayme started playing a similar sport, called Paddleball, with a group at the local High School on Saturdays. She invited me to join her, and, naturally, I said “maybe”. My history with racquet sports isn’t a pretty one. I was the kid in high school that spent more time fishing tennis balls out of the bushes than hitting them. I was also the dude who screamed like a girl every time I played indoor racquetball with Jayme or Jodie. Simply put : They’re good. I’m not good. But, it’s more than a machoistic thing…
“I’m really not a fan of claustrophobia, 80mph balls, and swinging racquets in close quarters”, I told Jayme.
“It’s not a racquet, it’s a paddle”, Jayme encouraged me.
“And, it’s outdoors”, she continued.
“And, the ball is softer and doesn’t travel as fast.”, she finished.
“Maybe.”, I replied.
I eventually did join her, not to play, but because my youngest daughter, Kaylee, who had been going with Jayme, wanted me to meet “Grogu”, the “cutest puppy in the whole world” that frequented the courts. And, Kaylee was right, of course. Grogu absolutely was the cutest puppy in the whole world. But, I ended up playing a couple rounds of Paddleball, too, and, as expected, hit several balls over the wall in the process. But, everyone encouraged me to keep playing and had tips on how to improve my game. I remember coming home, sore and tired, but excited to tell Jodie all about it.
Fast forward a couple of months and Jodie and I now have our own paddles, made by Gearbox, a set of balls, portable chairs, and lots of new friends. We play Saturdays with the San Diego Elite Paddleball Group.
drawnandcoded.com 