I'm too broadminded. I gotta get back my sense of humor. I'm carrying too much head on my shoulders and I need to trim the hell down.
In 2008 I intend to do a lot more carousing with friends. I simply didn't get enough of that this year, spending too much damned time in Illadelphia, Fart Worth, and the Armpit of the South, better known as Houston. Freakin' backwater towns. If it ain't New York, it's got to be LA. To hell with the rest of y'all.
I'm also going to watch a lot more sports. I sat and watched 30 minutes of the NFL channel last night and it was pure heaven. I'm house sitting at the Joneses suburban manse, and they've got that Direct TV thingy where they can record two channels on the Tivo at once. So I didn't have to worry about missing Mythbusters while I discovered #20 for the Iggles, they strong safety who never curses. Weapon X, Wolverine. Hell I can't remember his real name, but who cares. I was entertained. And Colin Cowherd is going to be one of my patron saints.
Speaking of radidio, I wonder if Dennis Miller is actually such a miniscule pip in market share that he actually knows all of his callers by name. It seems that way, or perhaps he's only live in two cities. I love his show, and there's never an episode I catch where he doesn't make me laugh out loud, but sometimes he just does some very unradio shit. I have never heard a more stumblebum shill. Whenever he's reading copy, you can hear him desperately trying to sound sincere. It doesn't freaking work, you know that in back of his head there's a bonobo ape swinging by his nuts and doing an impersonation of Jerry Lewis and aiming shit bombs at his frontal lobe screaming make a joke make a joke! I'll continue to listen, if only for the lists of movies.
Speaking of which, I practically died laughing this week at Achmed the Dead Terrorist. YouTube that. Holy smokes that's funny. Also, I now get Jimmy Durante. I've never seen the guy younger than 60 before I saw him play 'Banjo' in 'The Man Who Came to Dinner' with Bette Davis. But of course the star of the show, playing a delightfully crusty blowhard by the name of Whiteside was the heretofore unknown Monty Woolley. They don't make movies like that any more.
So I'm not going to do any more projects. I'm rather fed up with my own goody-two-shoes. I'm not yet fifty, but it's time for me to become the old crank I need to be, with a healthy dash of holly jolly and a rapier wit. The trick, as Woolley has shown, is to have a quip for every cliche that the rabble idly toss. Generally, boring language kills conversation, but if you can manage to have the last snide word even in the presence of boors, well that's saying something. And so, I'm off to recover the sharpness of my tongue. Erudition for the purposes of enlightenment? Bah. I'm just going to snap on people. Loads more fun, that.
Pops tried to get me into the creme sherry. God how do you drink that stuff? It's entirely too nasty to sip, and too volatile to slug down. Toilet's the place for it. Which means that I'm going to have to modify my Angry Black Man drink once more, to rid the concoction of that noxious poison.
Christmas was nice. This year it was full of less spirit than any in memory. Just lots of great gifts. We hardly sang any songs. But the kids were so besides themselves with pageants, concerts, plays and recitals, we hardly had time to sing about wonderland conspiracies, let alone mutant reindeer. The great news is that now that Boy has a mute for his trumpet and music from the Duke, there are actually pleasant sounds emanating from his practice. We're doing duos, and you'll see a YouTube of that for sure in 08. Maybe Caravan, maybe Mood Indigo. Me, I got a new amp for my bass, and finally Cameo sounds like Cameo. Word up.
On a sadder but obscured and abbreviated note, the extended Bowen clan took an L with the death of a certain someone in a fatal car accident. The day after Christmas, we were in a mad scramble to manage that calamity, and flights were booked and arrangements are being made. Death is always sobering, and there is nothing like it to provide clarity. Am I doing what I need to be doing? Yes, for the most part. Except for all this damnable baggage of 'responsible' blogging. From here on out it's going to be fun, and Gerard is my spiritual guide. In a few weeks, I might even un-ban the N word. Who knows?
At the very least, I'll try to revive the comic. It has been a while.
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