Wednesday, July 24, 2013


... you're a nil.

I find it very difficult to maintain any sort of inspiration. You know, in the every day goings on of one's life. I work, as we all do. Jeesh, that's the real test! Getting out of bed is bad enough in this weather, but schlepping one's unwilling arse into an office, no matter how luxurious or glamorous the situation, can be soul destroying.

Then we have our exercise routines. Well, some of us do. I've been neglecting the running of late - I blame the weather. I'm far too old (but clearly not dignified enough) to be flinging this carcass about in the rain. Cold I don't mind too much. It's running into the teeth of a storm which has me bolting for the car and a glass of wine at home instead.
Luckily the once-a-week football is still as enticing as always. Except, once again, when it's horrible Cape winter fare. But at least there are a whole bunch of other people suffering through the same appalling conditions with you, so that makes it bearable. It's like getting into the pool. Once you're cold and wet, you can't get any colder or wetter. And unlike with the running, you aren't afforded so much time trudging along a lonesome pavement to contemplate your drowned rat status.

I also occasionally make music. This is generally considered a team sport. We (all the various band members and I) all contribute where ever and when ever we can. No suggestions are overlooked or dismissed out of hand. But one still needs to mull over one's own contribution and sometimes one experiences what is commonly regarded as writer's block. Which is frustrating.
And just as common when your contributions to the well of written word mulch clogging up the internet is concerned. Some people attempt lucid, well formed arguments, but fail in the piercing flourescent glare of public opinion. Some stick to a hard-line, hard-headed refusal to budge an inch in their stubbornly held opinions. And then get kakked out by the wallowing herd. Some make light of serious issues in order to elevate themselves from the chewers of politically correct cud. And are shot down by indignant net-warriors. Correctly so, but to the perverse enjoyment of all onlookers. And some pick a pretty picture and start moering the keyboard until something with an alarming amount of fragment error emerges, hit spell check so we can't be ridiculed by the people we compulsively correct, and reluctantly send our cerebral diarhhea out into the wide world of the web...

And later get beaten with sticks for wasting approximately 8 minutes of our mates' time...

So to avoid getting chased out of town by a lynchmob of angry blog readers, I have some news for you!

Tonight I have band practice. I'm really looking forward to it. Playing the songs we have been working on for so long with a full compliment of skilled and motivated members is a feeling of indescribable wonder and so I will refrain from trying to describe it. But tonight is gonna ROOOOOOCK!

Perhaps something newsworthy will happen in the world shortly. Then you won't have to put up with all of this.

NGDG: Restaurant review: EAT. A saltier Beef Stroganoff hasn't been had since 1974 when Lyudmilla Ismailovna queued all day for beef, cream and mushrooms to find that the only produce at her village soviet was, da, salt.

Spread The Love. It's Smaller Than Three.

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