Ya can't kill him

Many folks have asked about Steve Atkins — my old friend, high school classmate and even one-time co-worker at the C-Mart grocery store in Oglethorpe, Ga. Steve's a tattoo artist in middle Georgia and about a year and a half ago was in a bad motorcycle accident and then recently underwent major heart surgery.

He's improving, but I'm afraid he's gonna have a heart attack when all the medical bills come in. Although, it's apparent Steve can live through anything, which means the bills will have to be paid eventually. When I was in the hospital for two weeks after a car wreck in 2000, I'd get bills for months from every Dr. Tom, Dick and Harry who walked past my room and said "Hi."

If you want to help, they're using PayPal to collect donations for the medical fund. Go to PayPal and use the reference ID atkinztattoo@aol.com.

I haven't seen Steve in months -- not since this photo was taken in October at the Angel City Fall Rally. Pictured, from left are my "sister" Laurie, Steve and my friend Mary Ellen.

Head cases

The Georgia General Assembly (in yet another example why they should just take a year off every now and then and save us tax dollars by not meeting) is now considering a bill that would allow motorcycle riders to ride without wearing helmets. Don't know whether I should weigh in, considering the dichotomy of my views on motorcycles (I have friends who ride them and I have a blast at motorcycle paradise Angel City, and yet I hate unnecessary noise and the way riders get a free pass to speed and break traffic laws in Columbus). But what the heck, I'll weigh in anyway.

I guess I'm gonna have to side with liberty here. You should have the freedom to spill your brains on the highway. But know that it won't be a lot of comfort to the family members you leave behind to know that you died free in an otherwise minor accident. I guess we should only legislate stupidity when it begins to affect other folks.

So, let the wind blow through your hair (or around your bald head for my motorcyclist buddy Gregg) but please don't crack your skull open in front of me on the highway.

I'm going to Angel City

No, that's not some euphemism for dying. Angel City is a Wild West-style motorcycle crazy town in Unadilla, Ga., not far from my hometown of Oglethorpe and my old stomping grounds of Americus. And, yes, I still hate the sounds of motorcycles. But this is their turf, and I'm OK with that. Rev 'em up and make all the noise you want guys and gals. Just don't do it by my house.

Why am I going? My cousin, Shane, is getting married ... or I guess I should say "hitched" since he's getting married in an Angel City saloon with music, drinking and dancing afterward. My wife's worried about dressing down for this event. She doesn't want to appear too casual. "It's a Dixon wedding," I told her. "Shane's wearing jeans, and his bride's rolling in on a Harley."

While my Dad's side of the family goes to church on Sunday mornings and has prim and proper wedding performed by preachers in churches, my Mom's side of the family sleeps in on Sunday until the Falcons game comes on and gets married in saloons and clubs where the brides enter on Harleys or in Corvettes.

I'll be sure to report on Saturday night's events. There are numerous events that happen in Angel City that draw thousands, but this shouldn't be a busy weekend there, so it should look nothing like the photo of Angel City above. Still, I'll be sure to post plenty of notes and photos and happenings from Angel City.

Saggy bottom boys

Columbus Council is currently considering whether to ban the act of "bustin' a sag" -- when young folks make a statement (I'm stooopid) by wearing their jeans waaaay below their waists. Let me say for the record I'm no fan of this style, although I think any thugs "bustin' a sag" who get busted by the cops for any crimes are gonna have a hard time running from the police. Also, I think it helps me identify the stupid. I know that I probably don't need to ask these fools any question more complicated than "Hot enuf for ya?" Keeps me from making a mistake such as asking them for directions.

However, I don't think men who wear sportscoats when it's 100 degrees have any right to decide how other folks ought to dress. You tell me which is more stupid -- showing your drawers or wearing a coat during the summer? I vote for the latter. Anyone who wears a coat, long pants and a constricting tie in the dog days of summer ain't got a whole lot of credibility with me. It sets a terrible example for youth. "It's 100 degrees, grab your coat! And wear this neck decorator, uh, I mean tie. Don't want that head falling off."

And really, do we need another unenforced ordinance on the books? You're already free to toss your cigarette butts on the street (sometimes right in front of police), play your stereo at window-rattling levels and rev your motorcycle as loud as it takes for you to get the attention you so crave and then ride it 110 mph without repercussion.

Desperate for attention

When I was a kid, and Evel Knievel was a hero, I rather liked the idea of owning a motorcycle. I could picture myself cruising the highways of America, going where I wanted and answering to no one. I also pictured me sitting on top of a couple of books so I could reach the handlebars because I was about 9 years old the last time I had the urge.

But as I've gotten older, I've grown to prefer quieter and more peaceful pursuits. Bicycles over motorcycles. Kayaks over Jet Skis. Norah Jones over 2 Live Crew.

But, hey, to each his own ... or her own ... or its own. Unfortunately, a lot of folks who prefer loud over quiet like to thrust their preference upon you, especially with motorcycles these days. And Columbus is a motorcycle mecca. Most motorcyclists are decent folks, including friends and co-workers who might shove a kickstand in my eye if I said otherwise. But many others actually alter their bikes to make them louder, loud enough to rattle windows.

That's fine, too, but do that around the windows of your house on your 100 acres of private property so that it bothers no one else. In fact, save your 110-mph driving and wheelies for there instead of the J.R. Allen Parkway and my neighborhood ... even though it seems to be permitted behavior in this city. In 10 years, I've never seen a sincle motorcyclist pulled over. I guess they get the same free pass that cigarette butt litterers get.

But doing this stuff and rattling windows away from everyone is not what it's about, is it? It's about getting attention and rattling nerves. Like teens with booming car radios, you're desperate for attention. You're desperate to be noticed. Even my son has taken my lead and calls loud motorcycles "notice me bikes." These bikers should get bumper stickers that read "My mother didn't give me enough attention as a child; please give it to me now."

Consider yourself noticed by me, so please steer clear of me with your noise-cycles. I don't care if your mama didn't give you enough hugs as a child. But I do care about hearing myself think. It happens so rarely, I'd hate to miss it.