Ride. Amusement park ride. A fantasy world/life with coke cans and paper trash under the tilt-a-whirl. So much work, it didn't all get done. So much tragedy my own personal one(s) don't rate. The studio/business is built for speed, built to win.
But not if I play hookey. Yet I must get some leisure time in, some yoga etc. or I will implode. I am imploding. No one comments on my blogs, but I bet somebody is reading.
Don't read this part:
I like how my singing voice sounds after I take opiates. Raspy like Ray Charles. Soulful even. So when I make the new record -- record ha! -- Mr. Eclectic, Unplugged is the working title, I may or may not opiate (a verb). Drugs smell sweet children, said Mrs. Hilldebrand, 12th grade English. Then she ran off with another (married I think) teacher. Then ran back and continued teaching. Newspaper in the tunnel of love. She was totally against drugs, hippies, the whole schmear.
I have no love life. I have no hate death. I am lonely, and I am a hero. And I am a schmuck. And I am disappointed in everyone. Everyone. Well no, not everyone. Just work stuff. The kids are great. Especially all of them. It's just....for me...The ride is too scary. I have always detested amusement parks. But, must admit, basically have a lot to be grateful for. Since this is all just a dream. A house of clouds.
The baby needs to stay off the roller coaster. The god of hellfire will return to the mystic east (England) soon. We will continue to play wrong notes. All of us. And we will envy the success of our colleagues. I have no cash. Ever. But I am taking steps to rectify financial distress. And I'm getting a physical Friday. I'm afraid of the nurse. Monica. Her name means nickname. How good can she be? How many tickets for the physical ride? Don't like cotton candy stripers. Don't fish.
Hooked.
Mr. Eclectic. On the spin cycle. Worm me out!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Fiber
I have added fiber to my diet. Guess why. Right! I like that cereal little Meggie likes, Post shredded wheat n bran -- combined often with milk. Not sure my system (by this I mean my body) likes the milk part....
I'm having so much fun lately it's sad. Poor Bob in San Jose is not having fun like me. My fun is anomalous. If I were still happily married I would not be having this fun. So it is sad fun. All of it.
I went and "taught" a 2+ hour lesson on fiddle and piano to my new friends in Westlake who live in a wonderful house and are possibly happy to see me. I don't charge them for this, since I have no curriculum in place. Though they have learned some stuff. In just 2 weeks! After that I went over to Lamberts, thinking I would see Emily and the Marshall Ford guys and eat a bbq sandwich. And all that came to pass with the added bonus of Matt being there so I could get him a beer and chat, and Erik was there playing great fiddle and let me sit in on Fat Boy Rag.
Then I zipped over to Cafe Caffeine to catch Megan Melara at her monthly thing there. Her gig. Was tired from the sandwich and from being old, but she asked me to sit in, and playing woke me up. She has a throat thing, so she felt she had an off night and quit kind of early. I put a chocolate muffinny thing on top of the bbq (which was already on top of the Post cereal).
Megan's "crowd" is decidedly of a different sexual orientation than me. I feel that I am doing sociological research when I am at her gigs, which shows maybe that I am a sex/racist. The folks all treat me real nice. They just don't want to sleep with me. Except maybe one or two of the guys. But really not even them, since I don't belong to a gym and don't care what clothes I am wearing (this may change). There are babies there whom I cannot explain.
Megan's singing and writing knock my mismatched socks off, throat problem notwithstanding.
After that I went home. At about 2:30 AM I had the worst (perhaps only) stomach cramps I have ever had in my life and spent the next hour in the little room with all the drains in it, wondering if I should call someone before I died.
But I toughed it out, since I am a man of fiber!
I'm having so much fun lately it's sad. Poor Bob in San Jose is not having fun like me. My fun is anomalous. If I were still happily married I would not be having this fun. So it is sad fun. All of it.
I went and "taught" a 2+ hour lesson on fiddle and piano to my new friends in Westlake who live in a wonderful house and are possibly happy to see me. I don't charge them for this, since I have no curriculum in place. Though they have learned some stuff. In just 2 weeks! After that I went over to Lamberts, thinking I would see Emily and the Marshall Ford guys and eat a bbq sandwich. And all that came to pass with the added bonus of Matt being there so I could get him a beer and chat, and Erik was there playing great fiddle and let me sit in on Fat Boy Rag.
Then I zipped over to Cafe Caffeine to catch Megan Melara at her monthly thing there. Her gig. Was tired from the sandwich and from being old, but she asked me to sit in, and playing woke me up. She has a throat thing, so she felt she had an off night and quit kind of early. I put a chocolate muffinny thing on top of the bbq (which was already on top of the Post cereal).
Megan's "crowd" is decidedly of a different sexual orientation than me. I feel that I am doing sociological research when I am at her gigs, which shows maybe that I am a sex/racist. The folks all treat me real nice. They just don't want to sleep with me. Except maybe one or two of the guys. But really not even them, since I don't belong to a gym and don't care what clothes I am wearing (this may change). There are babies there whom I cannot explain.
Megan's singing and writing knock my mismatched socks off, throat problem notwithstanding.
After that I went home. At about 2:30 AM I had the worst (perhaps only) stomach cramps I have ever had in my life and spent the next hour in the little room with all the drains in it, wondering if I should call someone before I died.
But I toughed it out, since I am a man of fiber!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Need and Cushions
I was going to write about need. About how if we need something, we are automatically needy. And nobody likes needy. Yet we do. But I'm not going to write about that.
Instead: The Saga of the Pillow Thing
4 or 5 decades ago Mr. and Mrs. Kaye (the first Mrs Kaye even?) purchased a nice couch, long enough for a 6-footer to sleep on, comfy. Don't know what those pillow parts are actually called, but you know those firm yet cushy pillow parts -- the ones you sit on, lie on, not the smaller ones in back of you that you sit back on. Those are actually pillows I think. I guess the bigger ones are called cushions -- maybe they're all cushions. You get the idea though.
So. The couch lived in Atlanta for a long time. It saw Kaye girls grow I think. It probably saw the first Mrs. Kaye become ill and disappear. And then a new Mrs. Kaye and more children, mostly girls. Lots of Atlanta folks sat on that couch. Some drank wine. Some did not. The pillow parts (cushions?) had removable/washable covers, and they were fersure removed and washed a few times over the years.
Then all the Mr. and Mrs. Kayes were dead, the condo got sold. The couch was old then (2001), but the Levins, who were in charge of the Kaye estate, chose to move el coucho anciento to their house in Buda, Texas "in case anybody in the family wants it at some point." It resides now in Ezra's room. Sort of in the way. A place to sit, but more a place to throw junk. Piles. Ezra does not reside there. In fact mostly who resides in the house in Buda is just old man Levin and some dogs. Oscar, a very fine dog, and Zooey, another very fine dog, sometimes come to visit. Now that Oscar is neutered and fat, he requires special rigging to enable him to leap from the floor up to the bed where he sleeps when he visits. Enter the old white pillow. The old man grabbed one of these pillows and placed it on the floor by the chair next to the bed, so Oscar could make the leap with some grace. Zooey got into some turkey bones or something and had episodes of diarrhea all over the house, notably including a big clump/lump/wad on the old pillow, right in the middle of it in fact. She also peed on it. Or maybe Ringo did that.
Anyway the old man unzipped the cover, removed and washed it, dried it, replaced it over the stuffing. Now the pillow thing is good as new. A bit of the stuffing came loose. No biggie. That good old Atlanta stuffing will make it to the Creedmoor Dump within a week. A bit sad? Nah. No one really needed it.
No one in their right mind throws away something they need.
Instead: The Saga of the Pillow Thing
4 or 5 decades ago Mr. and Mrs. Kaye (the first Mrs Kaye even?) purchased a nice couch, long enough for a 6-footer to sleep on, comfy. Don't know what those pillow parts are actually called, but you know those firm yet cushy pillow parts -- the ones you sit on, lie on, not the smaller ones in back of you that you sit back on. Those are actually pillows I think. I guess the bigger ones are called cushions -- maybe they're all cushions. You get the idea though.
So. The couch lived in Atlanta for a long time. It saw Kaye girls grow I think. It probably saw the first Mrs. Kaye become ill and disappear. And then a new Mrs. Kaye and more children, mostly girls. Lots of Atlanta folks sat on that couch. Some drank wine. Some did not. The pillow parts (cushions?) had removable/washable covers, and they were fersure removed and washed a few times over the years.
Then all the Mr. and Mrs. Kayes were dead, the condo got sold. The couch was old then (2001), but the Levins, who were in charge of the Kaye estate, chose to move el coucho anciento to their house in Buda, Texas "in case anybody in the family wants it at some point." It resides now in Ezra's room. Sort of in the way. A place to sit, but more a place to throw junk. Piles. Ezra does not reside there. In fact mostly who resides in the house in Buda is just old man Levin and some dogs. Oscar, a very fine dog, and Zooey, another very fine dog, sometimes come to visit. Now that Oscar is neutered and fat, he requires special rigging to enable him to leap from the floor up to the bed where he sleeps when he visits. Enter the old white pillow. The old man grabbed one of these pillows and placed it on the floor by the chair next to the bed, so Oscar could make the leap with some grace. Zooey got into some turkey bones or something and had episodes of diarrhea all over the house, notably including a big clump/lump/wad on the old pillow, right in the middle of it in fact. She also peed on it. Or maybe Ringo did that.
Anyway the old man unzipped the cover, removed and washed it, dried it, replaced it over the stuffing. Now the pillow thing is good as new. A bit of the stuffing came loose. No biggie. That good old Atlanta stuffing will make it to the Creedmoor Dump within a week. A bit sad? Nah. No one really needed it.
No one in their right mind throws away something they need.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Mail Menopause
Only recently uncovered, dissed and doubted, but it's real, oh too real:
Mail Menopause. When mail gets to that certain age, it just starts falling out of the box. Sweating. It can get angry and often asks for money, sometimes lots of it. Hormone replacement works well, but who's gonna get a complimentary Wall Street Journal or National Geographic to remember to take a pill every morning? No, it's a real toughie. And decades-long relationships hang in the balance. Folks tell their mail, "Don't make any important decisions -- you're not in your right zipcode!" Homeland Security is at a loss. And FedEx won't touch them. Some pieces of mail actually shower twice or three times a day. Doesn't matter if they become illegible. People are scared to read them anyway....
There's nothing to do but wait it out. With compassion. Maybe get a hobby. Collect porn. But not stamps, not postcards! Use email. Or just don't communicate at all. It gets better. Really it does.
Mail Menopause. When mail gets to that certain age, it just starts falling out of the box. Sweating. It can get angry and often asks for money, sometimes lots of it. Hormone replacement works well, but who's gonna get a complimentary Wall Street Journal or National Geographic to remember to take a pill every morning? No, it's a real toughie. And decades-long relationships hang in the balance. Folks tell their mail, "Don't make any important decisions -- you're not in your right zipcode!" Homeland Security is at a loss. And FedEx won't touch them. Some pieces of mail actually shower twice or three times a day. Doesn't matter if they become illegible. People are scared to read them anyway....
There's nothing to do but wait it out. With compassion. Maybe get a hobby. Collect porn. But not stamps, not postcards! Use email. Or just don't communicate at all. It gets better. Really it does.
Monday, January 7, 2008
cancer
Not just an astrological sign anymore, cancer is the scariest. My partners's dear wife has some sort of carcinomas and that sucks. My mom died of the crap, so I can talk.
I have trouble being serious though, so please don't get mad.
There is some poop psychology/holistic science voodoo out there now, quite related to my last post actually without my knowing about it. Something about UT finishing a study that says that stress/negative emotions/really mostly ANGER
is the number one cause of cancer. Obvious bullshit. But what's funny is this. I came to the realization that everybody is probably angry all the time! I know I am. Either I am self-destructing in anger, or being snidely whiplash with anger, or working AA steps to "find my part in it" so as not to drink from the #1 offender: resentment (that's when you re-feel anger, re-sentiment) hahahahahahahahahahaha. And all that anger we all carry (and "stuff") from our childhood because we didn't get to be loved enough by a mother or father or bro or sis or (in my case) the large groups of neighbor kids who sat on me and spit. Man that pissed me off. People even get pissed about their grades. Their pay. Their job or lack thereof. The fact that they build a life with somebody and do something stupid or look ugly a few times and then their God-destined love of their life leaves and shops a bunch at Target. Which is disappointing all around.
Target causes cancer. Worse than agent orange.
Breasts cause cancer, especially breast cancer, but lack of breast-feeding is what started me being pissed off.
Enough about me. What caused your cancer? Don't let it be rage at me. I'm just the messenger.
Oddly though, I don't seem to have any cancer. Just a few cysts and boils and an unbearable amount of emotional growth.
Pisser. I know what you're thinking...."Emotional growth, my ass!" It's benign though.
I have trouble being serious though, so please don't get mad.
There is some poop psychology/holistic science voodoo out there now, quite related to my last post actually without my knowing about it. Something about UT finishing a study that says that stress/negative emotions/really mostly ANGER
is the number one cause of cancer. Obvious bullshit. But what's funny is this. I came to the realization that everybody is probably angry all the time! I know I am. Either I am self-destructing in anger, or being snidely whiplash with anger, or working AA steps to "find my part in it" so as not to drink from the #1 offender: resentment (that's when you re-feel anger, re-sentiment) hahahahahahahahahahaha. And all that anger we all carry (and "stuff") from our childhood because we didn't get to be loved enough by a mother or father or bro or sis or (in my case) the large groups of neighbor kids who sat on me and spit. Man that pissed me off. People even get pissed about their grades. Their pay. Their job or lack thereof. The fact that they build a life with somebody and do something stupid or look ugly a few times and then their God-destined love of their life leaves and shops a bunch at Target. Which is disappointing all around.
Target causes cancer. Worse than agent orange.
Breasts cause cancer, especially breast cancer, but lack of breast-feeding is what started me being pissed off.
Enough about me. What caused your cancer? Don't let it be rage at me. I'm just the messenger.
Oddly though, I don't seem to have any cancer. Just a few cysts and boils and an unbearable amount of emotional growth.
Pisser. I know what you're thinking...."Emotional growth, my ass!" It's benign though.
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