I Get You, Don Music

Sometimes I feel like this guy:



Does anybody remember him from Sesame Street? If not, you can find him at a site called (prepare yourself to be so excited you might need to bite down hard on something - I suggest a Twinkie) Muppet Wiki! It's a complete encyclopedia about Muppets! I just googled, "What's the name of the piano player on Sesame Street," and the site revealed itself! Oh and that guy's name is Don Music, which I never would have guessed, so this site is like gold to me, like more important than www.npr.org or my bank's website.

What does this have to do with how I feel? Am I saying that I feel like an orange guy with a tie and disheveled hair? Or that I feel like an unseen person might be controlling my every movement and supplying me with things to say? No, but I suffer from not knowing what to say so often that I wouldn't be opposed to the idea. Or the bit about a tie and disheveled hair, I think that might make a good look for me. This is mostly because my sense of humor was born from watching hours of The Muppets and Bugs Bunny so I developed an appreciation for ridiculousness and cross-dressing.

Major Momentary Change of Subject!!!!!

I just looked at npr's website and found the following headline, ""Hawaii: 'Let Nature Take Its Course' on Molasses Spill." Mo...lasses? Spill? There's a pipeline of molasses? I don't mean to make light of this because, according to the article, it's killed major amounts of marine life, but...really? There's a molasses PIPELINE? To me, it's a little like finding out that there's a pipeline of maple syrup that leads to a mountain of pancakes. Or like...I don't know. A leaking tanker full of jelly beans. It's interesting to me that there's been a major spill of something that's not oil. Hawaii really does have the most fascinating predicaments. And the best slack guitar musicians. If there was a pipeline full of those guys, I would be all about a major spill.

Major Moment of Self-Doubt!!!!!

Did I really just say I would support a major spill? Of any kind? I was just trying to make a clever transition back to the main subject.

Main Subject!

In episodes featuring Don Music, he was always trying to write a song, like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and would become very frustrated with himself and bang his head on the piano keys. As a kid, the banging his head on the piano was the funniest part. Muppets were brilliant at slapstick because to make a puppet fall down the Muppeteer would just drop him. So when I was five, I found it hilarious when he would suddenly smack his head, causing his arms to flail wildly. So much drama and limp wayward limbs made for a hilarious contrast. As an adult what I find funny is that he apologizes to his bust of Beethoven that's facing him on the piano top. "I'm sorry Ludwig!" he cries, as his head hits the keys.

At work I have a picture postcard of Carson McCullers pinned to my cubicle wall, and sometimes, I'll say "I'm sorry Carson! Look at me! In a data entry job! HOOOOW did it all come to this!" I don't bang my head on my keyboard, but I'm tempted to. Instead, Carson and I just look at each other. My look says, "I want to go home and write," and her look says, "I know, you poor bastard."

The saving grace lately is that I do go home and write at the end of the day. Most of the time. Sometimes I fall asleep before this can happen, depending on the day, but on average I'm getting in 12 hours a week of writing on the side. 

So my challenge right now is to accept where I am. Even though I've had this emergence of writing power, like I want to write constantly, even if it's bad, and even if I send it nowhere and just stare at it like Emily Dickinson in her attic, I can't give up my responsibilities and go do that. For Emily Dickinson, sitting in her attic and reading her poetry about not wanting to be famous WAS her responsibility. Thus she is one of the most famous poets ever. 

This opposes everything I'm reading lately about marketing myself and brings it back to "we are not in control of the universe, some people market themselves and get nowhere, and some people hide in attics with no intention of becoming famous and become famous." I wonder how many attic writers there have been who we don't know about? We'll never know. Apparently, they didn't shut themselves in and not want to become famous enough. 

Regardless of this, I wonder if Emily Dickinson would have experienced my level of frustration if she had been a single mom with nine pets and school loans to pay. How much more angst and hamsters would have appeared in her poetry? Probably a lot. But it was the mid-1850's and, let's face it, she would have probably died in childbirth. That's just what ladies did back in the day. I thought about this EACH AND EVERY TIME I FOUND OUT I WAS PREGNANT. I experienced three things at once - exhilaration about having a baby/immediate love of my unborn child, anxiety about being able to support another baby, and the thought of "I could die in childbirth." I never did, but I'm also not sitting in an attic getting famous writing poetry either, so fuck you, universe. 

No, that's just not the way my story's going to go. I love my house, my children, my furry children, my scaly children, and my writing all at the same time. I just absolutely hate my day job. The problem is, whenever I think about getting another job and start looking for one, I always come back to "The only job I want is to write." It ultimately doesn't really matter whatever job I have, I'll still be sneaking off to write something on scraps of paper. I've always done this, no matter what job I've ever had. So all I can do right now, is do what I love on the side and figure out the day job thing. Because though no job has ever held a candle to writing, I have had others that don't make me want to pull my eyeballs out of my face. I need to go find another one of those. And I have an idea, but it's in the idea phase, where charts and graphs and envelopes labeled "Confidential" are involved.

Oh! Oh! But I just had this other idea! I want to have the job where I have to go find poets in attics in publish their stuff. Yes! That's it! Attic poet detector. I can dust them off, maybe spray them with air freshener and convince them that they're geniuses who should have blogs.

And this is why my change-of-day-job-profession idea is top secret. Because I impulsively keep coming up with other ideas. I'll be a school lunch lady! Something tells me you won't make enough money. I'll be a school teacher! You'll probably make even less money. I'll be a banker! You looked at your son's fourth grade math problem the other night and said, "What the hell is this?" I'll mow lawns, I love the outdoors! Genevieve, you have a bachelor's degree. You're beginning to make a profession out of aiming low.

So I'm still thinking. While I'm thinking, enjoy, if you will, this clip of Don Music composing "Mary Had a Little Lamb." And I promise that after this I'll stop writing about writing, and I'll start blogging about ludicrous news headlines again. Like this one, "Roman Catholic priest injured in Zanzibar acid accident," which I SWEAR I did not make up. This is a real headline on yahoo.com. I think the word "Zanzibar" would make any sentence instantly attractive but "priest" and "acid" seal the deal. The quality of my blogging can only go uphill with that kind of material.

Gonzo Journalism

You have just woken up and you stagger to your front porch to collect your paper. You're thinking about coffee, and wondering why it is you don't read the news on the internet like all decent people until you remember that you are an indecent person. In fact, you have just staggered out your front door without pants.

Instead of finding your newspaper, you find me. I am sitting on your outdoor furniture, sipping an enormous mug of coffee, and clicking on my laptop. I am wearing a red flannel shirt and cut off jeans shorts because that's what I like to wear on Sunday mornings when I sit on stranger's porches. I toss you a pair of shorts and say, "Good morning! Would you like to hear the news?"

You nod, step into the pants, and sit on the chair across from me.

"Look, you should know that I'm really not into reading the news," I say.

"Then why don't you just give me my paper?"

"It's not that I don't like ANY news. I just don't like all of those big headlines. The ones about politics, war, murder, and natural disasters."

"So...you don't keep up with ANYTHING?"

"Of course I do! Look at this 'People pay ridiculous prices for Kanye's clothes.' Or look, this one's on yahoo - 'It's a feud: Honey Boo Boo vs. Cake Boss.'"

"There are wars going on. Plane crashes. Unrest in Egypt. President Obama -"

"Do you think Obama is more of a Honey Boo Boo or Cake Boss kind of man?"

You smack your forehead and hold your hand out for the paper. I sigh and hand it over.

"Thank you," you say, remove your pants, and walk back inside.

"Wait! Look at this! 'Ten signs that your coworker is a spy!'"

You slam the door behind you.

Well since YOU don't want me to deliver back page news, I'll go ahead and write about it. 'Cause, see, I find that the headlines that are towards the back of the paper, or the ones you scroll further down for on a website, are just as important as the ones that scream out in your face and eventually cause people to write facebook posts that cause other people to unfriend them. How many people do you know had family members unfriend them after the Trayvon Martin verdict or during the latest election? Conversely, how many people do you know were unfriended after posting the yahoo article "China's Donut Shaped Hotel." No one! This is the kind of news that gets you more friends!

Am I saying I don't have opinions about the big stuff? Of course not, I'm loaded with opinions. But writing about them here is not my job. My job is to share articles that preferably have "omg" in the title. Like this: "Tina Turner marries Erwin Bach After 27 Years Together" She's 73! He's 57!  "73 Year Old Woman Scores Younger Man - He Teaches Her What OMG Means" could have been the name of that article.

Or there are ones like this, "Cheesecake + Peanut Butter cups = the most decadent dessert ever." It's not much of an article, just a recipe, but the word "wow-factor" is involved. And it's news-worthy because I think people deserve to know what is the most decadent dessert ever. We deserve to know that as much as we deserve to know who was murdered yesterday, especially if it was death by chocolate cheesecake with peanut butter cups on top.

Better yet, this is my kind of news "Would-be mermaid banned from Fla. pool."  Just try NOT clicking on that one. You know, Florida I just don't understand. Who WOULDN'T want magical creatures in their pool? I thought the days were gone of excluding minorities from clubs but, no, mermaids must continue to struggle and find other places to swim. And swimming is what they do! That would be like banning me from a coffee shop. Way to be progressive, Florida.

Florida just unfriended me from Facebook.

But my absolute most favorite kind of news that I get everyday and read consistently is (ready yourself for a shock. You might want to put your pants back on) The Writer's Almanac.  It's through these daily updates that I learn things like, for instance, July 18th is the birthday of Hunter S. Thompson who was not only a novelist but a gonzo journalist.

I read this and thought, "What IS a gonzo journalist? A muppet reporter? I must know!" And so I looked on Wikipedia like the self-respecting lazy researcher that I am and found the following definition, "Gonzo journalism involves an approach to accuracy through the reporting of personal experiences and emotions as compared to traditional journalism, which favors a detached style and relies on facts or quotations that can be verified by third parties...Use of sarcasm, humor, exaggeration and profanity is common." 

How could I have lived so long without having known this? And how long would I have gone on without knowing had it not been for The Writer's Almanac? Thompson followed The Hell's Angels around to write about them in his sarcastic, profane style, which, as it turns out IS A STYLE! What does this mean for me as a writer? What gangs do I have access to follow around and chronicle their doings? Girl Scout moms? Sixth graders? Five hamsters? I have five hamsters, I can follow them around and take note of their lives and times. 8:00 - eat, 8:01 - twitch whiskers, 8:02 - bite human, 8:03 - eat, 8:04 - attempt escape. I have not listed time for pooping because it happens continuously. Perhaps I won't write about hamsters, although the schedule for Girl Scout moms is exactly the same.

This style will take practice. I need a place to practice, so hey, can I keep hanging out on your porch? The chair is comfy and the coffee is delicious...I can? Yay!...What do you mean "on one condition," who said anything about conditions?...Well, I don't know...I can show you a picture of it but can't you just imagine what it looks? I've described it, it shouldn't take a stretch of the...alright, alright fine. 

Here it is, as promised. The donut-shaped hotel in China:

You Fill Up My Menses

Prepare to be stereotyped by the following statement: People fall into two camps - those who love Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings" and those who would rather shove their heads in a beehive than endure that song.  If you're wondering what side I fall into, let's just say that my coworker James knows that he can mercilessly torment me by singing "Wind Beneath My Wings," and he takes every opportunity to do so, once even by text. He'd had off that day and texted me to see how things were going at the office. I told him things were fine and he replied by saying, "FYI: You are the wind beneath my wings." To which I countered with, "You fill up my senses! Come fill me agaaaaaaaain!" because John Denver makes his head explode. 

I like John Denver and I don't really know why but I think it's because I dig folk music and also because he did a Muppet Christmas special once when I was a toddler, so I equate John Denver with Santa Claus. Let us side-step the irony that Santa flies and is immortal, and flying is exactly how John Denver proved that he is not.

Anyway, we talk about melodramatic music a lot. The other day James began singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and he could only remember the "Turn around..." part. I supplied the rest.
"I always thought the guy she's singing to in that song must be kind of a douche because she says 'every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming round.' I wonder why she stays with him if he's never there for her."
"I don't know dude," said James. "Maybe he's got a good reason."
I thought about this. "Well...she does fall apart a lot. Because she says 'every now and then I fall apart.' How often is every now and then in her opinion? Every other day? Every other hour?"
"It's every other Tuesday," James theorized. "And on those days she needs to pet a cat, any cat, and she'll only eat Chinese food and she screams piercingly if anyone touches her."
"So she menstruates every two weeks? Jesus. I thought I felt sorry for her before..."
"And her boyfriend is like, 'Shit, she's falling apart and I'm trying to give her a hug and she's screaming like I'm stabbing her, and she's eating all my Chinese food...I'm out.'"
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah! And she says 'every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears.' Even SHE'S tired of her bullshit."
"That's what I saying!" James said. "Think of the line 'every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes'...how is he looking at her? She's freaking out for apparently no reason and he's looking at her like, 'Back away from the woman who's wrapping herself in tin foil, back away slowly.'"

By the end of this assessment we figured that it was a good thing that the object in the song was detaching himself from her and we were both very concerned about this woman's codependency issues and the glaring need to regulate her cycle. And you would be too if you watched the video that I provided a link to in that last paragraph and in case you ignored it, I'm going to save you some back tracking and post it here. It's.....it's....you just have to watch it. I remember when it came out on MTV but since I was also watching Sesame Street at the time, surreal costumes, ninjas, football players and doves flying didn't phase me when thrown onto the same set. Things didn't have to make sense, in fact it was better when things didn't because then they were ridiculous. But now that I'm older ridiculous has its time and place. Like at work when I'm supposed to be working and instead I'm worrying about Katy Perry.
"What do you think is going to happen to her in the future?" I asked James. "I mean, she's funny. She could act."
"Yeah, but funny doesn't guarantee her a career. Her music sucks."
"Well yeah, but I like her, and I'm just not sure how she's going to do if she doesn't evolve soon. That's what divas do, right? Like Madonna? They say she has good longevity because she constantly reinvents herself."
"Maybe she needs some inspiration like YOU ARE THE WIND BENEATH MY WIIIIIINGS!"
I covered my ears. "AHHH! Stop it!"
"Fllyyyyyyyyy! FLYYYYYYYYYYY away! You let me fly so high!"
"Rocky mountain hi-IIIIIIIGH! Colorado!"
"No! No! Ok, I'll stop. Just make the John Denver stop, please."
"You're such a baby."
"And you are the wind beneath my wings."
"AAAHHHH!"
"That's right. Some constantly reinvent themselves and some of us prefer to keep tormenting others in the same way, sometimes repeatedly every few minutes."

I'm not sure about James's longevity if this keeps up. But since I've given you a sample of a song I don't like I thought I would give you an example of one that I do like very much right now and that's "Yankee Bayonet" by The Decemberists. It's a duet about a husband and wife torn apart by the Civil War and it's got great lines like:
But oh my love though our bodies may be parted
Though our skin may not touch skin
Look for me with the sun-bright sparrow
I will come on the breath of the wind

Which is dark and sad and beautiful! And...and...it has a bird at the end of it flying on the breath of the wind. Which is not unlike the wind beneath its wings....Goddamn Bette Midler.

Intervals

I haven't updated Creature Feature House in a while. I think I'll start flip-flopping, update Payphone one day and Creature the next. What would a Payphone Creature look like, I wonder? I just googled images of it, but only found pictures of payphones, stills from Maroon 5's song "Payphone," and a picture of a guy on the phone that says, "Jay Zone's Guide to Payphone Pimpin'." Hmm. These things are not what I picture. I imagine a short, purple monster with an overbite, dropping dimes into the slot to make a call to his lawyer.

"Bill?" he grumbles. "It's Gorg. Any update on the libel suit against that blogger who keeps lumping Muppets and orgies in her posts? The Henson family wants to get back Elmo style...that's right, I know...but my people have been slandered...well, it may seem extreme but they're quite upset...uh huh, uh huh...no crayons for two weeks. That's the deal...well, we are monsters. Thanks, Bill. Best to the wife and kids."

Anyway, my trouble with Creature Feature House, well with both blogs really, is that I don't have a feel for their identity yet. Like, if I had to sum up Payphone in a word it would be..."everywhere." I let myself do anything with it, it's my playground. For Creature it would be "family." Ah, there's the trouble. There's a nudge inside of me that says if I'm going to write about me, the kids, and the pets then I should make it family appropriate, like people of all ages can read it, family appropriate. Well, people of all ages CAN read it. There's just no guarantee that an extreme conservative might not kill me. Or pray for me. Oh well. That nudge inside of me has never steered me in the right direction. It's a very fearful nudgling.

Speaking of kids, it's 7:30 and they're already awake. On a Saturday morning. What the hell? So in about a half an hour the craziness of the day will begin, which I'm sure will give me more than enough material for tomorrow's Creature Feature post. It will begin with Intervals, an exercise that my doctor recommended on my last well-visit. It's that routine where you do two minutes of light exercise, then two minutes full-tilt, then two minutes slow, etc, for 20 minutes total. At first I thought, "That's only ten minutes of aerobics, how does that help?" But HOLY SHIT. I am sweaty and out of breath by the end of it, and my whole body aches the next day. For instance, typing is the only move I can make right now that doesn't make me wince.

So your blogess should be looking nice and svelt in the weeks to come. Or as my dear friend and diet buddy, who I will call Hailey, recently said, "we're gonna be so smokin' hot it's going to be illegal to be in the same room together." Lest we give Gorg another shot at calling his lawyer.

"Bill? It's me again. I just came out of Denny's and there are two women in there who are so hot, my Moons Over My Hammy exploded...Yes...uh huh...I see...well, yes, it has been a long time since I've had a date, but I don't see...well, the tall one wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but how would I take her out to dinner if she's so attractive that the waiters melt?"

Hmm, this might be a problem. I don't want to intimidate potential Payphone Creature dates. Maybe I should have ice cream for breakfast. I think it's the only right thing to do.

And this is an aside, but I want to share this with you because this woman is so hilarious it's illegal and Gorg is on his way to call Bill right now. It's The Blogess
ps- Yay, I've learned how to link web addresses to words!

Catapulting Penguins as Promised

Remember the other day when I was wondering whether or not the mention of sex and erotica would increase my blog traffic?  Well, I've gotten two more followers in the last two days. So I can only conclude that this blog has more magnetic sex appeal than Katy Perry wearing magnetic underwear. Thank you for joining us, new vigilantes, and I vow to maintain this page's crazily attractive appeal.  And so, as promised to my commentators, I give to you, Frank Sinatra barbeque themed catapulting Muppet penguin orgy madness....
dsfhskdhlojgpeuu002808jef,asbbkdhwhrwejwteergegbeeb(new york, new york) padoo3453460789581#$ %$^%^*^#@$@#$@(quack)%$#%WFSDFYT^HFQWERFGNKENMbnoert">?Y::::!!!!!!!!!!

My loyalty knows no bounds!

So I have to wonder...am I just whoring myself? Mentioning sex, phonetically spelling out orgy goings-on, and name-dropping Fifty Shades of Gray, which I've never read, but am piggy-backing on the popularity of for my own gain? Well. Yes. And I'm oddly comfortable with it. A girl's got to get ahead somehow, and it's not going to be by phonetically spelling the mood of my meetings at work which would look like this:
zzzzzzzzzzz(Genevieve, please wake up, I'm talking to you)zzzzzzzzz(snort)?????????

or a long line at Starbucks:
NEEDCOFFEENEEDCOFFEENEEDCOFFEENEEDCOFFEEoh look at the new travel mugs!NEEDCOFFEENEEDCOFFEENEEDCOFFEE

or the Annual Gathering of Letter "Y" Devotees:
YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYohYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

No, these things will never work. In fact, I think I just lost three followers. WAIT! What if I take my shirt off? There. Done...What? How did you know I'm wearing a coat under that shirt and am actually now less naked than before? Ok, I'm no good at this whoring thing, but...what do you mean you've heard different? From who?..Oh...Well, the penguins weren't my idea, the catapult just happened to be in the room. Look, my point is if you stick around, I promise you'll always have something to read. Deal? Sweet. And now, as a poetry fanatic, I give you ee cummings. It's not his absolute best, but just so you know I'm not only a smutty blogger, but I have a heart, here 'tis:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

- e. e. cummings ~

Sex Affects Page Views?

I was looking at my post lists and noticed that I had twice as many page views when I mentioned Fifty Shades of Gray. This leads me to the following possibilities:
1) The color gray is popular
2) Sex is popular
3) Fifty Shades of Gray is popular
4) references to erotica generate more page hits than references to The Muppets
All of these things are possible. And right now I'm all about shameless promotion. So for today's post, I will give you an orgy. Here it is:

ansfklanDSFL,ERW !!@^#$%^$GWgdgvazxmKMakw:":POPO*l%^#%@#bbbbasdarqwqwq(swanky music)e+++++===--342395($nnm,!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone take a minute to throw some cold water on your face, I know that was intense. And hey! My page views have sky rocketed! I can now theorize that it could be because:
1) exclamation points are popular
2) blog orgies are all the rage

Either way I'm golden.

Howl's Effect on Rubber Chickens of the Imagination

I watched the movie "Howl" tonight, the one where James Franco plays Allen Ginsberg. It's the kind of movie that I'm glad I saw by myself because then I can just let it soak in without comment or having to break the mood after by asking the person next to me what they want to do next.

Speaking of writers and writing, I did a little homework on promoting The Daily Dylanson Obituaries on Amazon.com and one of the things it suggested is that I update my blog every day. Weeeeell, I did decide that writing needs to be my part-time second job. So that's what I need to do. What if I run out of material? Well, darlings, you're just going to have to give me material. Someone send me a box of rubber chickens in the mail so that I can write about that experience. It would inspire a post like this:

I went out to the mailbox, expecting the usual bills, yoga magazine, and coupons for oil changes that are always wet by the time I get them, for some reason. Honestly, I could get a bundle of bills, health insurance statements, and an add for a better face cleanser, but the coupon for an oil change will be the only one that is soggy and useless by the time I lay hands on it. And it doesn't even have to be raining. How is that? Do they sweat? Are they that excited about my potential savings?  But anyway, yesterday I did not find bills, wet coupons, or a monthly magazine when I went out to the box. What I got was a package of rubber chickens, each with a rose in their beaks and no return address. What did this mean? Was this a message from the vegetarian community to join their ranks again? Does Fozzie Bear have a crush on me? Was this a stunt to get me to blog daily because this is exactly what I asked my readers to do? And why didn't I ask them to send cash? There was no way of knowing, and no way to return the gift without a return address, so I brought the rubber chicken bouquet inside and arranged them in a vase.

Ok, I think I can do this. All I needed was the mere idea of rubber chickens (with roses in their beaks) in the mail and whamo - instant blogification. This means I need to make (sigh) a writing schedule. I've tried this before - making a schedule and showing up, just like a do for my day job. It's worked when I've done it before, you know, until one of the kids got sick, or until I got lazy, and stopped.

I suppose I can look at this as a challenge. Can I blog something every day? And if I do, must I always have to mention my book? I don't know, I only read that promotional stuff for ten minutes. I hate the whole business side of this stuff so much that I actually had to set a timer to keep myself reading it for ten minutes. Now that I'm pretty much done with this post, I'm going back for another ten.

But before I go, I want to share what I'm reading in case there's another independent writer who's working at promoting their stuff.
http://cwcberkeleymarketing.wordpress.com/2010/06/17/how-to-make-amazon%E2%80%99s-secret-promotional-tools-work-for-your-book/

And Fozzie, stop sending me gifts! How many times do I have to tell you I am not a Muppetsexual, and no amount of rubber chickens is going to change my orientation, I don't care how sexy you look in that hat!