So I finally launched my new website last night after some irritating problems with the hosting software. Now wouldn't you think that someone whose livelihood was hosting websites could write decent instructions about how to launch.
Or am I the only one in the history of the world who still does a site in HTML? Good old HTML, like a second generation computer language --you have to take care of the details, but you have good control and I've discovered that while the 4th generation products may seen easier superficially, you still have to tweak and get down and dirty in the details, so why not understand what you're doing and work on that level to begin with?
Of course I don't have sound or wave files or anything very fancy. And S.O. has already entered the fray with some suggestions for the "home page." I have to change the photo to load faster. Well, see for yourself.
http://www.judycopek.com/
The search engines will still take you to the OLD page at AOL which I will dismantle and point to the new page.
There are links to the blogs of course, and I plan to put more stuff in the scrapbook and some more restaurant shopping fave links up as well as techy links and what have you.
My "schedule" (what a joke) called for me to do the site in March and well, it didn't happen, and I finally got going the week I broke my ankle, and proceeded apace. If I waited until everything was complete and totally perfect it will be next March, so I went to war with the army I had, so to speak.
Lame excuses. I finished The White Rabbit and what a thrilling book that was. New England has many great writers and Dave Daniel is one of them. And a Kerouac scholar, too. Also finished Julia Spencer Flemming's latest, and it was odd that both books had something in common toward the end, but I won't let a single spoiler pass my fingers.
We're doing a late simple Thanksgiving meal today. Turkey breast, stuffing, cranberries, maybe a soupcon of mashed potatoes and gravy. It ain't Thanksgiving without leftovers.
Grapeshot
Comments and kind criticisms about the web site are welcome.
Showing posts with label Kerouac. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kerouac. Show all posts
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Pryamid Lake, the Magic Place
Here
is a view of Pyramid Lake between Reno and Gerlach, a lake so blue you think it must be a mirage. There are never any boats on the Lake, and campers seem to eschew the lakeside campgrounds. Maybe because they are close to the road. The lake is what remains of a vast inland sea, and it is springfed. Stocked with trout, too, but I'm not sure when fishing season is. Clark Gable fished here, in case you want to know.
One needs a permit to camp, picnic, boat, whatever, but it's only $5.00.
The lake is so beautiful you think you must have stepped into a dream. There's a wildlife viewing area just off the high to Gerlach. The nearest town is Nixon, an Indian village with a museum and a store. Nixon has no casino but looks fairly prosperous. Don't speed through town, by the way, or you will help make the community even more prosperous. The pryamids sticking up in mid-lake are truly incredible. And how many people have even heard of Pryamid Lake? A well kept secret.
UPDATE: Dear Lovers of Pyramid Lake,The Paiute Tribal Council has decided to close Pyramid Lake to overnight camping effective Oct. 1st due to graffiti and other disrespectful actions that have occurred there. The Council is open to receiving letters about this decision. If you have been touched by this sacred sanctuary and wish to share your love for it,thankfulness for being able to spend time there, ideas for protecting the lake/ guardianship actions, requests for reconsideration of the decision to prohibit camping in the future, or any other comments about your experiences there or otherwise, please send your comments to: Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribal Council, 208 Capitol Hill, PO Box 256, Nixon, NV 89424. Please forward this to Captain Robert and all others who love the lake!Namaste,Deborah Dove
S.O. and I set up the Mystery Writers booth at the New England Independent Booksellers Association (NEIBA) today in Providence. A book show with a whole convention floor full of books is another dream. Zowie! One could go crazy. We have books spilling all over the house, but that is a good thing.
Last night I liked Kerouac better until Dean acted weird again. They are just across the border in Mexico, and clueless as usual.
Onward, onward,
Grapeshot
is a view of Pyramid Lake between Reno and Gerlach, a lake so blue you think it must be a mirage. There are never any boats on the Lake, and campers seem to eschew the lakeside campgrounds. Maybe because they are close to the road. The lake is what remains of a vast inland sea, and it is springfed. Stocked with trout, too, but I'm not sure when fishing season is. Clark Gable fished here, in case you want to know.One needs a permit to camp, picnic, boat, whatever, but it's only $5.00.
The lake is so beautiful you think you must have stepped into a dream. There's a wildlife viewing area just off the high to Gerlach. The nearest town is Nixon, an Indian village with a museum and a store. Nixon has no casino but looks fairly prosperous. Don't speed through town, by the way, or you will help make the community even more prosperous. The pryamids sticking up in mid-lake are truly incredible. And how many people have even heard of Pryamid Lake? A well kept secret.
UPDATE: Dear Lovers of Pyramid Lake,The Paiute Tribal Council has decided to close Pyramid Lake to overnight camping effective Oct. 1st due to graffiti and other disrespectful actions that have occurred there. The Council is open to receiving letters about this decision. If you have been touched by this sacred sanctuary and wish to share your love for it,thankfulness for being able to spend time there, ideas for protecting the lake/ guardianship actions, requests for reconsideration of the decision to prohibit camping in the future, or any other comments about your experiences there or otherwise, please send your comments to: Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribal Council, 208 Capitol Hill, PO Box 256, Nixon, NV 89424. Please forward this to Captain Robert and all others who love the lake!Namaste,Deborah Dove
S.O. and I set up the Mystery Writers booth at the New England Independent Booksellers Association (NEIBA) today in Providence. A book show with a whole convention floor full of books is another dream. Zowie! One could go crazy. We have books spilling all over the house, but that is a good thing.
Last night I liked Kerouac better until Dean acted weird again. They are just across the border in Mexico, and clueless as usual.
Onward, onward,
Grapeshot
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Road Was Life But Not Friendship
Racing across the Great American Night doesn't sound so attractive anymore. I'm nearly finished reading of On the Road, for at least the third time, and except for a few lyrical descriptions, I'm very disappointed. The phrase "running around like a chicken with its head cut off" comes to mind. Maybe I have grown old. Maybe I have grown up. The book now makes me sad. The energy consumes itself. Dean Moriarty has become extremely tedious. I want to slap him silly. How did this happen? The old doper in New Orleans is the only character I find sympathetic, and maybe some of the people whose hospitality is taken advantage of.
I recall a professor literature expressing the critical view the Kerouac ruined the beautiful description of New Orleans and the delta with the remark that "Mary Lou went to the john." At the time, I thought, "so what?" It didn't really break the mood that much.
My dislike of the characters is a complete surprise to me. Sal Paradise, the narrator, is just barely all right, but Dean Moriarty is a world class jerk.
On the Road is, or course, the classic "buddy" road book, but I don't think Dean is capable of being a friend. I'm also re-reading Proust, and thinking about Bloch (superficial friend) and St. Loup (so far good friend). The awful Verdurins and their friends. The Guermantes and their friends. And I see superficial friendships abound. Maybe it is the way of the world. And old friends are often like family, with the long history and the squabbles and the backbiting.
My mother had so many good friends, and she valued friendship and I always noticed how she gave flowers, and garden produce, and kept in touch and went the extra mile. I do have a few good friends, and I treasure them. The "theme" if you will, of Festival Madness is friendship.
I don't think my writing group is all that keen on Festival Madness. The book they like best, Promiscuous Mode, beginning to look like another dud although it is the least technical and has all sorts of cool stuff like bass fishing, casinos, sex and well, yanno, good topics.
Tomorrow we are setting up a booth at a book fair, and that should be fun. I love books, even books that I don't love as much as formerly, like On the Road.
In a somewhat sad, philosophical mood,
Grapeshot
I recall a professor literature expressing the critical view the Kerouac ruined the beautiful description of New Orleans and the delta with the remark that "Mary Lou went to the john." At the time, I thought, "so what?" It didn't really break the mood that much.
My dislike of the characters is a complete surprise to me. Sal Paradise, the narrator, is just barely all right, but Dean Moriarty is a world class jerk.
On the Road is, or course, the classic "buddy" road book, but I don't think Dean is capable of being a friend. I'm also re-reading Proust, and thinking about Bloch (superficial friend) and St. Loup (so far good friend). The awful Verdurins and their friends. The Guermantes and their friends. And I see superficial friendships abound. Maybe it is the way of the world. And old friends are often like family, with the long history and the squabbles and the backbiting.
My mother had so many good friends, and she valued friendship and I always noticed how she gave flowers, and garden produce, and kept in touch and went the extra mile. I do have a few good friends, and I treasure them. The "theme" if you will, of Festival Madness is friendship.
I don't think my writing group is all that keen on Festival Madness. The book they like best, Promiscuous Mode, beginning to look like another dud although it is the least technical and has all sorts of cool stuff like bass fishing, casinos, sex and well, yanno, good topics.
Tomorrow we are setting up a booth at a book fair, and that should be fun. I love books, even books that I don't love as much as formerly, like On the Road.
In a somewhat sad, philosophical mood,
Grapeshot
Friday, September 07, 2007
Scenic Lowell
The Boott Cotton Mill Museum is worth a visit. The photo is a view along the canal that borders the museum. Another view is of the railroad bridge. Small wonder that Kerouac loved Lowell, although I would imagine that it was much grittier then. Still, the sky and the river would be the same.
I have submitted an entry for the "Wicked" Essay Contest, the "back story" for Baa Baa Black Sheep. It was much fun to write, and in the likely event that my entry doesn't win, I'll post it here. I love to write from the animal's point of view. Weird empathy, huh?
Au Revoir, again,
Grapeshot
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Jack Kerouac
The photo is of the On the Road reader at Olive That & More at 167 Market Street in Lowell about 2:00 p.m. today. 
On the 50th anniversary of On the Road, we drove up to Lowell today and had a lovely lunch at La Boniche, sat a spell in a little cafe and listened to a chapter of "On the Road" read aloud, then ventured (driving in Lowell is always a venture/adventure) to the Bottt Cotton Mills Museum to look at the famous Kerouac scroll. Nice exhibit with lots of Kerouac memorabilia and it was good to see several generations looking at everything. I bought a new copy of On the Road, mine having disappeared somewhere between college and now.
Jack was such a fine looking man, and Lowell was his town. Still is. Beautiful early September day. We do need rain, but the sky was cloudless, a deep fall-is-in-the-air blue.
Long, long ago there was a coffee house in Houston called the Outside, and when you joined (for a buck), they issued a membership card stating that for all time you were a member of "The Outside." There were poetry readings and the smell of weed in the air, and once a big carload of Beatniks arrived from Mexico City which livened the evening up considerably. There was a black drummer called King George who played oil drums, and sometimes I would see him in Galveston, still drumming. I thought a bit about being a member of the Outside, which of course I still am, as is anyone who ponied up a dollar. I have always thought alienation was a good thing. Otherwise, what century would you be living in?
Raise your wine or beer or whiskey glass to Jack tonight, and remember your first road trip.
Grapeshot
Jack was such a fine looking man, and Lowell was his town. Still is. Beautiful early September day. We do need rain, but the sky was cloudless, a deep fall-is-in-the-air blue.
Long, long ago there was a coffee house in Houston called the Outside, and when you joined (for a buck), they issued a membership card stating that for all time you were a member of "The Outside." There were poetry readings and the smell of weed in the air, and once a big carload of Beatniks arrived from Mexico City which livened the evening up considerably. There was a black drummer called King George who played oil drums, and sometimes I would see him in Galveston, still drumming. I thought a bit about being a member of the Outside, which of course I still am, as is anyone who ponied up a dollar. I have always thought alienation was a good thing. Otherwise, what century would you be living in?
Raise your wine or beer or whiskey glass to Jack tonight, and remember your first road trip.
Grapeshot
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
A Woman Walks Into a Bar
This evening I was in Kendall Square, where I worked for 12 years, my old stomping grounds as it were. Of course everything changes. The firehouse is now a boutique hotel. There are fancy bus stop shelters, and a new Au Bon Pain. But other things look like they always did, at after the subway stop and the hotel were completed and the holes in the ground were gone.
Legal Seafood is still there, but the fish counter is long departed, and even the restaurant has been totally remodeled. I didn't see the take-out window, but maybe it's there. Legal Seafood was the first place ever where I felt comfortable sitting at the bar as a woman alone. I worked upstairs in an office and it was the kind of job where you put in a lot of hours after working hours, so I would bop down to Legal, have a glass of wine and an appetizer at the bar, and go back to work.
In the old days, I had a small mussels au gratin. The cheese and the garlic and the buttered crumbs offset the wine to a wonderful degree. At one point they changed the recipe--and the butter and the cheese were greatly reduced and it never tasted right after that.
I switched to stuffed clams which were ultra-delicious and arrived on a bed of salt and then they disappeared from the menu, too. Like I was the appetizer kiss of death. Who knew?
The last item I settled on was the shrimp wontons, fried of course. Always delicous. They too disappeared for a short time but are back again with a small seaweed salad. Yum! Just right for a small repast with a glass of crisp white wine and one of the delicious hard rolls with melty butter. It can't get much better than that.
The couple next to me had some kind of fish cake concoction, seaweed salad and brown rice. It looked like health food, and they weren't drinking, either. Rather pasty looking pair. Well, what can you expect? Naturally they hadn't touched their butter.
If you think I make snap value judgements, you're right. I do.
The couple on the other side, yowza! She had bluefish with mashed potatoes and onion rings, the best of both worlds. He had lobster bisque and a humongous salad with frisee, pears, walnuts, blue cheese, pancetta, maybe. It looked so good. They were obviously not health food freaks, and they looked like more fun, too.
The event I went down for offered a small meal, it turned out. Wraps and water. I hate wraps! All that doughy tasteless mess. Yuck! Wraps and cheap greasy pizza should be barred from--well, from anyplace I have to eat.
The event was boring and I sneaked out early. Just in time to write my blog.
So the man will burn again on Saturday. The moon is so full and it would be wonderful to be on the playa tonight, listening to the techno beat and drinking and talking and making the scene. I've been reading a little Kerouac in prep. for the big anniversary on Wednesday. You are celebrating aren't you?
We're trekking to Lowell, MA to see the infamous scroll and to hear part of the reading of On the Road. Remember. The road is life.
When I lived in Houston and drove to Galveston on the Gulf-Tex Freeway, I felt one with the car, and the car was one with the road which was one with the earth which was one with the universe and there was this great interconnectedness, and then I would get to sleazy old Galveston and drive on the beach and eat flounder stuffed with shrimp and cruise by the bishop's palace and gape at the oleanders and the funky parts of town and before you left you always had to put a quarter in the little carwashes to get the salt off the car and sometimes the gulf was warm enough for swimming in March.
Grapeshot
Legal Seafood is still there, but the fish counter is long departed, and even the restaurant has been totally remodeled. I didn't see the take-out window, but maybe it's there. Legal Seafood was the first place ever where I felt comfortable sitting at the bar as a woman alone. I worked upstairs in an office and it was the kind of job where you put in a lot of hours after working hours, so I would bop down to Legal, have a glass of wine and an appetizer at the bar, and go back to work.
In the old days, I had a small mussels au gratin. The cheese and the garlic and the buttered crumbs offset the wine to a wonderful degree. At one point they changed the recipe--and the butter and the cheese were greatly reduced and it never tasted right after that.
I switched to stuffed clams which were ultra-delicious and arrived on a bed of salt and then they disappeared from the menu, too. Like I was the appetizer kiss of death. Who knew?
The last item I settled on was the shrimp wontons, fried of course. Always delicous. They too disappeared for a short time but are back again with a small seaweed salad. Yum! Just right for a small repast with a glass of crisp white wine and one of the delicious hard rolls with melty butter. It can't get much better than that.
The couple next to me had some kind of fish cake concoction, seaweed salad and brown rice. It looked like health food, and they weren't drinking, either. Rather pasty looking pair. Well, what can you expect? Naturally they hadn't touched their butter.
If you think I make snap value judgements, you're right. I do.
The couple on the other side, yowza! She had bluefish with mashed potatoes and onion rings, the best of both worlds. He had lobster bisque and a humongous salad with frisee, pears, walnuts, blue cheese, pancetta, maybe. It looked so good. They were obviously not health food freaks, and they looked like more fun, too.
The event I went down for offered a small meal, it turned out. Wraps and water. I hate wraps! All that doughy tasteless mess. Yuck! Wraps and cheap greasy pizza should be barred from--well, from anyplace I have to eat.
The event was boring and I sneaked out early. Just in time to write my blog.
So the man will burn again on Saturday. The moon is so full and it would be wonderful to be on the playa tonight, listening to the techno beat and drinking and talking and making the scene. I've been reading a little Kerouac in prep. for the big anniversary on Wednesday. You are celebrating aren't you?
We're trekking to Lowell, MA to see the infamous scroll and to hear part of the reading of On the Road. Remember. The road is life.
When I lived in Houston and drove to Galveston on the Gulf-Tex Freeway, I felt one with the car, and the car was one with the road which was one with the earth which was one with the universe and there was this great interconnectedness, and then I would get to sleazy old Galveston and drive on the beach and eat flounder stuffed with shrimp and cruise by the bishop's palace and gape at the oleanders and the funky parts of town and before you left you always had to put a quarter in the little carwashes to get the salt off the car and sometimes the gulf was warm enough for swimming in March.
Grapeshot
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Sunday, Kerouac, The Pawsox, Infowar and Burning Man
Trying to find a cheap Sunday activity. Options were to visit Kerouac's scroll in Lowell, go to the races at Suffolk downs or take in a Pawsox game in Pawtucket. We picked the latter, and spent $32.00 which wasn't bad. Big crowd with the nice Sunday weather and also a day game. I wore my 2004 World Series Championship shirt, old jeans, and a baseball cap. White sneakers. I mean, where else can one wear white sneakers? The home team won. We had never actually been in Pawtucket before. Sort of New England working class with lots of two-deckers. Reminded me of Lowell and Kerouac.
Next weekend we may visit the scroll, which is the first draft of On the Road. The Times gave it a good review. I can't find any of my Kerouac books. Probably gave them to a child in the throes of adolescence. I do feel the urge to re-read On the Road, esp. as S.O. and I have begun taking road trips again. Of course, we are not racing through the great American night like I used to do, but checking into motel rooms before dark. But the undercurrent of the road trip is there. The road is life.
Jim Melnick, who has been flying under my radar, had an interesting article in the Boston Globe today, about computers and terrorism. Cyberwar. This is a topic near and dear to my heart since my novel, The Shadow Warriors, (not to be confused with Clancy's book) deals deepy with this topic and I began writing it about 14 years ago, but the germ came 15 years ago. Lots of water under the damn. I felt like a voice crying in the wilderness, and there have always been a few of us, sounding the alarm.
Last but not least, The Style Section of the Sunday Times, has a review of Burning Book, which is, you guessed it, a book about Burning Man, a topic I've been blogging about off and on since I began blogging. My latest literary effort, which is in its next to last draft, has many scenes set at Burning Man, and not to boast, but (WTF, yes to boast) I really do take the reader to the Man. If this novel is like the last two, finding a publisher will be hell on wheels. I haven't made my usual mistakes, but that doesn't mean anything, does it? I noted in the Times today that reviewers were carping about novels being slow to get going, and I thought, cripes, at least somebody liked it enough to publish it, no matter how the beginning creaked and shuffled along like an old man with a walker. At least I drop a body on page one.
Let's see. Friday is cat blog day, so I won't mention the felines. Yesterday's eggplant salad tasted good, but it also looked spectacular. The purple of the eggplant (skin) along with yellow and orange peppers and red tomatoes and green mint and white cheese created a beautiful dish that you just wanted to stick your fork into.
At the ballpark, I had a hot dog and Crackerjacks, a glass of decent wine (times they are a changin') and bottled water from home, a no-no. I probably haven't had Crackerjacks for 20 years. Still tasted good, but could have used a few more peanuts.
Now I need to write to a few agents pushing Promiscuous Mode.
Grapeshot
Next weekend we may visit the scroll, which is the first draft of On the Road. The Times gave it a good review. I can't find any of my Kerouac books. Probably gave them to a child in the throes of adolescence. I do feel the urge to re-read On the Road, esp. as S.O. and I have begun taking road trips again. Of course, we are not racing through the great American night like I used to do, but checking into motel rooms before dark. But the undercurrent of the road trip is there. The road is life.
Jim Melnick, who has been flying under my radar, had an interesting article in the Boston Globe today, about computers and terrorism. Cyberwar. This is a topic near and dear to my heart since my novel, The Shadow Warriors, (not to be confused with Clancy's book) deals deepy with this topic and I began writing it about 14 years ago, but the germ came 15 years ago. Lots of water under the damn. I felt like a voice crying in the wilderness, and there have always been a few of us, sounding the alarm.
Last but not least, The Style Section of the Sunday Times, has a review of Burning Book, which is, you guessed it, a book about Burning Man, a topic I've been blogging about off and on since I began blogging. My latest literary effort, which is in its next to last draft, has many scenes set at Burning Man, and not to boast, but (WTF, yes to boast) I really do take the reader to the Man. If this novel is like the last two, finding a publisher will be hell on wheels. I haven't made my usual mistakes, but that doesn't mean anything, does it? I noted in the Times today that reviewers were carping about novels being slow to get going, and I thought, cripes, at least somebody liked it enough to publish it, no matter how the beginning creaked and shuffled along like an old man with a walker. At least I drop a body on page one.
Let's see. Friday is cat blog day, so I won't mention the felines. Yesterday's eggplant salad tasted good, but it also looked spectacular. The purple of the eggplant (skin) along with yellow and orange peppers and red tomatoes and green mint and white cheese created a beautiful dish that you just wanted to stick your fork into.
At the ballpark, I had a hot dog and Crackerjacks, a glass of decent wine (times they are a changin') and bottled water from home, a no-no. I probably haven't had Crackerjacks for 20 years. Still tasted good, but could have used a few more peanuts.
Now I need to write to a few agents pushing Promiscuous Mode.
Grapeshot
Monday, August 13, 2007
Pleasingly Plump
Everyone hates the new first paragraph of Festival Madness, so guess I have to punt that. I always have big problems with the first part of the first chapter, then it falls into place. In the meantime, I write 10 or 15 beginnings. Makes me crazy.
Speaking of crazy, I have a friend who divides the world into fat and skinny and fat is bad and skinny is good. Never mind if you have a skinny butt or no breasts and your face is hanging down around your neck, skinny is still good. My friend is a New York City liberal but she likes Huckabee of Arkansas because he lost a lot of weight and kept it off. I don't know when she became so monomanical about a little extra weight. Old women look like hell when they lose weight. I am speaking not of 100's of pounds but maybe 30 or 40. Actually, have you noticed in all the weight loss ads, the people losing weight are always young. That's because the manufacturer wouldn't want to show the before and after of weight loss among the elderly. I mean they would look like , well, icky. This is something no one ever mentions, just like no one ever mentions the reason so many people are fat is that they stopped smoking.
Sometimes truth doesn't want to be told. Sometimes the truth is bad and isn't going to get any better. Sometimes there are only painful choices when a decision is to be made. Nobody ever talks about these things. Maybe writers that aren't being "inspirational." Chicken shit for the soul. I like that. It's probably not original. Don't think I'll Google it. You may have guessed I'm in a bad mood because everyone hates my new beginning. Maybe sometime I'll write a literary book and make it as weird and obscure as I please.
The cat tossed her cookies 3 times today. She has been having hair ball problems along with her tendency toward bulimia. The other cat is just fat and lazy. How did I get such strange cats? I know. I know. It's Monday and we all understand that FRIDAY is cat blog day.
What I really want to do is to attend a wonderful ENERGETIC celebration of Kerouac's On the Road 50th anniversary in September. Boston, Lowell, New York? Just gotta do it. The road is life. His energy was stupendous. Something I've noticed lately with 50's (not rock) music is that the beat is soooo slow. One wants to hurry the song up. I'm not talking about slow dance music, but sort of zippy songs. Except they don't sound zippy. Life has speeded up or didn't you notice?
Grapeshot
Speaking of crazy, I have a friend who divides the world into fat and skinny and fat is bad and skinny is good. Never mind if you have a skinny butt or no breasts and your face is hanging down around your neck, skinny is still good. My friend is a New York City liberal but she likes Huckabee of Arkansas because he lost a lot of weight and kept it off. I don't know when she became so monomanical about a little extra weight. Old women look like hell when they lose weight. I am speaking not of 100's of pounds but maybe 30 or 40. Actually, have you noticed in all the weight loss ads, the people losing weight are always young. That's because the manufacturer wouldn't want to show the before and after of weight loss among the elderly. I mean they would look like , well, icky. This is something no one ever mentions, just like no one ever mentions the reason so many people are fat is that they stopped smoking.
Sometimes truth doesn't want to be told. Sometimes the truth is bad and isn't going to get any better. Sometimes there are only painful choices when a decision is to be made. Nobody ever talks about these things. Maybe writers that aren't being "inspirational." Chicken shit for the soul. I like that. It's probably not original. Don't think I'll Google it. You may have guessed I'm in a bad mood because everyone hates my new beginning. Maybe sometime I'll write a literary book and make it as weird and obscure as I please.
The cat tossed her cookies 3 times today. She has been having hair ball problems along with her tendency toward bulimia. The other cat is just fat and lazy. How did I get such strange cats? I know. I know. It's Monday and we all understand that FRIDAY is cat blog day.
What I really want to do is to attend a wonderful ENERGETIC celebration of Kerouac's On the Road 50th anniversary in September. Boston, Lowell, New York? Just gotta do it. The road is life. His energy was stupendous. Something I've noticed lately with 50's (not rock) music is that the beat is soooo slow. One wants to hurry the song up. I'm not talking about slow dance music, but sort of zippy songs. Except they don't sound zippy. Life has speeded up or didn't you notice?
Grapeshot
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