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Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying

I’ll tell you another big drawback with this house move thing. I (rather optimistically) packed up a lot of my books and music some months ago in anticipation of moving! So, of course, certain items I might have given little thought to for aeons suddenly take on a rosy, alluring glow, knowing they’re just beyond reach. Oh, I could undo the boxes (which are in the spare room), but fiddling with all that parcel tape is too depressing. So I’ll wait. And try more optimism as best I can.
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Reg Dwight Vamps It Up!

Ah. So Elton John is making Anne Rice’s Vampire Lestat into a Broadway musical. Almost nothing Mr. Dwight does these days sparks my interest, but this sounds particularly dreadful. At least he isn’t taking the lead role himself. That would require an extra five or six vertical inches, major liposuction and weight-training, plus a different species of cranium-hugging beastie. (Then again, the vertical discrepancy didn’t stand in Tom Cruise’s way…)
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What’s Up?

Life update since the death of my father…

Mom has decided to sell this house and move somewhere smaller, so that we have some money in the bank as savings. Dad left no savings at all and had no life insurance. We’ll be staying in this area, though. We might even get a two-bedroom flat, actually. Neither of us are gardeners, so a garden would be a needless burden.
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Ziggy Plays Guitar

I recently bought the new David Bowie album, Heathen. It was okay—actually, it was a bit more than okay. I liked it a lot. The interest is part nostalgia these days, I guess. We all know his prime is long behind him (like probably 22 years behind him), but he’s still Bowie. He sounds the same, and he rather disgustingly looks the same too. Scary thought: he’s 55 now. There’s not much invention or newness in his current work, but… you know, Mick Jagger fans must really have to strain to not be embarrassed by him these days, so I tend to think Bowie’s held up rather well. He’s still a bit on the cool side even if he has nothing new to say. I didn’t expect Ziggy Stardust standard greatness, so I enjoyed it.
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Bad News Explained

Okay, so ‘tomorrow’ was a long time coming. But I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind one way or another.

The bad news I mentioned is that our dog, Fred, who is only seven years old, was pronounced terminally ill by the vet. I was really shaken by the news, and on reflection not entirely convinced the vet wasn’t being overly fatalistic—but technically, Fred is mom’s dog, and she has accepted the diagnosis.
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Sweet Dreams are Made of This

Strange dream last night. It was about some CD albums I own, but their titles seemed to be slightly ‘wrong,’ making me paranoid about them—like I thought I’d bought the wrong versions or something. Really silly, pointless stuff. When I woke up, I almost went to check the titles on the things, but I quickly got a reality check. I don’t really enjoy dreams like that. They’re not particularly symbolic or creative… just confusing.
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Karaoke Queen

I got asked to a pub last night where there was some karaoke going on. I don’t have a single clue why I bothered, because the mere concept is depressing—this is the kind of hopeless naffness you get sucked into when you don’t have a life. And sure enough, a parade of ageing and not-so-ageing exhibitionists mounted the stage and murdered a stream of 30-year-old songs that were crap to begin with.
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