Up the Sunbeam

-- After three unexpected hours of standing in the parking lot of Oakland's Oracle Arena, it was finally time to go inside. My spirits lifted immeasurably as I exchanged the bone-burning ache of standing indefinitely on concrete to at least putting one foot in front of the other up the ramp toward the entrance. Drummer Boy, She So Sweet and I moved quickly into the darkened interior of the arena and made our way down the lighted stairway to our seats where we waited with relieved anticipation for the show to start. One session of the taped-for-TV auditions for Simon Cowell's singing competition show, XFactor, was about to begin! We watched with interest and listened to the preliminary instructions given to us about our role as the audience, and played along with the people whose job it was to warm us up for our role in the show; they especially wanted to get us prepared for the grand entrance of the judges. Comedian, Frank Nicotero, who acted as a sort of master of cerem...

-- I feel like I've been a bad blogger the last couple of weeks. I have been absent and silent and sorry I'm not better at this. Gathering my thoughts these days is a lot like herding cats. So many of them crowding around in my head, some of them in clusters, others lone and wandering and scattered. Some of them stumble and lurch in uncertain circles, like kittens fighting for equilibrium on their four inexperienced and uncoordinated feet, while others march in regimented lock step, kicking the unsteady ones unceremoniously out of the way (they look a little pretentious to me). A few are angry and frustrated trying to walk a direct, purposeful line through the chaos of the others, ears back and squinty-eyed, they keep trying to ignore the distractions, with limited success. Don't be surprised if you hear an indignant yowl or a hiss and spat of protest when they get bumped into. Somewhere in the wild and woolly fray, the ones I feel sorry for are the ones who just want to ...

-- I can hear the telltale clanking. The monkey wrench has been thrown into the machinery again. The gears are grinding to a halt, and the flow of words has stopped. I keep anxiously watching like a weary traveler waiting at an empty baggage claim for bags that do not come. I wish I could see down the chute and open everything up to fix the problem. I wish it was as easy to focus my thoughts as it is to focus my camera. I flit and flutter, scanning my mind for an idea, just one good idea, to perch upon.  Where, oh where are the words hiding? Why won't they show themselves? What have I done to chase them away, and what can I do to bring them back? Are they alive and green somewhere under the frosty cold? What if I've already written everything I know? What if there are no more good ideas? What if nothing I say is original or creative or special? What if the keys have gone silent for the last time? Wistful wishes, wretched what if's, mixed up image...