Book before 50

Just turned 48 the other day. Two years to the half-century mark. Two years to get my novel written. Guess I'd better get back to it. I just found the notebook I had my character notes and plot ideas in; so I'm excited about resuming. But I'm not telling anyone about it--just this blog,to help me keep track of my progress.

Re: verse

Once upon a time
I wrote a simple rhyme.

Years
F
   L
      O
          W
               E
                   D
By.
Wanting to seem
More Astute.
Made me
Muddymywater.
Depth -->(-p+a) --> Death
Contemplated.

NOW

Age has changed my mind.
I'm back to plain design.

Out of Myself

I'm in a bit of a quandary.
Not even by doing laundry
Can I spin myself out.

In a balled-up situation.
Not even through masturbation
Can I jerk myself out.

These doldrums, ennui, whatever
Got me feeling under the weather.
Gotta get myself out.

But wither can I go?
Just blither, blather, blow,
Maybe blow my brains out.

Demetri Martin saved my life (probably)

So, I was driving home yesterday after seeing Demetri Martin at Book People. He was appearing there to talk about his newest book, “Point Your Face at This.” What a cool guy, very funny (of course) but also very, very nice. As it became my turn in line to get my book signed, he made sure to address me by name, and when he asked me how I was doing, I got the impression that he really wanted to know, and wasn’t just spouting out auto-verbiage.
So, I’m driving home with my signed copy next to me, in a really good mood. I also have to say that I was in a good mood because of some of the stuff he had talked about in his opening spiel, about how he tapped his creativity. I won’t go into details here, but suffice it to say I was inspired to get back to my writing; especially the kind of writing I really want to do, what really excites me, which is short little humorous essays. The novel I had been working on was just not coming together, and the frustration it was causing me pretty much dried up any creative juices I might have had.
So, as I was saying, (so, how many times am I going to start a paragraph with so?) I was driving home in a good mood, still basking in the glowing light that is Demetri Martin, when I see some guy standing on the side of the street, hocking loogies on passing cars. Hmmm, not something you see every day. And he wasn’t just standing there nonchalantly, spitting at cars; he was really putting some effort into it. Picture some guy, angrily hopping up and down, with a crazed look on his face, and when he let loose, he put his whole body into it, launching a really large gob of spit at each car. As I get closer I start to wonder to myself, will he spit on mine, too? And I’m in such a frame of mind that I’m also asking myself, if he doesn’t, then why not? Am I not important enough to spit on? You spit on everyone else, but not me? Am I chopped liver, you sumbitch? You better spit on me too, you a$$hole.
Well, I needn’t have worried, because he didn’t leave me out. But I sensed he didn’t put the same effort into it that he did with the other cars. He just kind of stood there, and half-heartedly let one go. I chalked it up to the possibility that he could have hurt himself on the previous attempt. (the things we tell ourselves to make us feel better.)
Now, if I hadn’t been in such a good mood, would I have taken more offense to his act? I merely laughed and shook my head. I suppose I could’ve pulled over, gotten out and asked him what his problem was. And if I had been in a bad mood, I might have done just that. And it would’ve been a huge mistake. First of all, I’m an out of shape 47yo man who has never been in a fight (my 8yo daughter kicks my ass on a regular basis.) This guy was obviously mentally deranged, and apparently in very good shape. He was also obviously pissed off enough to feel the need to stand on a street corner and spit on passing cars. He probably would not have given a second thought to completely beating the crap out of me. And then spitting in my face, or what was left of it.
So, I think I can safely say, without a doubt, Demetri Martin saved my life. Thanks, Demetri, I owe you one!

Almost Done!

Well, it's been almost a year since I started this project, but it is almost completed.  Had some help this weekend from my bro-in-law, which I really needed with the roof.  All that's left is putting on the shingles, enclosing the underhang and finish the loft.  Oh, yeah, there's going to be a loft.  Here's what it looks like so far.

I'll cut out a couple of round windows above it, so she can lay down up there, and gaze out.  Here's what the playhouse looks like from the front porch of the cottage.

She wants to decorate the inside with fossils, animal bones and various other artifacts she's found on the property, and make it her archeologist's lab.  Strange little girl, huh?  Gosh, I love her!

warmth

Walking along Main St. in Bastrop last night, one of the stores had a container outside with a sign over it "Donate a doggie sweater for a cold pooch this year." 

A haggard looking man, dressed in tattered military garb was looking at the sign as well.  I overheard him say to himself, "I sure could use a sweater."

Playhouse of Death II

My wife and daughter are going out of town to spend the weekend with my wife’s cousins, which leaves me all by myself, to my own devices.  Ah, yeah!  Bachelor Weekend!  Woo-hoo!!!   

Actually, reality being what it is, said devices will be a compound miter saw, cordless drill and nail gun.  You know what that means!  Playhouse of Death II:  Back for More! (more punishment? flesh wounds?  *gasp* decapitation, perhaps?!)

Of course, my wife has assured my daughter no work will get done, as I’ll probably do nothing but lie around, drink beer and read.  Hmmm, she just might be onto something, there.  Damn that woman's intuition!  No, I promised my daughter I would work on it, and work on it I will!  That’s not to say I won’t spend some time lying around, drinking and reading.  (Friday night and Saturday night, after I’m done working, that is.  Alcohol and power tools are a bad combination.  Baaaaaad.  I’ve grown accustomed to my ten fingers, and would like to keep them, thank you very much.)  With respect to the reading, I’ve got a few books going now, two of which I might be able to finish while I’m there.  Especially since there is no internet or TV to distract me.

But during the day, I will be working away.  I’m hoping to put up the fourth wall frame, finish out the shell, install the windows, and maybe get the door put in.  Provided I can get all that done, there’s some siding in one of the sheds I might try to get out and start putting on.  Only problem there is all the snake skins I’ve seen as soon as I open the door, leaving me to believe there’s a family of poisonous vipers residing therein.  Could be interesting, hmmm?  Will Bubba brave the Snakepit of Doom to rescue the aluminum siding?  We can’t wait to find out! 

In a couple of weeks, my girls will be going out of town again.  So, if the Playhouse of Death hasn't consumed me this weekend, and I'm still of this world:  stay tuned for Playhouse of Death III:  The Wreckoning! (in 3-D, of course).   Gee Mr. B, I didn’t wealize it was going to be a twilogy. 

If I can somehow manage to get all of the aforementioned steps completed this weekend, all that will be left is to finish the siding, and put the roof on.  I can work on the roof frames during the week, so when I get back down there, all I will need to do is screw them on, and then lay the roof down.  And voila, badda bing, badda boom, Bob's your uncle, it will be finished!  Actually, realistically speaking, this trilogy will more than likely mirror Douglas Adams’ trilogy “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”  in number.  Just keeping it real, you know.

Oh, btw, I promise some pics soon.  Minus the flames.  Hopefully.