–The most important thing first: It’s Saturday here, the clock says it’s afternoon but it’s morning for me because it’s a weekend when my daughter isn’t here and I like sleep. Again, after starting a sinkload of dishes to soaking, starting the coffee, using the reading room, having a bowl of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios with a banana cut up into it, I’m here, half an hour later, in front of the computer, feeling like I’m going to have to be the one to entertain, because you ain’t gettin’ it done. You facebook or wordpress or newsfeed people are not giving me interesting or fascinating things to look at. Except you, Beth, we can count on you nearly every day. Thank you for being you. I checked the weather–snow coming tonight, and dreary as hell outside my windows in real life too today. I checked the horoscope–a 5-star day according to Jacqueline Bigar, but that lying bitch said that Monday the 29th of Dec was going to be a 5-star day, the day that my car got smashed-up by an out-of-control car with a stuck accelerator–anything but a 5-star day. No one was hurt, thanks for asking, but it took 4 and a half weeks and the threat of a small claims suit for the other guy’s insurance, which company nickname rhymes with Slam Cam, to state that they will, indeed, pay for my totalled car. I haven’t received the check yet, but it’s supposed to actually come. But not a 5-star day that day nevertheless, so I’m not looking at today’s 5-star prediction as a clue that, not only will I get laid today, but she also will, finally, be the love of my life. And I’ll win some money gambling or something. I rarely gamble; I figure I’ve won the lottery by being Dad to the sweetest little girl in the world. I figure that every typical day, that any of us doesn’t get a terminal diagnosis of some sort, is a lottery win. Doesn’t mean I’m Pollyanna revisited; I hate the dullness of every day, would like to be more fulfilled, but really, if you love your family and have some degree of health, and if your hope for a long life outweighs the nagging dread in the back of your mind that the next unlucky one could be you, those are “lottery wins.” Hell, at my age, if things go in and out of my body in an okay fashion, life is reasonably good.
When may I expect your entertaining blogposts, my lowly internet-entertainment-servants?
–Did you hear that your new car’s engine noises may be fake? Not just to fake us out, but because some, and not just electric cars, are so quiet that people might not be able to hear them coming, so it’s a safety thing too? As Johnny Carson would have said, “It’s a weird, wild wacky new world.” http://tech.slashdot.org/story/15/01/22/1619252/fake-engine-noise-is-the-auto-industrys-dirty-little-secret
–For the first time in 40+ years, I’m not going to watch the Stupid Bowl, out of pure spite. I would love to visit Seattle someday, preferably on one of the few non-gray weeks, but I can’t stand their NFL team, and won’t watch them again until they start steadily sucking. If you’re an NFL fan, you’ll know what I’m talking about right away when I say that one of the reasons I dislike their team is that head coach Pete Carroll is a “Fail-Mary-denier.” Their unstoppable running back, Marshawn Lynch, bless his wacky soul, stated after watching the replay of that game, “We lost that game.” Brady and Belichick–meh–don’t love ’em and don’t hate ’em. Good luck to fans of both teams; I hope the players decide it and not the refs.
–We are celebrity-impressed people, and this is nothing new. It’s something for us to do, right? I don’t “get” the popularity of some actors/actresses, though. Jennifer Lawrence, for instance–the blandest famous person of our time perhaps. Except when she’s all blue. I like that stuff.
–I read Bukowski for the first time in my life at age Fitty-nine, and again, like I am anytime I read a talented wordsmith, am reminded that my, dubious, talents are not worthy. I like to lean towards the silly in my humor attempts at times, but the coarse at other times, and I cannot possibly put anything out anywhere near the level of this snippet from the poem “the 6 foot goddess” from “Love is a Dog From Hell”:
I mount her and tell her,
“I’m going to shoot white hot
juice into you. I didn’t fly all the
way to Galveston to play
or from “one of the hottest”
you boys can keep your virgins
give me hot old women in high heels
with asses that forget to get old.
–Coffee = Prozac, again. Cookies = Prozac. Unfortunately, the buzz, combined with a sedentary weekend lifestyle, becomes so revved-up at times that one needs to bring it back to reality with a bit of alcohol. If I were to quit drinking entirely, I’d have to quite caffeine, or lower it to a dull roar with perhaps one cup of tea, instead of an entire pot of coffee. Get this, it’s Dakota-style weak, half-caff coffee. If I made it as strong as you folks probably do, I’d be doing ape-impressions. In my bathrobe. In the backyard. In the winter. Way too much artificial energy. But it brightens up the gloomiest of weather and the gloomiest of boredom.
–Don’t be afraid to comment. I won’t bite your head off. I like hearing from you. I’m trying to cut my own comment word count down on your blogs, so if I come at you with “Generic congratulatory comment” someday on your posts, it’s not trolling or spam, it’s just that I’m tired of my own trite-ness or volubility, but I want you to know that I like your stuff more than just hitting the like button.
–But the like button is fun to see also.
–Time for a shower and brunch. Thanks for stopping by.