Slumberlord
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Dry the tears of the sad puppies of the world
I’ve decided to start blogging again at the behest of a friend. Yes, someone actually missed brilliant insights like “I went to wash my hands tonight, but because the facial cleanser bottle looks just like the hand soap bottle, I ended up putting stuff which is basically acid on my tender fingers.” (This was probably the second most exciting thing that happened yesterday. The most exciting was when my upstairs neighbor banged on my door at 4 a.m. to angrily inquire if I knew where her fiancée was, implying at one point that I was sheltering him in my apartment. Hey – if I may dust off an old chestnut – no homo, lady.)
I have about four days to decide what I want to do on New Year’s Eve. I invest a lot in this stupid odometer exercise, although from the time I thought of it as a socially significant event through present day (about, say, nine years) it’s been a terribly disappointing night and I’ve had exactly one fulfilling NYE, which was last year, when I spilled beer on myself at a party in an apartment that did not have a television. There’s nothing like watching people frantically look for a real-time countdown to the New Year on the Internet. Oh television, why did we forsake you.
I am going to try to blog once a week. Consider it a resolution. At least 52 updates in 2006 should not be difficult, especially if I loosen my previous focus on music. Expect pitch-by-pitch Neal Cotts coverage, Saul Bellow quotes and lots of pictures of Sophie Ellis-Bextor.
I’ve decided to start blogging again at the behest of a friend. Yes, someone actually missed brilliant insights like “I went to wash my hands tonight, but because the facial cleanser bottle looks just like the hand soap bottle, I ended up putting stuff which is basically acid on my tender fingers.” (This was probably the second most exciting thing that happened yesterday. The most exciting was when my upstairs neighbor banged on my door at 4 a.m. to angrily inquire if I knew where her fiancée was, implying at one point that I was sheltering him in my apartment. Hey – if I may dust off an old chestnut – no homo, lady.)
I have about four days to decide what I want to do on New Year’s Eve. I invest a lot in this stupid odometer exercise, although from the time I thought of it as a socially significant event through present day (about, say, nine years) it’s been a terribly disappointing night and I’ve had exactly one fulfilling NYE, which was last year, when I spilled beer on myself at a party in an apartment that did not have a television. There’s nothing like watching people frantically look for a real-time countdown to the New Year on the Internet. Oh television, why did we forsake you.
I am going to try to blog once a week. Consider it a resolution. At least 52 updates in 2006 should not be difficult, especially if I loosen my previous focus on music. Expect pitch-by-pitch Neal Cotts coverage, Saul Bellow quotes and lots of pictures of Sophie Ellis-Bextor.
