One Armed Bandit

My mailing list goes out on Tuesdays, but I usually write these posts somewhere during the preceding week.  This one happens to be on a Monday, and my inner dialogue has gone something like this all day.

“Have you written this week’s post for your mailing list, Slade.”

“You know I haven’t. You’re me.”

“It’s just a reminder.”

“What am I supposed to write?  Vegas is bleeding and Tom Petty just died.”

That’s my inner dialogue most of my days actually, just with different global tragedies.  Be funny despite the fact that the world suffers a new, bigger, worse disaster every ten minutes or so.  It’s impossible to keep up.  I had every intention of telling you about my weekend in Plano and how a one-armed man charged the stage during my late show on Saturday.

He came out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere. He came out of a drunken stupor at a table in the front row, and thought fighting me on his way out the door made sense somehow.

I wanted to tell you that I still deal with weird stuff in my career.  There would have been a clever metaphor or lesson in it all.  I could have told you about how I called him a slot machine, and how I told him I would beat him with his own arm if he didn’t put out a new Def Leppard album.  I made The Fugitive jokes and asked him about his white cat and his niece Penny and his hunt for Inspector Gadget.  It was gonna be fun.

Instead I’m listening to Runnin’ Down a Dream and texting my friends in Vegas.

All I really know are that days like this can’t break you.  You have to decide that in advance.  Turn off your TVs. Hang out with the people you love.  Keep laughing.

I’m glad you guys are in my circle.



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