Bassy's day at the gym

"I tried out for football today," Bassy announced yesterday evening during dinner. "And, ya know, I sucked. Coach told me I had to lose twenty pounds if I wanted to play."

"So -- do you really want to play football?" I asked him. "I thought you were going to cut that CD."

"I still am -- but I think I have to get in shape first."

"I just wonder if playing football is the way to do it." Dad asked. "Could you find something -- less dangerous?"

So I offered to take my adorable kid brother to the gym. It went pretty good at first, as Bassy and I got on treadmills.

After awhile, though, it became apparent that he needed -- um, a lot -- more work than I thought he did.

Meanwhile, I tried to keep my heart rate up while staying steady on a machine I set to go faster and faster.

Then, in the middle of my workout, the cell phone rang. It was, of course, Sim Weekly magazine. They've been trying to get an interview with me since I FIRST went to Egypt and I've denied their requests. Now that I'm attempting to adopt Satis and Imsety, they've been following me around, everywhere. I feel like I'm being watched all the time, in some kind of warped virtual-reality show.

I thought back to dad's convo the other day, about wanting to hire a personal assistant for me. At the time I told him it was foolish because I'm a grown woman and don't need to be baby-sat. But I can't possibly fend off all these interview requests by myself. I'm tired of it all, really.

Bassy's musical dreams

Now that all the sentimentality is out of the way....

Bassy appears to be dead serious about cutting a CD.

He and Neil have suddenly got it in their heads that they're going to form a band and become famous rock stars. Actually, I think Bassy is the main culprit, he's just taking Neil along for the ride.

Just the other day at dinner I heard him broach the subject to dad. "Boys," dad said, "you know how much work goes into releasing a CD?"

"Duh," Bassy retorted, rolling his eyes, "I've only heard this story from you, like, a hundred million times." He was half grinning as he said it though.

"Here's what we're gonna do," I heard Bassy say in Dad's study, with Neil hanging on his every word. "We're gonna go over to the theater and check out the equipment..."

So, the next morning, I confronted Bassy about it. "You sure you want to do this?"
"I've never been so sure about anything in my life."
"What's going to be on the CD? Can't have a CD without anything on it. Are you going to write songs or do covers of others?"
"Well," he told me, "I've got one song written and Dad has given me permission to do modern-rock covers of three of his --"
I let out a deep breath. His mind was already made up. Come hell or high water, even if he falls flat on his face, he's going to do it, no matter what anyone says. Hmm, sounds damn familiar doesn't it?

I am in no way saying that he will fall flat on his face, heck, he has more musical talent in his pinky than I have in my body. There's no way he can. I mean, the girls fall all over him and they haven't heard him play a note yet.