First trash news I read or heard about today was Ryan O’Neill “flirting” with his own daughter at Farrah’s funeral. He didn’t recognize his own daughter. She had to tell him it was her, Tatum…. And I thought my childhood was fucked up. Or my adulthood more likely. Or one gave way to the other…. blah blah blah….
On other fronts, I have many, many thoughts but probably not the chops to report on them. If you want deep, thoughtful and consistent blogging: GO ELSEWHERE.
But I do have a few things. One is this idea of getting A PHYSICAL. Of which I am supposed to be starting the process in the a.m. I figure I can have all these stupid tests and they will tell me what I already know. I am dying. How many years do I have left? Probably too many. My life expectancy far exceeds my financial ability to maintain, I fear. . But that’s an old crybaby tune I’ve been wailin for too long. “I’m a baby with a diaper and no one to change me” (diaper speak wanna be poet pun) was my college anthem. Either you get it or you don’t.
What? I’m not lugubrious enough tonight? Funny. I made a conscious decision the other morning to stop being so sad about everything. Funny how that works. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But the crazier you become, the easier it is to say YES!!!!
Random: Watching Anthony Bourdain touring an underground bat habitat in Jamaica. Sliding down to a hot core of earth covered in “cockroach and bat feces” and whining about how awful it is. But no one is wearing gloves or any other protective clothing. You listen Bourdain! If you’re going underground into a sludge pile of feces, you wear gloves … at the least!
Stories. It’s all stories. And the telling…..