The Island of Misfit Toys

Strange, I think.  I have more traffic than normal by about twenty percent even though some sites have dropped their links to me.  I am sure I've been dropped for content.  All those feinting couch nudes.  And some people who come no longer stay because I do not post so many of those any more.  I thought, too, that the narrative lines might bore people away.  I can't figure it out.  As my friend C.C. says, just write.  The audience will find you.  So here we are, a shifting and changing population, a congregation of sorts.  Whatever.  

I was supposed to shoot tonight, but as too often happens, I had a cancellation at the 11th hour.  C'est la vie.  I was disappointed but relieved.  I am never ready.  Readiness is like a blasphemy to me.  A good case of the nerves--that's the stuff.  I wish it weren't true.  But it is.  

What I thought, though, is that I am building a set for the first time in the studio.  I am going to make a wood floor and walls, one with a window thru which I will shine light and hope it will look like sunlight.  It won't and never will, but that is the dream.  I am getting help from a professional carpenter, so I know it will get done.  We meet tomorrow at eight.  I'm excited.  

The Christmas shows began tonight in earnest.  On different networks at the exact same time there was the lighting of the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Scrooged, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas.  It is terrible, to run them all at the exact same time.  As I ate dinner, I switched between them.  

Rudolph was stranded on the Island of Misfit Toys.  My friend C.C. describes the place we work as that.  I always laughed and got the joke, I thought, but tonight I knew for the first time the allusion.  Old C.C.  I almost thought he made it up.  

That is where I am, though.  I am on an island, a misfit toy.  It is something.  Really something.