The Best Post In The World

It has been a time since I have posted anything. It was a difficult time for most of you, I know. But it was tough for me as well because of all my readers, who missed me. I felt their collective agonized yearning for the Ish as waves of astral energy, and it invigorated me during my deadlines, but it also set upon me a terrible burden: the desire to ease the thirst for Ish.

R2D2 Got Out Of His Dreams And Into His Car

Sassy and Kid went to Comic Con in Long Beach this past weekend! It was Sassy's first, and she was pleased. Kid was relieved to finally find his dream car.

In space, nobody cares what your hubcaps look like.

To Live And Die on LI

Oh, how I love my little Sassy.

To make this little post worthwhile to peoples other than the aforementioned loved one, here is a song, and you will like it.

To Live and Die on LI by The Goodwill

What Is Love? Let's Ask The 90s

What is love? If you ask me, love comes down to trust and respect, which are earned and given, choices we make daily. Most importantly, trust doesn’t mean never having questions, it means knowing that there’s an answer and it’s only a question away.

On the other hand, if you watched this video you'd think it has something to do with mandarin collars, capes, and leopard print leotards. Egads, I couldn't watch the whole thing.  Can you?

Crooners

Sassy and I caught Chuck Ragan playing some tunes in Fullerton before his London tour this past weekend. Even though I'd seen him play plenty of times in Hot Water Music, I had never seen his solo act live before. We enjoyed ourselves greatly, and Sass took a real good picture.

Aren't you glad everybody uses Dial?

Angry Irishman

It is catch-up with the Ishes* today! I have no anger in me, not even the type supplied by the title: two parts Irish Whiskey (thanks, Slick), two parts Irish Cream, and some ice cubes. The last time I even made said drink of anger was for guests, some time ago.

But I'm kind of starting in the middle here, as first I want to share some random lyrics to set the tone. 

Kid Vampire (For Anne-Marie)

Someone thought this was a good idea. Sassy encouraged the idea. 
I was then forced to bust out my 
MAD PAINT SKILLZ.

This is uncaptionable

Partial Redemption In Full Color

Before I spilled the black paint on the carpet, I managed to finish this piece. 

Thankfully, it distracts from the stained floors below. 

Here's The Thing

#1. My shoulders aren't tight because my "core" needs tightening, and I'd appreciate you not rubbing my belly when you make that proclamation either. Well, no, to be fair, I liked it when you rubbed my belly, I just didn't like the words coming out of your mouth while my belly was being rubbed (I think you patted it once too, for posterity). I think we can safely assume that my shoulders are tight because I have a hole in my neck. See the post The Answer to Everything is My Throat Got Cut.

Organ Donors

I'm just pleased as punch, folks: we're about to be gifted with a Thomas Transistor electric organ (by some incredibly generous and awesome pals from our college days).  I feel extremely lucky and smug about this, although I've done nothing special to deserve it.  With this addition to our small arsenal of odd (read: badass) instruments, I believe all hell will finally break loose, or at least I will stop knocking Kid's electric guitar out of tune while he's at work. (Maybe.)

This baby needs a name, so help us out in the comments.  If we use yours, we'll make fun of you for a whole day - for FREE.

Press my buttons, do it

Here

Don't Stop Believin' (Live) by Journey

This never gets old even though Sassy hates Journey. (She has no taste.)

And Another Thing

Dear Sassy, this movie you had an idea to watch and then purchased before we agreed to watch it and thus forcing us to watch, which is not happening now because you are in the bathroom, is making me long for the day my neck gets cut. Love, Ish.

And sometimes I ramble...

Alright, so in about two weeks, I will be going under the knife again. Aside from the normal and expected feelings of trepidation, as well as the specific-to-self post trauma I have from the 10 previous surgeries, this signifies one very important thing: I have to quit smoking.

I don't smoke cigarettes. I smoke cigars...shaped and sized like cigarettes. (They were cheaper that way. Give me a break.) Ok, so over the years I may have gotten slightly carried away with what started as an occasional habit to take moments to myself, whether out back or out walking the city. It turned into a pack-a-day routine. Which, come to think of it, is probably worse for me than cigarettes.

All of that is irrelevant, really, because now I'm faced with another surgery, and quitting the habit is necessary for my successful recovery. (As will be the continual chanting of various swear words.) So I'm looking at this operation thing -- you know, getting cut in the throat to fix up this herniated disc and fuse the spine together with a cadaver bone and all -- and the main thing I'm fretting is having to quit smoking. Odd, that.

Maybe it's time I get some e-cigars or something. Or, you know, just quit.