Control

******* Helene Troy’s previous episode with Case Hill: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/27/sex-and-candy/ *******

Helene’s body ached with every thrust. As Case tried to balance against some boxes, she ripped his shirt and pushed him down. He yelped in pain. She laughed while moving over him. Helene used his body to guide through the storm raging inside. Anger, frustration, lust swirled until she was through. Helene fell against him. She found the Jack Daniels bottle , sat up and took a large swig. Case touched her hand.

“That was …..”

Helene’s glare interrupted him. She pulled away, buttoning her jeans.

“Mine….that was mine. I want to play onstage with you guys tonight. Make it happen.”

*****blogger’s note***** -

This is a new story episode of Helene Troy in the form of 100 words for http://www.velvetverbosity.com The one word prompt is STORM. The full Helene Troy story is here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/

Today’s song is really from Case Hill’s perspective as Helene’s takes over the quickie situation. The song for that is fitting lyrical. Here’s Puddle Of Mudd’s Control…

Float On

The turkey on wheat sandwich was stale. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and he hadn’t eaten all day. The hollowness in his stomach wasn’t hunger. He rose from the courthouse cafeteria table, straightened his dark blue suit, and tossed the sandwich in the garbage can. He ignored his vibrating cell phone, walked in the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and slung his arms over a second floor railing. He watched from the atrium as men and women entered and exited courtrooms. Their expressions ranged from furious to forlorn. He wondered if Disneyland was “the happiest place on Earth” could the County Courthouse be the saddest?

A small, dark-skinned, liver spotted hand appeared next to his arms on the rail. He looked up slowly and saw the pleasant, round face of an elderly woman wearing a bright blue dress. She held a book against her chest. She smiled and looked at the sun showing overhead. He spoke, only to be polite.

“It’s ironic that the ceiling in this place is glass. It allows a bright summer sun to radiate over all this despair.”

She picked up her free hand and placed it on his left arm. Her grasp was warm and comforting.

“Young man, you’re looking at that sun all wrong. That’s hope. It’s a new beginning. That sun is showing you that everything will be just fine.”

He was raised to respect his elders. Yet, he thought the old woman was crazy. For six hours he sat in one of those courtrooms and heard how bad of a husband, father, and man he had been. As soon as he felt like answering his phone, his lawyer would have him sign some paperwork making him divorced and a single parent. He laughed sarcastically and tried to turn away. She firmed her grip on his arm.

“Sweetie, you just went through darkness. That sun is your dawn. You just have to see it the right way. Here, you need this more than I do.”

She gently placed the book against his stomach and walked off. He turned the book over and saw the title; “You Just Don’t Understand” by Deborah Tannen. It was dog eared to page that contained a quote “A perfectly tuned conversation is a vision of sanity….”

His phone vibrated. It was his lawyer. He answered.

“Hey man, we’re almost done. We’re still crossing T’s and dotting I’s on the settlement language. It won’t be more than an hour.”

He looked at the book, read the quote again, stared at the sun and responded.

“I’ll meet you at your office tomorrow. I’ll sign whatever you think is best. I have a book to read and a life to improve.”

He hung up the phone, walked down the stairs, through the exit and into the shine.

*********blogger’s note*******

This is my response to AD LaBonte’s Indie Ink Challenge:  ”A perfectly tuned conversation is a vision of sanity.” – Deborah Tannen. You can find AD here: http://3to9travels.wordpress.com/ and the good folks at Indie Ink here: http://www.indieink.org/

This is a fictionalized version of something that happened to me almost five years ago, next week. I’ll let you figure out what’s real and what’s not.

Today is my middle daughter, Lyla Katherine aka “Bug” ‘s 8th birthday. I would be remiss if  the blog didn’t mention it. I used to be able to hold her in one hand while I made breakfast in the other. Now, she can karate kick my hand off.

Today’s song is real. It’s real to the time and it’s real good. It’s from the rock band Modest Mouse. They wrote it during a difficult time in the band’s existence when they thought about breaking up. It’s a positive song to listen when you think things are at their worst and can’t get any better. Here’s Float On.

Robot Fool

A couple of days ago, one of my fellow robots, Kristi, over at http://www.therobotmommy.com , issued a challenge. The prize is a $50 gift card to Starbucks. The mission is doing a robot dance, on video, and send it to her website. I don’t drink coffee, eat muffins, hang out with hippies, or dance. Yet, I felt compelled to enter Kristi’s contest because I was overwhelmed by the flu and love for my starbucks drinking women.

This is also my contribution to 30 Days Of Shameleness, specifically, number 2; act like a fool. I know that any of my blog posts qualify for acting the fool, but I wanted to go all the way. So, i made a video of me robot dancing. Honestly, the 3 minutes speaks for itself. You will either hate me or pity me or create a new word- pityhateme.

Daft Punk’s Robot Rock is providing the soundtrack for this youtube ridiculousness, so that serves as the song for the day. Pityhateme:

Sex and Candy

Case ran his right hand over the left side of Helene’s face. His touch made her melt inside. Case grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from a friend and grasped Helene’s left hand. Reluctantly she went with him. He took her behind the stage into a maintenance room. They passed the bottle back and forth. Helene finally spoke.

“I just need a break.”

Case moved her against the wall, kissed her forcefully, and smiled with wickedness.

“Your lipgloss tastes like candy.”

Helene ignored the depth her desperation was taking and threw her arms around him. Their mouths devoured each other.

********blogger’s note****

100 words is back! Thank you velvet aka @velvetverbosity at http://www.velvetverbosity.com  Vel’s one word prompt was DEPTH . This is another episode of my indie rock heroine, Helene Troy. The full story is here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/

Today’s song is something I’ve wanted to play for a while. It fits this part of the Helene Troy tale. It’s sexy and wrong. Exactly where she is in the story. This is a great one hit wonder from the 90s, Sex and Candy from Marcy’s Playground. 

Ever Fallen In Love With Someone You Shouldn’t've

I caught her at the gate as the plane was boarding. I expressed my deepest love in an embrace and a long kiss. She got on the plane, anyway.

*****blogger’s note****

The Red Dress Club changed into Write On Edge http://writeonedge.com/ This is my first deal with them. A very short story of 140 characters or less, so in the form of a tweet, for their Red Writing Hood Friday feature. I have become a fan of http://www.very-short-story.com/ aka @VeryShortStory on twitter. dude is amazingly talented at tweet type fiction. I hope I do him some justice with this.

Today’s song is one of my top ten favorite tunes ever. It’s from underrated punk rock band The Buzzcocks. The title is almost as long as the very short story. This is the ultimate dude getting messed over by a girl song… and it’s a punk rock masterpiece…Here’s The Buzzcocks’s Ever Fallen In Love With Someone You Shouldn’t've?

Perfect Situation

Three years ago, my wife and I first discussed getting married. Well, to be clear, my 15 year old daughter, then 12, talked about my then girlfriend and I tying the knot. Here’s the story.

My daughter, Tay, and a buddy of hers came over to my house with Bobina. My youngest daughters were elsewhere. We goofed off, talked, played games, and they left because the girls had school the next day. On the ride home, Tay blurts out, “so are you guys getting married?”. She was good with the idea but her mom and I had only dated for a few months. Suddenly the issue was on the table. That night ended with my girlfriend telling me “I wanna marry you.” Three months later, this happened.

Then something even weirder happened. We became this:

I learned about a blended family. We’re one dude, one girl, one chick, two girls, a dog that’s always around, two kittens. The Bradys are three girls, a mom, three boys, a dad, a dog that disappeared, a housekeeper that lived in the laundry room and had a butcher boyfriend, and the collection of the worst hairdos. Forever, they seemed like freaks. I had a mom and dad that were school sweethearts. These days, being married for a second time to woman with kids; the line used in the Brady Bunch “the only steps in this house are the ones going upstairs” is like Walt Whitman poetry. I identify with that gloriously bad television show more every day.

Recently the creator of the Brady Bunch, Sherwood Schwartz, passed away well in his 90s. Also, the youngest daughter of the Brady Bunch, Cindy, also known as Susan Olsen, turned 50 years old. It made me slightly nostaglic for the show because I am in a similar situation, albeit, nonfictional, as the Bradys. The differences are stark. The exes of my wife and I are not dead. There is no maid. I don’t have perm. My family doesn’t take trips to Hawaii. But the sentiment of being a blended bunch exists. I consider all three of my daughters, mine. We talk about our problems. Every 25 minutes or so, I give a convoluted speech about doing the right thing and loving each other and yourself. Then my girls run out into the yard and throw footballs at their noses.

When I married Bobina, everyone asked me if I was prepared for the obstacles. There would be other parents to consider, raising two children whose births I didn’t witness, the extra expenses, getting used to four women instead of just one. The truth is, after 3 years, we’re all kinds of awesome. I remember feeling like a gladiator going into the stadium with the lions, armored and a “challenge accepted” glare in my eyes. Now, I just blend in with my bunch. It all seems natural.

The other day it was raining. My youngest daughters were on the couch, under afghans (because we’re fancy), watching ICarly. Carly (the character, not my youngest girl) lives with her older brother Spencer. Spencer has the maturity level of a ritalin starved 4 year old high on sugar cookies. My youngest daughter says “Spencer is silly. He’s not like a real dad.” My middle child answers, “yeah, daddy would never act like that.” I put down the guitar, put on some pants, swallowed my frosted flakes (because they’re grrrrrreat), and quietly contemplated my daughter’s thoughts. For the most part, my kids get it. I would give anything if Joe Namath or Davy Jones would visit us based on a lie.

*******blogger’s note*******

This is my answer to two writing assignments – one from the good people at Studio Thirty Plus http://www.studiothirtyplus.com/ who gave me “Challenge Accepted” and Katie’s group at The Lightning and the Lightning Bug who wanted “I Wanna Marry You” http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/

Today’s song really isn’t compatible lyrically unless you use your imagination. I heard Weezer on my way into work and I just wanted to hear this guitar riff and use this title. It’s a good song and good video. You’ll enjoy it. I do find myself in a Perfect Situation. Plus I rocked two prompts. Here’s Weezer’s Perfect Situation.

Pretty Tied Up

All that remained in his bedroom were several rectangular cardboard boxes. Morning sunlight shone over the hardwood floors. I bent down and looked into the box furthest away. Books, cassettes and CDs were its’ contents. I looked through the cassette and CD cases and thoughts of times with him rushed through me.

Sitting down against the bare, white walls, I forgot time and space. Manners fell away in favor of memories. The music we used to drive around, talk about our problems, get drunk, get high, and plan our futures was piled into a few pieces of cardboard. I moved some paperback books and found the cassette tapes “Use Your Illusion I & II” by Guns N’ Roses.

My laughing was involuntary. Tears mixed with giggles as I recalled a time when he and I threw punches at each other arguing about which was the better record; Appetite for Destruction or the Illusion tandem. How stupid of us. How stupid of me for arguing with him. He was in pain, even then. Why couldn’t I have let him get his way in a pointless discussion?

His sister stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Her tears were new.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you cry since the funeral. Thanks.”

I was embarrassed. I was in his house with his emotionally wrecked sister and I was arrogant enough to cry? I thought, why is she thanking me?

“What do you mean? I’m in the way of you and your parents right now, aren’t I?”

She walked over and dropped down next to me. She held my hand tightly then let go and reached into one of the other boxes. She pulled out a small cassette player and put in one by Guns N’ Roses. Neither of us spoke. We just listened and awkwardly held old, dirty head phones. The song “Pretty Tied Up” invaded our ears. I smiled and thought about a debaucherous time he and I had together in college that the song played theme to. She stared at me as tears streamed down her face. She let go of the headphones and rested her small head of dirty blonde hair on my shoulder.

“He loved you as much as he loved me and mom and dad.  You and I talked to him almost every day. Nothing worked. He was just so damn selfish!”

Her voice rose and her tears were incredibly heavy. I said the first words I thought.

“He loved us, but he didn’t love himself. It may have been selfish, but he thought he was doing us a favor. He was wrong. I miss him”

Both of us started listening to the cassette again. She leaned into my shoulder and ear.

“Rewind that “Pretty Tied Up” song. I want to hear about the chick that lives on Melrose. “

I smiled and hit the rewind button. It’s all we had left.

******blogger’s note*****

This is my response to my friend Michael Webb’s Indie Ink challenge, “Pretty Tied Up”. Michael writes very well, all the time, here: http://innocentsaccidentshints.blogspot.com/ 

Today’s song is what inspired Michael Webb and it’s driven me to many types of thoughts. Guns N’ Roses is one of my favorite bands and their catalog is full of songs that show darkness and moral ambiguity, two of my favorite subjects. Dig the guitar licks from one my musical heroes, Slash. This is Guns N’ Roses’ Pretty Tied Up.

Fire Woman

For the first three months of My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog, i wrote to my wife and a few close friends. Literally, it got 5 hits a day, maybe 10 when I talked about them. I decided to reach out to other people who wrote. I’ve believed so many of the horror stories about the innerwebz. It’s all serial killers and felonious freaks, right? When I had a myspace music blog several years ago, I delt with musicians and music business types. I always kept my distance. But last August, so one year ago, I ran across some people and joined their writing communites. No one tried to lure me into their van with candy. I didn’t get a single devil worshiping marriage proposal. Instead, I discovered people who shared my anxiety disorder, liked the same music, and were positively and negatively tormented, as I am, by their art. Now, My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog is rocking 75 hits a day and I have made some excellent friends.

One of those people, Karen, bestowed a blogging award:

http://karensomethingorother.blogspot.com/

Karen’s Canadian which means she has to be funny or she’d be depressed. She doesn’t take herself or her blog seriously. She has a cool family she loves.

I think the rules are I recommend some random number of blogs to pass the award to and tell you things about me. I’ve done similar memes in the past. Karen hates rules as much as I do. So I’ll let you in on your favorite robot human hybrid then suggest some blogs you should be reading because. I’ll see you again in a day or two with some fiction.

1- I like to walk on the left side of people. I feel completely lost and out of sorts walking on the right side. If you see me, and I’m on the right side of someone, know that internally, I’m ablaze with anxiety and doubt and I may explode.

2- I don’t like to wear shorts, even to work out. I have 3 pair of shorts and maybe 2 pair of workout shorts. I don’t put them on unless the workout pants are filthy and/or my jeans are unavailable. I think most dudes look stupid in shorts. My legs are fine, in shape and presentable, I just prefer to show them only on the beach or to my wife.

3- I write EVERYTHING in a notebook with a number 2 pencil THEN transfer it over to computer. What you are reading now was scribbled earlier on paper. I’m old school.

4- I don’t really like food. I mean, I like really good food, but I can skip most meals and be ok. This is the robot part of me. If you told me, tomorrow, that I had to take a pill and never eat food again, I’d be ok. Being married to a chef who obsesses over food is hard for me or maybe it’s hard for her because I say “i don’t care” when she ask me 3 times  a day what we are eating.

5- I like hanging out with women more than men most of the time. I talk a lot. I live with 4 women. Include my mother in law, sister in law, niece, and close friends and I am around as many as a dozen women daily. That being said, every once in a while, I need beer, football, testosterone, and a dude hangout. So if you are reading this and have sports tickets or know a place with good brew, call me. I’m desperate.

Here are places I go for art, laughs, perspective, uniqueness, community, and calm:

Deana aka The Bobina – http://mythoughtsonthesubjectareasfollows.wordpress.com – my wife and my best friend

Abby – http://abbyhasissues.com/ - hilarious and as weird as I am

Chopper Papa – http://chopperpapa.com/ a great guy with a great perspective

JenO- http://mytornadoalley.com/ - talented Canadian writer with a good sense of humor

Tara – http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com – she takes beautiful pictures and writes with flair and style.

Jenna – http://t.co/OD1NiaH, http://t.co/OD1NiaH, http://t.co/8dkvmez, http://t.co/qYjSvbB - she writes everywhere with kindness

You know, go look at my blogroll. They’re all amazing. Just read them.

This is also a nod to 30 Days of Shameslessness http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/09/30-days-in-the-hole/. It’s number 23 – “share a secret”. I shared several.

Today’s song is from The Cult and their underrated Sonic Temple album. This was a college song for me. I played it constantly. It also speaks to some of the great women I know in my house and on the internets. Here’s Fire Woman.

Both Hands

Thirty dollars bought a new black top, red bra, and two matching snap bracelets from the vintage clothing shop. Fifteen dollars purchased mascara and red lip gloss. With five bucks left to buy a beer at the rock club, Helene’s fifty dollar rock star budget for the week was blown. She cringed at her reflection in the train window as it stopped near Greenwich Village.

“I clean up damn good, but he’ll think this is for him.”

She walked off the subway and up to the street. The summer breeze was steady and blew her well coiffed brown hair across her face. As she pulled strands from her mouth with one hand, Helene adjusted her chest.

“You look good and just slutty enough for this place.”

Her band’s drummer, Sadie Ramirez spoke ,while bass player, Mara Hubbard  smiled.

“Hey, Darcy’s not coming. Get drunk if you can afford it, but it’s a working drunk. We need that opening gig for The Golden Apples, so try to behave.”

They slapped hands, then met bouncers under the sign of Blind Iris to find their names on a guest list. Mara leaned into Helene’s left ear.

“Are you going to work the singer or the manager?”

Helene knew Mara meant to ask if she was going to flirt with her ex-boyfriend, Case Hill or be professional and talk to The Golden Apples arrogant representative. She was offended by the question, angry that she had to dress to kill, and the new bra was hurting her in curious places. Mara was painfully shy and nervous, so Helene sighed.

“Both.”

They were allowed entrance into the third best rock club in New York City. The Golden Apples had been signed to a major label 3 months earlier and they were releasing their first CD in two weeks.

Le Tigre’s Deceptacon surrounded Helene as she walked into Blind Iris. She loved that song.  Helene danced at the doorway then surveyed the crowd. The place held about 500 people, but with guest list invites, music business types, and The Golden Apples band and entourage only inside, current capacity was less than half. Blind Iris sweated. Heat didn’t rise there, it moved side to side. Beads of perspiration formed on Helene’s face and fidgeting fingers. Riva and Mara walked to the right side of the first floor to say hello to people they knew. Helene strode the left side looking for her prey, using the music as inspiration. She saw him. She adjusted her bra again, looked down at her ripped jeans, pulled her new shirt in place, applied lip gloss pulled from inside her chest. Helene moved her tongue over her lips and walked confidently across the dance floor. Her intended caught the glare and tightened his shoulders and stopped his conversation with someone. Helene extended her right hand, grabbed his left arm and rubbed her body against his shoulder.

“I just need five minutes of your time.”

The manager excused himself from the tall, well built redhead and followed Helene behind the stage.

“Why are you talking to me? You think I’m everything that’s wrong with the music business. You said that to me, twice. Go to your old boyfriend. He’ll beg me to hire Slipper Socks Medium. I’ll decline. He’ll threaten to quit. I’ll relent. Everyone dances.”

Helene bit her the inside of her upper lip so hard, a trickle of blood dropped into her mouth.

“I want this to be about my band, not melodrama. I know we don’t have a business guy, but we’re close to recording a CD. We have a good reputation in venues, you know that. We don’t miss shows. We don’t play super messed up. Slipper Socks Medium is that band that needs a break. Pulling a curtain for The Golden Apples is positive for everyone. You can pay us next to nothing. Most importantly, I can help you keep Case Hill from fucking everything up by acting like Case Hill. I’ll throw that in for free.”

The manager stared at her. He knew hunger, He lived off the desperation on the upper lips of needy musicians.

“You girls sign a one year agreement with me. I’ll promise you three opening slots for The Golden Apples in September. After that, you let me make your wild bunch of bitchy rock chicks into a real band. I’ll find you some meaningful gigs. I don’t like Darcy Bridges. She’s a shitty guitar player and she uses. I know it, don’t fucking deny it. You keep her upright for those three shows with the Apples, then you ditch her. That’s non-negotiable.”

Helene clenched her fists. She knew what the manager was saying was true. Coming from her mouth, it was right. From his mouth, it was an act of war. Her stomach knotted. Helene relaxed her hands.

“I want all of this in writing by tomorrow.  Slipper Socks Medium plays the Drunk Rhino in 3 days. I’m asking, professionally, for you to be there. Let me tell Case Hill about all of this. I don’t want him thinking he was responsible.”

The manager laughed smarmily. He shook her right hand.

“Come to our studio with the other girls tomorrow after lunch. I’ll have some papers for you all to sign. I’ll make the Rhino. Don’t suck that night. It will piss me off.”

Helene turned away rolling her eyes and looked for somewhere to order her beer. Her angry tunnel vision prevented her from seeing the tall, thin man walking directly toward her. Helene’s face bumped right into the chest of Case Hill.

“Leney, babe, are you okay?”

He ran his hand down her back and pulled her into a hug.

“Case, I’m opening for you next month. We have the same manager. Your hand on my ass wasn’t part of the deal so remove it or you’ll be the first one armed lead singer in rock and roll history.”

******blogger’s note****** This is a new story episode of a story I am writing about a female rock musician named Helene Troy. The rest of it is here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/

Today’s song is probably a favorite of a lot of female musicans. It’s from the great Ani Difranco. It’s a great break up song and it’s powerful from the point of view of both genders. Here’s Both Hands.

Good Enough

Before your read this blog post, look deep inside your soul, find a mirror, then get over yourself.

I am anti-plastic surgery, especially for women. I just don’t understand why people drop thousands of dollars and end up looking worse in the long run. In writing another entry for 30 Days Of Shamelessness http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/09/30-days-in-the-hole/ or as I have rechristened it, since i am not following the meme’s rules, Humble Pie, I am finding ideas I didn’t realize I had.

I live with 4 women, I write about that and them a lot. Vanity is a reality in this house. We never leave for things on time because someone is redoing their hair, applying mascara, or changing their shirt. I will never change my wife and three daughters’ minds by telling them how beautiful they are, they will still fidget and fix. What I hope I can convince these curious chicks is, they will never feel pressure from me to perfect themselves.

Read this celebrity article: http://movies.yahoo.com/news/kate-winslet-rachel-weisz-form-anti-cosmetic-surgery-225321529.html Three women, Kate Winslet, Emma Thompson, and Rachel Weisz say they’ll never have cosmetic surgery to look younger, regardless of the pressures of Hollywood or the entertainment industry. I don’t know if I believe them nor do I think they’re anything more than opinionated and refreshing. The aspect of their story that they are European shouldn’t be ignored. Another woman from across the pond, Helen Mirren, is changing people’s attitudes about women being considered “sexy” even though she’s deep into her sixties. She too, has never had plastic surgery. Maybe the British, and other non Americans’ view is something us self absorbed Yanks should think about. All of those women either have children or are influencing young women. What if more American celebrities said this, “You’re Perfectly Imperfect”?

Some of you, especially men, are reading this and saying “c’mon dude, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t mind your wife getting a nip and tuck .” Yes I would mind. To do that, you are giving in to someone else’s opinion about what you look like. Two posts ago I posted beach pictures of me and my family. I go to the gym 4 days a week. I don’t eat great, but I eat okay. You see the gut I have. I’m short, thick waisted, and far from perfect. Every ounce of fat I have is in my abdomen. I have never once, seriously thought about blowing 5 large on liposuction. 

I know there are some women reading this, saying “I’m so flat chested, no man will ever be attracted to me” or “I can’t get rid of this fat here or there”. That’s vanity and that’s alright. I happen to think the woman I’m married to and my daughters are drop dead gorgeous. I know I’m supposed to think to think that or I’m a major jagoff but I think that and say so. I just don’t want any of them to ever feel pressure to “fix” anything. My teenage daughter goes to school with girls who have parents that have done things to themselves in a doctor’s office. What message is that sending to their girls?

I’ve never seen a boob job that looks better than the real thing. Every facial surgery I’ve ever seen on women at my gym makes them look scary and unnatural. After reading that article, I find Kate, Emma , and Rachel even more attractive because inside, they get it. That radiates beauty.

I intentionally excluded pictures of people in this post. I wanted you to read more words not stare at t & a, especially fake t & a. If you are reading this and thinking I’m full of bs, fine,j just know that I think you’re good enough – Male or Female. 

This is number 21 “express a strong feeling” from 30 Days Of Shamelessness”. Yes, I’m jumping around because I’m punk rock like that.

Today’s song is from Sarah Maclachlan. Her Good Enough is more about emotional strength and inner beauty, but the message gets out. Here’s Good Enough: