All day I lived under the pretense of Friday, but the sad reality is that it is only Thursday night and I am up too late.
I did not get all the things I wanted to get done today, but I got some of those things done, and maybe it's important to make ambitious to-do lists knowing that you will only accomplish half of it, laboring under false productive pretenses. I finally started writing Other World, after too much beer, too many cigarettes, too many distractions, and one conversation regarding my ex's maligned bicycle, which devolved into...well, into the usual (Whatever that means). It is both hurtful and helpful to speak with him, but it's good to know that he suffers similarly. He is, after all, one of my best friends.
Today Michael Jackson died, which strikes me more than the death of Farrah Fawcett and much much more than the death of Ed McMahon, which is to say that it does not strike me more than an inconvenience as folks remember him on the Hollywood Walk of Fame where I happen to make my home. Other people died today, but no one knows their names.
What I want to know is...so when are the Dandy Warhols recording their cover of "Black Bird," hm? (I have to give my ex credit for this one.)
And you're invited! (Click on the flier for details!)
| Contact | MySpace | Facebook | Twitter | Photography |
Posts
1 comment:
You are too young for any of these people to actually mean anything much to you. If you were a young man in the 70's (or a young woman I suppose) you had a poster of Farrah Fawcett in your bedroom (sometimes on the ceiling), you danced to MJ's music and, if you stayed up late enough, you caught Johnny Carson doing his thing with Ed as the ever-suffering sidekick. It's a generational thing, no need to understand it: it is what it is.
Post a Comment