39 and ticking

Fellow earthworms,

Heading off the objections that are sure to follow this publication (from the crickets that will be chirping), I know we are not earthworms. I just couldn’t think of anything else interesting to start off with, and I’m loathe to go backwards at this point. The writer is like a shark (and Keanu Reeves)–if he stops moving forward he dies.And if there’s anything I need to avoid at the moment, it’s stagnation. I have a lot of writing projects in the early to pre-inspirational stages. As with most of my ideas, the title or name of the product comes first. I think after two kids aged 4 and 7 I’ve amassed the wisdom necessary to write the definitive work on having children, called How to Lose Friends and Fail to Influence People. Seriously, most of my friends have kids now and we are struggling to return the occasional text message… usually only having time/permission from the spouse to hammer out an “SOS” missive before returning to the routine parental barks for silence or obedience. At work today I was starting to get involved in a project that might require a few trips to L.A., and my first thought before I could help myself was “That’s most of the way to Mexico.” And then I didn’t hear the next few minutes of the conversation because it was drowned out by the strains of George Michael’s “Freedom” playing in my head.

Ba-haaaa!!! Honey? Where are you going? Where are you taking the kids?

Ah, what’s the difference. Yes, I’m finally understanding when I drive by a house and see a motorhome parked in the driveway. That’s where I may soon be living — half as a punishment, but really half by choice. It’ll be like Travels with Charlie. Or there was some movie a few years ago that delved into the motorhome culture, and I guess owners are kind of treated like ship captains? When one owner was visiting another, they’d say, “Permission to come aboard, sir.” Can you imagine?? The respect… the deference and honor! A father can dream.

I exaggerate only slightly. Another thing keeping me sane and grounded is the rocketing trajectory of my band, the Drama Queens. We’ve played a couple shows at legitimate venues recently and seem to be gaining a bit of momentum. I’ve taken to wearing extra dark sunglasses at all times and can often be seen bumping into filing cabinets in the hallways at work. Here’s a clip from our last show, where you can just make out some of the tune over the screaming hipsters:

We’re just about getting to point where we need to make a serious music video. That’s another project in the pre-inspirational stage… my initial idea, which I know my bandmate will never go for, is to release as sort of a teaser to a more serious effort my solo version of that super-popular Alicia Keys tune. Just me on the piano, looking down at the keys playing very deliberately and earnestly until the chorus comes and I say directly into the camera, “This girl is on fire.” I’m thinking now “internet sensation” but I have the wisdom to know that in a few days I’ll see that as a sure end to a brief musical career.

Anyway, it’s snowing yet again in this neverending winter-into-spring here in New England. No one’s excited or even talking about the Red Sox. I’m in contact with the FBI about the March Madness gambling pool in my office… at first I thought they were taking my case seriously and valuing me as an informant. But during my last call I could swear they had put me on speakerphone in a conference room and had gathered a small crowd to laugh at me. I guessed as much when random agents I had never spoken with before seemed to be shouting insulting questions from the back of the room. Where has all of the law and order gone in this country??? Maybe my home is a microcosm of the nation, if not our whole civilization. If that’s the case, I’ll keep doing my part to make sure there is cereal in the cabinet and milk in the fridge. As long as we have that, all is not lost.

Until next time, or until the worms inherit the earth,

Eric

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About ericf73

A modern-day combination of Noah, Godot and Clark W. Griswold.
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