Win, lose or draw. Not in that order.
It seems as if it were only last week that I was lamenting how my ex-girlfriend Vicky broke my heart and my art.
Upon glancing at my kitten-a-day calendar, it appears that it really was just last week.
Huh. I guess time doesn’t fly after all. Probably because time doesn’t have wings. Or time has wings, but they’re just for show. Time is an ostrich, basically. Or a penguin. Or a chicken. And that begs the question, where did the phrase “fly the coop” come from? It’s cruel to chickens, really. A prickly, poultry-abusing farmer in olden times was probably like, “Fine, chickens. If you’re not happy here, why don’t you just fly the coop?” And the chickens were all, “We can’t fly, asshole.” Except chickens can’t talk, so they probably just kept that to themselves. But they were *totally* thinking it. Know what else chickens can’t do? Fly. Neither can time. I’m glad I cleared that up for everyone.
Anyway. You may recall that my artistic friend Kyknoord over at The Other Side of the Mountain e-mailed me an awesome zombified doodle to cheer me up, and I was humbled by the gesture. Humbled, that is, until I realized I was not his inspiration. That, in fact, Vicky was his muse. And therefore, the tally of hearts and arts broken by Vicky rose to three. You think you know a person.
Defeated and downtrodden, I began to resign myself to a life lacking purpose. Born to muse, I was not. Turning on the radio, I searched for solace in music, only to be accosted by Chicago‘s song “You’re the Inspiration.” You’re not helpful, Peter Cetera. Next up came “On the Wings of Love” by Jeffrey Osborne. Love doesn’t have wings, either. The radio was mocking me. Also, this was a really shitty station. That’s probably apparent.
Then I wandered back over to The Other Side of the Mountain and was shocked to find this:
This is hands-down one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. And such a wonderful random act of kindness. And, more importantly, I win! I’m inspirational! And a muse! I can say this with 100 percent certainty, because Kyknoord used the actual words “inspirational” and “muse” in his post about me. My cats and I have arrived. I’m not sure where, but we’ve definitely arrived. This is probably one of those times when my mom would say, “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” And I’d respond, “Oh my god. I love the band Journey. But not as much as before because, in my opinion, Steve Perry is irreplaceable.” And then she’d shake her head and sigh.
And you know what’s the best part about inspiring art? I look thinner as a cartoon. Although I seem to not have any boobs. But that’s a small price to pay for being thinner. They can’t take that away from me. And by “they” Gershwin meant “Vicky.” Fuck. Now Vicky’s inspiring songs, too.
Although, come to think of it, I might be the “they” in this scenario, and Kyknoord is probably the “me.” Now replace the word “can’t” with “can.” Now pat your head and rub your belly. I did, after all, swipe his comic strip and slap it on my blog without asking permission. This is all getting rather complicated and confusing. You should probably just head over and pay “me” a visit.
And be sure to tell “me” that “they” sent you. Because that makes total sense.
OMG. Why are you still here?
Time’s flying. So to speak.