Take me like you find meDon't try to change meYou know better than that

Take me as you see me
Don't try to hide me
I ain't used to that



I'll shout it out loud
Put a bomb in a crowd
If I got something to say



There's nothing that can stop me
I can't let it lay



If I have to fall on my head
Every night of the week
It's gonna be my fault,
(No one else)



If everything goes wrong
When I'm singing my song
It's gonna be my fault
(and no one else)



There ain't nothing you can do about it
I've sat and thought it over,
Don't try to help me
I was just born this way



So if everything goes wrong
And I drink all night
It's gonna be my fault
(and no one else)



So don't break it kindly,
Don't hypnotize me
I just won't understand



Take me like you find me
Don't try to change me
You know better than that

Well, ooh la la.

I have been trying to just make myself write something lately.

But, really, all I want to do is play music with Stanette and Bells.



(Wouldn't you?)



((That's what I thought.))

The Mitten has been really putting some goodness out into the ether lately. Other than going to the gym, that is all I have been doing with my spare time. And reading. And watching Lost.


I sure as hell haven't been doing enough of ^^that^^.

We learned Ooh La La recently. It sounds really nice. There are probably around thirty songs we can play now. So, you know, keep your eyes peeled. The Mitten will be coming to a kitchen near you.



Here are a couple old pictures my dad sent me. Enjoy.





And of course...



In retrospect, I may have peaked that year. I mean, shit, look at me, little demin Duder, front of the ding dang line. You know I went straight to the back seat and set up shop like Napoleon. With my lunchbox. Me and that dude in the leisure suit. (His name was Henry. He was from Canada.) Then, later, after school, I would strut down the street from my job at the paint store, hair perfect, pick up a beautiful chica and maybe have some milk and play Star Wars or something.

What?

The job at the paint store was under the table. It was good cash. Don't look at me like that. I said Don't.

Anyway... what day is it, Tuesday? Yeah. I really don't care for Tuesdays in general. Unless you are playing hooky and going snowboarding, or sitting on your couch watching a DVD, or maybe hanging out at Costco eating $ 1.50 quarter-pound hotdogs, thinking about purchasing a five gallon bucket of soy sauce... because everybody likes soy sauce, then Tuesdays pretty much blow.

If you are feeling sassy, though, you can reach in deep, like to your elbow, and grab Tuesday by the scruff of the neck and toss it through the door into Wednesday, well, that's something. At least you can look Wednesday in the eye.

Like a man.

And say,

Wednesday? If you try and get between me and the weekend?

When I am this close?

I mean, I can practically smell Thursday...

You know what's gonna happen?

Oh, you don't?

Well, do you see Tuesday right there?

Yeah.

Tuesday just looked at me wrong.

So, back off, Wednesday, or you're gonna spend the rest of your short-ass days in agonizing pain, crying on Monday's shoulder wondering what the hell happened to the middle of the week.

So mind your P's and Q's Wednesday.

I will be watching you.

I will take you down.

I will take you down to Chinatown.