THANK YOU, JADE KERRION & FRIENDS! ON TO #ROW80 4TH QTR 2013 - THE DREADED GOALS

I want to thank Jade Kerrion for allowing me to participate in her book launch for the 4th book of her Award-Winning Series, "Double Helix -- Perfection Unleashed!" 

It's easy to do stuff for Jade, because she does all the heavy lifting and besides, she's gorgeous, funny, brilliant and oh, so original. So, she's always welcome here on Nebraska Ave, 33605, 33602, 33604.

Seriously, I just fumble around, do a little HTML code stuff (badly, if you haven't noticed or been blinded by the appearance of my blog) and punch some buttons, and voilà! I'm done. Not that I'm lazy. Much. 

Last year, Jade told me about this little shindig called NaNoWriMo, a festival of finger cramping, where you type 50,000 words during the month of November. I guess you're supposed to have a plot and characters and things. Naturally, I was immediately taken with this concept and got very excited and signed up. I wrote exactly 1737 words in 2012's NaNoWriMo. I hope to best last year's total THIS YEAR; that's all I'm going to say. Life keeps happening. On November 3rd of 2012, my E. T. (Essential Tremor) powered up, or leveled up, for you gamers, or in normal people's jargon, got worse and it was a mess. This not having medical insurance and all back then, was just one disaster after another.

Besides being a first-rate ranter, and an imaginative cuss-word artiste, Andi-roo is one of my first blogging buddies. Truly inspirational as well as ferociously honest and loving, she is my hero! xoxoxo (Andispeak for love and shit)

Andi-roo says calamity now makes for great stories later. She's absolutely right and I have some humdingers. A quick glimpse; I celebrated "Mental Awareness Month" by being committed for most of it, and this wasn't what I had scheduled for March of 2011. Ironically, that St. Patrick's Day in 2011 is one of the few I remember, because throughout my adult life, like all good Scots, I was usually blotto. Let's not even talk about St. Andrew's day (patron saint of Scotland, November 30.) By the way, I quit drinking years and years ago and smoking, too and have the lungs of a coal miner. 

Amazingly, I look pretty good for nigh on 60 and all the self-inflicted damage. There's probably a picture in an attic by now, that is so rotted, it's just a frame. Thanks, Oscar Wilde. 

GINA VALLEY - GLAMEROUS LIFE OF A SOCCER MOM

Gina writes about funny things, or rather, ordinary and sometimes not happy things and makes them. . . hysterical. Posts about trying to find alone time in the bathroom, yet dealing with questions from the "pack;" running the gamut from trivial to existential. Road trips that go on for years, replete with more endless questions from the "pack." Sheer lunacy meets happy impromptu and pointed remarks. I still can't figure out how many 2-legs and 4-legs are in that domicile. But I loved her comment on Facebook, something about it being a long day, as the dog just ran through the door with a couch cushion and jumped into a mud puddle with it. All written with grace, humor and love. Gina is a keeper. I want to thank her for her inspiration and just her presence in my life. I never have a bad day; I just go read something about one of her trips to the E. R. and feel instantly better!

Lynnette Conroy writes with an elegance and a ferocity I haven't read in many a year. And that says a fuck-ton. I am deadly serious.

If you haven't read Lynnette's post, "Open Rant to Congress," please do so immediately. I re-posted in several places, but what I really, really wanted to do was go and throw tea in some harbor, man the ramparts, or fire the "shot heard 'round the world." We need some damn inspiration around here! Where the hell is it? The 60s would have had sit-ins, lie-ins, love-ins, eat-ins, and every other kind of -in you can imagine. Where in the hell is the outrage? We should be outraged. Supposedly, Lenin said that "every society is 3 meals away from anarchy," although it has many attributions. I say, balls. But really, I say, thanks, Lynnette, for getting me fired up again. I just wish it was 1983, so I could go march around the Union in Ann Arbor for Solidarity and give my dad in Los Gatos, California an excuse to call me up and chew me out over the phone, hollering about lists and McCarthy. My mom was the Anarchist in the family.

My own goals for #ROW80 are nebulous. Tenuous, as is the state of my existence in the sense of, I never know what's going on. I can say, "Hey, I think I'm going to write a book. The Title? Fifty Shades of My Little Pony." 

Actually, I have and have had enough material to polish and publish a book about my experiences in music and in the computer industry, as well as the interesting and very broadening experience of losing a house, becoming homeless and sick and ending up here in this chair. Or, I could just end with this:

 Source: Huffington Post                                 

A Silver Lining, of a Very Dark Cloud

Maybe I'm just a one-liner, lookin' for a stage.

After further reflection, I have started a "goals page" as a way of keeping track of what I hope to accomplish during Round 4. I feel good and I am ready to take on some new things and re-establish some great old habits! 

Based on Raising Happiness, a New Theory of Elite Performance, it's actually part of a very old practice that I inculcated during my days in music school and repeated when I took 4 years of college Calculus, Trig and Computer Science in 2. I am gifted in music. I am not gifted in Maths by any means, but I had a 4.0. Unreal. I still wonder who was driving. Anyway, this is where you can read about my goals: DELIBERATE GOALS OF VIOLA FURY

Good luck everyone! It's going to be great and we shall sing the song of our peoples togethers, (sic) as they once did in old country!   

                        ♯ ♫ ♪ ♭ ♩ ♬                   

#ROW80 WEDNESDAY CHECK IN – LIVE! BLOGGING FROM MY HEAD

The title says it all. In a desperate attempt to come up with some kind of topic, and since my WIP is pretty much lying doggo at the bottom of a lake, for the time being, until I can get past some of whatever the hell is going on in my life, I'm taking the lazy way out.

Yup, just record all the random shit that pops into my head, as so many bloggers do from Fashion Week, the Super Bowl, the Curiosity landing on Mars, and my favorite, the GOP convention. The convention graced us with its presence here in Tampa, last summer, and had the gall and hypocrisy to troll up and down in their stretch limos on Nebraska Avenue, looking for not constituents, but the hos and the crack, while trumpeting and fum-fawing about “family values” and all of their other platform-type argle-bargle. Those limos looked like a Hollywood Premiere, or maybe Prom Night; same diff. It was also typical of the GOP to blame the lack of enthusiasm and the ultimate loss of Mitt Romney to Tropical Storm Debbie. Then, they blamed the Republican Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey for not showing up at some rally or another, because he stayed at home to help his state after Hurricane Sandy. Sheesh.

We need to do away with these bastards on the grounds of sheer hideousness, never mind their space-ship politics, although they have some seriously warped ideas about everything and no rational arguments.

I sat here in my little room and “pretended” to live-blog, but not nearly as well, nor as hysterically funny as Chuck Wendig's #fakedebate, which was a true howl. But, the best thing I got out of that whole craziness with the GOP cluttering up Tampa, was connecting with Jason Linkins who writes political analysis for Huffington Post. Turns out he was in town, in Ybor City, enjoying a pizza and tweeted about it. I saw it and tweeted back. He ACTUALLY responded! I've been a fan of his writing and analysis for a long time. He's funny, and oh, so bright and can make really dense issues clear. Rock on, Jason!


Trying to figure out our own HARTline bus schedule was a nightmare. Plus, there were so many trucks with bullhorns hollering “VOTE FOR ROMNEY,” it reminded me of the old-timey campaigning on the hustings, when LBJ would race around Texas and drum up votes. These guys just competed with the boom boxes, making everything unintelligible and louder. But, I digress.


Blogging In My Head


11:30 pm: Uninstall and re-install HP software for the 85th time. While doing so, stumble across all the shit Uninstall left behind. Boot into Safe Mode and zap all the HP shit. Whilst doing so, discover that all the PATH statements still have that goddamned JAVA . Delete from strings and save. Reboot and pray. Yay! It worked; still have the touch!

Startin' to hate these guys, too. Perfect install, eleventy-billion times. This white elephant scans, but won't save, so I save it as a screen-shot and it's great. And don't talk to me about the Martians at Customer Support.

12:00 am: Scan “Mel Bay's Ukelele Chord Book. Gag gift, trying to find Asleep At The Wheel “Ida Red.”

Mel Bay has a book for every single instrument ever made; zithers, balalaikas and probably krumhorns and bagpipes. Here's a joke. Q: Why do bagpipers walk when they play? A: To get away from the sound. My dad's rolling around in his urn in the 8th Air Force Cemetery, right now.

12:30 am: Still looking for that stupid song, the gag won't work without the song. $%$^(#


12:32 am: Starting to feel crappy. Test sugar.. HOLY SCREAMING SHIT!!! 335 WTF???


12:33 am: Make a sandwich; eat sandwich. Why in the hell are those birds cheeping on Hulu+ oh, it's the Cheep-Cheep commercial. Some shit about insurance? Who knows. At least it's not those fucking bears.


12:40 am: JC pops up. Blink, blink. He fumbles for his shoes. “You okay?” I ask. “Yea, gotta pee.” I say, “my sugar was 335!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!! But I ate a sandwich” JC, not being quite awake, says, “That's nice.” He trundles off to pee.


2:00 am: Binge-watching the 4th season of the “Good Wife” on Hulu+ I feel like a bat, up all night and then sleep until 3 or 4 pm. Ick. I always think of my stand partner “Somnambula.” This was when I was a touring musician and spent 9 or 10 months of the year on the road. When I first met “Somnambula,” we were playing in an orchestra that was like the “101 Strings,” or the “Cascading Strings,” or as we called it, the “Castrating Strings.”


We played all that schlocky kind of music, light opera, operetta, or crap like the “Yellow Rose of Texas” where we had a 100-voice choir that shouted it's way through these masterpieces. Anyway, we were playing some idiot waltz, and damned if “Somnambula” didn't just fall asleep in the middle of an oom-pah-pah measure (violas were the pah-pahs; if anyone EVER practiced this crap, they needed to go back to remedial viola school. One of my roommates, another violist, told me about a violist on another tour who DID practice that shit. She and I were like OOOOOH NOOOOO!) Beethoven you practice. You sight-read this crap.


Anyway, “Somnambula's” switch went to “off” and stayed there for about 16 measures. I could see him out of the corner of my eye and he looked like a still life. Then, his switch went to “on,” and damned if he didn't come right in where he was supposed to. I got used to it. Every viola player I have ever known has had a screw loose somewhere, including me. “Somnambula” would be all bright-eyes and wide awake at 4 am, but during the day? Forget it. Once, he didn't make the bus call, and the bus captain went back into the hotel to look for him. My dear, belated friend Spencer said “He's probably hanging by his toes in a closet somewhere.” I still laugh.


4:10 am: I have a “practice studio” kind of set up in the back of the apartment. My preference would be in the living room, but JC has his computer and TV there. This will work, I can open the back door and watch the birds and possums and raccoons. Not so much tedium awaits, it's building stamina and running patterns. Ugh.


4:22 am: Pick out JC's clothes for tomorrow (today, really) and set out copies of his medical release, so he can go back to school. Living a riveting life, but I like to do things for him.


4:25 am: Pondering on how to mess with the NSA some more. New trick. You have to have 2 cell phones, but one has to be a throwaway prepaid. Call that one, leaving it open and hide it somewhere: dumpster, trash can, close or far in your city. Talk on your phone, using lots of cryptic numbers, and phrases. Parts of adverts and catalogues are perfect for this. Do this enough times, someone will show up at your door. Let them know you've been receiving coded messages on your dental fillings. It really helps if you have a couple of your windows covered over with tin foil, as I do, because of the heat factor, but this will work just as well.


5:02 am: When did advertisers decide that “idiot music” was the norm? Da-de-da-de-da-de clapclap Da-de-da-de-da-de clapclap (repeat 87 times in the key of Happy) It sucks so bad; it's worse than Mozart. Well, maybe not. Even I can write better music than that and I stink on ice. “A Prius for Everyone,” is the flamingest worst. It sounds like music composed by a bastardized Atari and a Mattel Jack-in-the-Box.




5:03 am – 3:00 pm Sleep and badly. Sugar still a pain in the ass. Fasting sugar is 158. WTF? Still, I have a dr appointment scheduled and blood work to be done. Getting old isn't for weenuses.


3:00 pm to 6:00 pm: Hunt for stupid reference in one of the “Asleep at the Wheel” tunes on YouTube, where during a vamp, 2 of the fabulous guitarists throw around this deathless badinage; Guitar player 1: “Look, Mel Bay has a book on Learning to play the Guitar in 3 days!” Guitar player 2: “Let's buy it!” All gleefully said, as they hammer through some of the finest Texas Swing and I can't find this GODDAMNED SONG. I have Mel's Uke book and even his Balalaika book, but I'll be damned if I can find this stupid song! Without the book, my very carefully scanned and arty(!?) cover will have no meaning, kinda like my life, right now. Just kidding.


7:00 pm – 9:00 pm: Oh boy, chili dogs and “World's Dumbest ________ .” This show is guaranteed to run forever, because there is no shortage of stupid in this world. And even when you can see the outcome from 2000 miles away, they go right ahead and do it anyway. Some commit serial stupidities; 3 or 4 times. Unreal.


9:00 pm – 11:00pm: Trying to kill the Boss in “Death of Chivalry” quest. Here comes the fail-boat, toot-toot! After I die for the 3rd time, I say “the hell with it,” and decide to watch season 4 of “The Good Wife,” on Hulu + for awhile.


09/19/2013


2:00 am: Off to bed; JC is going to have surgery on his wrist tomorrow and I am going with him. I know he's scared; he has a low threshold to pain and it is worrying him. So, I'm going to keep him company and distracted, because I do love him so.

P. S. I finally got the dr. authorization for my Cymbalta, today. 7 weeks. Unreal.