From the Musical Ampitheater known as my Kitchen…


I was washing dishes Saturday night and had the toonz on. Not an atypical event around these parts, but that doesn’t surprise you. Your favorite Rock Fiction Writer usually has the toonz blaring. And yes, I do like to do dishes. It’s a great time to let your mind wander through your characters’ lives. (WAIT until you meet the new gang!)

I knew the song currently playing was some old Stone Temple Pilots. I knew that. I did. I was even humming along, a little bit, in my own tone-deaf way.

And suddenly, I paused. The warm water kept flowing over my hands, the scrubby side of the sponge froze, poised over the roasting pan’s rack, and I told myself to breathe.

All of a sudden, the song (and don’t ask which it was. I couldn’t tell you) sounded like 1980s Whitesnake. Still of the Night, in fact. (Holy smoke, I’d forgotten Adrian Vandenberg was in the band back then)

For a second there, I wasn’t sure who had hacked my iPod.

And then the second passed, and Stone Temple Pilots sounded like Stone Temple Pilots again.

But I feel an odd desire to put on a push-up bra and go dance in front of my car. After I turn the headlights on. I’m not sure why.


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