Tuesday, January 04, 2011
"To know me is to love me?"
It was one of those Mac Davis mornings.
It's the new year, the bills are coming in, you haven't really sold any stories for ten years (you'd been writing for free), the billl are coming in, MasterCharge is overdrawn, you haven't had sex for what certainly feels like years --and it looks like you're not even going to get laid in the future.
You need an antidote for the old man depression.
So you sing what mischievous singer Mac Davis did:
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
when you're perfect in every way.
I can't wait to look in the mirror
cause I get better loking each day.
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
but I'm doing the best that I can.
I used to have a girlfriend
but she just couldn't compete
with all of these love starved women
who keep clamoring at my feet.
A one- time tomcat. Just like the Mac Davis guy.
Now checking out strip joints, looking for a job as eunuch...."Don't hurt the girls." Heh. What. With this?
You've become like a critic of literature. You know how it's done, you've seen it done, but lately, you can't do it yourself.
How easy it had been in the past. You had enough professional and artistic power, it seemed to you, to make women swoon-- hardly any need for performance. At the height of your success,you found starfuckers out there. Who cares if you were any good in bed. You were a star. On your own merits, on your own art. Sort of like that line out of Marlon Brando. You were a contenda! Fastest writer in town...Heh. Probably the only writer in a small town. But you made the Toronto Sun, the Globe, the Star, and seemed to go halfway around the very moon...and you shoemakered a novel in there between the newspages. Sneaked it in as Star Weekly fiction. And something of a lothario. There were emoluments!
But nowadays, when somebody asks if you're getting any, you say, "Sleep? Oh yeah. I'm getting lots."
Like in that old camping song, my font of passion has turned into my waterspout.
And still, somehow at this advanced age, there is still something of the banty rooster cockiness of youth.
You got the Mac Davis CD on, probably as an antidote not only for his depression at the time, but now yours.
Well I prob'ly could find me another
but I guess they're all in awe of me.
Who cares, I never get lonesome
cause I treasure my own company.
Treasuring my own company.
Gad, everybody is getting it on.
Even the homosexual is a high- profile figure.
People fall in love with room mates, zoo animals, chickens.
They can evern marry them.
I have recently joined group of subversives.
Maybe I can get me a Rhode Island Red.
Oh, little Miss Riding Hood
You sure is lookin' good
But it's all in my hat.
I guess you could say I'm a loner,
a cowboy outlaw tough and proud.
I could have lots of friends if I want to
but then I wouldn't stand out from the crowd
Somethin's got to change.
Seems just a matter of time till I stand in front of the Art Gallery of Ontario and expose myself to art.
I don't think I'll threaten anybody.
Make the girls giggle. "You call that a ....?" Lol.