Here comes a long string of self-flagellation (promotion) for my new novel The Love Seekers, which pretty much captures the sweet sensitive times (like a renaissance) of the 1980s. Big hair, eyeliner, neon socks. And guys who feather their bangs and stare into young girl's bedrooms? Ew . . . not sure that was ever okay, but you gotta love the way he tries. He even has his own carpet. Just a word for the ladies out there, if a guy's got his own mat, steer clear. It ain't gonna lead to nuthin' but trouble.
This guy can sing the phonebook, and Google. He makes it look so passionate and like, golly, we really want him to get his youngin'. Not really. I like his striped shirt though.
Sick.
You know, if this song wasn't about what it's about, I'd really like it. He really can sing his tight jeans off. What do you think? Is there anything you loved so much, but couldn't have, that made you drop quarters in a greasy flying payphone all day?
In 1959 a small airplane crashed into an Iowa field just minutes after takeoff. Aboard that plane, one of music's greatest vocalists and visionaries. A cold blizzard scuttled across the wreckage, obscuring it; the silence was deafening. Back at home, a beautiful wife carried his child, yet grief would take the child as well. He wasn't just a rocker, he was a composer. A Mozart. But most of the world saw him as a stuttering clown in black-framed glasses. Buddy Holly, RIP.
Wanted to drop in and say that I'm STILL HERE. Currently I am working on what looks to be the last round of edits, fingers crossed, and so far things look good. The sun is shining today and it's not as cold as they said it would be. Are they ever right?
I was thinking the other day how much music, namely rock and roll, influenced my life growing up. Things are so different now, music is so different, but when I was a kid we had the radio on all the time. And it's like we were always thinking about music. I have to get that song, when's the DJ gonna play my song, I've got my tape ready, will he talk through the intro, will I hear it again in an hour or so? Every night we stayed up until 9 to watch music videos on our local channel. We didn't have cable, but at least we had that show. On Friday night we stayed up past Johnny Carson to watch Friday Night Videos, then the Saturday video countdown, then on Sunday we listened to Casey Kasem's top 50—once after church, then again on repeat. Before going to bed we'd listen to our favorite station and in the morning more and more and more. I don't know if it's even possible to love and consume music as much as we did back then, because the songs are so self-absorbed now. They used to be about life and relationships, and now they're just about . . . something else. There were real problems in music back in those days (not too long ago) . . . life problems. And when YOU had problems, it was like they all made sense. Once time I had my heart broken and every song on the radio in my car was a love song and it hurt sooooo bad. That's the power of a good song.
Anyway, sometimes I'd give anything to go back and be surrounded by a wallpaper of rock and my favorite bands. It was fun.
