February Sweeps - Day 14

Well, I'm no fan of Valentine's Day (as anybody who knows me--or ever took one look at me--would attest), but I did what I could to keep a positive attitude.

I feel like I've already said all this.  Is this real life?

This is a shirt I saw at Target.  I love dogs, so it amused me, and I went on my way.  But as I shopped, I couldn't stop thinking about it, along the same lines as how supportive girls/women are of one another, versus men.  Finally, I came back to the shirt and took a picture of it.

This is a really, "It's All Good," "Loud and Proud," "My Life Is My Own," confident, independent woman shirt.  A guy could not wear this shirt without looking sad and/or extraordinarily fat.  But if I saw a girl wearing it (no matter what she looked like), I'd think, "You go, girl.  You don't need no man to be complete.  If he don't love you any more, then march your fine ass out the door."

I have a couple of guy friends that don't like women very much, and one female friend that says that all men should be fixed with shock collars that 51% of the population have access to at any time (she also said they wouldn't be worn around the neck . . . maybe she's not my friend at all, now that I think of it), but this is an area where I feel women have a support system in place, and it's a totally good thing.

If a man is anti-Valentine's Day, I guess he's Prince of Losers.  But if it's a woman, then it's cool.  And I'm in her corner.  More on that later.

I had my writers conference today, and while it was fine and useful, my heart wasn't entirely in it.  Maybe you know how it is, but man, the day.  I was also pretty tired from scrambling to get that episode done last night.*  But I really did what I could to get a full day in, first going to my conference, then ducking out to get a bit of work done from the previous night, then eating, then writing a song (I sort of challenged myself to do it, and I hadn't written one in years**), then going to a couple more panels, then doing push-ups and going for two runs.

I skipped one panel and took a few minutes to write, working again on the Ben Parks story I started in, I think, late summer of 2018, but never--

Wait, two runs, really?  What the fuuuuh?

Minor tangent.  A lot of people who don't have depression or anxiety problems think it's great advice to say, "Just don't get depressed" or "Just don't worry about it."  And it's not as simple as that.  A lot of times, you would love not to think about it, love not to feel blue, love not to have those voices echo-chambering-around in your head, and if it was simple as choosing not to, of course you wouldn't.

But I could feel it the whole day, from morning on, like a backpack somebody had put a brick in, and every time I paused to reflect on the weight of my backpack, they'd stick another one in.  And something mental health professionals will tell you is that exercise releases endorphins, and that can make your brain chemistry change.  Okay, I have no idea what mealth hentalionals actually say, but I went to the park after the six o'clock panel and ran the stairs until I was good and tired.  Then I went to a couple of stores on the way home.  I ate some chicken and rice, edited audio for a half hour, and sat down to do this blog.

But almost immediately, I was aware that it was now Valentine's Day night, and I was going to spend the evening with my laptop.  And the horror of that fact (plus, my imagination of what everyone--and especially Her--were doing tonight) forced me to put my shoes back on and go for a jog again.  I installed some exercise app on my phone that keeps track of how far you run and how much more you'd have to do to get in shape (it's kind of mean that way), and I used it for the first time.

It didn't stave off depression entirely, but it really hurt (at one point on the stairs I started to get vertigo and lose my balance because I'd pushed myself too hard), and that takes your mind off things, at least temporarily.

After that, I had to do some real dollar-sign work.  I spoke to Big on the telephone, though, as he was driving home from work, and although he had little in the way of other options, I appreciate that he would talk to me for ninety minutes on this particular night.

Now, it's two in the morning, and I am typing this, wondering if I made the best use of my day, and if I have any chance of ever truly enjoying Valentine's Day.

I dunno, do you enjoy burying your household pets?

Words Today: 1702
Words Total: 20,107

(67% of Big's monthly goal of 30,000 words)

*On Wednesday night, I was super tired, and I edited one of the songs, and told myself my reward when I got it all done would be to let myself go to sleep, so I was very relieved when I finished the song, and hit Close on the audio editor.  Save Changes Y/N? came up, and I hit N, then went to slee--

Oh, wait.  What did I just do?  

Yep, I had hit No on Save Changes?  So I had to do it all over again the next day.  That sort of thing is pretty soul-crushing.

**Unless the "Everybody loves chalupas" song counts.  And it totally does.

TPTDNSIN 23: The Fake Sean Connery Valentine's Day Variety Show

Wow, kids, I got this in right under the wire.  If I ever try something this ambitious again, remind me to start it a month in advance, not a week.

So, Fake Sean hosts his own variety special, in honor of Valentine's Day.  Whether you love the day or hate it, hopefully this show, with songs and special guests, will make it all the better.



Just download the show by Right-Clicking HERE.

Once again, if you want to support me on Patreon, go to THIS LINK.

Awesome logo by Gino "Saint Valentine" Moretto.

Theme song was Sweeter Vermouth by Kevin MacLeod (CC 4.0 License)

February Sweeps - Day 13

Too much going on today (got my conference, had a bit of work to do, and had to practically kill myself to get the Fake Sean episode done).  I wanted to take some time to talk about it, but I just can't.

I got a little bit of writing in, when I could.  Not a lot, but if I finish my V-Day project early, I'll definitely sit down and write a little more before sleeping.  Fat chance, though.

Perhaps in a show of solidarity (or perhaps just to be evil), my cousin sent me this today:

I managed to type a little bit in between panels at my writers conference.  It's not nearly what I got yesterday, but that's to be expected (yesterday was pretty darn great, though).  Today I started writing a scene for one of those belated "Sidekick Chronicles" stories.  They're harder for me to write than most.

Words Today: 844
Words Total: 18,405

You know what tomorrow is, and I hope it doesn't suck.  I'm thinking of maybe writing a song, just to see if I can still do it.  It's sort of the day for it, ain't it?

Storage Unit Serenade 2

As soon as I posted last week's video (the first in a hopefully eternal segment), Big posted it on Facebook and Twitter.  But he's just trying to help me, I dunno, develop the thick skin that I should have grown when I was around fifteen or so.  In a way, he's being a friend to me.

I, however, am NOT a friend to you, so here's the second one of these in the second week.  Every time I go to the storage unit, I plan to record one.  I don't know how much people like or hate these things, but so far, I'm just doing parts of songs.  I may graduate to full songs, if I can ever find the guts.

Once again, you don't HAVE to watch it . . .

Let me keep a running tally (just for fun):
Pre-Eighties Songs: 1
Eighties Songs:
Nineties Songs:
Aughts Songs:
Teens Songs: 1

February Sweeps - Day 12

So, we're only a week into February, and I think it's safe to say this is the most productive month I've ever had.  Thanks, pathetic schoolboy crush, you're not entirely the trainwreck I thought you were!

I finished another story today, "Fatherless Child," the story I started on Sunday when I wanted to go to the lake and write, sitting on a rock or something.

Dude, I've never finished four stories in two weeks before.  And I've certainly never finished two stories in two days before.  I told Big about it, and he reminded me that somebody once challenged us to write 25 Stories In 52 Weeks.  I completely forgot about it, but there had been a movement to see if some of us would-be writers could come up with a story every other week for a year.  I am certain I thought it was an impossible task (and hey, maybe it is), but now I'm not so sure.

In 2020, I've written, if I can remember exactly, "Three-Time Visitor," "Fatherless Child," "Fisher & Florence," "Comics Trip," "Never Let Him Go," and "Troubled Child."  Those were stories, although the first one probably counts as a novella.  I wrote "Daughter Death Star Day," but I don't know if that counts.  I also started the David Bowie story, a third "Calling" installment, and "The Last Friday In December."  I think I need to make a list, maybe post it monthly, just to see what I'm capable in a year (or at least as long as I care, you know?).

So, I wasn't going to write about this, but I thought maybe it would be interesting.

Today, while I was at the library, The Girl posted a photo of herself where she had (probably with an app) created five of her standing all together, like they were sharing the same space.  My first thought was, "I'm going to comment something funny here."  And I thought about it.  After a few seconds, I had, what I figured was the best possible comment: "Oooh, I get the pretty one!"  I don't know that it was actually all that funny, bu--

Aw, eff it, it IS that funny.

But I didn't dare post it.

I was afraid that, I don't know, she would see I had posted it and feel angry or violated.  So I didn't post anything at all, merely Liked the picture.  After a few minutes, several Comments flooded in, and many of them were variations on that same idea (my favorite one was "Who's your friend?").  But still, I think mine would have been pretty good.

But I was too afraid to post it.  And that's awful sad.*

If it had been some European model or actress or something, I'd have had no problem posting it (I recognize that that's what Instagram is for), but for someone I actually know, I just didn't have the gumption.  I guess that makes me a grubworm.  Or maybe just vulnerable.

I wasn't going to post about this, but somebody today commented on one of my blog posts that my working so hard has helped inspire them to work harder, and that they appreciate all the things I've been putting out there.  It made me think that I should have gone ahead with my asinine comment, because . . . hey, positivity can be lacking in anybody's life, knowing that somebody gives a crap should NEVER be a bad thing.

Anyhoo, the hour is getting late (so let us not talk falsely now), so let me sum up by saying, "Yes, I went to the library today, and oh yes, did I write."

Like I said, I finished the story I wrote on Sunday, and that means that I have finished two stories . . . in two days.  Savor the flavor, 'cause it sure as hell won't happen again.

Words Today: 2,877
Words Total: 17,561

*Inspired by my own staggering level of cowardice (or common sense, if you agree with my hindbrain), I intended to put another one of those Put Myself Out There videos online tonight, but it had been recorded on my old phone, and wasn't on the new one.  So, I had to try to transfer it from my laptop onto my phone, and by the time that happened, I had a podcast to record.  So, to quote Adele, "Next time, I'll be braver; I'll be my own savior."

I Read "Pigeons From Hell" by Robert E. Howard

So, even though I did a reading of it for my podcast (which is where the real love should be), I figured I'd post "Pigeons From Hell" by Robert E. Howard on YouTube as well.  It won't cost much . . . just your voice!

February Sweeps - Day 11

This week is sure to be much more busy than last week.  I've got my writers' conference part of the week, and work to fit in when I'm not there, and then writing every day.

It's a sure bet that podcasting, video production, and blogging must fall by the wayside.  Except that I have that arduous Valentine's Day episode of my show to get done (only about halfway through at this point), so that means video production and this blog will have to go.

So, don't expect any more overlong, rambling, personal posts like you've gotten over the last few days.  Yeah, the cries of disappointment are deafening.

The thing is, this blog probably isn't really for you.  It's more for me, or, if I exited, for people to remember me by.  I've written on it for more than fifteen years, with, apparently, more than 1400 posts, so, I guess it'd be a good way for somebody to get to know who I was and what I thought about.

But I don't know.  There are things you say and there are things you don't dare say.  Because people could misinterpret them, could take offense to them, could use them against you sometime in the future (heck, the things I feel and think today I might not feel and think a dozen more years down the line).  And sometimes, things you think or feel are just personal, and ugly, and make you vulnerable, and human.

At the beginning of the month, I took a car ride and recorded an entire podcast where I talked about what's going on in my soul.  I still haven't finished editing it and sending it to the Southern Hemisphere.  But it's easily the rawest, most real me I've ever shared with anybody, and after I am dead, maybe it can be released, because, as I've noticed at the various funerals I've gone to over the last decade, once you're dead, people don't remember the real you anymore anyway, they remember a sort of Seals & Crofts' Greatest Hits version of you.

I went to the storage unit again today, and as I started to record myself singing a song, a car drove past, and my immediate instinct was to stop singing and hide.  What if they saw what I was doing? What might they think? What if they made fun of me?

But the whole point of going there and doing that and then putting the videos up here is to try to overcome that inclination.  So what if they saw?  So what if they thought I was making some sort of dorky SnapChat video for my gay would-be boyfriend?  So what if they called me on it?

Ultimately, it shouldn't matter.  I was doing something I wanted to do, for my own reasons, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it.  Unless my singing is wrong, which I guess I'll allow.

If I had a modicum of confidence, I'd be somewhere else at this moment, doing something other than typing this.  Hopefully with more money and friends and ambition and success.  But I don't, and there's really nothing shameful about sitting on my gluteus, typing on my blog, by myself.

I got some writing done today.  I didn't make it to the library (although I considered going instead of sitting and writing this post), but I did take an hour today, went to the park, ran up and down the stairs there, and then worked on my story "Never Let Him Go" until I reached the end.

It's probably my least-vital, least-exciting "Dead & Breakfast" story.  But that's okay.  Maybe sometime I'll write an actiony one that culminates in half the Noble Oaks building burning down.  But for now, it was the story I wanted to tell, with these characters that I've really enjoyed visiting with over the last six months.  And tomorrow, I'll move on to the next one.

Is that reaaaaally the best you can do? a buttholey voice asks in the back of my mind.  Yeah, it is.

Words Today: 1,452
Words Total: 14,684

February Sweeps - Day 10

I watched the Academy Awards last night, enjoyed most of it.

I used to imagine what I'd say if I ever won an Oscar.  Now I've put away such dreams (hey, I got one-and-a-half Parsec Awards, and that's nice), though, to be honest, I still sometimes wonder what I'd say if it were me going up there.

To be honest, I don't have to have an Academy Award.  Or any awards, really.  I just want to create something that really speaks to people, that makes some kind of impact, that moves, or surprises, or scares, or amuses people enough that

But I also wonder about the things that are missing in my life, and would I trade the good things (that maybe I take for granted) for those things that I ache for.   If that creepy guy said I could get ____ (fill in the blank for all that I'm missing) but I could never write another word again, I think it would be a hard trade (mostly because I'd always wonder if I COULD have written the something above), but I'd make it.

If that makes me seem weak, yeah, well.  Maybe I'm just tired.

I think I dissed Billie Eilish the other day on here or on Facebook.  I said I just didn't get her, and that she makes me feel like this:

But then, I heard that Everything I Wanted song, and I thought, "Well, maybe this one doesn't make me feel a hundred years old.  Not like the other one."

And now I keep listening to it, over and over again.  There was something hypnotic about it at first, but now it just communicates this feeling to me, similar to what I get from Jimi Hendrix's excellent Little Wing.  Eilish sings that she had a dream that she killed herself and nobody mourned, and she found, in suicide, everything she wanted.  And then her partner (who I assumed was a boyfriend/girlfriend, but turned out to be her brother), tells her she's loved and wanted and the naysayers (or is it the fans?) don't deserve her.

I had never heard the song before January, and now I've heard it . . . oh, let's say forty times (forty-two by the time I post this).

But when I wake up, I see
You with me.  And you say, 
"As long as I'm here
No one can hurt you."

Wow.  It's what we want to hear from our moms and dads when we're little kids after a bad dream, and maybe we never quite outgrow that.  I certainly haven't.

Apropos of nothing, there was an old man that used to come into the video store where I worked every single day (he came in every single day, not just the days I worked).  My fellow employees and I used to make fun of him and complain about him (and the literally crazy things he'd tell us), and I remember doing a drawing of him that we kept behind the counter.  He would come in and fiddle with the electronics, even though we'd told him not to (and there was a sign saying so), and he'd buy a new release, then return it the next day, claiming there was something wrong with it to get his money back.  

He was probably mentally unstable, but I think about him now, and it's with fondness rather than irritation.  He once told my coworker Mick what his great regret in life was (it was sexual, so I won't share it, in case you've eaten recently), and Mick told the rest of us . . .

But it's not so funny anymore.  That man is almost certainly dead now . . . and how different from him am I?  Or will be soon?

I'm not going to get Everything I Ever Wanted (I'd be lucky to get to have that dream, frankly), and I feel like the closest I'm ever going to come is through my art.  Through my characters, happy endings are possible.  Magic is possible.  Anything, I guess, is possible.  So, I'll keep on doing it...

...unless some Faustian bargain comes along where I can trade this for that.  Then all bets are off.

So, I took my nephew to his basketball practice today, and I had just long enough to sit down and get my words pounded out while I waited for him.  In fact, I grumbled when it was time to go pick him up because I was really enjoying what I was writing (I'm back to "The Last Friday In December," despite not having finished "Never Let Him Go" or the story I started yesterday--"Fatherless Child").  I think, had I had a bit more time, I would've gotten to the meat and potatoes of the story (basically, introducing a new character that should span two or three of these "Dead & Breakfast" stories).  On Wednesday (his next practice), I'm taking my laptop with me, and just sitting there the whole time.

As it stands, I didn't get all that much in (went through "Fisher & Florence" and added another couple hundred words), but I still wrote (and exercised, between you and me) every day this month.

Words Today: 1,625
Words Total: 13,232

Hey, and I didn't even cry tod . . . oh wait, I nearly finished the book I've been reading.  And at least two tears unabashedly fell.  This has been quite a wild ride, folks.  When it ends, I hope I decide it was a good one.

February Sweeps - Night 9

Often I think about sadistic choices, such as, "For a single semi-passionate kiss from What's-Her-Name, would you forgo watching The Gay Man's Super Bowl for the rest of your life?"

And jeez, that one is hard.  On the one hand, I may well trade ANYTHING to swap spit with the girl I lurve, but on the other hand, I just love the Oscars.  I love it for the same reason you assholes hate it.  Probably for the same reason the even bigger assholes out there love the real Super Bowl.

I remember watching, maybe 1996's Oscars (the one where BRAVEHEART won), and Kirk Douglas came out, right after having his stroke.  He was in bad shape, and it was difficult to understand what he was saying.  I wasn't even that big a fan, but it was a reminder that the biggest, most iconic movie stars, are people, and people will eventually get old and pass on.  And that was, what, twenty-four years ago?

(Douglas just died this week, at a hundred-and-frigging three)(the frigging was added)

That was the first time I ever cried watching the Oscars.  It was at a get-together with friends, and it was such a good time, that I vowed to never miss them again (and I don't suppose I have, once I could watch recap videos and such on the nights when I was working and there was no way to watch it).  My favorite viewing party was in 1999 (the year SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE won), where a big group of us that loved film laughed and made fun of it all the way through, and a soon-to-be-ex-friend of mine (god, the guy was such a dick; it's one of the few times I've lost a friend and not regretted it), leaned over and said, "Next year at this time, PHANTOM MENACE will be winning all of these."

He said it unironically, and I guess it seemed like a possibility at the time.  Can you imagine?

Anyway, I hope 1917 wins tonight.  It was a remarkable achievement.  I will be watching, and unless I am very, very wrong, I will certainly cry.

I am grateful to be alive, even if I often wish otherwise.  Glad you're alive too, despite your love for football.

I went for a drive this afternoon, not sure where to go, but with a lot on my mind.  I had brought my laptop, just in case I felt like doing some writing (which I have to do anyway, especially since the library's closed today).  I didn't know where to go, but finally, I saw Big Anklevich's old neighborhood across the lake, and I decided to go there.

I drove into a housing development pretty much built up alongside the lake that I had never been to (or even seen before), and when I described it to Big over the phone, he didn't know what I was talking about.  Turns out, it was built in 2018, and Big left in 2017.  But it was all new and shiny and expensive-looking, and there were lots of No Trespassing signs and Neighborhood Association Members Only signs posted, so my plan of taking my laptop and going to the lake to write were dashed.  Also, it is February, and I was dumb to walk around out there, let alone think about writing by the water.

It bleeping amazes me that the same phone could take this gorgeous picture as took the one of me and my nephew (taken yesterday) in yesterday's post.  Sigh.

So, I went to a park, and sat down, got on my laptop, and edited some audio for a while (got a reading for another podcast that I can't wait to share with people).  Then I started on yet another new story* (since I had no internet, I didn't have access to my works-in-progress in my email, so it felt like the thing to do), and got about a thousand words in before I started to fall asleep (I may actually have fallen asleep, I can't remember).  Then I got out and jogged around the park before I got back in the car and drove home, hands freezing.

Well, I feel like I accomplished something today, even if I really didn't.

Okay, Oscars are starting.

Words Today: 1245
Words Total: 11,607

*This one is about a single mother who didn't know her father, meeting the man for the first time.  It may not be any good, but I'm going to give it my best shot.

February Sweeps - Day 8: By A Nose!

I have to give this one a subtitle, because . . . wow, this was a close call.

So, despite staying up very late last night (and very late for me means, I can chat with my buddy Jeff in Germany or Gino in New Zealand, because they're already up and in the middle of their days), I woke up early this morning, and thought I would check out the swap meet the started up in town.  I drove past the building last week (when I was hanging out with my nephew, grooving to tunes*), and was surprised to see a swap meet there.  So I checked its hours last night, and drove over immediately this morning to check it out.

I don't know what I expected to find, but I sure didn't expect to find . . . nobody.  Absolutely nobody.

And I don't mean there weren't any customers.  I mean, there were booths set up to sell various bits of junk--my understanding is that it's a Hispanic enterprise, intended for that clientele, since the signs weren't in English and Spanish, but just in Spanish--but there was nobody manning them.  No vendors were in sight.  I could hear somebody talking (en español) in the back room, but I could have walked out with two armfuls of unlicensed (or expired) medications, and no one would ever have known.  Instead, I called Big Anklevich and told him about it.  Quite an adventure (he said, ironically).

My nephew had his last basketball game today, on the team where he's the star player (there's also a second team he plays on, where he seldom gets to shine--and isn't all that good--but I try not to go to those games), and though they lost (and have lost every game this season), this was the closest they've ever come, with a score of 42 to 36.

Then my OTHER nephew had a basketball game, and I have to admit that I zoned out and read through most of that.  Sorry, I know that's heartless, but he rarely even gets the ball, let alone makes a basket.

After that, we went out to eat, and while I'm glad I went, at the time I was worried about missing my writing window, since the damn library closes early on Saturdays, and that it was going to cost a lot of money (I'm a cheap bastard, you see, hence the women lining up outside my door).  But there are fewer dinners out ahead than there are behind, so it's good that I came along.  Then, they needed to stop off at the pet store (which took forever), and then wanted to take my mom to Walmart to get her Sunday dinner shopping done (which took forever times three).

By the time I got home, it was getting late, but I hopped in the car and headed on over to the library.  I sat down, and didn't even mess around on the internet (like I usually do), I just got to writing.

I got into it really quickly, thank goodness, and got into it, writing it all the way to the end. And wow, I don't know that I've ever had such a fast turnaround on a story before--literally coming up with the idea yesterday, and finishing it today (now, in my opposite-of-defense, it's a really short story, and probably needs another bit of detail and a few more paragraphs bridging the two days' work)--and it reminds me: Big Anklevich did the exact same thing this week, starting a story on Wednesday and finishing it on Thursday. So, you see . . . we are brothers!

I should do a post/rant/podcast about how unfair it is that girls are so affectionate with each other, and guys aren't allowed to be (if you don't know what I mean, then you, sir, are a liar and a rogue).  Sometimes, you need--aw, who am I kidding, I need--some kind of human connection, more than just a nod or a high-five, of the sort girls always seem willing to give to each other.  But regardless, I never tire of discovering my friend and I have something in common and exclaiming (in a vaguely Eastern European accent), "You see?  We are brothers!"

It's one of my favorite things, and I have a feeling the image above (I just created) will be back again and again.

But anyway, I almost forgot the point of this story.  I typed "the end," then started texting Big to tell him my word count.  And the lights above me started to flash.  The library made their announcement, "The library will be closing in five minutes, please take all your check-outs to the kiosks now."  So, I knew I had five minutes to get the word count, save the story, and email it to myself.  At the top of the computer, a countdown began.  I got the words (just over a thousand), I posted it into an email to myself, and--

And the computer logged me off.  No final warning, but with three minutes left, it just turned off, right then and there.

No.

I had been, no joke, less than a second from hitting Send.  I had created the email, put in my own address, and was clicking Send, when it all went away.

No (again).

I looked around.  There were two or three other people at desks, working, and their computers were shutting down too.  But this had never happened before--the countdown is there to tell you how much time you have left, so that you save your work before it reaches zero.

I got on my phone to text Big what had happened, so angry and disappointed in myself. If I hadn't done the word count thing, I would've had the email sent.  If I hadn't texted him my word count, I would've had the email sent.  If I had, I dunno, picked my nose or farted one time fewer, I would've had the email sent.

But then I checked gmail on my phone . . . and wouldn't you know, there was the email, just in Drafts instead of my Inbox.  And I breathed a sigh of relief.

So, I survived . . . by a nose.

Oh, and yeah, I did cry today, seeing a TV spot for THE CALL OF THE WILD.  It looks like it could be a good movie, despite having a jarringly-CG main character . . . but at the end of the commercial, my man Harrison Ford patted it on the head and said, "You're a good dog," and well, that's all I needed.

Girls who are friends and dogs with owners . . . they seem to get it.

Words Today: 1120
Words Total: 10,362

*Did I blog about this?  I don't think I did, since it was before February, when I have to blog every day.  But I drove my nephew up to the capital and let him pick half the songs we listened to on the way.  My rule is, if it's a song I hate, I get to veto it, but if it's a song I don't know, I'll let him listen to it, and hey, maybe it'll turn out to be a song I like.  It HAS happened, believe it or not.
So, we're driving around, and some Girl Power track with a Soul vibe starts up, and my nephew says, "Don't change it!" and I start listening with him.  It turns out, it's a song called Good As Hell by Lizzo.  It's a song I've never heard, by an artist I'd never heard of (before that day), but my nephew knew it, and about a third of the way into the song, he starts singing along, unabashedly, able to do the super-high parts because his voice hasn't broken yet.  And instantly . . . I am loving this song.

The lyrics go, "If he don't love you anymore,
Just walk your fine ass out the door!
And do your hair toss,
Check my nails;
Baby, how you feeling?
Feeling good as hell!
Baby, how you feeling?
Feeling good as hell!"
By the second time through the chorus, I too, and doing the "Feeling good as hell" part in a falsetto, which only encourages my nephew to sing louder.  And he laughs just about every time we do it, because he knows we're getting away with something (after all, it's a song with such kid-friendly lyrics as Yes, Lord, tryin' to get some new shit, In there, swimwear, goin-to-the-pool shit), and that makes me laugh uproariously, all the while trying to pull off the soprano "Feelin' good as hell!"

And in that moment, I gotta say, I had never felt closer to the kid.  It was this crazy moment of realization--one of those that I've written about, but seldom actually happen--where I understand, on a fundamental level, that this moment is Special (in my stories, it's usually an epiphany like, "Oh my god, I'm never going to see her again" or "And at that moment, I understood that one day, my Uncle Rish was going to die...that we all would, and soon").**  And I posted on Facebook, that, I had little doubt that singing that song in the car with him would one day be my most cherished memory of the boy.
In fact, the next time I saw The Girl, I thought maybe I'd tell her about it, and see if it made her smile.  Or like me.  Or something.  But I had forgotten the name of the song, or how it went (that honestly was the only time I'd heard it).  I assumed there was only one Lizzo song, but when I asked her, she sang a bit about getting a DNA test (which I later listened to, thinking, "Well, if I liked one song by Lizzo, I'm sure to l--"  Nope.  It was utter shite), and that wasn't the one.
When I described it to her, she knew which one I was talking about, and I finished the story, and she said, "That was awesome!" which was very sweet, but I could tell she was only humoring the old, nerdy grandpa that stares at her with such pathetic longing, every time she happens to see him.  And hey, I ain't picky: I'll still take an insincere "that was awesome," because, hey again, at least it was an interaction.
Anyhow, a few days later, I'm taking the boy home from his basketball practice (I always take him to the Monday and Wednesday ones, since his mom is working at the county jail those days), when the song comes on again.  Kayden has an iPhone, so I told him, "Turn on the camera, and video us singing this song!"  And he did.  In my mind--and it's all part of this desperate and hopefully-not-pathetic (but probably very) attempt on my part to feel relevant and young--if I posted something like this online, people would see it and think I was cool.  So we belted out the song again, and I think I had the whole chorus down, so it probably came out better than the first time we sang it.
But the second it was done, my nephew opens up the file to look at it, and because I'm driving, I don't get to see it--"Keep your eyes on the road, Matt"--and the boy discovers that, because he was the one holding the phone, the microphone picks up his voice way stronger than it does mine.  And that upsets him . . . so he deletes the file.
Arrrrgh.  I didn't even get to see the video, let alone share it with y'all.  I guess he's already at that age where he doesn't want to take pictures of himself or see himself on vide . . .
Oh.  My nephew is just like me.
I'm sorry.

**Jeez, I've never had a postscript have its own postscript before.  But one time, a friend of mine was having a really hard time in her life, with pain and fear and loneliness and responsibilities all piling up, and she chose me to unburden on.  And she started to cry--but not the restrained, keep-it-together kind of crying, but the unabashed, chest heaving, snot-from-the-nose crying that you don't let anybody see (which I'm sure I'll experience on my own any day now, and do not look forward to), but she was letting me see, and be a part of.
And I realized at that moment, "This may be the most intimate thing I've ever had a person share with me."  It really was a special thing, though I'm probably not explaining it adequately.  And maybe I shouldn't have.  Sorry, if that was inappropriate.

Rish Outcast 163: Flawed Protagonists (Abigail Hilton Interview)

In this episode, I sit down with Abigail Hilton and talk about her writing, intending to talk about flawed protagonists, but barely getting around to it.

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon--wow, thanks!--Left-Click HERE.

To support Abbie, Left-Click HERE.

Logo by Gino "Flawless Victory" Moretto.