Friday, October 31, 2003

So, here I am up an hour early becuase I forgot to set my little alarm clock back. I'm going fishing with my brother. I really am very annoyed about this... I avidly dislike fishing and have said so again and again. My bro has mom's knack of thinly guised altruism, seemingly doing something for you or with you when it's really something THEY want to do and you're just along for the ride. I am hungover and irritated, tired and stressed. I have work issues with this as well.

Goddamn it all to hell.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Um, well... Am I hot? Sick? Famous?
Well nobody has risen to the bait of the five bucks offered for the first reply to the post below. Five bucks isn't a ton of money, but I think the cause of the apathy is more likely a dearth of any visitation to this tomb of a Website. Every so often I will get someone who comments (should the comments be functional), but attendance to any part of this site has been a-dwindle for the past three years and was never all that bandwidth-threatening to begin with.

Blogging on the whole is a self-serving and vain exercise engaged, for the most part, by wannabe writers and ha;f-assed journalists. A sad, self-serving and all to smug lot they are, too, reading Blogs only to see if they themselves are mentioned.

My wife, who distains blogging and focuses instead on writing, has received a postcard from Gordon Lish (of Raymond Carver fame) telling her that he read her work in the Raritan and is recommeding her to a few friends at Knopf. Considering that this is a woman whose sister has recently risen from utter obscurity and written 2003's most proifitable screenplay ( Freaky Friday), this is no small achievement. She has a fine collection of short stories already written, too, all equal to the one which Mr. Lish has read. Great thigs on the horizon.

Me? Well, I'm blogging. Drunk and blogging in the basement, trying not to feel the patos of my obvious lot. I float in a sea of self-delusion, because nobody reads even this.

I have always believed that my day was coming. This is a sad thing toi continue to indulge in, but I cannot yet quit it and settle for my lot. This has seemed to be a mantra in my family, the family who never really does squat. They get close, but are unrecoginzed and unheralded. I have almost-famous and almost-influential figures in my bloodline dating back several dozen years, names that appear in no history books or dedications. The inluential, well-rgegarded and forgotten ancestors of me.

Boo fuckin' hoo.