Strikes in the unlikeliest of places.
Is 90% perspiration.
Other cliches and old wives' tales.
So, whilst listening to Anna Nalick's Breathe (2 A.M.), which the wife turned me on to once upon a time and which I still hope to Someday actually hear at, you know, 2 a.m., the proverbial lightning bolt smote your humble narrator upside his pretty little head. And yes, this is my diary screaming out loud. Nope, don't give a fuck that noone's listening but me.
And I'm damn near deaf.
So the new question I'm bouncing off folks in text and e-mail is this: If you could possess any single thing, quality or feeling, what would it be?
For those of you who are as inept as me, trust me on this: never ask a question (always ask better questions; I have a ? tattooed on my left forearm to remind me of this) you don't have an answer prepared for.
My answer is thus: The Rewind Button, of course. Those of you familiar with the lovely and talented Ms. Nalick's (she's due for a new disc and one certainly hopes her tour makes its merry way to Calgary) will be all-too-aware of where I'm going with this.
And this is the basis for my next storytelling endeavour which, sadly, is still in the planning stages. What? It took all of my 3 brain cells just to come up with the fucking thing. And my day has been spent eating cake, reading Neil Strauss' Emergency and watching Season 2 of the Chappelle Show. And wondering how far back to pull whilst giving someone her space. And discovering, much to my dismay, that I'm completely UNDATEABLE; an excellent read. I caught some of the VH1 special when I was in Vegas in May.
But I digress. My idea. What would you do if you were blessed or cursed with the Rewind Button?
Would you act globally or locally? Selfishly or selflessly?
I like to think I know what I'd do but, sadly, I've a sneaking suspicion I'd end up using it for good instead. Sigh. I guess we'll just have to find out. Yes, it's a great deal like the last thing I actually wrote (curse you, shakes fist, writer's block!), but write what you know, n'est pas? And I'm just thrilled that ideas and words are starting to use me as a conduit again now that I, to quote Mr. Rossdale (whatever happened to him, anyway?), feel the way I hate and hate the way I feel...full time. Where they'll take me remains to be seen, but it's all about the journey, fuck the destination.
In closing, what have we learned here today?
Anna Nalick is TOO fine.
And I'm Rick James, bitch! Nope, that shit never gets tired.
Oh, and I think we should deport Vanilla Ice to run Haiti. I'm pretty sure he needs the work.
Sasha Grey on Entourage is like a wet dream come true, ain't it? Have I mentioned that I met her? Even put my arm around her without security kicking my monkey ass and everything. Good times!
Fuck Poker. The World Series of Blowjobs is where it's at. The blonde and the oriental duking it out in the finale and gagging their merry way through a well, gaggle of fellas (what? they can't all be gold, sue me) is well worth the download. Trust me, I have a cute South African doctor.