People Running around like Campine pollos sin cabezas

Okay, I'm a little over the edge this morning. Just proof-read a new story to send out to various and sundry contests and feeling a little light-headed myself. The next two weeks are going to be nuts and when I scrolled through my blog roll, I noticed no one is blogging. Hey! An opportunity to gather mine readers to me!!!

So what can I blog about? Gretchen Wilson last night.

Lesson: Don't show up to Club Nokia an hour early because you won't see the star for at least two hours. That's two hours of non-stop recordings of scratchy Johnny Cash while sipping your Oban. Could be worse. After a while, I took a nap.

Observation: Gretchen Wilson has a terrific voice, she's got charisma, but in the words of AI's Simon Cowell, she doesn't really have a clear picture of who she wants to be. Half her set were covers of the venerable likes of Steve Perry, Ann Wilson, and Led Zeppelin.

Overall impression: Had a great time.

The Holidays.

Today and the rest of the next 13 days are about following holiday traditions like spending money on gifts people will want to return and so they "return" them to you to "return" to the store, eating See's candies and Christmas cookies in order to satisfy friends who have your best interests in mind most of the time, but feel that just one calorie-laden sweet treat can't possibly make you fat and not factoring in (even though they've known you for what 35 years?) the inevitability of you saying, "Please sir, I want some more," AND putting an eight-foot fire hazard right in the middle of your beautiful living room, loading it down with kindling, ie. wooden ornaments, paper ribbon, cardboard Santa faces, etc, and stringing the whole thing with the equivelent of a thousand unlit matches soaked in gasoline and then putting said "fire-hazard" next to a blazing yule log.

So fellow headless chickens, rejoice and be sure to stock up on eggnog and rum.