old fogey grumbles about oldies

Honestly, do they think no music was recorded after 1975? Or do they just think that the "boomers" stopped listening to new music in 1975? Or do they just think that the worst of the music recorded 1950-1975 is better than anything recorded before or since?

Why the fucking hell do I have to hear "EarthfuckingAngel" and "Bobby's Girl" -- I thought the whole point of 1967 was that we didn't have to listen to that crap anymore. And, sorry, I fell for Donovan like any other fourteen-year-old, buit that was a long, long time ago, and I know better now.

I want to hear contemporary music! Oldies sometimes, yeah, but not crap that was agonizing when it was new!

End of grumbling.

more double entendre

I had to spend the morning running errands -- Emma to school, get gas (Frank has to take an EMT test! hurray! It might mean a job!), get blood drawn (routine, routine, just to see if my various drugs are working and are not killing me), eye examination (had to pay more than I would have because I'm not willing to wait six months for the lenses). So I wasn't writing, but I was thinking about what the confrontation/confession chapter needs to end up in a clinch and also to be comedic: double entendres.

In fact, in the second draft I'm going to be alert for every chance to develop a double entendre that I can find. Also more slapstick, which my characters will not appreciate but if we're not cruel to the characters there's no story, right?

The nice fellow thinks slapstick doesn't work well in print, but maybe I'm using the word wrong -- isn't the dinner party in _A Civil Affair_ full of slapstick?

I will not, however, resort to overturned bottles of ink on the artists' worktables. Maybe bottles that threaten to overturn and are caught, just barely, only to splash ink on the catcher's best pants. Yeah. Maybe, though I don't see how that would advance the story . . . oh yes I do, I do, I do. I think I just figured out how to get to the clinch. I know it's a cliche: "Oh, here, take off your pants . . . gee, none of mine fit you . . . but you don't see to mind too much, do you?"