One of my friends e-mailed me and asked if I’d be breaking my usual policy of not watching TV except during the World Series to catch Aimee Mann on some TV show called West Wing tonight. Or maybe it was tomorrow. Whenever it was, my response was terse.
“Dang it! I don’t have time for that!”
I’d mention our ensuing dialogue, but I’m afraid some of it might be taken out of context and haunt me later. Oddly enough, it was my second conversation of the day where illegal mind-altering substances came up.
Most of my attention is going towards moving. If Aimee Mann were single, I’d probably take time out to watch her and swoon, just because I’ve heard far too many comments lately from single girls about Bebo Norman. But Aimee Mann’s not single so I shouldn’t be oogling her, and I don’t have to have an inferiority complex about Bebo Norman.
No, that money on the dresser isn’t my savings fund for an acoustic guitar. No, those aren’t lyrics in that notebook. No, I don’t have an inferiority complex about Bebo Norman! I don’t know what I’ve got but I know it’s not that!
I’m looking for an easy cure, easy cure
An easy cure for my ills
I could never find my way
You said you were the way, the truth, and life
They said it was impossible
You said anything is possible
And that’s why I celebrate faith
Ha! Did Bebo Norman ever write any lines as good as those? He did? Rats.
OK, fine. I’ve got an inferiority complex about Bebo Norman. So sue me.
I’m gonna go move big, heavy stuff and assert my manliness. (I bet Bebo Norman couldn’t LIFT THIS COUCH all by himself!) You go read a comic strip or something so you’re laughing at it and not at me.