Crazy Train

I just realized that Lily is asleep and my Mom has Joe Joe over at her studio and I'm having fun over at Facebook instead of blogging. Now that I'm here I don't know what to say. Sort of like standing dumb-faced in a record store (yes, they're coming back, folks!) just staring at the pretty colors and bright, shiny objects, gravitating towards the top 10 rack and thinking "people sure are listening to crap these days".

Then again, maybe people always did listen to crap. Have people always listened to crap? And if I think people listen to crap does that make me a member of the lunatic fringe?

Yipes, Crazy Train ended and now I'm listening to an Ace Hardware commercial on the radio and my brain is blank again. Didn't Charo used to be in those Ace Hardware commercials in the 1970's? Tongue rolls, "Get yourself an escrew driver here, this man is so niiice!". I just love that woman. I remember how shocked I was to learn that she is quite an accomplished Spanish guitarist, having been under the impression that she was a ditzy blonde with no noteworthy talents outside of booby-shaking and hip gyrating. I won a Charo impersonation contest once at my friend Mandy's house.

Why can't I remember much about my childhood? I remember landscapes of moments in time. They are imprinted upon my brain like a Cassat or a Matisse. They are feeling, magic, tingliness, hope, wonder and a lot of looking up. Maybe that's my problem. I've been spending too much time looking down these days. The Bible says it's time to put away childish things. It doesn't say it's time to throw them away.