Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about orange, failure, and indecision.

"Tell us about your favorite costume from childhood. Alternate Prompt: Orange is a color that people either hate or love: tell us how you feel about it."

Good morning to you, kind people who read this...I hope this is finding you well. I've been up since like 4am, and nothing good comes out of anyone being awake at 4am...so let me get this off my hands and into your eyeballs before the inevitable crash nap occurs and renders me useless for the rest of the day.

I don't know that I have a favorite costume from childhood. So often it was either DIY, or go to the department store and pick out something that was flame-retardant. Why? Did kids get into a habit of setting themselves on fire when wearing plastic costumes that smelled like a factory? Were the eye-holes in the masks too small to avoid heat? Was the sweat produced by such costume/mask combos that toxic? Maybe that takes care of some explanations. Thankfully there's an alternate prompt to work with today.

I have no problem with the color orange, as long as it's a tasteful shade. I think in certain situations it's underrated, but it really can get tacky if it's part of the 70's kitchen decor lineup. That's just not a good idea for anyone. But you wanna dye your hair orange or get some fresh orange kicks? Do your thing then. Far be it from me to stop you with my opinion...ain't like I gotta wake next to you or anything.

BCF PROMPT: "Oprah Winfrey said, 'So go ahead. Fall down. The world looks different from the ground.' Do you embrace failure?"

Ah, here we go...my girl Harpo. She can do no wrong. She didn't like talk shows, so she got her own. She didn't like the magazines out there, so she got herself one of them too. And when she decided she didn't like either, she got a cable TV network...all Oprah, all the time. Good on her for having the cred and cache to pull that off.

So who's Oprah to tell me anything about failure? I could write books and dissertations on bad decisions...I could be the Oprah of failure if I really wanted to embrace that ambition. Babe Ruth knew how to eat hot dogs, bang hookers and hit home runs; Oprah is the champion of all things Oprah; and I know failure. I'm like the Joel Osteen of failure...I could sermonize about it all day long for the right amount of blood money. I don't see anyone ponying up the dough to put my tales in syndication...the richest god damn woman on the planet, and she's gonna tell me it's ok to fail? Anyone else see what's wrong with this picture?

Well, for the rest of us who haven't been so lucky to see our hard work rewarded with anything else but harder work, I'm here to tell you that there is a silver lining in your shitty cloud. Failure can be a great source of motivation, like "I don't ever wanna go through that again." It makes you wiser and healthier (but probably not better looking...some failures not of your own doing are irreversible). Sometimes you've gotta suck just to see how better you are than others, whether it's playing checkers or writing or competitive eating or porn. There are people who are just better at things, and there are people who aren't as skilled. Once you know where you stand given a large sample size, you can determine your next move..."Well, this is where I can perform better..." or "Maybe I'm not cut out for this; I'll move on to something else". Life ain't about success and failure, but how we adapt to either when it matters most.

But I didn't wake up in the middle of the night to bestow that wisdom upon you. Hell, I didn't wake up to any wisdom. I'm just a simple man who will most likely never be Oprah rich  , and it's not from lack of effort. I wish I could say I appreciate her telling me it's okay to fuck up sometimes, but lady I already know that. The struggle existed long before you, and for some people it'll continue no matter how hard they try. Sign me up when there's a "Perseverance" network...that sounds like something more people can relate to than "The Oprah Winfrey Network". Am I hatin'? Yeah, I'm hatin'. No Oprah gon' tell me nuthin' 'bout failing.

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The last day of another Soundtracker event...so bittersweet. There are still some dead artists left that I can't believe haven't been mentioned yet. I've only got two words for you people: The Clash.

They need no introduction; you know who they are and why they're here. RIP Joe Strummer.

"This indecision's bugging me (esta indecision me molesta)."
Lyrics and interpretations.  

Apparently, I haven't been smart enough all these years to properly eat pistachios  . Really. I'd save those "too hard to open" ones for awhile, and if I wasn't feelin' like digging out a hammer to smash them open, they got tossed. I swear I still possess some ingenuity...just wish it would've washed over me sooner.

And normally I'd put this link here because hey, stop worrying about Ebola  , but an amazing thing happened after I watched the embedded YouTube clip of a guy imitating President Obama and using his cat as a puppet...funny how the end of five seconds can change your entire day...

Good morning to me, I guess.

And finally, in a new October feature here in "Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am" , I present to you in conjunction with "Invalid Item"  some bad poetry. Today's prompt is "MONSTER: Dracula; COCKTAIL: Muddled Rebuttal; REQUIRED WORDS: Dentures, Slurp; REQUIRED POETRY FORM: Decuain".

Ugh...poetry with forms and words and syllables and iambic pentameter. I'm so anti all that stuff. But whatever...here goes...

You might want to call it being usurped.
but Dracula drinks what he is sure of.
Don't think to serve him what he cannot slurp;
his teeth aren't exactly what they're worth.
His taste's as fearsome as his looks warrant
so humor him not if you're so unsure.
He'll still get drunk on your veined platelets,
as long as they don't impede his dentures.
You, kind soul, are the troubling that lurks
so muddle your bloody rebuttal first.

I've written some bad poems before, but that was a struggle. But hey, I'd do anything to get oh my gawd don't say it out loud and just shut up now But hey, there's room in the world for bad poetry, right? I guess.

And if that's the last thing you ever see of my writing, I'm so sorry to have left you with that impression. Please accept my condolences for your departed feelings, kind readers, and please know that the guy who wrote the horrible "Dracula dentures" poem isn't me. I'm just a guy who appreciates rippin' his heart out from time to time and blamin' it on the poetry. If I knew I'd be using my fingers to count syllables for style points, I'd have bought more than one pair of dollar-store fleece gloves yesterday. Peace, digame que tengo ser, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyB1PmIQRVM
The video YouTube doesn't want you to see,