Back on the Job

Love hustling for my friends from Gallifrey and enjoying the splendors of my new found relationship... but it's good to get back to work on the Innsmouth Night Shift. Gun sharks and deep ones make for an entertaining Friday night at the keyboard.

Saturday Morning Cartoons... in the Afternoon:

Confessions of a Fuck Up Artist:

I had the sad honor of attending this afternoon a memorial service for a great man that I wish I had known better, my dear friend the Princess's father - who nobly wore a smile in a way that made kings want to trade him their crowns for a chance to know the secret behind it. I first met him when I was dating the Princess's sister - her ladyship the Countess Sabre - some twenty years ago. My impression of him within five minutes of our first handshake was that I was in the company of a Picasso souled Bodhisattva. Over the years I came to understand that this was a man who had a bohemian's soul, a craftsman's touch, an accountant's eye for numbers, an adventurer's wanderlust, a debutante's wit, a husband's unwavering love for a woman of timeless beauty, a proud father to two daredevil hearted daughters who have walked this world with wild genius.

There was this one afternoon, though, where I was about to house sit for the next two weeks him and his smiling queen's Casa de la Condo and they insisted that I come over to have dinner with them.

Over the course of an amazing meal and a few glasses of wine we talked about everything from classic Woody Allen to Fellini from Kundera to Garcia. And mannnn, I still beam inside that moment when he raised a single impressed eyebrow at me when I quoted a little "Unbearable Lightness". In that moment I wasn't socially awkward, I wasn't waxing pretentious, I was able to just be... not just myself but the myself I've always wanted to be.

If that makes sense?

Anyway, these last three years I've had too much call to write of the passing of fathers. Not just my own. Not just fathers. Not just me. I talk a lot as if it's universal but we each carry our losses different. Unfortunately I often don't know what to do but write about as I'm absolute shit at talking about it to anyone I know.

But fuck it... maudlin is not what little memories of the Princess' s father I have. Maudlin doesn't seem to be any of the souls I've known or only known through those they left. Teddy Bear's on his way, running a little behind if you can believe it, and Christ I hope we got at least a drink or two before us. Not much. Not looking to paint the town red. Just one or two. One for a toast and another for the road ahead of us who continue on it for however long we're lucky to travel it.