166
That's how many weeks I have gone without updating. That's 1162 days. That's 3.2 years. In short, a long freakin' time. Why you might ask, all five of you who can read this? Or more importantly, why am I starting up again now?
Well, there is a time and a place for such monstrous explanations, and given that this is in fact a blog, it would seem prudent that now is the time, and here is that place.
I won't bore you all with the details. Lets just say that over the last week that i was in L.A. and the days surrounding said trip, I have been inspired to go forth and do what I have wanted to do for so many years... write.
Write of course, what I want to write. Screenplays, teleplays, and for the rare few of you that have had the sadistic/masochistic pleasure to have seen me perform stand-up, jokes and anecdotes. In short, storytelling.
You've all seen me and this crazy desire of mine. I'm sure you have all, at some point or another, heard me tell one of my charming and over-embellished mis-adventures, or recap entire plot lines and punchlines of someone else's work. Most of you, I'm sure, have also silently or VERY loudly, begged me to stop.
I've never like to blog. I've looooooved reading others, and what the goings-on is in the head's of my friends and loved ones, as well as those few celebrities who are so freakishly awesome I have no choice but to friend them on myspace just to read their opinions on life and chuckle silently for my amusement. But I never wanted to do it for myself. Every time i have tried, I couldn't get over the incredible feelings or narcissism, ineptitude and self-centeredness that come with talking about myself. The overwhelming emotions of vanity and audacity that I would DARE force you, my gentle yet sexy readers, to read my life's story.
Yet alas, as I have come to realize, I am a writer. And that the heaviest of a writers responsibility is to... well, write. As I work on my workings, I must seek and create my own inspiration. And as Tai Chi and hokey as that sounds, its true. And in a way, what is writing other than ones narcissistic desire to tell ones stories? Be it fiction or non-fiction, all writing, nay, the entire entertainment industry, exists and rotates around one sole attitude... "LOOK AT ME!!!"
So look out friends and foes, ladies and gentle fops, cuz I'm going self-centered! I know. What a change of pace.
So here goes, me on a road to creativity and fun. Or hateful rage and self-loathing that will lead to my maniacal demise. Which one will it be? Time will tell.
Life update to come soon, but in the meanwhile, you stay classy San Diego.
Well, there is a time and a place for such monstrous explanations, and given that this is in fact a blog, it would seem prudent that now is the time, and here is that place.
I won't bore you all with the details. Lets just say that over the last week that i was in L.A. and the days surrounding said trip, I have been inspired to go forth and do what I have wanted to do for so many years... write.
Write of course, what I want to write. Screenplays, teleplays, and for the rare few of you that have had the sadistic/masochistic pleasure to have seen me perform stand-up, jokes and anecdotes. In short, storytelling.
You've all seen me and this crazy desire of mine. I'm sure you have all, at some point or another, heard me tell one of my charming and over-embellished mis-adventures, or recap entire plot lines and punchlines of someone else's work. Most of you, I'm sure, have also silently or VERY loudly, begged me to stop.
I've never like to blog. I've looooooved reading others, and what the goings-on is in the head's of my friends and loved ones, as well as those few celebrities who are so freakishly awesome I have no choice but to friend them on myspace just to read their opinions on life and chuckle silently for my amusement. But I never wanted to do it for myself. Every time i have tried, I couldn't get over the incredible feelings or narcissism, ineptitude and self-centeredness that come with talking about myself. The overwhelming emotions of vanity and audacity that I would DARE force you, my gentle yet sexy readers, to read my life's story.
Yet alas, as I have come to realize, I am a writer. And that the heaviest of a writers responsibility is to... well, write. As I work on my workings, I must seek and create my own inspiration. And as Tai Chi and hokey as that sounds, its true. And in a way, what is writing other than ones narcissistic desire to tell ones stories? Be it fiction or non-fiction, all writing, nay, the entire entertainment industry, exists and rotates around one sole attitude... "LOOK AT ME!!!"
So look out friends and foes, ladies and gentle fops, cuz I'm going self-centered! I know. What a change of pace.
So here goes, me on a road to creativity and fun. Or hateful rage and self-loathing that will lead to my maniacal demise. Which one will it be? Time will tell.
Life update to come soon, but in the meanwhile, you stay classy San Diego.