Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day. Col-o-rado is burning and I'm cutting away.. oh, I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day, yeah, and Stricky was here and we drank lotsa beer, we sat on the roof and counted the stars, we put on brassieres and went to the bar, we mainlined port wine and feeling so fine, we sang the lumberjack song and all got along and now it is morning and that port wine is boring a hole in my head so it's coffee and cocoa and whiskey a go-go and blah and blah-blah and oh blah dee oh blah dah.
Righteo! Well, rest assured my little chickadees that yours unruly is truly at ease with gibberish and jabbertrash and all that silly haberdash. And the phrase if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all certainly doesn't apply to us.
So, I discovered yesterday that I am a blogger. Some new term for daily internet blather logging, or rather keeping a daily log online. Isn't that nice. Special.
Okay. Today it's Skynard on the cd player, a tawny port poison dart stuck in my forehead right between my eyes, half a dozen chainsaw-wielding hard-working-manly man blisters healing on my hands as I progress through yet another day of summer mountain sloath, er.. slowth. Sloooooth. How the hell do you spell that damn word? No matter.
So, here's what we're lookin' at, folks. Summer. The could-be sweet summer of 0h-tooth. 2002. Oh-two. And what to do?
Well, there's Greece, where Dany from Wales is living presently on the island of Crete and has extended an open invitation. Then there's the American Visionary Art Museum gig in Baltimore in late July and my madcap half-baked plan to drive Duke there from Houston. Then of course there's Danny Coleman and my promise to build him some kinda gonzo slapdash shack up on his land in Maine. Then there's the Seattle art car gig in just a few weeks. Then there's Burning Man at summer's end, that ever-expanding experiment in anarchistic fun that I said I wouldn't attend this year out of deference to my X, but to which I'll ultimately give in to fate and the Great Magnet, undoubtedly answering the call to go at the last minute.
What to do then with the Summer of 02? What to do? So many choices, so little gas money.
Dunno. Do not know. Have nothing constructive or interesting to say. NOTHING! Like Willy Wonka said, "You drank two pints of fizzy whiz and stole an everlasting gobstopper, you get NOTHING! Nada! Zip! Zilch.
Sorry, folks. Sometimes the frozen yoghurt machine of my brain just freezes up and the werds don't come. Tune in tomorrow when hopefully this brain freeze leaves me and the good doctor's prescriptions for healthy living ring true once again.
Moral of the story: Children, don't let your G.I. Joes and Jills and Baby Frills drown their dolly sorrows in tawny port. The results are disastrous, every time.
Go with God.