I have not really been near the computer to blog lately. I'm not avoiding technology, or detoxifying myself from technology - I've been mainly playing with my iPad when the need to look at an animal video on social media washes over me. I had planned to do a little bit of writing yesterday, but had a visit from the I-Don't-Give-A Fucks. With them, they brought the Malaises. These insidious visitors rendered me unable to think, but I did force myself to further go through the edited manuscript of the hopefully-soon-to-be-released Howling on A Concrete Moon. This made me feel a tad virtuous, and banished some of the malingering lethargy my unwelcome visitors left me. (Most visitors bring wine, or chocolates, or a houseplant; the 'visitors' I had yesterday brought lethargy, ennui, and depression - the gold, frankincense and myrrh of the Arsehole Magi).
My younger son, who's always enjoyed music, accesses You Tube on my iPod and plays songs as he is unstacking the dishwasher. I would not mind this normally, but he is lately displaying a predilection for some of the older stuff from my high school days. Most parents would like this, but I lived through the Eighties and they STANK! He is continually playing Africa by Toto. Why? Dear God, WHY? This is just mind numbing and pointless banal tedium on a musical stave. In other words, the song is as boring and uninspiring as the dried bat guano on the floor of a cave. It in turns makes me feel like I'm coming out of anaesthetic, or sets my teeth on edge with the geographically flawed reference to Kilimanjaro being in the vicinity of the Serengeti (it's not). It's all very well for the dudes in Toto to whine about being 'frightened of the thing (they) have become'. I am beset by a very real fear that when I next hear this, I am going to finally lose it and turn into some hissing, spitting, were-beast. He plays it constantly. I suspect he is hoping I will absolve him of his domestic duties to avoid being driven by Africa, but I must be strong and tell him: NO MORE! And the edict 'no more' includes his ad nauseum playing of Safety Dance when attending to dishwasher duties (complete with dance moves).
But speaking of old songs, today I was driving to collect a client and heard on a retro top 20 special Summer Love by those satin-bedecked spunksters Sherbet. Dazza's got bloody good voice, and when I was younger, I adored that song. As I type, I'm thinking of the fantastic keyboard bridge provided courtesy of the yummy Garth Porter. I can see him now with those golden pre-Raphaelite curls cascading like an auric waterfall as he tosses his head. I never thought I'd be thanking Sherbet for cheering me up, but they did. Cheaper and more easily accessible than Zoloft.
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