What a week it’s been! A mix of musical, literary, and family experiences: on Monday, Your Mother Should Know (my two-piece garage band with my brother) played out for the first time since early 2015; on Tuesday, I met with a book club for lively discussion of my novel The Gospel According to St Rage; on Friday, my first-born turned 26 and got booted off our insurance (don’t worry, he’s got it covered, as it were); and today, Paws and Claws, a charity anthology in which I have two stories and a handful of haiku, was set loose on the world. Meanwhile, my novel is a finalist for a Wishing Shelf Independent Book Award; winners should be announced today. While I wait, my fancy turns to thoughts of band names. The listings this week gave up these treasures:
Why do we always assume extra-terrestrials have advanced super-weapons? Then again, maybe it’s a laser knife.
Love the internal rhyme, and how it could be a shoestore clerk or a retiring English professor.
Contributing to the delinquency of a beloved children’s book. Goodnight noises, everywhere.
An example of a favorite band-name genre, it turns the spotlight on a mundane household object that allows us to lift lids and let cats in and out. (And of course I always want to support another music duo.)
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean you can’t also be dapper.