"Pickled sausage isn't on my Wake-Me-Up Stuff list."
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Glory be. I'm back. I imagine I've been put right on the cusp of being completely forgotten. I could hardly blame you. I almost forgot myself. First, my laptop (which oddly rarely found its way to my lap) was struck by lightning. This is not , I'm sure you'll agree, all that conducive to a blogger's life. I was still able to access my poetry, scripts, musings, etc. but was unable to connect to the Internet. The techies were no help either, over the phone, as on their end of things it registered as "connected." Heck, even on my end, the blame thing was...
Oh, I'm still around…
I'm currently experiencing technical difficulties, but rest assured, I've got blogs coming... The Lord, ever, do I have blogs coming: all about flying (yuck!), why I think the Electric Department cares what I do, and of course, the Impending Arrival of Siciliana... At the moment, though, I have to go sing at a funeral. And figure out what's wrong with my computer. The idea of writing on a borrowed one seems too...
That time I was in a Sartre play: part of a memoir, sort of.
I'm considering penning a memoir. I'm serious. I'm sure there's a finer art to it than what I'm putting to paper. No, I know there is as evidenced by PaperGirlMemoir's blog. I enjoy her blog, among several others, those detailing their writing journeys. I suppose she's serving as a "model," though she has a much better, cleaner handle on how to go about writing one than I do. I tend to ramble. (I'm pretending it's my style, so don't say anything). At first, I thought, why on earth would I think anyone wants to read a memoir by me. And then, I...
How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…
![Link to How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…](http://cleverkris.com/wp-content/themes/psm/scripts/timthumb.php?src=http://cleverkris.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/mind-analysis.jpg?w=92&h=250&w=250&zc=1)
I have been intensely busy, lately. Not just by hand, either. My mind...it often goes into Mach 7 when I attempt to procrastinate (by the way, the word "procrastinate," itself, is ironic - I mean, by the time you write the word out, you could have done something already - it's not a word for the lazy), and the only thing I can physically do to make it stop is to sleep (even though my dreams are usually full of anger when I do that - last night, for instance...ouch!), but if I don't stop it, from time to time, it just runs all...
And, for the record, I really like my shower curtain.
Last night. Oh, my, last night... Full house. Standing ovation. Sheer exhaustion. After party. Kudos. The usuals. Totally worth it...all the rehearsals, which in this case were rather tightly thrown together and quickly so, and the lines...oh god, the lines...I've never been that close to Shakespeare (he seems standoffish like my cousin Jonathan - sure, sure, he'll speak, he'll pass you the potato salad if you ask him, but he won't really like doing it, and you'll be able to tell from the look on his face, but it'll be a private thing, not broadcast to the whole dinner table). But, last night, Shakespeare...
The philosophy of Frogism.
One time, when I was small child, a friend of mine and I beat frogs to death with red, plastic shovels after a rain storm, mid-afternoon on a Saturday. It was just one of those things that you do when you're a kid. I was never a particularly violent child. Though, perhaps I skirted the state line of crazy for a band of years during my adolescence, like, ages Birth to Present...but, believe me, it's in our blood. I've managed to escape, cleanly enough so far, and that's it's own definition of success. To this day, I pray for those frogs' souls, though. And, for good measure, I...
I can't believe I'm blogging.
But, then, is that really true? Aren't we all, deep down, deliciously wanting to be voyeurs, without a court trial attached; those always take up so much time. What we want is to break a law and get away with it. That's all blogging is, really, an acceptably broken law; windows made of words for the rest of us Peeping Toms to look at. Nobody minds it; no, instead, it's encouraged. Besides, isn't there something just too alluring about showing a little "skin" to the Peeping Toms, to the entire web-viewing world about how you feel, on any particular subject: racism, nudity, Republicans, orange juice,...
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