The Uninspired Chronicles conversation

Howdy Bobby.

Hey.

Thanks so much for coming on such short notice.

I gotta tell you, it’s a scream and an absolute delight to be here. You’re more than welcome. Now, what’s the dish?

Well, you see, a very fun, beautiful and funny bloggin’ buddy of mine has started this new challenge she’s called “The Uninspired Chronicles.” One wherein we’re supposed to describe what we do when we feel the need “to overcome our creative funk.”

Brother, you’ve got about as much funk as an Andy Williams Christmas Special rerun…

I know, right? But it’s not that kind of funk.

I know, I know. I’m just bustin’ your chops m’friend. So, what’s my part in all this then? I mean, whadda need from me?

Well, I was hoping you could enlighten me, and I in turn, could enlighten her.

About busting the funk?

Yeah, about that. Would you do that for me BD?

Hey man, don’t call me “BD.”

Oh, sorry. It’s just that a lot of fans say…

Hey – just cut it. I can’t stand the “BD” shit. Alright? My name is Bobby. That’s a “Bob” with an “E” thrown in at the end. Is that too hard for you to say?

Well no, but…

Then let’s just stick to Bobby. OK? And we’ll be right as rain, you n’ me.

OK.

Now, as to giving you advise about “bustin’ your funk”, I suppose I would say that you could wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba wuba woo.

Excuse me?

Or you could also skiddly skat beat a brat bang a gong cheech and chong ding a ling ding dong right or wrong ain’t got nothin’ but this song don’t look now, but the album’s over.

You’re not making any sense.

What?

You are not making any sense. The words, they’re all coming out as gibberish.

Well of course I’m not, and of course they are. I mean, I’m only in your head you know. I’m not actually here. I can’t tell you what to do to break the funk now, because I never mentioned it during my life, and your imagination has no earthly idea as to what I would actually say about this subject, pally. The words are coming out all sputtery-like because the words just don’t exist. You’d have to meet with me for real to get the real deal. And let me tell ya, I ain’t about to go back down there. So you’ll just have to wait til you come up here, to hear my two cents on the subject, ya dig?

Now go ahead, and insert a picture of me with a halo right about here. Ya know you want to…

Bam!

So what you’re saying then, is that for me to explain how to best break a funk, I would just have to do it in my own way, versus yours?

Well, of course.

Hmmm. So I wonder, how do I? What do you think?

Well, for starters, I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say that you tend to have imaginary conversations with dead people.

I suppose there’s that.

Damned talented dead people, mind you, but dead people all the same. And hey, don’t forget about all those reams and reams of drafts you’ve built up as well. You know, the ones where you just start saying stuff until a real topic emerges. Damn kid, you could start a second blog fed solely on those, for at least a year.

Never noticed that about me. There are quite a few I suppose.

A million if there was one. Hey, speaking of, Sammy Davis Jr. wants to know when and if you’re ever gonna post that one you started about him. I gotta tell you, it was showing some promise, and well, you know what an attention whore he is. You two would get along famously.

I’m working on i… HEY!

Just kiddin’, Jack. Damn, C was right, you are the sensitive type, ain’t ya? Hey kid, listen, if we’re just about done here, I’d like to get going, cool?

Cool.

Nothing you said, it’s just that me and Dino were gonna go and mess with the new arrivals. They’re ALWAYS looking for Sinatra when they first get off the bus. You should see their faces when we tell them he’s not there. Priceless! It’s a straight forward gas!

Bus?

Yeah, a bus. Whadda think, it was golden escalators or something? My man, you’ve gotta get your head outta the fairy tales and pick up a CS Lewis book! That cat knew a lot more than he let on to.

I know, I’ve got the book you’re talking about. So, BD – errr – Bobby. Hey, could you at least give me one little gem to run with before you go? I mean, at least something that sounds like it might have come from you?

Well, I will tell you this. You’re plugging away in your brain right now, thinking which of my tunes you’re going to end this post with. Feverishly scrubbing down videos in the hopes of finding the performance that’s “just right” – and I’m gonna tell you – DON’T. Do not, under any circumstances, use one of my performances or recordings. Not here. It’s too expected. Too safe. Too stupid a move for one who’s trying to break out of a creative logjam. You wanna create? You gotta get creaTIVE, Jack. You wanna blow their socks off and bust your funk? You gotta find the one thing that’s just far enough removed from what they’re expecting that you’ll literally drop their jaws – or at least make sure they leave with the smile they paid for with the price of admission. And keep it swingin’ Daddy. Always end it on a high note – ya dig?

I dig. Well, as much as an “Andy Williams Christmas Special rerun” can, I suppose…

I like you kid, you’re alright. And hey, remember: it isn’t that you live only once. You only die once. You live lots of times if you know how. Now let’s end this with some class, shall we?

Here we go, a 1, 2, 3, 4, 168, 11, 9…