Naming the Book
I’m __years old and if you are reading this… both of us know that you don’t give a damn. Do I need to say that more eloquently? According to Microsoft, the language I used might be offensive to a reader and what I need to say is… “and both of us know you don’t care.” Hmmm.
So, here’s what’s hideous about turning ___ (Besides the number being obviously, shocking.)
(By the way, for those of you who don’t believe this is an egregious experience you are either 1) young 2) an alien or 3) lying to yourself or 4) have embraced the mainstream malarkey (better than saying bullshit according to Microsoft) that these are the “golden years”.) There is nothing golden about this. Nada. And the contemporary psychobabble says..age is only a number. WOW. Now that’s real bullshit. (sorry Microsoft)
Here’s my experiences with aging.
I can spell Medicare backwards. I have a cosmetic surgeon on speed dial, and I’m outraged that no company manufactures the kind of multifarious filters I need for photos. In other words, there isn’t a strong enough filter for moi. All conversations invariably have a predictable medical element to them, gym workouts involve a lot more groaning, there is thinning hair, fatty deposits in unnamed body parts, thinning hair (did I say that already?) an addiction to botox commercials, and a terror of forgetting my spouse’s name. (Thank God it’s an easy one; Joe, as opposed to Bartholomew, or Darius.) Whew!.
So the question becomes, “what now brown cow?”
I had a producer pal, who had a theory on how to respond to all questions that asked, “what are you up to?”. His solutionist response, “I’m writing a book or working on an album.”
So I guess this is ACT 3 and it’s book time.
People have been telling me to write a book about my life for a very long time, and I’ve been considering it for a very, very, very, long time.
I’m thinking I’d better get to it before I cannot locate my office (it’s in my home).
Here are my overburdened thoughts on the subject. My initial thought is I’m not a celebrity so the book will not sell; I hate writing, and I’ve got the concentration of a tuna with terrets on quaaludes. (Remember those?) Don’t answer…you will be showing your age.
If I do go ahead with this, I’m going to need a title. Here are some possibilities.
Originally, I wanted to call it, “Lost and Found.”
But it’s being used a lot lately in all kinds of forms, so that’s out.
How about …” A funny thing happened to me on the way to rehab.”
Or “Good night, Goodbye, and F off”
“I’m Writing This Book to Recoup Some of the Money I Spent on Therapy.”
I like this title, it’s honest.
My friend David Malvin wants me to title the book, “If I take my life now, I will never see Baryshnikov dance again.” (There was a time in my life where suicide seemed like a really good idea and the thought came to me that if I exited the planet, I wouldn’t see Mikhail Baryshnikov dance again, so I opted to forgo the suicide.).” Obviously never went back to that plan.
Or my newest choice.
“If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill You, the Memories Will”
I heard this lyric a long time ago in a country western song. Seems very appropriate now. Thank you, George Jones.
Let the writing begin…….
Will keep you posted.
In the meantime, before delving in…. I’m off to the studio to cut and album. LOL