I become too busy to blog. Kind of like the way I put excercise off EVERY YEAR until January. As if, magically, in January I WILL HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD FOR THE STAIRMASTER. Blogging for me is a finger excercise--a way to clear the old creative pipes--because my gosh; those witty mugs don't just make themselves, after all.
My friend Natasha has started a website called Creative Nachos www.creativenachos.com and she SHAMES me because she faithfully creates new posts--like a 9 page hiaku, or an in depth inteview with Neitzche--three days a week, like clockwork, and she has a BABY to boot. Kind of makes my cutting and pasting from Santa dot come look a wee bit lame, no?
And so I am reduced to this post: random, free floating thoughts swirling around in my head like the dregs of Pinot Grigio in a glass...AS IF I would ever leave a swallow. Please...you know I lick the bottom.
This is a TRUE STORY. This morning on my way to the dentist, a man walked up beside me making loud duck calls. He was obviously from Planet Wacko; and wore a jaunty cap with three long Quail feathers. But this is not what was unusual. What caught my jaded New Yorker's attention was the fact that a police car parked two blocks ahead at a corner answered each duck call with short toots of its siren. CAW CAW went the duck man. WEE WEE went the police car. CAW CAW went the duck man. WEE WEE went the police car.
My gosh, I really need to write that children's book one of these days.