Well, That Was Interesting

I was at this meeting and the people around me were saying very impressive things- I mean they are articulate and bright and inspiring and out of nowhere I got this craving for those white chocolate peppermint kisses that Hershey’s puts out at Christmas.

 

 

So as we move from topic to topic- my and friends are taking the Gold for Mental Gymnastics I hit the power button on my computer, I go to the church of Google I type in two words and find this:

 

 

You know, one of these days I guess I’ll have something important to say at these meetings.

 

 

Comic: Natalie Dee

 

Until then I’ll just be sitting over here- having fun- all by myself

 

 

 

 

Karaoke, anyone?

I’m terrified of singing.

It’s not the act of singing that scares me, it’s the thought of singing for someone else to hear and criticize me.  Not that I’m a bad singer.  My son doesn’t beg me to stop when I’m singing in the car, and I don’t plug my own ears with whatever comes to hand when I listen to myself. 

Rewind back to my college days where one day in the shower I started humming and then out of nowhere, a beautiful song started flowing.  It was pretty much an improv song because I’d never heard it before.  To be honest I shocked myself at how great I sounded and the resonance of my voice.  The acoustics in the bathroom were amazing and I felt no shame or timidness whatsoever, considering that someone else in the house might hear me. 

And hear me they did.  I didn’t expect my hostess to have company but the pastor of the church we attended was visiting.  So as I stepped out the bathroom into the hallway, there they both were, grinning like American Idol’s Simon when he FINALLY hears something that doesn’t hurt his ears.  Of course I was horrified. Thank heavens I had already dressed in the bathroom.  embarrassment smothered me like a winter coat in humid Summer.  “Hey, how are you?” I asked, to no one in particular, hoping they’d stop leaning on the bathroom doorposts and grinning like that, and let me escape to my room.  Not a chance.  They were anchored there, and with their arms folded, staring at me expectantly, I knew what was coming. 

“So,” said Pastor Lewis, “You’re singing in church on Sunday.”

“I always sing in church on Sundays,” I said, hoping this technicality would someone save me.

“Nope,” said Pastor. “You’re singing a solo. Maybe a duet with Roger, that would be beautiful.” 

All this was said whilst still displaying his white, Cheshire-Cat smile, with my hostess Mrs. Noel also smiling and nodding like a bobblehead.

The long and short of it is that I muttered something to the effect of “sure, we’ll see,” and practically teleported myself to my room, that’s how quickly I moved to get away with them.  I never went back to that church because I knew fully well that Pastor would have pulled a crazy stunt like telling me at the start of the service that I was singing a particular song, and no amount of protests or even tears would have ended his joy at the prospect of one of the youngsters ‘displaying talent for God’.

Secretly, I long to sing for an audience, to absorb their attention and revel in the ensuing applause.  I attend karaoke every week like a religious man attends church.  I sit there enjoying (or sometimes suffering through) the performances, hoping for courage to suddenly fall from the roof and land in the part of my brain that grips me and hisses, “You can’t, are you crazy?”

Every week Karaoke-Man always begins the session advising us that the bartender is our best friend for the night, that ‘liquid courage’ can be obtained at her hands; and that “the best singer is a drunk singer.”  Every week, several drunk patrons believe what he says and simultaneously entertain and torture us all.  This is when those of us with little or no cojones begin thinking that we probably CAN get up there to sing.  We wander over and tentatively leaf through the song lists, smiling when we see a song we know, love, and can sing in our sleep.  It’s about this time that one of our karaoke stars is announced.  The regulars hoot, whistle, clap and scream “yeeeahhh!”.  We all know we’re in for an auditory treat.  The shy ones suddenly lose their cojones. Whatever blip of courage appeared on our confidence radars suddenly vanishes; and like craft lost in the Bermuda Triangle, have little to no hope of being found again, at least not until the next week when the drunken ones take the stage again.

Keeper of Dreams

Blame It On Mega Bee

Believe it or not

I actually take my writing very seriously.

I work at it, I enjoy it,

writing is not a big part of my life

it is my life.

That is until Mega Bee came along,

Mega Bee swarmed into my life and took it over.

All I do, day and night is wait for Mega Bee to do it’s Mega Bee Evil on me and fly off.

I thought I could fight Mega Bee Off.

But I could not.

The horrible thing about Mega Bee is that it doesn’t always take the form of a Mega Bee, sometimes it takes the form of a Mega Pain and guess where it seems to strike without fail?

You got it Hombre.

4:15 A.M

I awake, drenched in moonlight and memories of you.
The window, a porthole to the sky, shows me that slice of brilliant heaven.

My lover is close, breathing softly; I pull you closer.

“Remembrance of things past.” The phrase of a poet ripples through my thoughts, leaving loud echoes of our time together in its wake. Transported, my feet stand on the flagstones of your balcony, my crescent moon now the large, waning sphere of yesteryear, flooding us with light, illuminating desire, exposing emotion.

Like time, the scimitar moves on; my window darkens, my skin is no longer bathed in its light. I turn, searching for a glimpse of silver; but like you, it is no more within the reach of my sight.

But outside, as within, the essence and the glow remain.

Keeper of Dreams

Mountlake Terrace Ahoy! (via Irregular Bones)

  Seafair Pirates Photo: A.M. Moscoso I wanted to write something about the Seafair Pirates- and after much consideration  I thought it would be fun to write about the terror we looked forward to ( this would have been in the late 60′s early  70′s ) when we would head out to the Torchlight Parade in downtown Seattle. We used to ask our Parents ” Will the Pirates be there? Do you think they’ll carry people off? Will they have swords? Do you think … Read More

via Irregular Bones