So Then Sunday Twice – Apologies From Guyville

So Then Sunday Twice – Apologies From Guyville

Every now and then I’ll do a random dive in the Attic, pick a month in the scroll down and then read whatever that month had to say “back in the day”, see just where I was at when I wasn’t old or at least when standing back up from a sit down with Bella now and a cat toy or crumpled paper ball or two wasn’t such a grunty, breathy production.


October of 2009. (Sadly it seems, as you will read, I have regressed back to pre-relationship days as the underwear I’m currently sporting are, again, ready to give up the ghost).

Apologies from Guyville

October 8, 2009

This entry in the “Attic” is really nothing more than a self observation and a note to my Maria because, as write this, I’m noticing that I’m very much in Guyville. I realize it’s stereotypical and it’s been written of and performed about in comedy so much so that it’s become boringly cliché’ but I’m in desperate need of a shave, I’m wearing a ratty t-shirt from, I think, my college days, old flannel pajamas that have holes that show glimpses of me that don’t need to be seen, not even by myself, and the underwear I have on are one thread away from not just falling off, but from simply ceasing to exist.

Shoes (the cat) is licking the condensation off the beer can and I’ve got on two socks that don’t match (they don’t just “not match,” by the way, one of them I don’t even think was designed for the human foot but seemed clean this morning). I’m definitely in Guyville but the problem is, of course, that I’m not the sole inhabitant of this mismatched sock shanty town.

When I think about it the women in our lives certainly deserve way more credit than we give them because they continue to be the women in our lives as we roam around the house in just such outfits. When my Maria is in and just “around the house” she still looks quite fetching while I, as I’ve just described, look like a schlub. So a thank you is in order first and then, secondly, a plea is also in order to not toss the stuff if I promise to not answer the door in them, bible holders nothwithstanding, though that can be some fun

I guess there is a comfort in these clothes that goes back to the genuine days of Guyville when I was by myself and just looked forward to being done with the day. Schlubbing at the end of it was always in order even if I didn’t wear anything all that nice during said day in the first place. There is also laziness but I won’t go there as that’ll just open up a whole new can of schlubness when Maria reads this.

There is too the comfort of being together with someone but that can lead to complacency and I’m doing my best to not take that for granted and instead remember, as I said earlier, that I don’t exist as the sole inhabitant of my world now. I haven’t been reading any relationship self help books or sappy novels, sorry Oprah, but I can safely assume that looking like a schlub during most of the time that is spent together isn’t all that great in fostering togetherness.

So what I’m going to do now is be proactive and finally let my underwear no longer exist and instead find a pair that I didn’t buy, like 200 years ago in a super K-Mart while also picking up steaks, beer, lawn chairs and a leaf blower. I think it’s also high time that I retire some of the said ratty t-shirts and jammies (“jammies”, yes, I’m still a child at heart) and instead find a nice three piece outfit of new t-shirt, new pajamas, sans holes, and new socks that weren’t worn by an animal at some point to keep it from chewing off its’ own foot. Then I will finish my attic thoughts, find a razor and remind my Maria that she still and always looks quite fetching “around the house.”

Plus Shoes has finally finished licking the condensation off the beer can and instead has decided that something in my overgrown face looks interesting.

It’s time to exit Guyville. Now where’s that razor… “Ouch Shoes! that’s skin!”…


So Then Sunday: She Said (Old T-Shirt) (song)

As with last week and a So Then Sunday this is something from finding an instrumental at our production site that I liked and writing/singing to it.

Something about exes.

From last March.

She said where have you been because ya seem lost

Feel like I’m living a fever dream but at what cost

Where you’re here one day then gone the next is this a test

I’m even wearing that old T-shirt that you liked the best

But is it yours or mine I’m not quite sure

Did I even one time even know this band I forget the tour

Found it on the floor newly washed I’m sure I think it’s yours

But you’re somewhere gone I think I must report you lost

We used to be on page in the same book

And you would give me looks to make me bend around with you

And send me stars as dots to connect of how you and I were them

Until we reached the moon no lookin’ back just … postcards to send 

She said we sillied with the best of them

Made others envy green when they couldn’t contend with us they bled

That green and not just in the month of March is what they jigged

You’d make us angry year round if we could only ever be mad at you …

But you’re missing now … she said

What’s happened to you … where is your head

But you’re missing now … she said

What place do you go … one that isn’t our stead

You’re missing now … she said

Is it a place where I can bring you back now from the dead


I guess this T-Shirt’s mine now is what she says

I think I might just even have to wear it to bed

But not with thoughts of you if that’s somehow in your head

No I won’t be wearin’ it long … that’s what he said

No it’ll hit the floor running as he gives me looks   

To bend around with him in writing pages fresh book

And he sends me new stars on new trips to the moon

Where all is small, lost is not found

We’ll send postcards soon

Mock It Up (song)

I’ve struck out a couple of times in the last few weeks of trying to build a new musical editorial in the Attic. A couple of song attempts that sounded right sung in my head but in actuality? Not so much.

So a one here then that worked out a bit better.

Oh, and it mocks Jim Jordan, a man worthy of nothing more than a good mock, so there is that.

To Elvis Costello’s “Pump It Up”

Mock It Up

Jim Jordan feels import

Says this is of utmost

Importance of a sort

He gets to what is his real sport

Saying gov is weapon sent

While he’s Jim sweaty bent

Fig’ring new distractions

Nothing else matters

Mock it up

Even though we don’t need it

Fog it up

Distractions we feel it

Says gov weaponized

But not in the right right light

If you’re gonna weaponize

We want it with a left left prize

So we can order lives

Get “others” all in line

Mock it up

We’ll fake it and sell it

Fluff it up

Distractions fall for it


Jims been a bad girl

Livin’ in his Trumpy world

Does what he can

To make truth go in a whirl

Living Trump bat ass unhinged

This’ll truly make ya cringe

Sycophant I’ll call you sir

Run through border walls I’m yours

Mock it up

We work in post truth now

Muddy up

Jim Congress waste time now

Now in a passion show

Start demanding DA’s show

Papers bout the real blow

To great leader you should know

We’ll keep him above the law

Not right to hold him account

He came to us from down the mount

We’ll make sure law for him don’t count

Mock it up

We work in post truth now

Fog it up

Jim Congress waste time now

Mock it up

There’s only our truth now

Muddy up

Making point to waste time now

Mock it up

We will make up the rules now

Fuck it up

G O P new false truth now

New post truth now

Different set of rules now

New post truth now

Call ourselves Ruth now

Hit homer for Trump now

Clear bases of truth now

Prayer call the lord and how

Charlatans gather up now

Cause god is Trumps cow

Call for pro-tests here and now

Insurrection again now 

So Then Sunday: Flat Earth (song)

Another try at creating a song from a production site instrumental that I did back in October. I’ve always really liked this one but I’m not quite sure why.

Flat Earth

I looked out onto the water

To a horizon that’s always just one crest away

It keeps stretching getting further

With every stroke ta-ken

Till soon a-gain  



Another day now

To leave me wonder

Do I even know what I want there

If I swim out

To the edge now

Skirting sea demons

But still fall off of this flat earth

Into space

What would I hope to find

Maybe a lover

From my immor-tal days

One blithely left behind to fend her heart’s ways

Maybe my father and a proper goodbye

Say sorry for not being there not looking to the


Or maybe Mother have her wake from her daze

And maybe recognize the world once again

Or am I just treading waves hoping they hold

Long enough

To skirt more demons

Before I fall

I looked again now

Onto the water

Horizon still always just one crest away

It keeps stretching getting further

With every stroke ta-ken

Till soon a-gain 


Maybe there’s still more air to gasp

Grasp and flail swim up from beneath the heavy waves

Back from off the edge of a flat earth

From space  

And swim back

Take on sea demons face to face

Dearest Son: Facebook Memory of an Unintentional Helmet Safety PSA

Facebook did its “memories” thing again the other day going back four years and reminding me of an unintentional PSA of motorcycle helmet safety.


Dearest Son (licensed dirt/road bike),

Mother and I wanted to let you know that that wheelie you felt the need to perform alongside a gentleman’s car from one traffic light until he pulled off just before the next (maybe a quarter mile or so) where he stopped for a to-go from Popeye’s for his dinner? It was quite impressive, as juvenile feats of stupidity go, especially as the kids may like just this sort of thing these days. We don’t know, being old an out of touch of course, as you always remind us.

Ahhhhhh, youth. But, at least, keep wearing that helmet son. We know it may soon come in handy though we pray not. We love you after all.

The gang at Popeye’s, when the gentleman relayed this quick story, while ordering his 5 piece, mild not spicy, spicy hasn’t sat well lately, all agreed that your worried manhood shouldn’t hinder you from future displays of the same such stupidity. They may even offer an extra piece of chicken for the laugh. But again though, the helmet, please, always the helmet. We’re also SOOO relieved that you didn’t fall after that tire hung in the air for such a long stretch. But at least you can sleep well knowing that that gentleman’s car was small. It might not have been that much of a bump … bump … anyway, if things had gone awry.

Don’t forget to continue to send us postcards from stupid by the way. Your mother and I treasure them. And your handwriting has gotten so much better.


Ps. Please try to impress someone other than an another gentleman in an unimpressive car by the way. Your mother would love grandchildren.

Pss. I think I’ve got the gout. Mother is a little worried.

Letters to Ron: The Courage To Be Free As Long As Free’s What He Decrees – The Fascist EP (3 songs)

Thought I’d get these tunes in one spot before I possibly have to register with the State and put myself on a list.

Love letters can be hard.


“BANG BANG BANG!!” (at the door)

“Yeah, hold your tall boots, I’m comin’” …



“Back away Sir! You’re on a list!”

“Hey! What the … ?!”

“I mean it! Back away SIR! … grab his electronics Jed.”

“What is this all ab …”

“Don’t make me use this Sir, I’m quite good with it and it’s heavy. If there are children grab them Roscoe, we have that school.”

“But … a list?!”

“You’re to register, by law … but we already know you … I said step back SIR!! … you can no longer question or criticize.”

“But it’s not a law yet. DeSantis even disavowed it.”

“Did he really? Does he really disagree with it? Optics. It’s out there. Just the threat is out there. Smart operator that guy huh? … Clyde if the cat gives you any trouble open a door … c’mon sir, let’s go.


Danger Ron (Mighty Mouse DeSantis Theme Song)

Mr Crow he never hangs around

When he hears this frightnin’ sound

“Here I come to save white day”

That means that Danger Ron is on the way

Yes, when histry’s taught not solely white     

Danger Ron will pick a fight

Say no classroom legit’macy

Of lessers having part of history

It’s a clear and present danger

To the ex-ceptional

Rewrite he will instead to fit right’s call

(right’s call, truth’s fall, white’s tall, patriots)

Free thought’s only his to decide

To all others he will deride

Thoughts of inclusivity

Danger Ron’ll even ban diversity


He just flies in now to save us all

From real truth that can’t stand tall

Against Danger Ron’s fascist tries

He’ll sure cut the lessers down to size


Woke Hopes (little dictator song)

Next time you’re told

To be woke isn’t bold

By a Ronnie who scolds

Know he just trolls  

Just what makes little dictator rant

About some things that he says ya just can’t

Eyes open to inclusion now

A weakness you can’t allow

But we’ve got woke hopes

We’ve got woke hopes

Hopes not turning blind eye to the “other” folks

But when you need a bigot’s screed

To tell you what truth’s to heed

Just remember his rant

Ohhhhh …

Ooops, there goes another Ronnie slam

How being hu-man is just another scam

Ooops, there goes the truth a now also ran

Ronnie now calls

To his herd of mind smalls

That they must all stand tall  

Or think to brawls

Now Ronnie says CRT is just crap

Doesn’t fit his supremacist rap

His white kin they were ex-cep-tional

Racism don’t even track

Cause he’s denier of truth

With slaves country didn’t build roof

And if you say otherwise

Laws he’ll pass making rights go poof  

So anytime you hear Ron speak

Know his white’s been tweaked

And he just won’t couch for that

Ohhhhh …

Ooops, there goes some more to demonize

Inclusive compassion that’s a bunch a lies

Ooops, here goes some hate to try on for size    


Ron threatens anyone who don’t agree

With his hist’ry tree

Don’t be of them and not we

Ohhhhh …

Ooops, there goes another truth to turn

Ooops, there goes another book to burn  

Ooops, there goes democracy to be spurned

Mm Mm


The DeSantis He Can

Alright everybody

Gather round DeSantis man is here

Now what kinda country he want?

Ignorant, compliant, revised history, brainwashed

A Fourth Reich?

He’s working on a right plan because only DeSantis can

Who can take agenda (who can take agenda)

Of a fascist POTUS dream (a fascist POTUS dream)

Put it into practice Flor-ida a test run scheme

The Ronnie can (the Ronnie can)

Oooh DeSantis he can (DeSantis he can)

DeSantis he can

Test there his despot plan, prove self a new strongman

Who can make the classroom (who can make the classroom)

A site of culture wars (a site of culture wars)

Make them a battleground to settle whitey grievance scores

The Ronnie can (the Ronnie can)

DeSantis he can (DeSantis he can)

DeSantis projects into classroom learning texts

Indoctrination’s pre-text

And then he just bakes everything at stake

A vision’s cake of normal crumblin’

He’ll make the gays and blacks go runnin’

Applaud him please for his true cunnin’

Ohhhh who can fudge the numbers (who can fudge the numbers) 

Of a shit COVID response (a shit COVID response)

And jackboot whistleblowers who point that out at once

The Ronnie can (the Ronnie can)

Oooh DeSantis he can (DeSantis he can)

Collateral damage was always part of the plan 

No worries if base at hand

And then he put the brakes on election takes

That his was one of real gold standard

Integrity it must be mastered

The big lie being votes true bastard

Yeah Yeah Yeah

Who can add police force (who can add police force)

For this claimed integrity (this claimed integrity)

And have it to intimidate new SS just for he

The Ronnie can (the Ronnie can)

Oooh DeSantis he can (DeSantis he can)

DeSantis he can Democracy it’s not the plan

Fourth Reich new Uncle Sam

DeSantis he can even take a Disney stand

Free speech an also ran

DeSantis can

DeSantis can

DeSantis he caaaannn

DeSantis can

DeSantis can

DeSantis he caaaannn

Alright everybody

That was nice

Break it up now

It’s curfew

Go home

Stay straight

Stay white

Of Radio Engineers, Cat Crunchy Paper & Possible Spaceships

Downstairs at the station on Monday was a recent package for Tom, one of our engineer guys, possibly the tallest radio engineer guy on the East Coast which means absolutely nothing here, he’s just pretty tall, thought I’d mention it.

It was a big box, with lots of smaller boxes of surely important and expensive radio equipment stuff, smaller boxes of radio thingy’s and whatchamacallits that Tom would recognize in an engineer way that would eventually be replacements for old thingy’s and whatchamacallits or be completely new additions, or maybe even be part of the bridge controls for a spaceship Tom was building on the station’s dime on the down low to get him the hell out of here, but conduits to buttons that I would probably at some point push (or not push – depending on the yellow post-its with pointed arrows that say “Frankenberry Don’t Push This”).

Noted I thought, but I just used the word “eventually” earlier as to installation of all of this so I was good for the moment to not concern myself with personal yellow post-it notes just yet, but notice instead the more important aspect of what was also in this big box, with the lots of smaller boxes of surely important radio equipment stuff, the smaller boxes of thingy’s, and whatchamacallits that Tom would recognize and come with soon post-it warnings for me (though I might try and stow away on his spaceship to get the hell out of here as well – hopefully he brings post-its, I mean, it’s a spaceship … waaaay more important to note buttons I shouldn’t push out there, in space, where spaceships go – wouldn’t want to accidentally send us hurtling into a sun or something because that particular “send you hurtling into a sun” button didn’t have a simple post-it note telling me NOT to push it).

There was brown packing paper, lots of brown packing paper, or more famously (for me and Bella) “crunchy paper”.

I was excited! Crazy cat lady guy excited! (been a while since I had refreshed the crunchy paper, the old paper rolled around on and slept on scratched on and cat puked on and cat toy played on so much by my little Bella that it was now nothing more than cloth soft paper tatters).

I asked Tom if he thought he might need any of this “crunchy paper” for possible returns and if not, could I have it … for my cat.

He looked quizzically, annoyedly and in his usual “why are you bothering me Frankenberry?” kind of way, the way he often does when looking at me (he most probably being the one most understandably responsible for those yellow post-it notes in the first place) and said “Sure” hoping I would just leave his office as quickly as possible.


I thanked Tom earlier today for my Bella, told him Bella said I must, and even showed him pictures, like any crazy cat lady guy worth their catnip would, that he feigned interest in like a real trooper instead of just looking at me again quizzically, again annoyedly and again in his usual “why are you bothering me Frankenberry?” kind of way and said “You’re welcome?” hoping, once more, that I would just leave his office as quickly as possible (got a spaceship to work on man! and don’t you dare try to stowaway, don’t know if post-its stick so well in space!).

New crunchy paper Bella!!

Tom says “You’re welcome” by the way.

“Crunch Crunch Crunch”

Small Milestones

Been working in the Attic for going on 14 years now, first at Blogspot back in 2009 and my first post there (though there were plenty of thoughts before that of course just without a space – without an Attic) and for the last few years at Word Press. There is nothing better than a place to call home and put a rambled rambling head on “paper” no matter who may or may not stop by and mind their noggins (duck at the top of the stairs by the way … I’m always hitting my head at that last step).

Reached a bit of milestone today (with help from some friends to get me over the top) as I hit 10,000 views.

Now this number is miniscule comparatively speaking in the grandness of the internet, I’m a blink in a one traffic light, one general store, one bar town kinda way, small, but it still hits home and reminds me that there are some eyeballs out there, some earballs for a tune or two, that I can continue to move forward with, with the silly or the profound or thought to be profound, move forward with the dumb or the smart (they jockey back and forth) or even maybe make a point or two on occasion.

And the cool thing about Word Press is that it shows you numbers and the places they come from, Finland, Pakistan, Australia, Sweden, England, Canada, Portugal, Spain, Russia, Ireland, my god you’ve gone international, China et al (seems I have at least a few fans there) and that one of them maybe recently did a dive and found this one from last April, a pretty good one I’d like to think.

Of Spring … (and cats and dogs and dead snakes)

Not quite there yet on the Spring thing but it’ll come and it’ll be open window glorious (right Bella? right Cricket?) with some new words surely for my little circle of worldwide friends.