I got up about 4:30. Was having a dream where I was singing a new song. And what's funny was that even in the dream I knew it was a terrible song. I mean really horrible and trite. As I was coming to consciousness, it sounded even worse. Then I remembered that it was a song I wrote a very long time ago -- maybe 30 years ago -- but back then, I couldn't tell the difference between a bad song and a good song if it came from me. Lots of young songwriters go through a stage where they think anything they think up is good.
Nowadays, I think everything I write is terrible, and I have to be talked into liking it. LOL.
I worked a little bit on Alexandra's concert video, which I am editing. It's almost finished. In fact, I've finished my work on it and will be sending the master to Ralph Lampkin, the executive producer, later today. It's a bit too long for a DVD, so they'll have to do some pruning, but I think I did really good work on it. My first professional video editing gig!
At 5:30 I got up to run. I decided I was not going to let my depression (situational, not clinical) get the best of me. I was going to hit the streets, stop being a wimp, and just start running. Do it. No matter how I felt about it. Just do it. (Oh, no. I sound like a Nike ad).
And I did. I found a parking lot near here and I started doing laps. Two big laps, some street running. Total: 30 minutes. Not a lot, but it's a start.
On the way back, I saw Chuck and his shopping cart, almost empty, just pulling up in front of my apartment building. His eyes lit up. I said, "Stay here. I'll be right back."
I went upstairs to get two bags of accumulated empty cans, along with a plastic garbage bag for him to tie onto his cart. As I emerged, he said, "Oh, great! Where you been?"
I said, "I've been out every morning but I keep missing you. My doctor has been yelling at me that I'm not doing enough, though."
He said, "I got a nickname for you. Do you mind? Everyone on the street here has a nickname. Like that guy up there...?" I looked up the street and saw another shopping cart guy who's recently been encroaching on Chuck's territory.
"That's Saddam Hussein. Cuz he looks like Saddam Hussein."
"I've seen him! He was at the 7/11 the other morning buying a big bottle of beer."
Most of the street people are alcoholics, including Chuck, who readily admits it.
I continued, "Yeah. Saddam Hussein was at the 7/11. I wonder if they know he escaped?"
"So," he said, "I have a nickname for you. Do you mind?"
"Hell, no! I love nicknames."
"I've named you thunder thighs. I mean look!"
He pointed down at my legs, especially my calves. He said, "You could crack walnuts with those thighs. When I see you comin', I always say, 'Here comes thunder thighs!'"
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