Updating My To-Do List:

1.) Must master the Hobo Arts before the economic meltdown hits armageddon.

2.) Work on mashing “Brother Can You Spare A Dime” with Van Halen’s cheeseball masterpiece, “Jump” for the Wall Street Golden Parachute club.

3.) Practice the Fetal Position, Will probably need it in the near future.

Trying to live vicariously through the internet.

So here I sit, Sunday night of Labor Day Weekend typing out the first I hope, in a series of short missives and misques.  I’ve been feeling the need to stretch the creative writing muscles lately and haven’t had a place to park my perceptions.  Then I remembered this place, and the race was on… to find my password.  Seriously, it has been awhile, and I’m pretty sure that no one has ever stumbled upon this place, nor has read any of this drivel.  So why bother you (I) ask? Because I want to rant into the void.  I want to grasp at straws anonymously. I want to massage the medium as it were.  I hope you’ll stop by and give us a whirl from time to time.

This place pleases me. Love Imaginary Foundation as I do, would you?

I vow to step things up, and to start generating content as best I can with this limited 20th century understanding of these series of space-aged tubes and telecommunication doo-hickies.

Lets put the Spotlight on the Vice Presidential Candidates: Readiness Test

I hereby propose we move the Sarah Palin/ Joe Biden Debates scheduled for next week in St. Louis to this Friday night in Lieu of the Barack Obama/John McCain debates hereby cancelled by the McCain party. No duck & cover for McCain camp, No Cut & Run strategies for the Republicans.  Either your VP choice is ready to lead in times of emergency, or they are not.  Put Up or Shut Up McCain.  Lead, Follow, or get out of the way.

“But I Am Pagliacci”

Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says “But Doctor… I am Pagliacci.”

Jittery… Must be the coffee

First day back to work from vacation. Things seen quasi-normal, for work. We’ll see If I can maintain composure and decorum, for I’m not exactly known as one who does normally, but this is new me. The re-invented me. The re-imagined me. The most-likely lying my buttocks-off me. Good luck Is all I can say at this point. I can already feel the phoney smile cracking around the edges.

Don’t force me to get physical, put away your cell phone and camera.

So Rufus Wainwright played here last night. Great performer, pretty decent venue. In the first row a relatively clueless couple spent the ENTIRE evening photographing the show – flash photography overload. Truthfully, at least 20 flashes per song. Every song.

It was absolutely disruptive for all those in the audience, not to mention the artists struggling on stage to keep some semblance of sight and sanity. During intermission (Rufus’ costume changes are something to behold…seriously), the management even went over the P.A. to specifically request, at the artists’ request, NO Flash photography. That should have ended it right there. No drama, just a reminder.

But, did this stop these in-bred, Cro-Magnon knuckledraggers? Nope. They kept right on holding us all hostage to their sense of entitlement, their egocentric candid camera cavalcade. I seriously wanted to find the venue’s management and request for them to be tossed from the club at one point. It was THAT bad. You could visibly see Rufus wincing during many of his songs, trying not to be blinded by the light.

So basically the time has come. Let us lay down some simple to follow ground rules before we go out in public anymore people. Respect is due, manners are important, and you are not the only celestial object rotating ’round the heavenly firmament folks. It is time for all good children to mind their P’s & Q’s, and be a part of the audience, not a part of the performance.

C’mon ‘lil club kid. That inter-connected world of planetary stimuli has got you seriously jacked far too twitchy. Consider the rest of us too as you go and diminish the artists’ ability to perform, and the audiences’ ability to enjoy the performance please. Just say NO to that urge to be constantly at the center of the playground dizzy disc, forcing all the rest of us to tumble pell mell off the spinning attraction.

Hello world!

…blip

and the radar screen went blank again.

Welcome to the great experimental Carnival and Lawn Jart tournament of the soul. Welcome to what I hope to be a cogently reasonable, yet emotionally rant-heavy world of esoteric mutterings and half-hearted attempts at optimism. Hopefully this will not be my very own echo chamber. Please feel free to wander, to ponder, and to drop comments, hints, diatribes, or science as needed.

Might I make so sense?

Doubtful.

Might this still have merit?

I Hope So. The ball is in your court.