This song has no title

When did this magazine become a weekly, anyway?

About the time 3 days ago when I started this post, only to have Blogger flake out and revert-save to an earlier version. Or maybe I did, but if that is a setting, I have no idea where it is. The "lose my stuff" setting.

This is the part of the show where I usually drop by with a lot of whining about how I haven't written lately, then cram everything I have been thinking about into one nonsensical post that shows all lack of editing and preparation. "Thinking is Writing," we used to say at the writing lab, which I never believed for a second. Thinking is Thinking. Rebecca Faery used to say, "you know you're a writer because you write it down."

Here's what I've been working out:

Playing Pandora on multiple browser tabs to see if I can either a) create a Round, b) discover a new style of Mixin. I think if you had beats on one and Aerosmith on the other, you might accidentally become Run DMC.

I heard the Reverend Run on NPR's Wait, Wait, Don't Tell me this weekend. I don't know what that augers, but it seems like something, doesn't it?

I made that picture just now while listening to my Pandora "Maeve" station. I think Run would want it that way.

I caused a stir in Facebook nation this past week by updating my profile pic to an actual picture of my contemporary self. I also experimented with opensalon.com for about 2 seconds before I realized that was too public for me, and for the same reasons I upgraded my picture. So I back-pedaled, and if I can figure out the import/export protocol, I can export/import The DrawingIn Room to Salon for some more exposure.

To tell the truth, I am not especially motivated to do it. I think I don't believe I would get an audience, and I can be rejected on my own time. I might challenge Rebecca and say you know you're a writer when people read it.

I can't stay ahead of the news curve before the blogosphere becomes saturated (talking to you, Salon....) I look at the front page of Opensalon and I think, I don't know that I have anything to add here. Not even a(n) LOLcat.

A friend's husband says we are supposed to pronounce that "Loll"...not spell it out "L-O-L." I said, "Eyem-ho, you're a pia. Jik."

But let's talk about Joe Wilson, shall we? This is a great sentence from Salon, moments after he cat-called the President and no one L'd O.L: "Wilson also reportedly called the White House to apologize; he spoke to Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel." How would you like to call to apologize to the President, and instead get Rahm Emanuel? There's a tweet I want to follow. Poor Joe thought he was in Parliament for a second. Pelosi looked like she was about to take off her shoe. Where's your safe word now?

You want to know what I think about health care? I live in Massachusetts. They think of it for you. I'm not particular about who pays my doctor $200 to see her for five minutes; wake me when they start investigating why it costs $200. One post I never finished was about how my insurance wouldn't cover 8 Vitamin caps because it was considered a 2-month supply, and they only cover 1.

Other things I have not reported/commented on because it is already old news is the passing of The Senator. It gave me the shakes, I tell you, and not because Ted and I were so close.

What flipped me out was the logistical planning of his funeral on a move-in Saturday in The Fenway during a tropical storm. How would they manage the traffic? And there would be all these old people, who require drop-off and parking considerations, and in that rain.... well, they would have to get one of those long funeral home canopies, wouldn't they? Keep in mind that I am in no way responsible for coordinating this event. It is just where my brain goes.



the shakes I had were shamrock!

Let me pause a moment here to say that Blogger's other bug at present is something off with its search engine, preventing me from finding easily the posts I want to link back to.


I have probably gone on long enough. The first night I wrote this, it took an hour. After I had lost that hour I thought a while about whether I needed to reconstruct it. I thought it was pretty funny. I had also had a cocktail. And I finally decided that I had gotten what I wanted from it, and it is all about me, isn't it? I guess that decision wasn't actually final.

Overheard downstairs by Curt Shilling's place, where his coder boys come and go in packs. They play a lot of Ultimate Frisbee and look as if they would head for California if not for their intense love of baseball and sweat-shorts. As they are walking into the office, one says to the other, "That's when fine art was commercial art." Ah... Bach.

There hasn't been a Mill Update lately because it is just too bleak. Plus they cut off our access and dared us to bypass the flimsy gates they put up. It is the equivalent of writing "Do not Open! Private!" on your composition book. I think Harriet M Welsh could tell us a thing or two about how breakable that lock is. So I'll just come home and blog about them. Do they think I have no workarounds?


I job hunt like other people fold down pages in catalogs.


I've been getting a whole lot of Rock Star of late, in a way that may require a proctologist to remedy. Today I said, as I slogged yet again to her door (all of 25 steps from my cage), "I really need to move closer to your office." Her face showed that she didn't get what I was driving at, so I explained, "It's just too far to walk." Longer beat. (haha. I'm funny. Please don't kill me.) She says, "Oh, see, I look forward to those opportunities."

:01 PAUSE, then I can only say, "Of...course you do."

By the end of the day with sass-o-meter cranked to 11, and The Boss MIA-PTO, I came back to the door and said, "It's a thankless job, so I have come to get some."

She: "Thank you."
Me: "You're welcome."I'll take what I can get.