Monday Morning Blues

I apologize for not posting this weekend, but I was getting lights put in my dungeon. Yes, I have a new writing spot that's ALL MY OWN. We've been here for two years, and I've yet to have a place to go where it's quiet. Not unlike Cheers, everyone knows my name is "MOM!!!" and usually it's bellowed at approximately 48 decibels, several decibels louder than whatever is CURRENTLY BEING BROADCAST ON CARTOON NETWORK. (Does anyone else think Cartoon Network is of the devil?).

Anywho, we have a basement. A warm, basement with old stone walls and a pock-marked floor, and there's mysterious closets with clips. Not sure what was clipped in the closets, but let's just say, it'd make a fine haunted house at Halloween. So, my dh, being the loveable dh that he is, put in lights down in the main room. And I have a white board, and a cork board, and index cards, my computer, net access, a desk, and rocker. If I get incredibly motivated, I'll take pictures so everyone can see our dungeon, but not today.

In today's news, Paris Hilton's Sidekicked got sidehacked. Hunter S. Thompson shot himself. I'm assuming the two are not related. Pres Bush was secret taped and it sounds like he smoked pot in his wilder days. Is anyone surprised by this? I'm not surprised. In fact, I would be more surprised if he said, "Nah, didn't do the stuff. Too out there." THAT would be news. And that's the end of today's report.

And speaking of movies (blindsided you with my segue, didn't I?), we watched Ray over the weekend, and I thought it was a great movie. I hope Jamie Foxx get's the Oscar, because his performance was IMHO, (and that really is humble, because I don't pretend to know jack about acting), impressive. It was just like watching Ray Charles, which I'm not sure consitutes acting, as much as impersonating, but let me try and extract myself from this passage with my foot not in my mouth. I love the blues, I love the rhythms, the pathos, the whole lifestyle of the blues. And so I made up a song. Here it is, folks, my first (and last) attempt at being a composer:

I Got the Book Coming out Soon Blues

It takes up your mind, takes up your nerves,
waiting to see how the numbers will turn.
You can't sleep at night, you don't make the bed,
no those 400 pages, they mess with your head.

And what do you do? How do you cope?
Hanging on a thread, at the end of your rope,
It's the I got a Book Coming out Soon blues.

The Times, they ain't calling, and Oprah's done gone,
No, the book has to sell on its own merits alone.
You keep one hand at the keys, you're trying to write,
but the words they ain't coming, cause nothing sounds right.

And what do you do? How do you cope?
Hanging on a thread, at the end of your rope,
It's the I got a Book Coming out Soon blues.

The family they know nobody's home,
Your stomach is knotted and the drugs they aren't strong,
The waiting is hardest, cause the future's unknown,
And the dreams are the only thing that keep you... moving on...

And what do you do? How do you cope?
Hanging on a thread, at the end of your rope,
It's the I got a Book Coming out Soon blues.