I’ve really not been in a blogging mood as of late.  I haven’t been in a much of anything mood as of late, hence the lack of bloggage and the lack of quality bloggage where bloggage is present.  I’m enjoying this word “bloggage.”  The spell check isn’t objecting to it.  It must be a real word.  That’s somewhat disappointing.

Anyway, I’m supposed to go on vacation next week, and I’ll be gone for a while, so go ahead and miss me.  Hopefully when I get back I’ll be in the mood to say something.  I hate blogging about vacation, though.  What a chore.  Well, whatever.  Soon enough the kids will be back in school and maybe I will try some new medicines and I will be back to my usual self again.  Or maybe I’ll never come back.  Hard to see the future is.

When I get depressed, I will sometimes listen to the same songs over and over again.  Here is a song I couldn’t stop listening to last night.

Eightielicious, is it not?

Perhaps I need a Love Resurrection!  Or maybe I just need a camel or a goat.  Question:  What the hell is that video all about?  I’m not saying I don’t like it.  I just don’t get it.  Maybe it’s not to be gotten.

An astute music critic once likened Alison Moyet’s career to one of those marriages where you just adored the wife but couldn’t understand what she saw in her boorish husband.  (My apologies for not attributing this observation appropriately, astute music critic, but when I read your words the internet had not even been invented, so how could I know that I would want to blog about Alison Moyet twenty years later?  And thus I was not paying attention to your name.)  Alison Moyet has a wonderful voice, but her choice of material has not always been so stellar.  Her music tends to be slick and overproduced, occasionally veering into Cheesytown (not the same as Funkytown).  Sometimes it’s fun.  Sometimes it’s amusing.  And sometimes I just want to sit the missus down and ask her, “Seriously, Al, what are you doing with this buffoon?”

I’ve said that I’d listen to Frank Sinatra singing the phone book, and I mean it.  I don’t think I could listen to Alison Moyet sing the phone book, but I might could listen to her sing Obama’s health care bill.

Here’s another song I can’t stop listening to.  It’s somewhat different, specifically in that my husband doesn’t make fun of me for listening to this kind of music.

Dig that cat with the keytar!

Speaking of my husband, his favorite line in this song is “Open up your blue eyes, tell me that you love me, Whore.”  And who can blame him?  I mean, isn’t that just the best line ever?

As it happens, my eyes are blue.  And so are his, so we can sing it to each other.  Isn’t that romantic?

And here is the third song that I can’t stop listening to.  It also is different from the other two, but now we’re back to my husband mocking me.

I don’t know about the rest of you all, but I am loving those backup singers.  In my next life I want to be a backup singer in the early 1970s.  Or is it too late for that?  Maybe that’s what I was in a previous life.  Except I was already alive in the early 1970s, only I was a baby.  So that’s kind of impossible.  Unless there was some weird car accident and the soul of a 1970s backup singer got mixed up with my body.  That sort of thing has been known to happen (in movies).  So it’s possible.  But not really very likely.  Either way, they appear to be having fun, and I, on the other hand, am not.  So my envy is understandable, I think.

So if you don’t hear from me by September 8, it’s because I checked into a funny farm.  If/When I get out, I should have a lot of interesting stories to tell you.  Otherwise, you can just look forward to a boring recap of my boring vacation.  Whee.  Gentle readers, enjoy the rest of your summer.