Lately

I can’t remember when I actually got a decent night’s sleep. Lately—and lately has been weeks—I keep waking up at night, usually every hour. If I’m lucky, it’s every two hours.

Around five or six, I usually say out loud “Fuck it,” and just get out of bed. Drinking coffee helps wake me up. About a year and a half ago, I tried to give up coffee. What a stupid idea that was. Lately without coffee, I would have no personality at all.

I think that’s a David Letterman line.

Why can’t I sleep at night? I don’t know. That’s a lie, of course. A person always knows the reason for this. I just don’t feel like sharing.

People who have read me over the years have told me that I share everything. That’s bullshit. I don’t.

My computer is running slow this morning. Back when I was using a typewriter, and that was a while ago, it never ran slow. Sometimes I did.

And while I’m rambling, just let me say this: Bring back carbon paper.

I’ll be taking a nap later today. Lately and sometimes, I take two naps.

You know what? Lately, I’ve been hating lately.

“Mad Men,” the Chevy Vega and Me

I’m a fan of the television show “Mad Men,” but it usually takes me a while to get around to watching it. That’s just how I am. I’m on the current season, but haven’t yet watched the show when Don Draper’s advertising agency lands the Chevy account.

What I know about that episode is that Don and company do indeed land the account for the Chevy XP-887.  Oh yeah. I remember that model very well. That’s really the Chevy Vega.

The Chevy Vega was the first new car I ever owned. Growing up in Indiana, I bought the car from a dealer in Friendship—from a dealer that my father bought cars from all his life.

If I remember correctly, I purchased the 1975 model. No, it’s not the one in the photo. My Vega was silver in color.

Vegas became known as lemons. They burned oil, would break down a lot and would become rust buckets. But not my Vega. In the three plus years I owned it; I never once had any problems with it at all. It never burned oil, never broke down and never developed rust. It was a perfect car for me.

The only reason I needed to sell it was because I was getting married. My soon-to-be wife had a newer car, we didn’t need two and I could sell the Vega and make a little money. That was easier said than done.

I think I took it to every GM dealer in Cincinnati. When I would mention I had a Chevy Vega I wanted to sell, people working for those dealerships would almost run away from me. They wanted no part of it.

I needed up selling my Vega to a guy who had just moved to America. He wasn’t aware of how bad the Vega name was. Maybe the name was bad, but my Vega was just fine.

It will be interesting to see how the Chevy Vega plays out in the upcoming episodes of “Mad Men.” It was a decent car for me, but somehow, I don’t see Don Draper ever driving one.

(Image found on Google)  

My Little Composition Book

Somewhere in my travels over the weekend, I lost my little composition book—looks a lot like the one in the photo. I kept it in my pants pocket, left pocket, along with a Pilot Pen.

I’ve carried these little notebooks around with me for years—just in case I think of something that’s interesting to me, hear somebody say something I find curious or want to make an observation while I’m out and about.

I’ve accumulated over a dozen of these things and I’ve kept them all—but not this one. How it fell out of my pocket, I don’t know.

My name and phone number is on the cover in case you find it. My reward to you will be my Pilot Pen. They all write the same. What I write with them inside those little notebooks isn’t.

(Photo found on Google)

A Dirty Little Book

I got an email from a friend late last week. She’s an older lady and she’ll always be my friend, but I wish she had never purchased my latest book and first novel, “The Hurricane Café.”

I’m not going to copy her whole email here, but this is the part that got my attention:

“If I had known you had written a dirty little book, I never would have bought it and I was shocked at some of the language you used.”

Again, she’ll always be my friend and I don’t feel bad writing about this here, because she doesn’t read this blog and never goes to Facebook where this piece will be posted too. Besides, what I’m writing here is what I’ve already told her.

First of all, my “dirty little book,” isn’t little. Its 380 pages. Second of all, as far as the language goes, she’s read my column in CityBeat for years and I’ve used “bad words” there when I thought it was necessary. Why she’s suddenly “shocked” at some of my word choices is beyond me.

If I said her email didn’t bug me, I’d be lying. This book has never been advertised as a children’s book. It’s adult literature and if you’re a fan of that, more times than not, there’s going to be some sex involved and a few bad words.

Her remarks got me thinking about the sex scenes in the book. There’s really only one and it’s pretty brief. There are a few “scenes” where people aren’t wearing any clothes, but it’s a book—not an ‘R” rated movie or an adult cable television show.

If “The Hurricane Café” were to ever be made into a movie, it would probably be rated ‘PG-13.’ Giving it anything more adult than that would be pushing it.

In answering my friend’s email, I asked her if she finished the book. The answer was no and this made me feel a little better. If a person can’t take the time to finish a book they’ve started, then I can’t take their being a critic too seriously. I want you to not like my work through completion.

If she had read all 380 pages and still thought it was “a dirty little book,” then she missed the story completely. I would be disappointed about it, but I wouldn’t feel all bugged out about it.

Whatever. My friend and I will remain friends—you know, to each his or her own. She asked me what I was currently working on. I’m writing another novel. This one has a sex scene that’s a little more detailed than my last book and there are a few dirty words included too.

I think I’m going to pay her not to buy it.

(Image from Amazon)

“Together Again”

I got up this morning, thinking about this old Emmylou Harris song.

Actually, I shouldn’t say it’s an old Emmylou song. Buck Owens wrote it in 1964 and it was the “b” side of a single on Capital Records. The “a” side was “My Heart Skips a Beat” which was a big hit for Buck, but then Country radio started paying attention to the flip side of the record. It became an even bigger hit.

But Emmylou made the song very much her own back in 1975. It was included in her album “Elite Hotel” and was released as a single the following year.

I remember DJs playing the sone on Country radio went nuts. They were crazy about how good it was and they were damn right. It was a #1 song for Emmylou.

It still holds up or at least I think it does. Let me know what you think.

(YouTube video)

If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It

Some maintenance people were in my apartment last week replacing my PTAC unit and yes, I had to do a Google search on this to get the correct name.

This is  a hotel-style heating and cooling unit. That’s what heats and cools my apartment and yes—sometimes I feel like I’m living in a hotel. But I like hotels.

My old PTAC unit was working fine and I didn’t see any need to replace it. That’s what I told one of the maintenance guys installing the new one.

“Oh, this new one is really good,” the guy said. “It’s more efficient.”

“How so?” I replied.

“It’s all computerized,” he said. “It will control the temperature in your apartment much better.”

“Computerized, eh?” I said. “Just more to go wrong.”

I guess I was being negative. Or maybe being honest.

Can you guess the ending to this story? The new and improved PTAC unit isn’t working correctly, doesn’t cool down my apartment much at all. I’m gonna have to get those maintenance guys back out here to check it out.

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I’ve said those words many times in my life and that’s what I’m going to tell these guys when they show up.

(Photo from amana-ptac.com)

All About Eve

“Now you know about the lent traps,” I heard Eve say. I looked over at her as she got up from the table.

“It’s very important to remove the lent from those traps,” she said as she removed the lent traps from the dryers and deposited the nonexistent lint into a garbage can. “If you don’t, it can be very dangerous. It can even start a fire!”

“Well, we don’t want that,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me.”

To read my latest column in CityBeat, “Laundry Day,” click here.

(Photo from washerdryerinfo.com)

Birthday Baggage and Taking Stock

Today’s my birthday. Today, I’m 59 years old. The only fireworks I expect to see are those I’ve posted here. I told myself I needed a graphic to go along with this post. No other fireworks are needed and what appears here isn’t really needed either. But, you know, appearances are everythingj.

When you get older, hell even when you’re young, baggage goes along with birthdays. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.

On my 12th birthday, also the birthday of my twin, while blowing out the candles on our birthday cake, our grandfather had a massive heart attack and died. I loved him more than any other man in this world. My birthdays have never been the same after that.

My twin brother died in September of 1994. Having birthdays without him have been lonely. I cry for my grandfather, but I cry for my twin even more. It’s a loss I’ll never get over.

I probably don’t have to tell you this either, but you go on. You carry that baggage with you,  but you do the best you can.

Forget baggage for now.

Birthdays are a good day to take stock of one’s life, at least it is for me.

I’m living in Covington, Kentucky in a highrise apartment building. That’s kind of strange for a country boy from Vevay, Indiana. I don’t think I’m going to complain about it. I’m lucky.

I go for walks on most days, always with my quad cane. I mean, it would be insane to walk without it as I would fall down. Sometimes I fall even when I’m walking with the cane.

I walk slower than I used to and I’ll step out of the way sometimes to let people pass me by. They’re in a hurry. Most of the time, I’m not.

The money I make these days is made as a writer. There are those around me who think I’m wasting my time doing this, the writing,  and that it has messed up my life. You know, I could be making more money doing something else. These people don’t know that if I didn’t have writing in my life, I wouldn’t have one. I’d be dead already.

I’m not in great health. If I live a few more years, that’s fine with me. If I don’t, that’s fine with me too. When I was young, I was afraid of death. I’m not anymore. When you get older, you accept what’s going to happen.

All right, done with the taking stock.

I’ll spend most of the day working on my next book, my second novel. At some point, I’ll take a nap. Maybe tonight, I’ll drink a little vodka.

I’ll think of my grandfather and twin brother. I’ll think of my parents and others that I loved who have left this earth.

You know, that’s not really birthday baggage at all.  What the hell am I thinking?

I think I’ll pour that vodka into a glass tonight and raise my hand in a toast to those loved ones who have departed. I’m lucky to have had some wonderful people in my life and while I’m sad they’re gone, they were and still are a part of me.

I’m glad I wrote this. It’s always good to get an attitude adjustment on your birthday.

(Image found on Google)

Almost Never too Sick to Work

You know that blog post I put up yesterday — Monday? You know that shameless, self promotion thing about my book? Actually, I wrote that on Friday to put up on Saturday. I never got around to it. I got sick.

On Saturday, just after midnight, a virus, a lousy ass cold, entered my body like no cold I’ve ever had in my life. Suddenly, almost all at once, I was sick as a dog.

I’m almost never too sick to work, but that wasn’t the case on Saturday. Unable to even hold my head up, I decided I was better off in bed.

This started around 11 o’clock in the morning. Except for getting up to answer the phone around four in the afternoon, I stayed in bed. In fact, I stayed there until 8:30 the following morning.

Finally getting out of bed, I still felt sick, but better. I don’t think I have ever in my life slept that long. I felt like I wasted my whole day.

Is this what happens when you get older? On Wednesday, I get older still, will turn 59. I hope I don’t celebrate it by sleeping the day away. Please make me a birthday wish hoping that I don’t.

Book Stuff

I want to thank all of you who have purchased “The Hurricane Cafe.” In case you haven’t heard about the book, you can click here to find out more about it.

Interesting, at least to me, most people are purchasing the book as an ebook. Friends have been telling me that this how most books are read now. Apparently, they’re right. As for me, I’m still turning the pages, but no matter how one reads, the reading is the most important thing.

And people are asking me if this cafe/bar, where so much of the book is centered, is real. Just do a Google search. Look up the one in Seattle, Washington, not the “copycat” in Florida.

Just a few days ago, I talked with David Chamaty. He’s the real manager of the Hurricane Cafe in Seattle, Washington. Word has gotten out up there about the book and there’s an interest and, of course, I’m happy about that. David said if my “book tour” (if there is one, it will probably be pretty local), makes it to Seattle, I’m welcome to do a book signing at the Hurricane Cafe. This would be a real kick in the pants for me. I’d love to do it. We’ll see.

It still feels odd to no longer be involved with the writing of those characters in my novel, but I’m starting to get over it. I’m working on my next novel, a shorter one, and those characters are now starting to take over my writing mind.

Again, thanks to everybody who has purchased the book. If you want it signed, just contact me. My email address is over there at the right somewhere. After you get it signed, you can always sell the book on Ebay. I’m kidding. I think.

(Photo from flickr.com)