Writer's Block

I like this photo so much, I post it again. December, 1994; Lake Tahoe

I think I have a mild case of it, likely at least in part to the fact I'm editing a 90,000 word manuscript. That blocks a lot of things.

So, a few short tales today . . .

Was reading a book in my backyard lounge chair this evening, Do All Travel Writer's Go to Hell?, when a mate of mine walked by whom I hadn't seen since about January 4. She has a dog, Blue (or Bleu. I'm not French, so I'll go with the former), about two years old, used to play fight with Bernie. She'd get all worried that Bernie didn't like it, and I always told her Bernie can take care of herself. Blue would jump all about and on Bernie, then eventually Bernie would somewhat fiercely correct the little booger. Is that how you spell booger? Regardless, good times those were. Oh, she asked me to continue the story of Bernie. So I did, but I'd drank some Newcastle before then, so I think I sounded a little giddy. She was bummed the story only went on another three days past January 4.

Speaking of Do All Travel Writers . . . I won't editorialize about this, you can draw your own conclusions, but this is my favorite thought I read within it tonight: "I don't know what to do about women. I really don't. You want them; they don't want you. They want you; you don't want them. People want to dominate or be dominated, that's it. Fuck all this love, caring, and satisfaction crap. I should never get involved with girls anyway; they don't fit in with my lifestyle."

I spoke with Vikings (for now) starting quarterback Tavaris Jackson yesterday, and reminded him of the last time we spoke--two years ago when my stud basketball playing eighth grader Marvin Singleton beat T Jack one-one-one, for real and fair and square. I brought up that day, T Jack remembered and said to tell Marvin hi. Tavaris is a laid-back dude, nice cat. As for Marvin, everyone should root for him. Great kid, great talent, great future.

I ate Chipotle on my front porch this evening, and a car drove by and dude dropped a rather sizable chunk of litter out of the window. That pissed me off so I went outside to see if I recognized the car as it drove down the street, and lo and behold, it had stopped up the way, the driver getting out to go up to a house, the littering passenger still in the car. So I picked up the litter and walked up the street to the car, and said to the guy, "I think you dropped this by my house." He said, "I didn't drop anything." And I said, "Yes you did." He said, "I didn't do anything." I said, "Dude, you dropped this out of the window right in front of me." He said, "I don't know what you're talking about." And I said, "Yeah well why don't you grow up a little." He said, "Okay." Then I kicked a big dent in his car door.

Every bit of that is true, except for the last sentence. Litterers are losers.

I broke a glass in my kitchen tonight, on the floor. I couldn't help but thinking, "I guess I don't have to worry about Bernie stepping in it." It's kind of funny, if you break glass on the floor in a house with a dog (or any pet, or a kid), you immediately go into freak out mode. "Bernie, stay! No Bernie, don't move. Bernie!" I just swept it up calmly this evening.

I dreamed about her last night. I still do often.