Don't Make Me A Target

Welcome to "Fav Lyrics Friday" folks. Do be fearless and check-out Spoon's "Don't make me a target in the player. Remember, to play the home game you really should listen while you read lyrics. I'll be sure, as always to post the entire lyrics at the bottom of this fascinating post, but first--

Allow me to catch you up a bit on all things Sue-ish. So yesterday was the anniveraire, (as the pretend french say), and thanks for all the comments you guys, very nice. As is our custom we apologized about both laming out and not getting cards, but sat on the sofa together and watched "CSI" while Dan gave me a leg rub. Usually we do cards, but-- whateves. We know the cuddley score.

As far as writing goes-- yeah right. I've had no time and have switched my brain over to visual mode to work full time in ye old art shop (I say that a lot don't i? "ye old"...) But I still managed to have one minor freak-out at someone this week about my impatience at waiting for cool-ass chicka agent's reply. This person was very cool and non-judgey about this, and I ultimately decided I was just having a bit of a tantrum and I should just "shut up and wait" like the hordes of other wanna be authors out there.

Also-- attended my very first writing group critique this morning. I was quite nervous about what my face would look like as people spoke to me. On the drive there i was trying to hypnotize myself, "Look, interested, appreciative, and impassive. Don't do that thing where your eyes get all watery and dart psychotically around the room." you know, basically imagining the worst. I figured, depending on the feedback, my reaction would fall somewhere between, "Thank God these people acknowledge my genius" and "Wow, these people totally do not get me." Hey--I was right! I am right in that ballpark somewhere. One or two people really didn't get me at all, and one or two were totally "feelin' it". Everyone took a lot of time and care reading my stuff and their opinions will take some time to penetrate. I'm not sure how I feel yet, except maybe... naked, in public???

As far as art work goes, I'm on stained glass stuff now since the weather crapped-out. I lost half a day because of a design flaw I had to fix. I'm used to working with steel, which pretty much stays put once you weld it. Lead can sag. How dare it?! I like the little designs I've come up with and am hoping they sell. I'm calling them the "Frank Loyd Wright's Yoga Studio" series, but only to myself. Well, back to the garage for me.

Enjoy your weekend, and enjoy this cool song. Not sure what it all means, but like "dialect drawls" and "smells like the insides of closets upstairs, the kind where nobody goes."

Here come the man from the stars
we don't know why he go so far
and keep on marching along
beating his drum

Clubs and sticks and bats and balls
for nuclear dicks with dialect drawls
they come from a parking lot town
where nothing lives in the sun

Don't make me a target (3x)
When you reach back in his mind
feels like he's breaking the law
There's something back there he got
that nobody knows

He never claimed to say what he says
He smells like the inside of closets upstairs-
The kind where nobody goes

Don't make me a target...