City of Legends

I was wondering how my energy levels would be this evening, with the food poisoning and jet lag.  So, I spun up my iTunes and meandered.  (Hint:  The cat has booked an emergency evacuation route with the Martians)  I hit John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band (Hey, I did not name them), better known to many as "Eddie and the Cruisers" and lit the fuse on On the Darkside.

That’s better.  I’m alive. 

I have been writing.  A lot.  Partially to purge the very ions of my irony and part to express those things that rage me major, with a little bit of amomancy thrown in to let you know that I am alive and well and resting comfortably, surrounded by the fire golems of my own defense mechanisms (you think I don’t have defense mechanisms?  you have no idea…).  I’ll leak some of the works over the next few days, here and at the Amomancer blog.

Joan Osborne is serenading me with One of Us, soon to be followed by Let’s Just Get Naked, which actually sounds like a great idea.  I should have gone camping this weekend. 

To recap my vacation:  After being compelled to take a week off.  Compelled, I swear.  I found myself helping my beloved daughter and her husband identify a worthy apartment for them to move to (they were looking to downsize after losing a room mate).  The very same first evening where we found a good spot, I was stricken with the worst case of food poisoning I can recall having had and was basically bedridden for 72 hours, except when I could peel myself out of bed to take Peri around to collect and turn in various paperwork for the apartment management.

This meant not getting to have lunch with a few select friends (food is the enemy), heading out to the high desert to commune with the desolation (it was up to 117 in the Valley, imagine what it was like in Joshua Tree?).  But it did mean I was forced to rest, to eat moderately healthy and to watch a lot of reruns on television while trying to decide which end of me would rather serve as the great egress for my spleen.

I tossed a coin and my body decided to keep that minimally-required organ for now.

I read a lot of email from well-wishers.  Some of them clever, naughty people whom I am greatly grateful for in my life.  I tend to be too grave and serious and the occasional ball of fire is what is needed to keep me from sinking into my own miasma.  Don’t get me wrong, I am who I am, but after a recent run of near-mortal wounds, something less like nuclear fusion is called for.  I love burning at my temperature, but haven’t yet found anyone else who can live in that sphere, and I get tired of talking to myself.

Running through a medley of Prince works right now.   The cat has requested refugee status in Myanmar.

Well, the soundtrack shifted…moved to Hey Hey, My My by the great Neil Young (not in the mood for Heart of Gold)…then an intrusive slice of sonic memory cut in that had me up on my feet in front of my computer

Pope by Prince

"You can be the President, I’d rather be the Pope.
You can be the side effects, I’d rather be the dope."

Say what you will about the folly of the life poetic, it has it’s moments.

Video contest news later today, but suffice it to say the winner of the video contest, aside from fame, glory and money will get a library that should keep them busy for a while.

Oh and I am shopping for a new E.J. I had let that ceremonial position go vacant (five different people have worn the mantle) but I need a publicist, webmaster and friend. You know where to find me if you want the job.