inaccurate typist
abstract pet groomer
slow florist
magician
bartender for already sopped clientele
soft grocery item restocker
politician
pinball wizard
tap dancer
stand up comic
comic artist that only draws wiggly people
chef who keeps an aloe plant nearby
hot dog salesman
DJ
auctioneer
grape stomper
sign spinner
“hand made. Every one’s unique!” t-shirt printer
whatever it is that I do, apparently
speed metal drummer
colonizer
drill sergeant
fish feeder
taco assembler
mime
Alright, well ... as I look back on this weird blog of mine it’s easy to see these huge gaps in writing as a reflection of one of two things: I’m too busy; or life is really not funny. (the other stupid truth is that social media has killed my attention span and given me somewhere to yell when I have pent up opinions, and I now just throw them into that sieve. I suck)
But (American) life doesn’t look like it’s ever getting funny again (pandemic, climate change, endless gun violence and stupid politicians) so here I am. What should I talk about? Nothing dense. Remind me that I said that.
I thought about deleting my political posts from the blog, since they’re just a snapshot in time and I prefer to compartmentalize things that shoot steam out of my ears, but on second thought I think they are eerily prescient, and might be worth revisiting now and again. Every time I try to keep my writing / thoughts / self light, some anger seeps through, but it’s better not to be one of those people who just skates past all of life’s madness. If you’re not pissed, obviously you’re not paying attention. I have to scream it all out once in a while, get it out of my system. If you have a “good vibes only” sign in your apartment, I am not coming over (unless you have a ton of animals).
While stuck at home during the pandemic I started looking though a lot of my old junk (50% punk rock postcards, 40% weird art supplies, 10% actually meaningful memorabilia???), and now I’m on a weird mission to revisit myself when I was younger, and the only way I could think of to do this was watch everything I can find that I was an extra in. Gotta say it’s clear fate that I never overcame my stage fright and shit self esteem to become an actor – I look terrible on camera: I hold my head weird, never look anyone in the eyes, don’t know what to do with my arms etc. I guess people do what they were born to do. Hot people who don’t twitch become actors. People with steady hands who aren’t grossed out by blood do open heart surgery (again with the not twitching – what good career options are there for twitchy people? Needs research, obv. Someday I’ll write a post about it). Boring people go into finance.
What’s my point here?
I’m back. Blogging is cheaper than therapy. Imagine me shrugging, awkwardly.
(If you've stumbled here by accident, read this)
And yeah, we're all older, and the print is smaller, but I don't really remember how to use the blogger editing tools so grab a pair of cheaters and just shut up and read it.
