XM radio “Sweet Caroline” by a young new artist named Neil Diamond. You’ll be hearing more about this new talent . . . no, wait, it’s the 60’s station on XM Radio. Any-woo . . . I’m in my office, my Fortress of Solitude. Reason: Savannah’s 10.5 birthday party/sleepover is in full effect. Eleven 10/11 year old girls are in my house, and I’m hiding out in the office with the door closed, typing words and playing video games and listening to (now) James Brown, “Mother Popcorn!” Listen to me white people: Get yourself some James Brown in your collection and get your groove on. It’s okay, it won’t hurt. I promise. James Brown kicks ass.
Earlier today, we split the kids into two groups for a Scavenger Hunt. I had to escort one group around the neighborhood, Deb escorted the other group. Deb’s group won, but on a misunderstanding on the rules. I thought she said we could only get ONE item per house, Deb’s group got as many of the 18 items they could from each house. Needless to say, they won. After the mistunderstanding, it was declared a tie and both groups jumped in the pool for a victory lap and had a great time.
(Kenny Rodgers, “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town”)
After that, I fled to the Hideout Brewery.
The Hideout is the greatest bar in the world (within three miles of my house) and they have great beer that travels less than ten yards from the spot it was brewed. I talked with another patron, Jeff, about old cars, car audio, and we watched Texas Hold-em’ on the TV. I smoked a cigar and had a few beers and relaxed after a relatively slow week.
Check out my new Ted Stevens Explains the Internets page. It kicks ass, and shows you that some of our congressmen are really, really f!cked up. Jesus H. Christ, somebody put this old man in a headlock and take him to the old-folks home already.
(Blood, Sweat & Tears: “Spinning Wheel”)
Any-whoo: I got an appointment tomorrow to fix somebody’s Outlook Express. Yah-hoo.
Luckily, I’m writing again, with a vengeance. My prose are all powerful. My rewrites are astronomical. I am the Lyrical Jesse James. . . . not.
The story I’m writing is pretty good. It’s about demons who tailgate in Dodge Ram pickups, and the guy who “exercises” them out of existence. Uh, that’s a terrible description. Got to read it. When I sell it, I’ll tell you what magazine you need to buy.
Peace in the Middle East Motherf*ckers! Got to go, the fake-ass Wolfman Jack show is on.