Rather than bore the hell out of you with my usual ramblings, I’ve decided to bore the hell out of you with some news! I’m going to deliver this news in list format, because that’s the laziest, cheapest way to write anything, and yes I’m looking at you, Buzzfeed.
Stupid lists. So here’s my list!
One: My memoir/essay collection manuscript “Dirtbag Lights” has been selected as a semifinalist for the 2019 Pamet River Prize. It’s given out once a year by YesYes Books, an indie publisher in Portland, Oregon. Yes, I nearly fell to pieces crying when I got the notification and woke Bobby up from a dead-sleep at 5:30 in the morning to tell him. No, I do not know where the Pamet River is. In the unlikely event that this publisher loses their mind, chugs a bottle of Fabuloso, and declares me the winner (to be announced in September 2019), the prize is publication of the book, a satchel of money, and a buttload of “hyperventilating” and whatnot.
Two: I have been asked to sing harmonies and play hand-percussion for a friend’s band next month. On a stage at a club downtown. In front of people. After not having stepped foot on a stage in nearly eight years after the ohmygod nuclear implosion of my former band, I feel compelled to tell you that the stage fright associated with going back up there does not make me want to bite my fingernails at all. Not at all! It makes me want to set my hands on fire, eat them, and then vomit up fingers like a Roman candle filled with flaming Vienna sausages until I die. Which is why I enthusiastically said yes and will be climbing up on that stage at 43 years of age and wondering how the hell my life is my life. Fair warning – I will need to be 80% hammered to do this.
Three: I need to lose ten pounds before I get on that stage or else be faced with watching the videos later in horror as my tattooed bingo-wings flap about the screen, which means I will be even angrier than usual for a spell while I do 5am workouts and eat goddamned salads three times a day. There is no need to worry about your own personal safety during this time – unless you live on Earth – in which case you will most certainly be affected by my Wrath of Hangry and should take cover immediately.
Four: Robert Palmer is very, very underrated as a singer and performer and I ripped off his stage mannerisms for YEARS. As they say on The Twitter, fight me.
Five: I’m working on a short film with my friend/drummer/villain-partner-in-crime Jon. It’s about Greg Brady. Fight me AND Greg Brady.
So lots of stuff happening at the moment. Lots to do.
Which is precisely why instead of working, I’m going to hit the ‘Publish’ button on this, and then go watch The Golden Girls for the next few hours while I rock back and forth, stare into space, and ruminate about events that I can’t change because they happened in the fifth grade, all the while staving off a panic attack and/or trip to Dunkin Donuts. You know, self-care.