Deadline
All right, I'm on a cover story deadline and I've been sitting here for hours, going through my head with an erratic, high-strung dog and a big stick, stumbling, trying to rattle words loose, get them moving in me again in some sort of necessarily logical procession. Another blank day in the world of shiny things, and I feel like I've been standing on my head for three days straight. I need something I just can't seem to find at the moment, and I sure don't seem to have a lot of words at my disposal. Mollycoddle. That might be about it. Fuss budget. Flim-flam. Cock-a-doodle-doo. Hip hip hooray. Hey diddle diddle. Rinky dink. See saw. Weed wacker. Popsicle. Hula Hoop. Gyroscope. Peking Duck. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. Up down boogie oogie oogie. Too-ra loo-ra loo-ra. Ding dong, the witch is dead. Holy cow. Hot dog. Candy corn. Bottle rocket. Wigwam. Snuggle bunny. Four flusher. Lucky charm. Happy meal. Meatloaf. Chin music. Clodhopper. Sodbuster. Bubble bath. Weeping willow. Hokey pokey. Tacklebox. Pop tart. Dipsy doodle. Whippoorwill. Rolypoly. Hot potato. Gut bucket. Chips ahoy. Sucker punch. Lantern jaw. Riot act. Lumberjack. Muleskinner. Marionette. Pound cake. Rump roast. Flapjack. Cold sore. Cattle prod. Knock knock joke: Cantalope tonight, my dad has the car.
OK, So Maybe That Was A Bit Much For A Mixtape
Nice of all of you who dropped me a line to let me know that my mix tape of whenever it was was much too long for ordinary mixtape standards. No, I guess all those songs aren't likely to fit on your average SA-90 cassette. Actually, however, that list was just the random mix that rolled through my mp3 player on shuffle as I sat here at my desk, and I was jotting them down as they came just for the hell of it. Almost 4000 songs on the damn thing and every time I strap those headphones on my ears the machine just keeps spitting out one astonishing song after another. I'm the most technologically illiterate goofball in this office --give or take Britt Robson-- but I have to confess that I've fallen ga-ga in love with this crazy little wonder of inexplicable technology.
This business, by the way, I'm told is blogging. This --this thing-- is a blog, but you could beat me over the head with a roof rake and I still wouldn't understand what that's supposed to mean. I don't have the foggiest idea how any of this works, and as much as it intrigues me to think that there are 40 million people out there blogging to their heart's content even as I type these words, I'm afraid I just don't have the knowledge or wherewithal to hunt them down and see what they're up to. I know, I'm told it's easy as falling down the stairs, and I'm assured that there are marvels aplenty to be found in the ether, but I haven't really had a chance to poke around for myself yet. The only other blog --and, Jesus, I hate that word-- I know of is Kate Sullivan's, which I adore simply because it allows me to get a regular fix of one of my favorite voices on the planet. And if you know Kate or speak to her, please tell her to keep the dog. I promise she'll never regret it.
5:46:00 PM 
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