There's No Time Like the Present... or Maybe Tuesday Night, or How About Next Thursday? [Where the Hell Was I?]

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February 15, 2004

There's No Time Like the Present... or Maybe Tuesday Night, or How About Next Thursday?

Damn. The pressure's really on for next week. I'm starting to get nervous.

You see, this upcoming week, I have... nothing going on. Zip. Zilch. Boobies.

(Sorry, did I say, 'boobies'? I think I meant to say, 'bupkis'. How embarrassing.

Still, we have to go with the contestant's first answer, right? I'll take the hit for my mistake. Boobies for me next week! Huzzah!)

Okay, so technically I have a little bit going on -- there's some work I've got to do, and a semi-show on Wednesday, and the daily posts here, of course -- but compared to the whirlwind that has been the last few weeks, my dance card is refreshingly, mercifully... terrifyingly free. I'll explain.

For the past month or so, I haven't seen much of my house. As you can see from the 'Standup Standup' section on the sidebar, I did seven shows in January, and tonight have my third in February. Now, I love doing these open mikes, and it's great fun and practice, but that's ten evenings out of forty or so in this still-young year that I've been out and about. I've also been playing volleyball twice a week -- less some weeks, but three times last week, for another ten or twelve nights away from home, sweet home. It's pooping!

(I can say that, right? If it's okay to say you're 'pooped', then the process of getting there is 'pooping', right? It makes perfect sense.

What? Nobody says that? Well, why the hell not? Are you shitting me?)

Anyway, the point is that I've been not 'home and snuggled up in my PJs and bunny slippers by a roaring fire with a hot cup of cocoa and my favorite shawl' more nights than I have been 'home and snuggled up and blabbedy blah, nobody's really gonna read this whole fricking quote the second time, are they?' But that's all changed, at least for this week. This week, there's just one show. One volleyball night is finis until fall, and the other has an off week. I'll be out tonight, but then I fully expect to spend six of the next seven fabulous nights right here in the 'comfort of my own'. But it gets better.

Monday's a holiday, albeit a fairly bogus one.

(Seriously, 'presidents day'? How many countries actually celebrate, 'Hey, look, we managed to find someone to lead us!' Day? And it's never for the present goobered leader, either -- it's for all the previous people who've been thrust into the gaping maw of the office and spat out the other end. 'Ooh, ooh, look, we elect presidents! Let's have a party!'

I dunno -- sounds like the kind of bullshit a king, or some slimy dictator, would call. Look, Independence Day I can understand. Even, if I really try and get just the right kind of drunk, Flag Day. But how many parents with school-aged kids -- or any citizens, for that matter -- take the time on Presidents Day to crack open a frigging encyclopedia, or do a web search, to learn the first damned thing about the prior leaders of our country, anyway? Your average schmuck on the street knows, at any given time, who Washington, Lincoln, Kennedy, and the last three schmoes in office were. And s/he thinks that Ben Franklin was in there somewhere, and probably that he led the Boston Tea Party.

Look, if you want to save this holiday -- and I would argue that it doesn't need saving -- then dedicate each year's 'special day' to a different president. Go in order, or randomize it, or -- better yet -- start with the obscure ones first. And for chrissakes, get some corporate money behind it! Nothing gets off the ground these days without high-profile sponsorships. Really, do you want some vague, meaningless, largely ignored holiday, or would you rather have events like this once a year:

'The Sixth Annual President's Day Extravaganza, featuring Martin 'The Little Magician' Van Buren
Narration by James Earl Jones and Katie Couric, with Carrot Top as our 'man on the street'
Featuring musical guests Lee Greenwood, Nelly, and a very special duet by Justin Timberlake and Gerald Ford
Proudly brought to you commercial-free by your friends at Pepsi, Philip Morris, and the Ford Motor Company'

Yeah, you know what, never mind -- let's just bury this freakin' holiday, instead. Nobody needs that kind of shit on a Monday.)

All right, where the hell was I, anyway? Oh, the 'empty' week I'm about to have. Got it.

So, no work on Monday, and home every night except Wednesday. I've even got less to write and bitch and cajole about blogwise -- I was just upended in the King of the Blogs competition, and things aren't looking so hot for staying alive in Blog Madness, either. So there go a couple of posts a week of filler material, asking you to vote, or begging you to read, or being handed a free topic on which to write. Sure, I've still got Blogger Idol, but things are definitely going to be a lot quieter around here for a while.

And that's the scary part, you see. Here at home, and in this space, I've been putting things off, pooh-poohing projects because 'I haven't got the time'. Well, now that's not gonna fly any more. I do have the time, and there are a dozen things that I should be doing -- even a few that I'd like to be doing, however challenging they might be -- but have been able to keep at arm's length since Christmas because there just aren't enough hours in the day to tackle them. But now the hours are flooding in, I'll soon be awash in free time (relatively speaking, anyway), and... well, frankly, that whole 'PJs by the fire' thing is sounding really good. Eep.

I'm afraid that I'll look back after the next week or so is over and find that I really didn't accomplish anything (except pissing off a bunch of foamy-mouthed flag-wavers over my Presidents Day rant, most likely). And then, soon enough, I'll be swamped again, and the list of shit I'm not doing will just keep growing and growing, ad disgustum.

So that's why I'm taking a pledge, right now, to get at least one freaking thing done this week. Come hell, high water, or holy hand grenades, I will accomplish one of my many goals before next Sunday. You heard it here first, folks -- it might be one of the blog features I've been thinking of, or I might feel the muse and move the whole enterprise off of Blogger, finally. Or I might finally set the stereo up to CD-transferitize those vinyl LPs I've been lugging around for fifteen years. Maybe I'll read a few of the mounting pile of books on my desk, or get serious about evaluating my standup bits, or paint the trim in the damned living room.

(Okay, so I'm not gonna paint the trim. I'm fighting that one for the rest of forever, or until my wife physically throws the dropcloth over the couches and dresses me in my painting clothes. In my world, that trim is gonna stay just the way it is, flaws and all, until we move out of the house. Not because it looks perfect or anything, mind you -- it's just an awful pain in the ass to paint around all the crap in that room for a few little niggling spots that nobody (except us) notices, anyway.

I'm sure she'll put her foot down one of these days and demand that we finish it, though. My only hope then is to distract her somehow while she's trying to slip my painting pants on. I suppose I should probably just stop wearing underwear until then, to improve my odds. Hey, I can't predict when she's gonna finally snap -- better chafed than sorry, right?)

Anyway, something is gonna get done. I just don't know what, yet. I'll decide that later -- it's only Sunday afternoon, you know. I've got a whole week to get something accomplished, right? Baby steps, people -- baby steps. Right now, there's a set of pajamas, two bunny slippers, and a soft couch downstairs with my name written all over them. Free time, here I come!