Am I having an inappropriate relationship?

I’m sleeping with Stephen King. And Dan Brown. And Earnest Hemingway. In fact, I have about a baker’s dozen or so books scattered on my rumpled bed, all in some process of being read. Fiction books. Literary magazines. Thesauruses. Non-fiction “how-to’s” and self help. All unconventionally yet reverently piled in a strange literary shrine . I cannot seem to keep only one book on my “current” list at one time. I abide by the old saying, “too many books, too little time.” By keeping my nose buried in multiple volumes, novels, and opuses (or would that be opi?) I feel like I am getting more read at one time. So here is where you ask, “why, Evil Baritone, are you keeping them stacked upon your mattress?” I have a bookshelf. Sure. But it is at least a dozen steps away from my nice, warm bedroom. Why, dear reader, would I want to expose my nekkid self to the harsh cold of the living room, when I can stay cozy and warm under my covers in my humidified, temperature controlled domain? Currently I have found yet another favorite author. I’ve been on a recent quest for short stories, including the shorts of Stephen King in his Skeleton Crew and Nightmares & Dreamscapes collections. While at Powell’s books in search of more horror to quelch my macabre thirst, a very cute employee (and no, I didn't get her number -- damn my introverted shyness!) introduced me to a new up-and-coming horror and supernatural genre author, Joe Hill. Joe has a lifetime of learning and tutelage from the “King” of horror, yes, Stephen himself. Joe is Mr. King’s firstborn son. I am nearing the completion of his short story collection, 20th Century Ghosts. I highly recommend Joe to anyone who likes horror or supernatural. He can pen fresh and imaginative plots and characters that really capture the fantastic and improbable condition of human relations. Go get his book today!

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a Bachelor's Life For Me

Ya know what’s great about livin’ in a bachelor pad? Oh, let me count the ways: 1. Chores? What chores? I can wash the dishes every day, or I can let them sit and do them later. I, of course, rinse my dishes/bowls before I let them sit lest I chance a future unintended run-in with a crusty cereal coated grease monster. But by far the best way of getting out of doing the dishes is to purchase a nice supply of paper or plastic bowls, plates and utensils. Use ‘em and toss ‘em. My counters are clean, baby! 2. It’s my desk and I love/hate it! I have a strong sense of ownership (which could be branded by some ‘professionals’ as a neurotic claim to personal space), and a healthy LOVE/HATE relationship with my desk. Mountains of “stuff” pile onto any open space and other varieties of “crap” are found shoved into any cubby hole available. As much as I enjoy a clean and uncluttered work space, mine is junked 99 percent of the time. That doesn’t mean I don’t know where everything is. I know EXACTLY where everything is! That is, until I try to locate something specific. Then I’m usually in a hurry and I curse and fuss and fling papers, magazines, blank CD’s, books, Playboys (It’s not mine, Mom, really!), and any other immaterial matter until the item is found. Usually ‘misplaced’ on a wrong shelf or under an incorrect pile of shi…I mean, stack of important documents. But regardless, I find it! Now, excuse me while I locate where my wireless mouse has run off to….. Ok, found it…. 3. It’s my pad and I’ll fart if I want to. My lovely daughters stay with me two weekends a month. When I’m all by my lonesome I have full captain’s authority to fart & belch and sit in front of the tele and eat whipped cheese in a can all I want. Oh, wait…I guess that’s what my girls like to do also. There’s nothing like natural bodily noises that make 3-6 year olds merry with giggles and laughter. 4. 24 hour James Bond Marathons. I have full access and dominion over the remote control(s). Sometimes I like to watch manly-man movies for dozens of hours at a time. Indy Jones, Pirates, the complete Martin Scorsese canon. We must all have our fill of obligatory violence, right? But, SHHH!! Don’t tell anyone, but after the bloodshed and brutality is over I need my “other” favorite DVD shelf to balance out my feminine side with Amelie, French Kiss, Harry – Sally, and While You Were Sleeping. 5. I get to sleep on BOTH sides of the bed. Never again will I have to concern myself about the condition of the individual ‘divots’ in the pillow-top mattress, or have to surrender an entire 1/3 to 1/2 of a Queen size bed to a minuscule Chihuahua. Although, I do find that I am more frequently giving up a sizable portion of my sleeping space to piles and stacks of books. I simply cannot read just one book at a time. I’m always in the middle of at least two fiction and numerous other non-fiction how-to, self-help, get-rich-overnight, and you-can-still-be-a-rock-star-at-40 books. So now you own a glimpse into the private life in the Casa de la Evil Baritone lair. As it is now nearing midnight it is time for my nightly leftover snack ritual, then sit down to contemplate additional alternative historical figures of18th century swashbuckling Caribbean marauders, savvy? I bid you good luck, and good night. Au revoir.

You mean people actually read this crap?

I've been informed by certain power panty wearing blogger(s) that I haven't updated my personal blog in a while, and, under incontrovertible and irrefutable bodily harm I had, "better GODDAMN WRITE SOMETHING OR ELSE I'M COMING TO PORTLAND AND SUPERGLUEING YOUR FINGERTIPS TO THE KEYBOARD!" First, let me thank my limited and mostly likely disillusioned reader(s) for stopping by to check on me now and then. I am alive. I am breathing. And no, I have not been trotted off to jail for triggering a mass killing spree. (yet) I admit, I have for the last three or so months lifted an upturned nose at my keyboard as I saunter past thinking, "no one reads the crap I write." Coupled with a dose of lonely bachelor depression, and a corpulent and zaftig blue collar operatic daily schedule causing much exertion on my hoary bohemian body (not to mention the delicate voce), I have neglected my writing duties. In fact, I was quite thrilled and gratified to be singing full time and not have to count the proverbial beans for "The Man", at least for a partial year. Resultantly, I was away from my humble abode for about six of the last twelve weeks, touring the wide expanse of Oregon and SW Washington. That seemed a good enough excuse to avoid posting details of my vapid life, at least through my eyes. Now my contract of over. I'm home again. Permanently. Jobless. Now I have nothing else to keep me occupied so you're stuck with my pointless drivel and inconsequential scribble. WELCOME BACK, EVIL BARITONE!!! By the way...anyone need a good Bean Counter?