I know it is a sorry excuse, but really, truly, I HAVE been nutty busy, between holidays, a record amount of work for the magazine (five? six items in the Feb issue and a feature due out NOW for March?), travel, and trying to maintain some semblance of a happy, normal personal life, I have just been wearing myself thin. I am just waiting for some sort of diagnosis, I am sure I have a deficiency of some sort or a pissed off thyroid or the beginning stages of diabetes. But, more than anything I guess that the real reason for my absence (and total neglect of my creeping, blog-hack, relation by marriage) was a strange new life form that I hadn't seen in a while: happiness?
I guess I have been more happy lately, more looking to real people in my life for support/fulfillment/constant yammering rather than the cybernetic nobody that reads this blog. Weird. Totes weird.
As much as it pleases me, I think it is sad that I will have so much less man-alysis to do on this thing now, and, that which there is to be done may actually be too--gasp!--private to do here. I wouldn't want to alienate anyone, nor am I totally free to bitch about you the way I want to if YOU ARE READING THIS.
Now, for the news:
Since our last non-versation I have acquired a number of things (including a taste for terrible, made-up-word puns as a writing style, please see the above paragraph as well):
- A new appreciation for the rampant smug self-satisfaction that is basically the foundation of all current music. Not that I am hatin', sometimes I would have JUST as hard a time giving my self-stroke a break if I were these guys, however, I do not count aging Brit-pop Oasis as one of these artists. But I still really liked the completely detached, mental-masturbation style of Liam Gallagher's stage performance. It was fascinating, like watching a gorilla pick at himself in front of the packed zoo window. Thanks for taking me, Dave.
- A new pair of perilously hipster heavy black specs, that, in truth, I do not have the hairstyle to support.
- A pair of purple corduroy skinny jeans that fall into the same category as my spectacles.
- A new car that decidedly moves me back to normal gal status, as it is NOT a particularly hipster thing to have a small-model SUV. Geez, maybe I should trade it in for a Schwinn before the hipster train that all my friends are on pulls out forever....wink, wink, loving nudge.
- A much more rich film vocabulary, hats off to you, Fu. I have, in the last six months of my existence, seen as many movies as I think I have in the whole rest of my life, and I am somewhat wary of saying, this is pleasing me, more and more, you infectious film geek. For all I know, by the time you are done with me, my insides will be all popcorn and celluloid.
- And, not to ignore the requisite dose of melancholy that usually attends these blog posts, a weird condition of late that lends me to vacillate wildly between conditions of intense anxiety and insecurity--most of which tend to eventually work themselves out through pouches just below my eyes that allow for some very cathartic things called tears--and bouts of giddy elation, often accompanied by intense, far more intense that is the norm for me, sexual desires. I am all but consumed at these times by my weird, hormonal horn-doggy self, it is highly stressful, let me tell you. SO, there you go, I am still adrift in strange waves of sadness, totally discontent with a number of aspect of my life, so please do not feel like the world has been flipped on its head, but at least this time, I balanced it out with some good, old-fashioned pervishness. Isn't that wonderful and lovely?
Good day to you, good people, until we meet again.
And for you, rogue label maker and profile defiler, YOU WATCH YOUR BACK. And please see the handy use of your labels, below. F'in Punk.
