Thursday, March 18, 2010

Where's my agent?

I was just listening (I should say hearing) American Idol from last night and Kei$ha was on...who the hell let her out, and worse yet, onto the national stage? How much money is she making to sing a song called "Blah, blah, blah", with lyrics that don't get much more in depth? Why didn't I write that song? I think my nine year old might've written something similar!

Not long ago, I found my treasured book of poems I had scribed in the high school/college years. Now after I ran across them, I had a couple of days where I had to go underground to come to terms with the embarrassment. You see, all of those poems were not only written about people, but most of them had been given to those people. Obviously, at the time I figured I was doing them a favor because when I hit the big time, they would each have a signed dated "original", and could say they knew me when. When what? When I was nearly insane and ridiculously engulfed in a drama bubble. Oh my gosh! My best wish is that none of these people share the pack-rat trait that I have, and that those scraps of paper have been in landfills since the early 90's. Then I found the one that was written for my best friend's yearbook...Oh no! She probably still has her yearbook. I thought I was embarrassed looking through my own yearbook at the disparaging comments people had written about various other classmates. What if I run into those people, and they ask to see my yearbook? Things happen...not really those kinds of things, but you never know!!

I was also struck by the extent to which I was clearly pouring my heart out in my works of art. Was I even getting out of bed in the morning? I guess they weren't written daily, but is it any better to see the span of time though which my angst stretched? I guess postpartum depression and housework really weren't that bad, as neither ever drove me to pick up my pen and paper. Scream into a pillow-yes...trying to find something to rhyme with "laundry"-not so much (but I think "quandary" would work if I forced it).

Now as ridiculous as some /most..ok, ALL of my masterpieces may seem, I can assure you that none of them had verses consisting of the phrase "blah, blah, blah"! Does she write her own lyrics? If not, have I got a book of them for her! Or maybe I could pull together some old Halloween costumes to wear, find some dudes who can almost carry a tune, use the preloaded chords on Lily's keyboard, and hit the stage. You know it'll be all pitchy in spots, but I could do my thing Dawg!

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