Eyes Cream For Vinyl

I want my vinyl back, vinyl back, vinyl back...... vinyl is back baby. Possibly for a limited time, but I am shore glad to be in the epicenter of this plastic rebirth. Yes, my collection sat in the basement: in a box; with a fox; got pooped on by a Burmese Python; and seemed to survive two decades of basement plagues. I've been bringing albums up from the dungeon, two at a time, to re spin the likes of "Ogdens' Nut Gone Flake" or Zappa's "Apostrophe." Looking forward to bringing up four more.

Oh Bucket!

Short little post about my word for the week and that is "bucket." Somehow the cosmos is entering my direction and she's carrying a bucket. I don't know why. Say it with me, "bucket, bucket, bucket." It's just one of those words that keep coming up and I am pretty sure it must mean something. I posted on my Face Book page about a hypothetical agent introducing a product to his client. The product was a rubber chicken, no silly, it was a bucket and the client was a famous model. She is now the proud endorser of her very own line of gold gilded diamond encrusted champagne carriers, I suppose. The agent is fiction, but the model and her pail are not. Next thing I know Bootsy Collins is posting his latest video with his side kick- "buckethead." I think there was a "bucket list" connection in there too per author Rico Austin. He got a kick out if it. And last but not least, the ending to my book club novel, The Catcher In The Rye," where the only italicized word in this piece is - "In buckets, I swear to God."

I'll Take A Stick of Butter, Eggs, And A Pack Of Carnies.

Make that a wild pack and throw in grandma Carnie who sews like a son of a stitch. I want their costumes to shine like the top of the "I'll take a Chi-town three flat" building and gleam like 72' fondue and when that's all said and done- these brothers from another mother better be good in the sack. Oh yeah, I am not going to have these suckers be like the 1932 rat pack in "Freaks," but so slick and good lookin, their side burns have a black book. They get the chicks, they get the money, they get the Gary Glitter outfits and they totally get "The Best Of Bread." Wink, wink.

Listen- if you made it this far, I am so laughing at myself and these crazy 70's cliche's. That's what the decade was all about, cliche's and crochet hanging plant holders. That probably is not what the decade was all about but what do I know. Welcome to my outline/notes, where randomness and cynicism prevails. Have a nice day.

Ramblings Mans

Starting to get real antsy about writing professionally. I am not sure if I want to get back into journalism. My ex-editor once said "Journalists are not writers, they are reporters." Then he gave me a job answering phones. Those words got me to thinking, "Am I cut out for this journalistic underworld? " I am not sure. I do not know much about politics, sports or local businesses but eagerness is stomping out the fear of rejection and this mom is bursting at the seams for a chance. My resume has collected dust which incidentally has caused breathing problems, heart palpitations and panic, nothing that a martini can't fix and a good editor. I am excited to be helping a local online news site with an every Wednesday "moms council" where three of us ladies tackle questions from discerning parents . It is not a payed gig and is lead by a local mom who freelances and produces her own "arts and entertainment" local city magazine in which I have also been helping her proofread. Baby steps, baby steps.