JFK assassination was before my time, but remained a strong subject in my youth and from thus born my first "rebellious" notion regarding blind faith conformity.
Alice In Wonderland.
Won't be long now before I'm writing beatnik poems about hanging out with Walt Whitman at a California supermarket. Cheers to you Mr. Ginsberg!
I'm looking forward to seeing Kill Your Darlings with Daniel Radcliffe.
Below: Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady On The Road.
The two men responsible for the woman I am today, well sort of.
The modern version of Ginsberg's A Supermarket In California would be me racing $400 battery operated Feber Ferraris with Joaquin Phoenix at Walmart.
Bring your A-game Mr. Phoenix!
I'll call my rendition Drive hard. Smoke the Phoenix. Clean up on isle 7.
I've been consumed, overwhelmed as of late.
It took three tries but I finally saw last Monday's episode of Sleepy Hollow. Loved it. Crushing hard on Tom Mison as Ichabod Crane.
The past hour was spent chasing around the Ginger Pussy. After feeding him he knocked over his water bowl, then kitty puked, then filled the litter box, then knocked over the new bowl of water, then ran around in the hallway when I threw out the kitty poo, then had a meow fit, then ran around the condo knocking over all the dining room chairs. I'm jealous of the cat's energy!
I got my flu shot, up my nose, both nostrils. First time getting the flu shot that way.
Made it to the Beverly Center yesterday. Riding up the escaladers, looking out the giant glass window, directly at the Sofitel Hotel. Smiled. Big, big smile. One year ago January.
Sigh.
January. Another year older, and only wiser because I'm too busy and boring to be anything else.
My nights have been spent staying in, late, beat, tired, passing out on the sofa with the TV on, 20 pound cat sitting on my legs licking himself (show off!), last night it was a bottle of Apothic red. I have 60 pages left in the book I'm reading Bad Things Happen by Harry Dolan. I know "who did it" so I've completely lost interest now, but I'll finish it anyway. I was eager to read Hollywood Said No by Bob Odenkirk, David Cross, and Brian Posehn, but heard it wasn't a good read. Really?? We'll see.
For so many years I've merely been a voice on the phone, an email, a name on an invoice, but since I've been out and about kissing hands and shaking babies it's interesting seeing the reaction on peoples' faces when we meet. I'm getting used to it.
"Wow you're cute!"
What do you say to that exactly?
"Uh. Thank you ... ??"
I'm neurotic, to me it sounds like a polite way of saying, "Wow I thought you'd be ugly!" followed by a very forward, big teeth smiling face, wide eyed, full arm thrust hand shake. The first time someone came at me that way I was a little scared. Not scared like chloroform, park bench, stolen black market kidney scared, but close. When people come at me with eager full affection, I take a Musubi dachi heiko stance of cynical paranoia. No one should be that happy to see me, ever! Unless of course I'm shopping. Then I like it.
"The world has turned into a cesspool of filth and decay. Now where's my Bourbon?!"
I'm trying to talk my friend, a writer, into scripting something of our own to pitch. He's one of those guys who's got a ton of talent but requires a lot of romancing. Here we go! Where's my chapstick?
I was contacted by Google yesterday.
I have one of the highest search engine blog hits.
Update 4,491 blog hits since I started writing 4 weeks ago.
Thank you!
If I knew Google kept count of their search engine hits I would have titled my blog -- HOT DIRTY FREE SEX WEED METH LAB CAT TORPEDOES
Next time.
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