How does it make you feel
◊ Sometimes it sucks having a catchphrase.
This has happened all too many times in the past few weeks: I will be feeling half-dead, hung over or miserable and someone familiar with my shameless self-promotion will tell me with no sense of irony that I rock.
Timing, folks. Timing. Yes, I am 90 percent shallow and like lots of external validation, but when I look like I just want to crawl under a convenient piece of furniture and curl up like a shrimp and suck my thumb, do not tell me I rock. It just makes me think "If I rock so hard, why do I fuck up so bad?" or "If I rock, how come I can't sleep?" or "Yeah, I rock, but what the fuck good does that do?"
Or you can just keep saying it anyway and not worry about it.
I haven't really talked about Dan and the loony bin. I don't plan to. But there's a certain grim kind of humor that crops up in situations like that, and I thought I'd share an example. I brought Dan some books when he was in the joint (but not One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which Dan probably would've gotten a sick kick out of). The staff had to check the books before I could bring them in. While the woman at the counter riffled through them, she said "Sorry, gotta check 'em. You know, for blades. Just kidding!" She looked up at me. "Except I'm not."
I am watching one of those serial killer shows investigating some decades-old murder and someone just referred to masturbation as "what Tom Waits called 'makin' the scene with a magazine.'" Nighthawks at the Diner, man. Great album. Buy it, borrow it, steal it, or fuck someone who owns it so you can hear it afterward. Just listen to it.
P.S. If you're cute: I just happen to own a copy of the album.