In Which, Found Guilty, I Declare That I Am Unfit For Office, And Resign, Only To Be Pardoned Of My Crimes By My Successor

Man, I fail as a blog writer. . .

I sit here on these here "internets" (because there is MULTIPLES, kids!) for hours on end, with no particular agenda, reading many things, downloading many things, seeing and hearing many things, yet I don't actually bother to fulfill the simplest of promises I have ostensibly made to my "readers" (of which I am sure there are multitudes). No pithy words, no witty aphorisms, no anecdotes of such profound intelligence and grace that they make the very ground you stand on seem to tremble in ecstasy. NOTHING. Epic fail on me, yes yes.

I can't really do anything but apologize. I mean, I have been writing, it's just not been here. It's been (to a certain extent) on my livejournal, which would not fit with the verbal aesthetic or stated goals of this blog, and to a greater extent into twitter, which is possibly the worst/best thing to happen to me on the internet since I signed up for Myspace (oh, god, how I loathe and love you). And, yes, I really have no excuse for not writing here other than "But it's haaaaaaaaaard...!" I've been working on the Venture Brothers/failure/Sixties post for a while now, and every time I make some progress, I lose my thread and erase 4 paragraphs because they're Not. Good. Enough. And to be honest, I am not one to skimp on the excellence I know that people expect of me.

Also, there's been some good television on, so... you know.

But yes, as I seem to have so often done in the life of this weblog, I promise to write more in here. As long as it takes, I will FINISH THE GODDAMN POST. No one will read it, but it will be done. And the Fountain piece will eventually be done too, and maybe something on the election, depending on if the country devolves into civil war or not. If it does, I suggest investing in canned food and shotguns. Also: baby wipes.

So yeah: writing, more of it, going to do it, it will be spectacular.*


Listening: Los Campesinos!: We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
Reading: A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, by David Foster Wallace
Watching: Futurama. A lot.








* so long as nothing good is one television.