Oh, God. This again?

 
You See?
You knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to pull up my page and look at the same bullshit send-off day after day. And then all this crap went on and I was, like, “Ooooo, that’d be something cool to, uh . . . nevermind. Dammit.”

I seem to reach this point every year or so, where I keep “writing” and posting and then feeling like I’m not trying. Y’know, that this isn’t real writing, and I can’t even do this well. But it is, and I can. If I apply myself. Maybe. Anyway, I was originally thinking about taking a break for a bit (which, you see, is damn-near-impossible) and then I thought some reinvention might be in order. Again. So we’re working on that. In the meantime, I just wanted everyone to know that we’re okay here at Kamikaze Lunchbreak. And how I feel about my alma mater’s season going in the crapper and then having the crapper positioned at the 50-yard line of the Superdome just before Hurricane Katrina (I really hope they lose out so St. Bobby Junior will be demoted or shipped off to a second-tier football program). Or how I feel about my quick love affair/obsession with Sudoku (strangely lost). Or how Michelle and I actually went out to a show that neither of our bands were playing and ended up leaving early, which we felt bad about but now I’m pretty relieved because it sounds like I was spared a whole chunk of disappointment. Or how I discovered that one of my coworkers ate my lunch that I’d left in the freezer on Friday. Or how my band was thisclose to changing our name to “sad boat.” Or how the last two episodes of Rome have me excited about Season Two, which is only 18 short months away. (No, really, we have to wait 18 months for some resolution. The whole decapitation-by-shield was great, as was Vorenus making that guy’s mace his second head, but fuck. Thanks a pad-load, HBO!) Or how mom’s usual penchant for repeating herself and telling the same stories over and over has increased exponentially with her recent paranoia, but then she drops a deep-dark-secret bomb on me that I’ve never heard in my life . . . like, when did this become CONFESSION TIME?

Look, we can’t all be great storytellers. We can’t all make the ordinary extraordinary. We can’t all be breeders and post pictures of our gorgeous children. And making money at it, to boot. All we can do is be ourselves. Except more well-written. For the entertainment of others.

We’re going to Atlanta for Thanksgiving weekend. If you live “in Atlanta,” we might drop you a line and/or drive halfway to Tennessee to see you.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 2:49 PM