Happy New Year

It's hip to be sick of blogs. People who don't even read blogs are sick of blogs. I prefer to think they're sick of bad blogs, much as I myself am sick of stupid movies.

We went to Colorado. No, we did not ski. Everyone asks me that.

Sometimes Blogger seems to work. I have no idea now and am ready to commit hari kari over it. I've spent the better part of this week trying to either figure out this FTP Broken Pipe Blogger issue or sitting on the side of the road trying to get my iTrip to tune to a radio frequency that works. Does anyone have any luck with iTrip? Nadav calls it iShit, but then Nadav is prone to melodrama.

LA and I will have been married for 12 years this upcoming Sunday (Elvis would've been 71). I feel like it was just yesterday that we sat on the steps of the train station in Venice. She was going to call her mom, but she didn't. She walked up and sat down next to me and said "Yes." Of course, this was over twelve hours after I'd initially asked her. Her initial response had been "I have a headache." I slept like a baby that night and she tossed and turned. Cats kept jumping through the open window and getting stuck in the blinds.

I've had five out of eleven journals/lit mags send rejections for the last story I sent out. Some of them are very nice. They tell me to try them again next year. They also tend to say I have a strong voice. FUUUUUUCKKKKKKK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU PEOPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLEEEE. Was that loud enough? Did you hear my voice?

King Kong is one stupid overlong piece of shit. Why in king hell do movie critics persist in handing Peter Jackson accolades? I literally fell asleep. We considered leaving during the intermission(!), but LonAnne wanted to see the ape killed so we had to wait till the very end. On the good side, I watched Fitzcaraldo on Bearden's recommendation and liked it. I think Klaus Kinski would make a good King Kong.

Our friend Joe Rank was in the hospital, but he's doing better now. Joe, as some might remember, has ALS and has been kicking the darkness on that bitch for going on three years (I think it's been three years) now. I hate it when people say they're prayers are with you. It's like saying "Good luck." What else can you say? It's almost become the wallpaper of despair. Our prayers are with you. We're so very concerned. Yeah, I can feel your prayers. They're sitting right here beside me. But what I've realized is that it is better to say something like that than to give in to the notion that we're all alone. Maybe we are all alone in the end. But goddamned if we don't cling to each other in the meantime. It also isn't necessarily for the bereaved that people say this. They say this to have something to say. They say this so they don't feel so helpless. They say this on the offchance that someone is listening and Someone does care. Better to light a candle than curse the darkness. So, our prayers are with him and Linda and their beautiful kids.

I'm so sick of blogs.

The return of Knut Hamsun. I've mentioned him before, but I highly recommend Hunger.

Christmas books on the bedstand...

Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn
High Lonesome by Barry Hannah
The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene
Norwood by Charles Portis
Selected Stories of Phililp K. Dick
Whatever by Michel Houellebecq
Super Flat Times by Matthew Derby

TWA in 2010.



Thomas had a gig at a friend's shop in Salado last Saturday. He played guitar while shoppers from the Christmas Stroll came through. We put out a tip hat and he made $57. Most Austin musicians don't make that much money for a gig. Several little girls put $5 tips in the hat. "If I had $100, I'd put that in there," one of them said to the other as they left. Naturally, I've decided to quit my day job, give up writing and become Thomas' agent.

We're going back up there today for another set and tomorrow he has a recital at La Tazza Fresca on Guadalupe in Austin. His instructor told us Thomas makes him look good so he wants him to do both recitals (this Sunday and next). Now I just need to work on William with the drums. However, Mike's working Wes on the drums, so maybe we should focus on bass. Talk about a power group. Thomas on lead, Lilly singing, Wes on drums and William on bass. We'll start taking names now.

Scott Adam has a blog.

I esp. enjoyed his tips for debating on the Internet.

Poem of the...month.

Fucking poets.

The quickest way to a man's heart really is through his stomach, because then you don't have to chop through that pesky rib cage.
- J. Jacques

I dredged up my old site.

That's so 2002.

Items we cannot have at William's Kindergarten "Winter Party" due to the fact that somebody might find them offensive:

-Any likeness of Santa Claus. Santa cookies. Santa hats. Reindeer. Some parents have complained.
-Candy canes. Apparently there is some religious symbology there. I don't even want to look this up to be honest.
-Christmas tree ornaments. Ornaments are fine, just don't indicate that you're going to hang them on a Christmas tree.
-Any mention of Christmas, Kwanzaa or Hanukah.

To which I have added my own list:

-Snow. I fucking hate snow.
-Snowmen. Clearly there is an implicit sexism inherent in calling them snowMEN, not to mention the fact that they represent a paganistic worship of DEMON POSSESSION. You think that magic swirly stuff that brought Frosty to life was just the first wind of winter? Wrongo, my friend. That was Satan.
-Gingerbread houses. Seriously, gingerbread houses are known to cause all sorts of diseases. I saw one gingerbread house cause an outbreak of syphillis. Seriously. And who lives in gingerbread houses anyway? (see next line)
-Elves. Elves scare the crap out of me. And without Santa, what good are they?
-Egg nog. I love egg nog, but I tend to mix it with hard alcohol and then things get blurry. Plus, I don't think they allow hard alcohol up at the school.