This morning, laying in bed, we heard a man outside singing opera. The unusual local celebrity had been mentioned the previous night in passing, so it was only perfectly coincidental that the very next day we heard him.
And on a completely different note, who could have guessed that the first song we would dance our asses off to would be Spirit in the Sky?
Growing up as a naively tough kid, I did my share of ignorant things to feel better about myself. One of those things was to insult a classmate who lived nearby. He was a few years younger and had skipped a grade when he transferred to my school. He was overweight, intelligent, and in every way undeserving of anything I said of him. But when I found out that he was adopted, for some reason I said that his mother didn’t love him.
His mother, already over-protective, called my house when he came home in tears that day. I did not want her to speak to my mother, so I pressed the handset down on the cradle gently, then picked it back up. She was still there. So I unplugged the telephone from the wall, then ran upstairs to unplug the one in the office too. But it was ringing. And by the time I got there, they were talking.
When we are ashamed of something we’ve done, sometimes we spend more effort trying to hide it than simply to face it. When you spend all your time covering your tracks, you make no progress forward.
Tomorrow, my friend Kim is getting married. Randy and his main squeeze are currently en route to Vancouver while I impatiently wait for the workday to end. I’m looking forward to a fantastic weekend of wine and dance with my good friends, their main squeezes, and my own.
The rest of the weekend is going to be put to work with a bullwhip. I stayed up well past my bedtime last night working on the Great Big Project, and with several more hours of work I should have a completed draft of the outline. When it’s out of the way, my first priority will be to re-design thetrigger.net, then focus on writing and recording music. With that finished, I’ll focus on more writing, such as the novel that’s been brooding in my mind longer than the Great Big Project. I’d make a poor Ahab with all these whales swimming about.
On two final notes, the music video I was in will be premiering on August 20th at The Anza Club, and I started a blog dedicated to my dirty fridge magnet poetry called Crass Language. It updates every other day, so check it out and have a chuckle!
This was the night I went to an out-of-control house party. Some young pup said it was advertised on local punk message boards, so there were kids of all ages and drugs of all sorts. Me, I had my usual two bottles of pre-mixed whiskey, that way I couldn’t drink more than I should. Someone else would have benefited from that same forethought.
While local hardcore punk bands raged in the basement, some kid no older than 12 was being fed drink after drink by some older guys. He had a friend with him that he wouldn’t listen to, a friend that couldn’t find him later on. He looked everywhere, asked everyone. I didn’t know where the kid had gotten to either.
Later on, when the crowd first began to thin, someone found the kid passed out behind a couch. His friend was sitting next to him, patient, keeping the troublemakers away. Sometimes the best thing a friend does isn’t even noticed.
It is a very infrequent instance when I delete an entry. In fact, I can’t think of a single time I’ve ever done that. This is why I’ve kept the last entry up. But edited. I posted it in lieu of having something meaningful to write, in trying out new types of content. However. Over the last few days, I’ve felt a whole bunch of guilt regarding this. The content wasn’t mine and that’s what this site is about.
I received a text message last night. Somewhere back in March, a friend asked me to be in a music video she was directing. Continued…
