I won’t be posting until after I get home from Mission tomorrow; it’s time for the festival out there with my current and previous coworkers, including no fewer than two bosses, and which involves stringed instruments, alcohol and the World’s Best Campfireâ„¢. Yup, read and go all soft and porous with envy, why don’t you, except my parents, who don’t play anything, don’t drink anything and have central heating, thanks. On second thought, since virtually all of my friends don’t really consume that much in the way of Al K Hall, maybe nobody envies me, but tonight I will stand in front of my buddies and warble “An Evening of Serious Drinking” which is the hymn which, by custom and tradition these many hallowed years, is the way we start things off properly. I wrote it for Brother Jerome, but the world can share. Really, I should post that on Youtube, and I should probably post “Catnip on my Shoes”, a brilliant and mercifully brief song about drugging the neighbourhood felines. That and, “Call me Foolhardy” and “The Weekend’s Over” and a number of other, ah, selected shorts.
One of the worst things about being a songwriter is being very good at it, the actual song writing, because not to put too fine a point on it, I am good at it – with a caveat, or several. I am productive, I have good scansion and hummable tunes, I can haz talent. BUT, and this is an ongoing trial, I can’t make up good names for my songs to save my life. (One of my songs has three names, but everybody just calls it “That thing about phones”) Also, I don’t do bridges. Some gals don’t do windows (preferring the penguins, I assume) but I can’t write bridges. In fact, one time my old buddy DJD said “Your songs never have bridges,” and in a fit of pique (pique being one of my motivational factors, in case you hadn’t noticed) I wrote a song with a bridge. The lyrics to the bridge, just to demonstrate my immense childishness, run as follows:
“A bridge, a bridge is what I see
No more analysis, one more river to cross
A bridge (a bridge, a bridge) is what I seeeeeee
No more analysis, one last river to crawwwwwwwwwwss”
and then that final ‘s’ elides into the first word of the second last verse.
I got stuck on that verse, I remember, and Paul said, damn’ song’s too dark, lighten it up a little, so I wrote a really cheerful last verse which did cheer it up and which (in keeping with my self-restriction) doesn’t mention the gender of the partner being quoted. I try to write songs which are non-sexist that way – try it sometimes, it’s a bear to do without sounding awkward.
Speaking of Paul, he appeared during the night and loaned me some camping equipment (I was asleep – it magically appeared in the kitchen). He’s off to Arlington for the Airshow this weekend, and it’s much fun I wish him, along with Robof9 and Graham (not previously mentioned in this blog, a coworker who is an Extreme Aviation Enthusiast) who are also going down, all separately. Anyway, I thank Paul bigtime as he has just made my life markedly easier.
Keith was over last night. The fizzy water he bought ended up all over the kitchen. He flailed around claiming that he’s a blight upon our household. He’s not, he’s just got the adorableness and gainliness of a Lab puppy. He went to Karate because he is directed and focussed and has an exercise program, and I keeled over. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I keep wanting to go to bed at nine pm.
More Buffy – this one was Reptile Boy. Also the shootemup at the end of Hot Fuzz which is, you’ll admit, a modern classic.
The really tart strawberries out front of the house are actually starting to sweeten up. Peggy brought raspberries over on her way to Ben’s two night’s ago, and they are mighty fine eating. I see there’s a couple of cherries and strawberries in there too – she brought me a summerbowl of Red, she did, and much thanks.
I appear to have blown a fuse in the kitchen. There weren’t more than the usual number of things operating, so it was irritating, and I don’t want to go downstairs and reset the fuse, because I’m lazy, but I s’pose Jeff shouldn’t have all the fun.
I light a candle for Deb for friendship, for Jeff, Keith, Paul and Katie; for the Luddite, snuffling through a long lived summer cold; me m0m and p0p; Gran, Mary, Dave and Barry; Alex, Rob and Darwin; Patricia, LGTW and ScaryClown who has to take Anger Management classes so I CAN HARDLY WAIT for Monday lunch and his exposition on the subject,8\); Dax, Suzanne and the rest of her brood; the downstairs neighbours, who apparently are moving out in August; a friend of Jeff’s; Mike & Heather; Rob and Char, the founders of the Mission Alcoholic Prep School; Tom and Peggy; drfilk and LMB; Chipper, Gerald and the ‘lurking Aunty’; Katie and Al Sather; Chris the chef; Ky his assistant; Tammy OF COURSE OMG I should phone her; for the man I know who recently found out VIA EMAIL that his mother had died, while collecting his email at a friend’s place, and how fracking horrid is that, dear friends; Jerome, Shannon; Glenn, Maggie; Jim P, Carly and Jan; Cousin Greg & his hockey crazed family (they all play hockey, isn’t that adorable?); for everybody laid off at the other office, and I am sad that I can’t write more about that in a public forum; for everyone I know currently struggling with depression and anxiety, and man, that makes for quite a list. Shoot, I missed the cats, Eddie and Gizmo. And if YOU’RE feeling cheerful right now, please allow a minute to fully experience and be grateful for it.
