I Should Be Writing About Writing, But It's a White Trash Kind of DayPerhaps in future posts I'll wax intellectual, deconstruct things, criticize, discuss what I'm working on. But not today, not now. Today is a day for drinking massive amounts of beer and eating hotdogs. Today is a day for letting loose, reveling in my white trash splendor. I plan on wearing a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, Godsmack tank underneath (shut up -- Godsmack used to be good. Once. A long, long time ago. They now, of course, are too Vegas to be taken seriously), and sitting with my neighbors on hard, cheap plastic lawn chairs 'neath the usual shitty skies of Rochester, and drink till the skies appear bright. I'll be listening to "Free Bird" and "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." Might even throw on some Johnny Cash. Gonna let the kids run wild, gonna let them scream and splash in the pool, annoy the old man next door. And I will pepper my speech with the "F" word, use it frequently, loudly.
That's the kind of day today it is.