September 17, 2003
Had an MRI this morning. Fasted for 12 hours and no coffee. Felt surprising okay. Didn’t even have a headache. This is my second MRI, so I was a veteran. Refused (or begged) them not to have my arms over my head when they slid me into the mailing tube. Surprisingly, they acquiesced. Chose jazz to listen to, instead of Howard Stern this time. Not much better. Got real tired of James Earl Jones crooning, “Cooooooool Jazz On The Coyote.” Not sure anything would be soothing with that infernal machine beeping and grinding for a half hour.

Came home last night at about six, walked to the cave with the dogs, then vowed to do two things I didn’t want to do. The first was, swim. Water too cold, but I need the exercise. Did it. Felt good—afterwards. Next, I fired up the VCR and played The Long Riders tape where Robert Carradine and Keith Carradine meet the Pinkertons. Instead of tracing these, I hit pause and sketched the scene in my sketchbook and on several pieces of watercolor paper. Then turned off the tv and worked until around 10, laying in quick washes on top of the loosey goosey sketches. Didn’t even try to get a likeness, just kept my hands moving. I want the scenes to be a direct continuation of Classic Gunfights and I think I’ve got it. I’ll post one of the more odd ones of Keith Carradine pulling a big ol’ hogleg out. It ain’t him exactly, but it’s him, if you know what I mean.

Finished my editorial yesterday afternoon, put in a homage to Johnny Cash. Gus found two old illustrations I did of the Man In Black for our now defunct Old West Journal . Used one on the editorial page.

“Each of us brings to our job, whatever it is, our lifetime of experience, and our values.”
—Sandra Day O’Connor