Okay okay okay okay

This "break" from blogging daily has been protracted.

I can't honestly say that I'm sorry about that. You probably aren't either, or you wouldn't be if you knew that my inclination upon recognition of such vacuity is to be more vacuous than before in a pre-emptive navelgaze. But enough self-effacement--I don't know about you all, but I DEPLORED the 1990s, which (as a decade) kinda ruined things for everybody with its inability to appreciate an external world. Its umbrella of irony did precious little to shield us from the pernicious Reign of the Redneck that followed, with all of its prideful, manipulative glorification of stupidity.

Now I'm thinking about the 1990s, and I wish dearly that I hadn't begun posting tonight.

Hootie and the Blowfish? Break my neck, please. Twice.

Red Hot Chili Peppers? Are you JOKING?

(I'm torn, because one of my favorite people ever is closely related to one of them, but I suspect that she will take my editorializing in the spirit that intends it.)

One of the best things about being a man is that Anthony Kiedis will never, ever think about my privates. Is "Blood Sugar Sex Majik" a modern concept album about diabetes and intimacy?

My sentences haven't held together, which is not to say that I've not been functioning properly; it's much more for me a matter of having that languid January atmosphere subsume proceedings with a deafening-yet-personable buzzing.

I'm going to go, because I am irascible. But nonetheless enthused. La la la.

Friends without Acquaintances

Earache my eye it's the first Saturday of this already distinctly claustrophobic year.

I feel saddled unspecifically with strangeness, which is never news, but I've had a cold for days and feel somehow now that it's aware of no longer "running the show," which is nice. Perhaps it will abdicate its ornamental authority sooner than later. It had not been elected or even appointed--it merely filled the vacuum borne of a fuck-you holiday humor game that distressed me deeply. I could go into that, but most assuredly will not do so--suffice it to say, however, that I feel differently about almost everything, while managing still to weather the uniquely samey slothfulness of having a cold in January.

Oh, I know. Solipsism. A time-honored rigmarole.

I'm going to be brief. I can feel it, because I'm underdone with lots of other things. Maybe a small list of facts is in order. Hey yeah so it's like what follows in the following List of Facts:

1. In spite of relative swelter in December and January, winter remains an enemy to humankind.

2. I'm probably going to have to take livelihood into my own hands. Humiliation regarding "the job search" has become so routine by this point that I have little, if any, reduction in pride to suffer from trying.

3. While it is worth celebrating that my Multiple Sclertosis is not progressing, I feel afraid that I'll rend under the contant stress of superimposed expectations and priority problems.

4. I get crazy-arsed, substandard MOR songs in my head every single blasted day. Then, they'll get played on the radio (a phenomenon that is worth another blog post altogether); this has happened with songs like "Garden Party" (by Rick Nelson), "Make a Move on Me" (by Olivia Newton-John) and "It's Alright" (by Christopher Cross).

5. Our neighbor across the street got arrested at about noon. I'm pretty sure that this development amounts to more than half of the street's residents having had this happen.

6. It would be the greatest to enjoy life, and I'm trying very hard to do just that. I often succeed.

7. This has been a List of Facts.