A Phew Phriday Phindings
OK, I had a large light roast coffee with a shot of expresso…epspresszo…um, “wake-up juice,” so I just want to voice some random thoughts. By the way, the nice lady at my coffee shop called me a “mensch” this morning. I’m going to need several dictionaries and my conversation pants.
- I’m working on a little side project that requires me to come up with 27 seconds of “baseball music.” That’s it, “baseball music.” That’s kinda vague, isn’t it? That’s a little like telling a drummer to “lay down a groove.” I’m keeping my fingers crossed that “baseball music” loosely translates into “something I wrote eight years ago,” but probably not. How much do you wanna bet I’ll be cycling through the “organ” patches on my keyboard? Take that one to the bank, people.
- I’ve mentioned that I’m a part-time musician (Oh, I’m pretty sure I have.) Since I left the band last summer, I’m finding that I need contextual clarification whenever someone suggests I “keep on rocking.” I believe it’s still considered a compliment, but it may simply be a helpful suggestion in case I look like I’m tipping slightly. Just to be safe, I’ll “keep on rocking,” but I’ll stop if it starts to upset passersby. I might be over-thinking this.
- Indie & Bear are not amused by the new snow we got this morning. Not even a little. Bear gave me his typical Will Smith-like, “Oh Hell no! You did NOT send me out into that snow!” I told him, “hey, if you don’t like it, you’re welcome to stay with a nice Arizona family. Oh, you don’t KNOW anyone in Arizona? Well, maybe you should calm down then. And I’m not a yutz!” Most of our conversations go that way.
- I’m hankerin’ for a big ‘ol bag of mini-donuts. Seriously, I’ll give a “shout-out” (as the kids like to say) to anyone who can hook that up.
- The local news rag had a big article featuring Ashlee Simpson yesterday. Apparently she has red hair now, or she bought a pantsuit, or something. Um, I can remember a time when getting caught lip-syncing on TV would have made someone, you know, go away.
- Surprisingly, I’m finding that I need a haircut; take THAT, everyone who ever called me “Baldo McGillicuddy!” You know who you are, ya bastards! (Sorry. Coffee.)
- Finally, I can no longer hide my disappointment that I’m rarely introduced as “The Step-Brother of Funk.”
There, I said it.