So this will be an imagination post. Close your eyes.
Wait. Open them. Read a paragraph. Then close them and call visions of yours truly to mind.
I have a wicked awesome Leroy Townes shirt, from a wicked awesome show, a few weeks ago. They are fun, souldful, witty, putting the wild west and the lonesome and the down and out back into country and western. It has a bright red rooster on a dark green background, fronted by crossed pistols, and in my head it is the standard for some sort of western rebellion populated by grizzled, weatherbeaten cowhands, desperate prospectors in floppy hats, Mexican priests and weary barmaids with scrappy children. Ensemble la Revolucion!
Recent events have led me to two conclusions: the best moments in life cannot be planned--the best you can do is keep your eyes open, don't get lost in self-pity, dive into whatever is present with gusto, and earn your lumps or victories accordingly. You may not come out a rock star in the end, but you will come out grinning fiercely.
Ya see a curveball coming, and you just have to step up to the plate and swing. "For the rest of your life, you'll look back and wonder what would have happened if you got into that car..."
Speaking of Transformers, I'm sorry, the battered and classy old Camaro is totally cooler than the flashy plastic one--old Detroit iron will always maintain depth of character over electronics and injection molding and air conditioning and other farkle of the like.
So anyway, stepping up to the plate and swinging is what got me in the Genesee River last night, courtesy of Noel and his devilish ladies and evil sidekick miniCronk. But that is another story, for another day, and I may have gone down, but I went down in swinging', and that's what counts, right? Because who knows...next time might be a home run.
[edit]
judge for yourself. classic, weatherbeaten, monkeywrenched with great love on summer days in the driveway by some kid in Detroit saving his bucks for something loud and fast...
or plastic.
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