My daughter gave me this present of a compliment today as we talked about comedy and writing.
I had just told her a bit in an (anti) kids book I tried to write years ago, a parody of "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie," that I called "If You Give an Eel an Enema." At some point, we find the eel smoking a joint with Bob Dylan, who finishes by Bogarting the roach. The angry and high eel shocks Dylan in response. The next night, Dylan goes electric at the Newport Folk Festival.
That's when she said that most beautiful thing.
She did her most spot-on John Mulaney impression and I fed her my own stupid dad jokes for the impression. I think we're going to do a podcast. "Not John Mulaney Does Dad Jokes." At least we talked about it.
That helped take off the edge of me moving Monday. My run at Motel 6 has ended, thank you to the kindness of the family who owns the place and Don the manager and his wife.
I move into a cottage of a new friend on Lake Lemon, north of Bloomington. The cottage with no cable and no online access will feed my hermetic tastes. I'll find a way to blog, either setting up my phone as a hotspot or driving into town for access.
For nearly three weeks now, I've written about how lucky I am in these trying times. I technically qualify as homeless because of my transitional status. More on that later this week in this blog as I intend to do some interviews with experts on how tackling "homelessness" isn't as easy as giving everyone a hotel room or mini house.
The cottage has a little kitchenette and I look forward to cooking, as well as writing and thinking.
I'll show photos Monday, friends.
Love all of you.