I’m working on a new song for the band I drive into the ground with my management advice. The song is called, “Nobody Reads My Blog.” This post will exemplify the sad plot.

The lyrics go like this…(to the tune of something like Celine Dion or Taylor Swift- you pick)

Nobody reads my blog
It’s like they don’t even care at all,
I rode my bike and I took a fall-
and nobody even called!

Yeah, it’s numer one with a bullet… anyway.

First night in the new house, which has only been a place of pain and tears until now. The shower shoots straight out of the wall, and my Craig’s list dryer doesn’t plug into my antique wall socket, but whatever. What’s done is done. I slept right through the night, and like I told S’quatch, “There’s nothing left to do but grow old and die now.”

I am even going to break my cycling fast with a tour of my old friend Sweet Dr. Munson tomorrow sometime, so WB the answer is yes. I’m not going at 8:00 in the morning though, you can forget all that.


10 Responses to Shelter

  1. Is all the work done? Is it safe to roll up in the Welcome Wagon?

    I’m IN for the Munson Ride. I’ll be tapping on your window at 8:15.

  2. Dear Bastard:
    I can’t help but feel as though the first paragraph (and lyrics that followed) were mocking me. I was once a mamanger, and not many read my blog, and I have indeed run two or three bands into the ground. I look forward to our next ride, though sadly it will not be very enjoyable for you. You Bastard. Please go to hell.

  3. I suppose if asked to visit the new casa I shall have to call you: Mr. Bastard.
    You’ll never be a real mamager, you can spell, and everyone in the music industry is an idiot. They require that sort of thing.