My Indian Blanket (and other slings and arrows of no particular interest)

I must confess that I've been battling some feelings of depression for the last several days.  (I know the difference from "feeling down" and this.  When I'm upset about something, I'm anxious to get it off my chest...with depression, I pull it around my shoulders like an Indian blanket & for the most part, withdraw from the rest of the world.)  

It always starts the same way; never any "big" thing, but a series of bothersome events that seem to spiral together and overwhelm me.  I think it'd be a mistake to go into annoying details here.  No one really cares, and why should they?  Plus I'm sure that a year from now, it will all read as silly and inconsequential.  It will pass when it does. Hoever, there are two things that worry me.  And since I'm writing about crummy stuff anyway...  

 

The economy continues to get worse; as does my 401K, which lost 41000 dollars this year.  (Almost half of what I had in there.)  Hearing "You're not alone" is no help, either 

 

One final thought about this:  earlier in the week when I began feeling out of sorts, I went online to a 'message board forum' I frequent and (half-joking) wrote "Today is my 100th day of being smoke-free; and nobody cares".  This was a response I received from my UK pal Andrew, who always manages to make me smile.    

 

"Enough of this talk about humdrum tedium and nobody caring. You live the life you have chosen and we amongst many others are particularly partial to your abracadbra - across the East Riding of Yorkshire, the West Riding of Yorkshire, Lancashire, the Irish Sea, Ireland, across the mighty Atlantic Ocean and Pennsylvania, Pittsburgh, and finally down your street and up into your flat, undiminished by distance, I send warm regards and kind thoughts.   You big f-cking girly. Put the kettle on and fill the biscuit tin, we're all coming round."  

Thanks Andrew—appreciated.   (Isn’t he a great writer?)

Meanwhile, when it comes to issues... Marcia Brady tells all  

It's not exactly a secret that I was a fan of the Brady Bunch growing up (and in fact, still am to an extent; I should be embarrassed about the amount of 'Brady Trivia' I can spout off at a moment's notice). 

So when I heard Maureen McCormick's autobiography was being released this week, I whimpered a little in gratitude first, before rushing out to get my copy.    

 

I've only read the first couple chapters so far, but this book is turning out to be a real treasure.  She begins the book with "Imagine going thru your life always being shadowed by a prettier, more popular, younger you." 

It really sets the tone of things--in fact, I'm only 40 pages into it & finding one surprise after another. 

(She's a clone of her father, she jokingly considered Florence a "closeted sexpot", she was obsessed with Eve Plumb's breast size, she fantasized about marrying Robert Reed, on & on...)  

I know what's coming--she's been all over the news this week, doing talk-show confessions of sex for drugs in the 80s and some other tragic mistakes.  But I can't help feeling a lot of affection for her.  When Barry Williams (Greg) wrote his book I was a Teenage Brady, his stories were told from a witness' viewpoint.  When Maureen is recounting her experiences, she does it with real love & genuine humility.  She grew up in a poor household & was always surprised & intimidated by the better lifestyles of everyone else on the show.   

And finally, on a lighter note--ApacheDug's Pizza now delivers...  

 

My personal website on a custom baseball cap; I'm surprised I got a couple requests from people who wanted one!  

 

Last week at my niece Sophie's 4th birthday party, my sister Donda & other niece Drew gave me an early birthday present; a customized baseball cap with the logo, 'ApacheDug's Teepee' stitched on the front.   (I love it, but discovered it was a bit pricey; I don't think I'll be having a case of these made.)

Anyway, yesterday afternoon I decided to try out the new pizza place that just opened a couple blocks from my apartment.  It's run by an Italian family, and you really get what you pay for; I ordered a medium deluxe pizza that must've weighed 10 pounds. 

I walked up the street to pick it up, but it was cold outside so I slipped on my Apachedug cap.  When I got back to my apartment building, there was a guy in the lobby getting his mail, saw me & said it smelled good, and I smiled & nodded my head and went upstairs..

This afternoon as I'm going out to go grocery shopping, there's that same guy, coming in with a woman and they're talking about some football game and he's saying "Why don't we get a pizza?  Some guy from Apache's Teepee delivered one here yesterday and that thing smelled good."   What the—!! 

I wanted to say something, but the door shut before I had a chance;   I guess he didn't recognize me without my pizza delivery cap.