2 And to what might just be the world's first oxymoron. Happy Monday anyway. I'm stoked.
3 I slipped a drama unit into the beginning of the new semester. What a GREAT call. It gives me time, for once.
4 I'm beginning to like having time: time to see people, time to do things,and time to play music. I'm trying my hand at the ukulele, if I can ever learn to spell the damned thing.
5 I'm beginning to make some progress. It's a fun switch from guitar to uke, but wonderfully fun.
6 I've been working on Dream a Little Dream, a classic, with music by Fabian Andre and Wilbur Schwandt (who knew?) and lyrics by Gus Kahn.
7 That song swoons, and it works wonderfully on a ukulele.
8 I had time to practice, but after a fashion I put the new toy down for a spell and picked up my Yamaha acoustic.
9 Her name is Annabel.
10 Anybody lookin'?
11 Side note: Guitar players name their guitars. Fact. I've also got Scratch, Black Peter, and Jasmine, to name a few.
12 Annabel almost broke my ulna. That's the smaller of the forearm bones. Only doctors and nurses know the term. Had it been my leg, most people would have heard of the fibula, or calf bone, located on the lateral side of the tibia. I say this because I assume all were once percussion sticks, and therefore consistent with a musical thesis. Latin is everything. I think the point is that when I put down my lil' uke and picked up Annabel, she almost broke my ulna. Difficult to be musical or humerus with a broken ulna. Serious stuff.
Where's that bimbo with the pie?
14 It always gives this Lennonesque sound to things. Very cool, as the jazzy changes and eternal lyrics swirl through the room late at night. This was Saturday night, and the air filled with good vibes. I sang. A pair of shorts fell to the floor. It sounded that good. Or they wanted to find a back door outta the joint. Never sure. It all sounded nice to me.
15 Lotta good dream songs. I worked on that one for a while, 'til I got the swing, then switched to the Joe Brown version of I'll See You in my Dreams from the very wonderful Concert for George, a rock tribute to the great George Harrison a year after he passed. For the record, I kept mixing the two up and decided to go ahead to the next song. I love when the world becomes a benevolent tempest. Happens to Disney princesses all the time.
16 In keeping with the good coincidences that sculpt my days, I was listening to a You Tube that featured Chet Atkins and Mark Knopfler on Friday after school. Chet Atkins is a guitar guru to the uninitiated, and Knop is famous for his sound in Dire Straits. They brought in Phil and Don Everly, and before I knew it, they all jammed All I Have to Do Is Dream. This stopped me in my tracks, because I had been playing around with Dream songs for the past week.
17 I broke into a huge smile. Nothing seemed connected, it was all random and coincidence, but it danced.
18 Bunch of fun stuff.
19 They're all gorgeous songs, but you can't really sing about dreams all the time without thinking they're a great theme for cool tunes.
20 Makes for happy Mondays.
21 But I digress.
22 fasdjkjklklj;j;;jj;jdajfasfdfsdafad
23 Moving On, Part One: Anybody lookin'?
24 It's late Sunday as I compose; I'm thinking of practicing a bit and then nodding off.
25 It's been a wild week, what with Garbage Night and that crazy neighbor chasing me and all...<brrrrrrrinnggggggggg!!!>
26 <whisperwhisperwhisper>
27 That didn't? Oh REALLY?
28 It's for you. I'm too spaced out to deal.
29 Moving On, Part Two: I've deliberately put myself out of touch with everything going on in the world.
30 It isn't that I don't care; it's that I have this amazingly small window of time to get into a little mischief.
31 When school is in session, these moments are few and far between.
32 And when you get to be over "fifty years young" you start getting annoyed at that term.
33 Fortunately, I forget stuff frequently, and write alliteratively about it.
34 When I was young, alliteration was everything.
35 Now I'm sorta meh.
36 Our lives are frittered away with detail.
37 Remember saying that in high school and thinking you were so much cooler than all the other miscreants?
38 Thoreau, dude.
39 Now I'd like to Thoreau him out the window with the rest of those bums.
40 You have no job, nothing to do, and you sit around writing about ponds?
41 Wouldn't fly nowadays. I picture this scenario:
(Scene. Henry David Thoreau lies sleeping in a pile of autumn leaves. Enter Mom Thoreau. She is worried about the future of her son.)
Mom Thoreau: HENRY!!!!
HT: (waking up in a pile of leaves) Whaaaaa...?!?
Mom Thoreau: Henry! Just WHAT are you doing?
HT: (looking around) Oh, hi Ma. (groans) Have you seen small feather pen around here?
Mom Thoreau: You know you're forty? If you find that pen you might get your ass over to Wal-Mart. I hear they're hiring.
HT: I have a job Ma. I'm a writer. I'm writing about the pond.
Mom Thoreau: Ponds are filled with salamanders, and I fear you've become one, you little jerk.
HT: (Yawns.) Aw, Maw. Our life is frittered away with detail.
Mom Thoreau: Detail this. (punches him in the left eye).
Blackout.
42 Anybody lookin'?
43
44
45
46 Right on cue.
47 Is nothing sacred?
48 Anyway, I gottago. My life fritters every four seconds.
49 I'm not happy unless I'm a nervous wreck.
50 So...
51 Happy Monday. Fly low.
52 See you again.
53 Peace.
~H~
HDT the world's first bum.
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