So I walk into work today, and the first goddamn thing I’m told is “no more radio”. WTF?! I can’t fucking beleive it. One of the few simple pleasures left to me, and they take it away. Most of my music is not appropriate for small children, so I have to limit what I listen to at home. With their wonderful talent for parroting, it would be ungood to have Rose start singing “i want to fuck you like an animal” in say, Target. Although the last time I was in Target, it was no bastion of hope for American society. 95% of the people shopping there were grossly obese, tackily (at best) attired, and ill mannered. But I can’t do anything about that, and I can keep my kids from appearing like that.
Now the big problem with not having music in my workspace is that I have nothing to occupy my mind while I perform the menial tasks that make up most of my night. So I think – and that’s not always a good thing.
The only good part of it, is that I’ll be writing more posts…..
Time to talk about the girls again. Lilah is so different from Rose, it ain’t even funny. She gets into everything! Lately she’s been playing buried treasure in the cat box, rearranging Psycho-Momia’s office and sewing table, and plunging the kiddie potty. Several times a day. Hell several times an hour! She also helps out by feeding the cats their crunchies. Several times an hour. If only I could be that productive…
Rose, on the other hand, excels at making my mind blanche in a sheer horror that only another dad could truly understand.
One night last week, we were all getting ready for bed. Rose sits down on our bed, and starts to get her jammies on. Pretty basic, right? Well, all of the sudden, she’s laying on the bed, with her legs up in the air, and says, “Dada, pat my yoni!”
I turned to look at Psycho-Momia with a look of abject horror. She just laughed…..
Rose also made a quip last week while we were getting ready for a snooze. I’m not even sure what the circumstance was, but out of nowhere she spouts “I can’t find my fuckin’ socks!” I’m all like WTF? “Rose, that’s not a nice word for a little girl to say…” “Okay, pokyloca” (that’s a word in Roseish…her made up lingo)
The funny part of that was that she nailed Psycho-Momia’s tone exactly!
No, not that way.I learned last night that Drew Hayes, writer/artist of Poison Elves (more links at the end) died of a heart attack March 21st. He was a whopping 37 years old, and left behind a young daughter.
I had multiple email conversations with Drew many years ago. He was a right bastard. He was also a truly sweet guy. When I first read about his passing, I cried. Yep. Got a problem with that? Then lets step outside, son.
It made me think…a lot. He left behind a legacy of words, and art. What have I done to be remembered for? For that matter, who will remember me? Will “I” live on through time, or simply drift away, fragments of a person who most never knew?
Some things clicking through my brain, and a new resolve to create and promote.
Goodbye, Drew. And thanks for everything….you fucker.