Long time, no see...
So, it's been awhile since I posted anything. After starting up in the summer of '04, I lost steam and convinced myself that the whole idea of blogging was bullshit, and that I could do better things with my time. This attitude lasted for about 14 months until I looked around and realized I hadn't done a single better thing with my time. Not a creative word written, not a meaningful task accomplished. So, why not blog? At least it's something.
[Funny how nervous I get about posting these things. Took me a year just to put my name on my blog. Really, the only reason I started in the first place was because I thought "Guts on Parade" was a bad-ass name for a blog. The good news is no one's found it yet and there's a chance they never will.]
I work with writers now and the stakes are much higher should someone find out about my little blog. Last year, my job was a joke and my world was consumed by the vast right-wing conspiracy and the selling of the Presidency and Ending The War. Now, I'm a writers' assistant and it's all about making with the funny. Not that I'm funny or even know what funny is; I just happen to have exceptional typing, grammar, and punctuation skills. If I had any real talent, I'd be writing scripts and making shows and doing whatever it is that people with real talent do. I'll probably be an assistant for the rest of my life.
My problem is me and my laziness and my fear of failure and my sense of entitlement, not to mention a superiority complex which is weird since I grew up in a town of about 20 people and then dropped out of college. But there it is. I have my passions -- music, books, writing, film -- but trying to get my terrified ass out of bed to put pen to paper or leave my house with a camera is a dogfight. Mostly, I just lay in bed and cry until my girlfriend loses patience and kicks me in the ass. It's worse when she leaves town (which she does a lot -- she's in international book sales) because then there's no one to make me leave the bed. Usually, on those occasions, I go to bed around 5 a.m. on Saturday then emerge two days later, covered with dried semen and bits of taco and the stink of bad dreams. It ain't pretty and I ain't proud.
I was just reading some of the stuff I had on hold for the site. It's pretty awful but I decided to go ahead and publish it anyway because why the fuck not? Me being all dark and drunk and gloomy and trying to sound like a bad-ass. It really cracks me up. It's the kind of thing where if anyone I knew ever read it, their faces would turn red from embarassment for me. How could I not want that?
Who am I kidding? I've only got about three friends in the world, anyway, and it's doubtful I could get any of them to read past the first couple of lines. All of my friends are smart and busy and wouldn't want to waste their time on shite of this caliber. Same with my girlfriend. She's real smart, too. Can't waste their time with this garbage.
Someday, I'll make this a site worth reading. Until that day, these Guts are all I've got. Better than nothing.
[Funny how nervous I get about posting these things. Took me a year just to put my name on my blog. Really, the only reason I started in the first place was because I thought "Guts on Parade" was a bad-ass name for a blog. The good news is no one's found it yet and there's a chance they never will.]
I work with writers now and the stakes are much higher should someone find out about my little blog. Last year, my job was a joke and my world was consumed by the vast right-wing conspiracy and the selling of the Presidency and Ending The War. Now, I'm a writers' assistant and it's all about making with the funny. Not that I'm funny or even know what funny is; I just happen to have exceptional typing, grammar, and punctuation skills. If I had any real talent, I'd be writing scripts and making shows and doing whatever it is that people with real talent do. I'll probably be an assistant for the rest of my life.
My problem is me and my laziness and my fear of failure and my sense of entitlement, not to mention a superiority complex which is weird since I grew up in a town of about 20 people and then dropped out of college. But there it is. I have my passions -- music, books, writing, film -- but trying to get my terrified ass out of bed to put pen to paper or leave my house with a camera is a dogfight. Mostly, I just lay in bed and cry until my girlfriend loses patience and kicks me in the ass. It's worse when she leaves town (which she does a lot -- she's in international book sales) because then there's no one to make me leave the bed. Usually, on those occasions, I go to bed around 5 a.m. on Saturday then emerge two days later, covered with dried semen and bits of taco and the stink of bad dreams. It ain't pretty and I ain't proud.
I was just reading some of the stuff I had on hold for the site. It's pretty awful but I decided to go ahead and publish it anyway because why the fuck not? Me being all dark and drunk and gloomy and trying to sound like a bad-ass. It really cracks me up. It's the kind of thing where if anyone I knew ever read it, their faces would turn red from embarassment for me. How could I not want that?
Who am I kidding? I've only got about three friends in the world, anyway, and it's doubtful I could get any of them to read past the first couple of lines. All of my friends are smart and busy and wouldn't want to waste their time on shite of this caliber. Same with my girlfriend. She's real smart, too. Can't waste their time with this garbage.
Someday, I'll make this a site worth reading. Until that day, these Guts are all I've got. Better than nothing.
posted by Guts at 2:15 PM
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