Thursday, December 29, 2005


Hey, how's this for cool. Philebrity lists their favorite music for 2005 with the following introduction:

"God damn, we listened to a lot of music this year. And while we don’t pretend to be scientific, well, we like what we like and we’re right about everything. So here it is, warts and all, and in no particular order. Rockers of the world, when you weren’t sucking, you, um, rocked us. Good on ya."

And guess which band gets a mention in that article?

Curiosities/Honorable Mentions:

05Tom Vek · We Are Sound
Franz Ferdinand · You Could Have It So Much Better With Franz Ferdinand
The Legends · Up Against The Legends
Holland Boys/King God (live and mp3s)
Sweat Heart (live)
Bruce Springsteen ·Devils & Dust
Bloodfeathers (live)

Yeah, that's right, Sweatheart, featuring Thom Lessner on guitar and vocals, Rose Luardo on vocals, Hot Tanya/Amanda on vocals, Julie Slick on bass, and Eric Slick on drums. Ha! Come see for yourself at the Troc this Saturday afternoon (info in post below).
So I learned something yesterday. You don't want to google Neil Gaiman and indiscriminately visit blogs which pay homage to him unless you are prepared to handle anything. Now me, I have a weak stomach...and if you have one, too, I suggest you not visit this one, unless you want to see what a rat looks like when it's been skinned and roasted.

I did, however, find a blog which offered me a test to see which Endless I am (Endless being characters from Neil Gaiman's Sandman series), and was further traumatized to learn that I am apparently Death, the second of The Endless, you are responsible for ending all lives and taking them to your realm, from which no one ever returns. You are bright, positive, happy, optimistic%2
Death, the second of The Endless, responsible for ending all lives and taking them to my realm, from which no one ever returns. I am bright, positive, happy, optimistic and enjoy everything about life, but that does not mean I am silly or stupid. I can lay the smack down when I have to! Everyone loves me, and they don't know why.

Okay, first of all, I'm neither happy nor optimistic nor do I enjoy everything about life, but yeah, I can lay the smack down when I have to.

Now. What does lay the smack down mean? Hahahaha - I picture junkies, doing lines. No, no, that I can't do. Been there, done that, never again. And it wasn't heroin, and it was like in 1980, but still...

An um, everyone loves me and they don't know why? Yeah, me, either. Very curious, that, but from now on, just call me Death.

So I'm not in the greatest head right now. I couldn't sleep at all last night -- I just kept tossing and turning over the state of my current book. I'm putting tremendous pressure on myself because I've basically been on vacation since quitting my job at the end of July and I know this time, it's sink or swim...i.e,, finish the novel or start looking for a "real" job before I totally deplete my savings account for no reason other than an extended holiday at home. Anyway, I finally gave up on the idea of getting any rest at all and went downstairs about 3:00 a.m. to find my son watching T.V., wide awake and stressed as well. We started talking and crying on each other's shoulders and it was amazing, it took me until 5:30 a.m., but I finally felt better and was able to go back upstairs and get some much needed sleep. As I was talking out loud to Eric, I realized that, as usual, I was being way too hard on myself. First of all, I quit my job at the end of July -- a job I had my entire adult life and from which I was so burnt out I could barely get dressed in the morning -- and I'd pretty much decided that since I hadn't had a break in over two decades, I'd take the month of August off to just hang out with the kiddies. But then in September, I took my usual two weeks at the beach. In October, I went to England. Then before I knew it, the holidays were here, and all hopes of getting serious writing done went out the window.

I'm also a little more than worried about this blog. It's taking up a lot of my time, and it's become somewhat of an addiction. To be honest, I'm entertaining thoughts of abandoning it. But on some days, it's the only writing I do, and it is a way to get the word out about the kids' music and my own writing achievements as well as those of my friends, so I guess I will not make any rash decisions on that front yet. It's also an obvious personal diary, because as I've hinted in the past, in the real world I am a social misfit, and this is my way of "talking to people"...something I don't do easily in person.

Anyway, getting back to our talk last night, Eric reminded me that I had in fact written quite a few short stories (all of which have been or will be published in the near future) and an entire novel since leaving my job in July, and although it's not the creative non-fiction book about which I'm tormenting myself, it's the sequel to Three Days in New York City, and I guess I'm also subconsciously suppressing that because I'm still waiting to hear from my publisher about edits/revisions, etc. It's very difficult to write a sequel, especially since I went through so many changes since the first book was written in 2003 so I agonized over keeping the same voice of the character...oy...I'm getting nervous just thinking about it and naturally assume my publisher hates it and oh God, let me stop this line of thinking now before I have a total meltdown altogether. Ack! I was just feeling good about myself just five minutes ago. But seriously, talking with Eric last night was amazing and if I've done nothing else right in my life, I raised two incredibly bright, loving, and talented kids and when I go into these black holes of depression, I need to remind myself of that.

But this writing thing -- tell me again why I do it?