I am enjoying the hell out of my holiday hiatus from electronica. Ain't much point in it anyway.
We've got four more years of economic stagnation to look forward to, so there ain't much point in raging against the seriously malfunctioning machine. Our "Person of the Year" has everything under control.
I see we've hit a new low point by way of Newtown, Connecticut. I spent my formative years just a few miles down the road from Sandy Hook. The evil step-dad had a good friend from that town we'd meet at Lake Zoar for some barbecuing and swimming and the like. I can't think of a place least likely to produce an unspeakable nightmare.
The way I see it, politically expediant gun control measures cannot cure what ills our society.
Anyway, back in the day there was a nuthouse in the Newtown area. A facility that the step-dad always said I was destined for. He kept saying that there was no better candidate for shock therapy than yours truly. I figure he didn't consider it a shock for a boy to be punched in the face by a grown man, but we'll get on about all of that on another day. Then again, maybe not.
I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what is so alluring about cell phones, Twitter, Facebook and all of that needless, addictive gibberish. My kid suggested that I was getting old. I countered by saying that I'm not at all interested in what should have been an electronic ephemeron.
A couple of weeks ago, I watched a green-haired girl tumble into traffic while busily making love to her sexy phone device. She was like a zombie until she went face-first. Death by cell phone?
To my kid I would say, it must be me. It must be.
Wifey is cranking up the foodstuffs. We've got three grandrodents in tow, with a couple of kids soon to arrive. And I'm thinking of wandering on down to Schiel's for a gallon of cheap wine. Because, as far as I'm concerned, for the next four years, we should all be self-medicating very heavily. At least, while we can still afford to.
Sez me.
Anywho, them's all I got.
I'm getting nothing for Christmas.
Mommy and Daddy are gone.
Later
We've got four more years of economic stagnation to look forward to, so there ain't much point in raging against the seriously malfunctioning machine. Our "Person of the Year" has everything under control.
I see we've hit a new low point by way of Newtown, Connecticut. I spent my formative years just a few miles down the road from Sandy Hook. The evil step-dad had a good friend from that town we'd meet at Lake Zoar for some barbecuing and swimming and the like. I can't think of a place least likely to produce an unspeakable nightmare.
The way I see it, politically expediant gun control measures cannot cure what ills our society.
Anyway, back in the day there was a nuthouse in the Newtown area. A facility that the step-dad always said I was destined for. He kept saying that there was no better candidate for shock therapy than yours truly. I figure he didn't consider it a shock for a boy to be punched in the face by a grown man, but we'll get on about all of that on another day. Then again, maybe not.
I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what is so alluring about cell phones, Twitter, Facebook and all of that needless, addictive gibberish. My kid suggested that I was getting old. I countered by saying that I'm not at all interested in what should have been an electronic ephemeron.
A couple of weeks ago, I watched a green-haired girl tumble into traffic while busily making love to her sexy phone device. She was like a zombie until she went face-first. Death by cell phone?
To my kid I would say, it must be me. It must be.
Wifey is cranking up the foodstuffs. We've got three grandrodents in tow, with a couple of kids soon to arrive. And I'm thinking of wandering on down to Schiel's for a gallon of cheap wine. Because, as far as I'm concerned, for the next four years, we should all be self-medicating very heavily. At least, while we can still afford to.
Sez me.
Anywho, them's all I got.
I'm getting nothing for Christmas.
Mommy and Daddy are gone.
Later
