Did ya ever notice that when you’re relaxing for the evening, perhaps sitting on the sofa watching mindless television, like “Rocky” (1976), “Rocky II” (1979), “Rocky III” (1982), “Rocky IV” (1985), “Rocky V” (1990) and “Rocky Balboa” (2006) that your mind basically is just eroding away and at some point you will die from Rocky over exposure. Or….sheer boredom.
It’s beginning to happen to me. I sensed it a few months ago when I scanned my local TV listings and there was nothing worth watching. Cept for another Rocky movie……for the fifth week in a row.
Damn, I wish someone would kick Rocky’s butt once and for all and maybe these movies will finally end. ANYONE! PLEASE! Darth Vader, zap him with a freakin’ laser or something for cripes sake. Hannibal Lector, EAT HIM!
Anyhow, I finally realized I wasn’t gonna be sucked into reality TV or those reruns anymore. Unlike my other half who would be completely contented sitting on the sofa and watching a series on how molasses is made.
So, I simply sit on the sofa and put the finishing touches on my daily blog before it’s ready to be posted. BUT……sometimes that’s a problem. Why? Well for one thing, even though my other half is deeply intrigued by watching molasses, and I’m in the midst of concentrating on my writing and editing, she feels it necessary to talk to me about what she’s watching.
Just picture author J. D. Salinger attempting to write “Catcher In The Rye” as his wife sat across the room on the sofa constantly talking to him as he wrote while she was also watching mindless TV.
“There isn’t any night club in the world you can sit in for a long time unless………….”
(Mrs. Salinger watching TV)
“OMG J. D., ha, ha, ha, ha ha, Desi just shoved a pie into Lucy’s face. Did ya see that?”
“Um, yes dear, now where was I, um…..oh yeah, there isn’t any McDonald’s in the world you can sit for a long time unless……..”
“J. D…..J. D. did you remember to put the cat out?”
“Huh….what! The cat…yeah…the cat…out…um….McDonalds..um…..damn, where the f**k was I going with that line….um….oh yeah…..you can at least buy some liquor and get drunk. Or unless you’re with some girl that really knocks you out.”
Geez….sounded great at first. Now it kinda sucks.
Now this is one of the steamy paragraphs from “Catcher In the Rye.” Imagine if Mrs. Salinger had been bugging the hell outta him them. Instead Salinger writing this:
“Her mother and father were divorced. Her mother was married again to some booze hound,” I said. “Skinny guy with hairy legs. I remember him. He wore shorts all the time. Jane said he was supposed to be a playwright or some goddam thing, but all I ever saw him do was booze all the time and listen to every single goddam mystery program on the radio. And run around the goddam house, naked. With Jane around, and all.”
He might have written this:
“Her mother and father were divorced. Her mother was married again to a traveling “Fuller Brush” salesman.” I said, “Oh yeah, frumpy guy with shaved legs, some kinda clean freak. I remember him. He wore women’s shorts all the time. Damn pervert. Jane said he was supposed to be a transvestite or some goddam thing, but all I ever saw him do was try to get his lipstick on or something and listen to every single goddam “Superman” program on the radio. And run around the goddam house, naked. With animals around, and all.”
See the difference. Ya just can’t write the world’s greatest novel with a woman constantly interrupting you. Or write a blog, as I do, and expect any intelligent thoughts to enter your mind.
For instance, last night. I’m writing, she’s watching mindless TV, and I’m half listening to her and the TV. I’ve now trained my brain to filter out these things by order of importance.
So what does my brain pick up? An advertisement on TV for a vaginal discharge remedy. And what does my brain do with that line from that advertisement that managed to filter its way into my thoughts as I was writing? My brain says to me, “Hey…..vaginal discharge?’ WTF is THAT!
All I could think of was being in the service where one gets either an Honorable Discharge, Dishonorable Discharge, General Discharge, and now, because women are in the service, a Vaginal Discharge. Hell, makes sense to me. It’s what’s happened to my brain, which is now mush, gets from listening to my other half while the TV is on……. mush..
Same with those advertisements for erectile dysfunction. For the longest time I thought it was “reptile dysfunction.” Like maybe snakes, alligators or lizards, or gawd forbid, the Geico gecko not being able to get it up. Hence, reptile dysfunction.
So now you perhaps can understand why I’ll never write the great American novel. And why I just write this useless inane blog. Cause if it doesn’t make any sense, who gives a rats ass, it’s only a freakin’ blog. I’m not J. D. Salinger ya know.
And, even though I did manage to knock off a novel, “The Covert Chamber,” all about time travel, Nazi’s and murder, I have no damn clue as to how I managed to write that while my other half constantly insisted on singing along with the Von Trapp family while watching “The Sound of Music” as I attempted to write the final chapter of my book.
Come to think of it…….I never did find out who the f**k that guy Ed. L. Weiss was that she was singing about.
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