Oh dear oh dear, oh dear! Here's a Lo you may not have met before. Truly dejected. My vision is so bad that I can no longer draw anything. My hearing is going downhill and I am becoming one of those wretched old ladies who keeps shouting, "Speak up, speak up dammit, why is everyone mumbling and whispering?" I would sell my soul AND my body for one of those old fashioned ear trumpets.....it would fit my current image perfectly. I am just a handful of stale crumbs of my former self. OY GEVALT, I cannot believe this is me whining like this. Even Pollyanna moans and groans sometimes..
I think my soul is spoiled too. I must have
left it on the kitchen counter one nite and forgotten to put it in the
frig and it has turned sour, curdled, with horrid black and green mold growing all over it. I am not sure it can be saved. Perhaps tomorrow I will try and see if there is any hope of salvaging anything underneath the mold on the surface.......aaaaarrrrggghh.
And that lovely blue flame that burned
in its niche below my rib cage has gone out. Kaput. I took a look
today and there is nothing there but a cold grate and a few burnt
matches underneath. I do not know what I did with the directions (if I
ever had any) so I have no clue about how to light it again.
All of this does not bode well for Lois, I am afraid. And yet I fear
one does not die of these calamities......I just don't know how one
keeps on living when your soul has curdled and your fire has gone out. Perhaps it is like an oven thermocouple.......when
you turn the knob the thermocouple heats up and when it is hot
enough the gas valve opens and the gas comes on and the hot thingy ignites it. Now all I need to do
is figure out where the oven control is........
......and yet.........there may still be a spark or smouldering ember somewhere because I have been driven to sing today and, I think I may not have completely ruined my so-called voice with those damned singing lessons after all. Actually, I went to the ENT doctor the other day and found that nothing was terribly wrong........a slight infection which antibiotics should cure, some inflammation which might go awayif I shut up for a while, and a lot of heavy mucous from my post nasal drip which might respond to Mucinex. Omigod....I have been watching those revolting TV ads for years now and never dreamed that I would fall so low as to have to take that product in order to banish all those wretched green, lumpy creatures from my esophagus and voice box. Sigh. Will there be no end to my deterioration? Guess not, but, as I said, I was inspired to pipe a few notes today and I found I kind of liked the hoarse, throaty quality which has overtaken my sweet, dulcet tones. Perhaps I shall simply give up the Mucinex and see what happens.
I must confess, during my wretchedness I have been playing around with recording some of my warbling and am finding it most......hmmmm..... amusing....... and sometimes totally horrifying. There is nothing quite as humbling as hitting an awful clinker and bursting out laughing in the middle of recordinga heartfelt ballad. If I can ever learn how to transfer my recording to this blog I may just include one of those less than memorable performances for your amusement. You have been clamoring for it....I should punish/reward you by doing it. But how?
Which brings me to the most important poin of this soggy excuse for a blog.....assuming I recover from this curdling of the soul and such. Which of you dear folk out there is willing to help me, guide me, instruct me.....dumkopff that I am.....in how to go about transferring an audio file to a blog? (No, my dears, I have no intention of trying to make a video of my singing.......seeing me in my bathrobe and slippers crooning away over my coffee and bran flakes would destroy any illusions you may have about me.......perhaps later on, but not now.)
I am quite serious about asking for your help. I know a lot of you include audios and videos in your blogs so I know it is possible. The question is....is it within the realm of possibility for ME?
Any and all advice will be welcomed eagerly and gratefully. My thanks will be boundless. I may even sing for you.
Love, What Once Was Lo
The New Yorker covers: February 10, 1968
6 hours ago