News flashes

So. What do Gregg Allman, Brian May (Queen), and Billy Idol all have in common?

Holy cow, they're going to be recording in a few weeks with my kids. Rumor has it that Robert Plant is in negotiations as well.

Update: Eric just woke up and gave me the news. In addition to the above, he's drumming with Billy Idol on Rebel Yell; he's playing Black Magic Woman with Carlos Santana on guitar and the guy who sang with Journey doing the vocals; and Jon Anderson is doing Heart of the Sunrise with both Julie on bass and Eric on drums. They go into the studio December 27-30.

Excuse me while I have a heart attack.

Okay, I'll be calm now.

In other news, I've managed to generate some interest with my latest book, The Tour, but I'm superstitious so I'm keeping quiet about it until I have something concrete.

Let's see. What else, besides the fact that I'm extremely hung over from my office Christmas party yesterday, where I was turned on to something called Lemon Drops, which are shots of vodka, licks of sugar, bite of a lemon. Only of course me being me, I forgot to take the sugar lick and almost died from the lemon bite...okay, I didn't almost die, I made a horrible face...but um, I could learn to love those things.

Other than that, tame party, which is good...I was home early and still coherent though I haven't checked my outgoing emails yet.

Tomorrow Julie and I are doing our yearly Let's Kill Ourselves Right Before Christmas and Shop in New York City day. Nah, seriously, I'm really looking forward to it other than the fact that Julie's cheap when it comes to stuff like this and she's making me take the bus instead of Amtrak. I see her point -- I mean, Amtrak round trip for one person is $100.00 and the bus is $24.00, but oh god, Amtrak is quick and you don't worry about traffic and we're in NYC in an hour and fifteen minutes. The bus...well, it takes over two hours and the people...err, okay, 'nuff said, but the cool thing is that it runs from Chinatown, Philly to Chinatown, NYC, which is basically where we want to be. Julie's into thrift and vintage stores and funky warehouse places...oh, and of course vintage music instrument shops...and that's where they all are and she's got a whole route mapped out. We're having brunch at a restaurant which features a home made bread basket with orange sour cream donuts, pear pecan crumb cake, and fresh buttermilk biscuits. That's worth the bus ride alone. Then we're going to be real...gasp...tourists and go to Rockefeller Plaza and ice skate. Okay, Julie will ice skate and I'll watch. Nah, I'll ice skate too, but if I break my arm, she's in serious trouble. And then we're going to ride the ferris wheel at ToysRUs, which, even though it is an in store ferris wheel with Barbie and Ninja Turtle cars and therefore for babies, I am still scared as hell to go on it but I've promised Julie I'll do it and she's going to take my picture which I will post here assuming I don't think it will turn anyone to stone. ToysRUs New York not only has the ferris wheel, they have a two story human sized Barbie House and yeah, yeah, I love it. Even better, they have a candy carousel which dispenses M&Ms in every color of the rainbow including copper and silver. That thing fascinates me. Why? Because I'm a sick broad.

Anyway, I'm working on a sequel to Three Days in New York City which I can't post here or my publisher will have a stroke, but I've decided that blogging a novel was so much fun that I'm going to pull out an old one I wrote two years ago and never edited. I figure what the fuck, I'm gonna edit it here daily and post it like I did The Tour. It's called The Addicts and it's about a twenty year relationship between an alcohol addicted man and his sex addicted significant other. So stay tuned for that, starting probably right after Christmas. Or maybe before, depending on my mood.

Okay, time to eat some cookies for breakfast. I mean, what else does one eat as a first meal of the day during the holidays when one has a hangover?

Bleh, will I be sorry later.

Our office Christmas party...

So today is our annual office Christmas party. At 2:00 p.m. we will be drinking martinis at the Continental. Let's hope this year we all behave. Check that. Let's hope I behave. I don't care what the others do. Note to self: Only have one martini. If you choose to have two, please remember to eat FOOD.

(Yeah, yeah, that's me on the far left. Har har)

And err...I hate asking this, but if you get a chance, please don't forget to place your vote below!

I don't ask for much...

..but if you've enjoyed reading In Her Own Write, please pick me for Best Blog 2004! You can place your vote here: PLEASE PICK ME!

Yeah, yeah, happy holidays...

More from Picasso's blue period

LOVE SICK

I'm walking through streets that are dead
Walking, walking with you in my head
My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired
And the clouds are weeping

Did I hear someone tell a lie?
Did I hear someone's distant cry?
I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile
While I was sleeping

I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it
This kind of love I'm so sick of it

I see, I see lovers in the meadow
I see, I see silhouettes in the window
I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on
To a shadow

I'm sick of love; I hear the clock tick
This kind of love; I'm love sick

Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder
Sometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder
Could you ever be true?
I think of you
And I wonder

I'm sick of love; I wish I'd never met you
I'm sick of love; I'm trying to forget you

Just don't know what to do
I'd give anything to
Be with you

This pretty much says it all...

If there's anyone out there who doesn't recognize this painting, it's Picasso's Melancholy Woman.

I'm taking a few days off to re-evaluate my entire freaking life.

No, seriously, I'm suffering extreme post-partum depression since I finished the first draft of The Tour and I've got to really throw myself into the edit, as well as write the sequel to Three Days in New York City as well as finish illustrating and writing a series of stories for one of my favorite magazines.

And have I mentioned my nine to five job is killing me? Another week like the one I just had and I may be able to apply for Social Security disability benefits due to stress and chronic high blood pressure (sad but true). Hence the remark about re-evaluating my life. Just how much does a fancy salary matter when I need to spend every morning gulping down half a bottle of Pepto Bismol?

So all that, and I think my kids will be extremely upset with me if I don't get my ass in gear and start buying them some Christmas presents and baking some cookies and at least putting on a happy face even though I'm slowing dying inside.

Worse, someone has to clean this house and I guess I'm elected. Oh do I ever hate domestic goddess duties, because as a goddess, I shouldn't have to demean myself thusly. I just started moving things around. Holy cow, I actually found a Tower gift card from last year I never used. That just doesn't happen!

Sigh...

Julie's last Rock School show - a photo

(The kids play their final farewell concert in Philadelphia's Rittenhouse Square three days after our return. That's Julie above, looking very wistful, knowing that this time it really is her last show with the band.)

Oy...

Yeah, so this morning was a total waste writing wise because I got sucked into blog reading again (damn you, you interesting strangers) and I am now about 10,000 words behind on my NaNo schedule...meaning, I should be at the very least at 30,000 words into my novel and I'm at around 19,000. So I've really got to do the marathon thing over the next couple of days because I'm a fierce competitor and after just reading that others have already hit 50,000, I feel like killing them all, those gloating little bastards.

Meanwhile, I can't even handle the premise that it's Thanksgiving next week and stores are all decorated for Christmas. All my brain can digest is Oh hell, this is the last weekend I can shop for anything without having to stand in a fucking line. Like shopping itself isn't bad enough.

It took me an hour to get dressed the other morning because I couldn't find two socks that matched. So I finally out of desperation go to the Gap, a store I personally despise, but it's two doors down from my office and they have the socks I like - 3 pair for $9.00. Cool, huh? Errr...no.

"Where's the socks?" I ask the clerk, after running around that stupid store for 15 minutes. I mean, they've been in the same spot since it opened.

"Oh, they're right in front. Can I assist you in your selection?" said the 16 year old sassy clerk with the shiny pink lip gloss.

Yeah, I need sock assistance.

"No thanks."

But she follows me anyway.

Wait. What's this? My socks are now 3 pair for $24.00? What the fuck?

"Um..maybe you can help me? These socks are $24.00?"

"Those are our special holiday socks," she beams at me.

"They look just like the ones I always buy for $9.00." I'm honestly perplexed. And pissed. I'm not cheap, but $24.00 for socks?

"No, no, look - these have a little decoration on the side."

Jesus fucking Christ.

So this is what I have to endure until December 26.

Anyway, regarding Thanksgiving, the good news is, we're just doing an intimate, immediate family dinner. Yes! I can cook my little heart out but don't have to clean the house to impress visitors. I can totally trash my kitchen and not care, which means I can bake bread, make 87 pies, pile the dirty pots and pans everywhere and then make everyone eat on paper plates.

Nah, just kidding.

Maybe.

I'm losing it...

I should be happy. All this stuff going on with my novel, two books in progress, yesterday I got not one but two emails asking for interviews - one from my absolute favorite college radio station for a 2-3 minute spot, the other from one of my favorite writers on behalf of one of my absolute favorite zines...and even better - I suddenly have all these ideas for short stories. So why do I feel like jumping out a window?

Oh right. My day job, which at the moment is sucking all the energy out of me and taking up all of my wide awake time. My continuing desire to split my life between a computer screen and traveling and little else is starting to overwhelm me. I've really got to figure out how to do this and soon.

Sigh...why can't I be a twenty year old trust fund kid? Or where's that white knight who will ride up on that big old horse and rescue me? Yeah, yeah, I know. That's a fairy tale.

Crap.

Night Train Reading

This was a truly awesome Bed & Breakfast in the truly awesome town of Kings Park, New York, but don't be deceived by the photo. There were no people who actually worked at this Bed and Breakfast. Never once during the two days I was there did I see any staff, maid service - nobody whatsoever - which was wonderful because all of the writers and guests for the Night Train event/reading had the place to ourselves.

(I must admit, for a brief drunken moment Saturday night, I wanted to be Keith Moon and get wild and trash every room. Why? BECAUSE I COULD! But I didn't, because I love Sue Henderson and Rusty Barnes and wanted to be invited back to Night Train events again. In fact, I was the one worried that we left a mess - dirty wine glasses, empty beer bottles, etc. and I ran around cleaning up after people went to bed, but I did not go so far as to wash all the dishes in the sink)

Also don't be deceived by the grounds. They were lovely, but not on acres as it appears in the photo and oddly enough, smack in the middle of a charming suburbanish fishing town in Long Island, surrounded by normal, residential homes.

I dug it to no end. It was the kind of inn you'd find in Europe. Eclecticly decorated with everything from antiques to oriental rugs to weird art (think a sadistic mother goose choking a chicken and I mean that literally) to our suite which had a lava lamp with little fishies in it. The main sitting room had a giant stuffed dead porcupine with its mouth open in horror, stuck to a cork board, over the entranceway. I'm guessing that's because...no forget it, I have no guesses. No guesses at all.

And ah, the suite. When we opened the always unlocked door (at no point did any of us have keys because as I said, there was no staff), the first thing that greeted us was a huge four poster bed. Behind that was a small dorm type room with two twin beds. There was a large sitting room with a fireplace and sofas and chairs and even a bookcase stocked with best sellers and a Scrabble game; and a giant kitchen with everything from a microwave to one of those old fashioned sandwich makers with which you make grilled cheese over the gas range.

The suite was on the lower level kind of, apart from the main house, which is where most everyone else stayed, so they just had bedrooms and shared a sitting room and kitchen. There were three of us in the lower "suite", which I immediately dubbed The Honeymoon Suite because of the rather large bed.

Anyway, here's the complete list of awesome people with whom I hung out, talked off their ears and listened intently while they talked off mine, and partied throughout the weekend: Sue Henderson, Ellen Meister, Pia Ehrhardt, Rusty Barnes, John Leary, John Warner, Gail Siegel, Paul Toth and cool wife Kathy, Terry Bain, Joe Young, Jeff Landon, Tom Jackson and his lovely wife Deb, Todd Zuniga, editor of Opium, and his significant other, Amanda, who I believe will now be poetry editor of Opium (gorgeous New Yorkers who look all of about ten years old) -- plus I got to meet Ellen and Sue's husbands, both handsome, kind and charming men! (Like who didn't know they'd have THAT at home).

The readers were just unbelievable. Sue and Pia read two powerful short stories each, Terry Bain, Paul Toth, John Leary and John Warner read excerpts from their brilliant novels and anyone reading this should immediately google them or write to me and I'll give you the links to their stuff because you should all buy their books and support them, plus, you'll be in for a real treat; then there was Jeff Landon, who lost his stories somewhere between Virginia and New York and ended up handwriting them from memory, and he was hilarious (one line in particular - he's talking about a love affair when he was sixteen and his girlfriend is begging him to "Make it last this time, baby" but of course "he never could"...and then Jeff made a side note to the audience "Oh, that is sooo not true" (and he said it in his really great southern drawl, and well, I hope I'm not forgetting anyone because the reading was so chock full of interesting people. Oh, Tom Jackson of Zoetrope and Night Train was a truly inspiring emcee for the evening. And I want to give a special shout out to John Warner, who somehow managed to keep his cool because he read at the end, just shortly prior to which a large, loud, rowdy drunk crowd showed up and basically almost drowned him out, but he continued on with poise and dignity. If it were me, I'd have stopped in the middle, turned around, and screamed SHUT THE FUCK UP ASSHOLES.

Yeah, sure. I'm such a wimp I probably would have started to cry, but he held his ground and kept reading and he deserves a trophy.

I also want to add that Sue's husband and his band provided the entertainment, and they were really cool and a lot of fun. People were actually dancing!

So yep, it was a great weekend. Networking, talking reading and writing, getting wasted...what more in life does one need?

Just one thing: Jeff Landon, baby, YOU SNORE. You snore so loud you make plaster crack. You make light bulbs break. You make ceiling tiles fall. I heard you snoring through a thick oak door with a TV on!

But you are great writer, dude, so we all forgive you.

Leaving you with a story...

Okay, so I'm not missed too much while I'm gone, here's a new story of mine published just yesterday in The Beat UK.



Wedding Night