Cooooooooooooool New Blog-Maybe

There's this thought that's brewing around in my noggin...a new blog for just music posts/interesting videos. Maybe. This may happen. No one will look at it though "No one reads your blog Brian!". Thank you Second City Improv for promoting this fact that we all already secretly know but won't ever confess.

Also, best part of my day went like this:

'Ok dancers, today we're going to move on and learn how to do a cartwheel. Now this is what the steps are in slow motion...(shows the steps in slow motion) and this is what you will be able to do with lots of practice and when you go faster...(does a real cartwheel).
(The loudest five year old in the class, but this time at a whisper) "Cooooooooooooooooooooooool".

Yeap, that's right. I am Cooooooooooooooooooooooool.

a writer i will be

A pen that scratches...a pen that scratches. That is what I need. A pen that when put to paper scratches as words that bind together into a story come pouring out the tip and onto the soon to be filled paper. Then I could be a writer. A true writer. A true writer with a pen that scratches...maybe a feather could possibly be attached to it as well. :-) Then I would really be a writer. A real writer with no boundaries, no ceasing, only words words and more words. Words that flow as gently or harsh as waves of the sea. I will take a trip to the forest to write. There in the forest is where my pen will scratch away and create what it will.
Yep. That's what I need.

A pen that scratches, three pages a day, don't throw the paper away and fill my room with stories from sea to shore and even more...a writer I will be. LaDaDadada, LaDadadaaah Da da da, daa dum.



fun find.

um excuse me miss...

(Ladies restroom in a hip wine bar. Two stalls. Jazz music is heard overhead to 'You don't own me')

'You don't own me-la la lala la laa--No, You DON'T OWN ME!!!'
(Flush. Pause)

'Um, excuse me miss-your singing sounds really pretty'.





how. embarrassingly funny.
what a week i had.

one woman show

love love love love them.

A Homegrown Poem

It's winter in Kansas
And the gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour
At thirty-five below.

Oh, how I love Kansas
the snow's up to your butt
You take a breath of winter
And your nose gets frozen shut.

Yes, the weather here is wonderful
So I guess I'll hang around
I could never leave Kansas
I'm frozen to the ground!

Nine.

wow red carpet.