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Yeah, I know. But I like the breeze, and it keeps the bugs out.
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Blog Archive
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2008
(49)
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July
(32)
- Photopunk
- It's Like Rain on Your Wedding Day
- Pimp My Quiet Time
- Why Literacy Is Important
- A Putative "Peeb" Panders Parodically
- I Will Do as I Please, Kate
- Don't You, Don't You, Don't You, Now?
- Fun for Kids of all Ages
- The Way and the Light and the Medicine Cabinet
- Oh, It's On!
- Here I sit, Broken-Hearted . . .
- Inbox Noir
- But "Wil Wheaton" Doesn't Scan
- Kindergarten Cop
- Of Course, on the Other Hand, the 'Net Won't Give ...
- Freebird!
- Saturday Night's Alright for Writing
- Fatigue Fatigue
- Accountant to the Stars
- If I Was a Sculptor, but Then Again, no . . .
- The Myth of Inbox Zero
- Holy Homonyms, Batman!
- Live Freon or Die
- Sticky Wicket, wot?
- Here Comes a Regular
- Technically, Wouldn't That Be De-Barred?
- The Blue Collar Vote
- This One's (July) 4 You
- One of These Things Is Not Like the Others
- "Vanity" May Not Be Quite the Right Word
- Caveat Rocker
- On the #!*% Road
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July
(32)
2 comments:
Is this where I post song requirements? OK good. I need a song about a guy who is going down into his basement to get his skis which he hasn't touched in years. His old ski-buddies are going to be there to pick him up momentarily and he's put off gathering his equipment together until the last minute - (probably because he has mixed feelings about skiing again after so many years or feels like he should be more excited to get out with his friends than he actually is. But don't get into this stuff too explicitly if at all. But it's there.)
So here's the catch though. He never goes down in his basement because it's filled with spiders, and he's petrified of spiders. Usually he just goes down to throw a box of old crap in the corner or quickly get the laundry if forced to, but now he's going to be opening old boxes looking for gloves and goggles and and stuff. And he's paralyzed on the bottom step looking toward the dark, cobweb enshrouded doorway to the back room. (Why doesn't he call an exterminator? Maybe his wife doesn't want the chemicals, or maybe there aren't really that many spiders down there and he knows it but doesn't want to admit that he's afraid of the dark in his own house. Don't get into it.)
So we can end this one of two ways. We leave him on the bottom step trying to work up the courage to venture into the back room. Or he actually goes into the back room and SOMETHING HAPPENS! Maybe he gets buried in an avalanche of board games and is trapped and has a panic attack and starts "feeling" the spiders crawling on his legs. Anyway, for some reason, action packed or internal, he is immobilized and the last thing that should happen is that he hears his friends pull up in the snowy driveway outside. Maybe they honk the horn... No, they don't honk, he just hears the engine running.
If you must play guitar, use no more than one chord. No choruses, or really any repetition at all unless it opens up awesome new narrative ground in some tricky way. You know what I mean.
SONOFABITCH!
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