This is my second attempt at the whole blogging thing, and I hope to be a little more diligent this time around. This whole endeavor sort of begs the question, though. Who cares? Who gives a damn about anything I have to say about anything? I honestly have no idea. It's just that sometimes I feel like if I don't find an outlet for some of the crazy shit that's flying around my head, I'm gonna lose my mind. So here I am. Again. This isn't gonna be one of those "this is how my day went" or "deep thoughts" kinda things. I'm probably just gonna riff on the things about which I most often think. You know, movies, music, TV, books, and sports. I front like I'm a deep thinker, offended by social injustice, but realistically, I'm just another consumerist pop-culture junkie a-hole. My culinary adventures may also figure prominently in this here deal, as I am also fat. So so bear with me. If you don't find one of those particular topics interesting, I'll eventually get to another one.
Today, I'm thinking about writing. I wish I knew why I was compelled to participate in such a self-serving and asinine activity. I've been at it since I was a kid, and used to think it was what I was going to do. You know, like, "Yeah, I'm a bartender right now, but I really want to write." Eventually it became sorely apparent that I was no longer a writer who had to bartend. I was a bartender who couldn't write. Not that I lack the ability to, but sometimes I literally feel a sense of mental paralysis when faced with a blank monitor, glaring in judgment. If I don't get all this stuff out of my system, I drown in myself, yet I feel a crippling sense of self-consciousness about letting anyone actually read it. So here I am, putting all my neuroses on display on the internet like a crazy person, comforted by the anonymity one only finds within the crowd.
Speaking of the anonymity of crowds, my wife and I attended Easter service at a mega-church a couple of Saturdays ago, and I was left with an overall feeling of ambivalence about the whole experience. I'm not a super religious guy, but I'm down with Jesus and would consider myself a conflicted and even reluctant Christian. He turned my heart, but my head is still kind of an asshole about the whole situation. I've never been much of a joiner, I guess. It was strange to see this enormous venue with an A/V set-up that would make Bono blush, filled with people who were genuinely eager to celebrate a man who preached, through his own lifestyle, an existence of simplicity. But it was accessible to a part-timer like myself, the sermon was good, and the rappers who opened the show were dope. Sadly, I didn't make it to the coffee shop. This time.
There, now, that wasn't so bad. Today, I write. And I'm no longer a bartender, barely.
