What the hell am I going to write about today?
I am burned to a crisp. Burned out, burned in, burned on, burned beyond all recognition.
I am actually curled up in the corner of the room, on the floor in front of the dust covered guitar case, moving spasmodically like a mutant bug, trying to get to where I am going. Trying to hoist myself up on the seat.
Fortunately I developed vampire-like fingers overnight and I can just reach the keyboard. I cannot believe how long my fingers are.
They look weird.
The clicking drives me crazy, though. Lestat-like fingernails click on the keyboard, sometimes get hung up in between letters, occasionally knocking over the Tweety Bird wearing the PATS helmet that sits up on the desk just below the screen.
I have a 2 inch tall Tweety Bird standing in front of the "puter screen. I have a miniature PATS helmet that fits Tweety's awfully cute head. Lakota's tail often sweeps Tweety off his feet. As Lakota sits up in front of me demanding attention as I type.
She is such a beautiful cat. She has to fight for attention because Maka steals it all. Maka is always first in my lap, leaving Lakota to look up at me mournfully as she slithers away to the cat bed.
Lakota gets her revenge. She always visits me when I write. Jumps into my lap and onto the desk. Lays down and swishes her tail across the keyboard. I have to move her ass so I can type.
She never protests.
I pat her a lot and kiss her head. She deserves it. She is the warrior pet in the house. Been around a long time, seen a few other pets come and go.
She is a sweetheart.
And speaking of THE PATS, they are dead to me this season.
That's a Mafia expression, maybe a purely Italian expression, that I love. Somebody pisses you off - they are dead to you.
Pretty direct. Pretty harsh.
Another expression you heard a lot on The Sopranos was "mother-less f**k." That was the absolutely worst thing you could say about somebody. Italians are so hung up on their mothers. And their wives and their daughters. It is a good thing for Italian men to be hung up on the feminine. Because femininity is a lot closer to godliness than masculinity.
A "mother-less f**k." It does not get any worse than that.
I don't have daughters. I worship my sons. Even with every good thing I have ever said about them they still do not know how much I worship them.
My sons have brought two magical women into my life. I would kill anybody who ever hurt them.
My wife is the one who started it all. She gave my sons life and mothered them in a way that was pure love, easy going understanding and gentle consideration. Her approach to being a mother was the best my sons could have received.
And they are exceptional, in part, because of that. Because of Carol.
THE PATS are not dead to me because they pissed me off. THE PATS are dead to me because they have played eight games. I have seen three.
It is an odd feeling. Intense, way over the top passion has been hosed down to a tiny flame. Do I get to see them this week? Or not?
And The Sox. I have brushed up against the World Series this year. I have not experienced it at all.
Again, death of feeling.
I am excited in a muted, underwater world kind of way.
I am pretty sure I have not seen one full game.
I am socially obligated to watch tonight's game in its entirety. A chance to win the Series at home for the first time since 1918.
I'd be cast out of society, not to mention my family, if I went to bed in the 7th inning.
So there you have it. Random thoughts on the day preceding Halloween.
I watched The Devil's Rejects last night. A Rob Zombie film. It is sick and twisted and it perfectly suited my mood and the holiday.
It really was a brilliantly inspired choice on my part.
Vicious, random killing that distorts societal norms and makes you question why you blindly obey the rules.
In one scene the bad guys are trying to escape. The evil woman lies down in the middle of the road pretending to be hurt. An innocent woman drives up and has to stop. She runs up to the prone women with great concern and tries to help her. The bad guy runs out of the woods and drives a large knife into the back of the innocent helper, killing her.
They steal her car.
They could have just pushed her aside and stolen the car but they chose to kill her in her moment of pure human concern.
It made me feel good.
Put on a mask if you feel the need, celebrate Halloween as you see fit.
In reality you could just continue to wear the mask you wear every day.
That is scary enough as it is.