So I am thinking, if you can’t remember your blog password one of two things is probable — 1. you are stupid, or 2. you are stupid and should blog with a little more regularity. With respect to being stupid, I have come to the stark realization that even I need help pulling that off and I am making progress on stupid in ways that take my breath way. As for the latter, I suppose it is time to engage that lofty resolution made somewhere between 11:45 PM and midnight this past December 31…the resolution where I promised to maniac blog my brains out, especially since it is clear the resolution about weight loss and exercise seems to have lost traction.
Thus my purpose now. I should probably try to pull something together here to save face if nothing more elegant than that. Bovine excrement aside, I do apologize for the absence but I am sure your heart, if not your 401K, has grown fonder. So, since we have been incognito for a while, let’s take a shot at being under the influence of cognition, at least for this missive. Let’s get caught up shall we?
Politics. Yep, we did, they did, and it rolls on. The pond turned over, end of story. In the words of the Great Gump, “That’s all I’m gonna say ’bout dat.”
Bieber. Youth phenom, big talent, needs haircut, needs an Elvis injection. He should be really be concerned and focused on happens next when his voice changes and puberty comes knockin’. It killed Eddie Haskell’s career along with the Beaver. And Bieb’s — wouldn’t recommend Lil’ Wayne as a singing partner, just sayin’.
Lady Gaga. Recommend you consider refrigeration if you intend to keep the meat dress.
Lincoln Park. I thought I understood you and your creative bent. Boy was I wrong.
Reality television. I have revised my previous calculations and am firmly convinced the gene pool is capable of grander and more epically stunning tripe. We really need a separate awards ceremony for reality television, don’t you agree? My god it is a mosh-pit of intellectual delight from shows featuring people sporting orange spray tans, to the morbidly obese, to dancing with stars, or conversely, who can dance?, or the bachelor, or bachelorette, fishing, fighting, boxer shorts folding competition, who can blow the biggest snot bubble. It is mind-boggling and delicious.
News gathering, slash, reporting. Huh, that was fun. The news business continues to provide some of the best entertainment value I have seen except that one time the Caudell twins got freaky at church camp, but that deserves a separate blog entry. It strikes me that news gathering, slash, reporting has full-on taken a page from the reality playbook and decided we yearn to see them being jostled by angry citizens on the streets or absent that, we clamor to see events caught on tape. Yeah, that’s what I want to see, some poor schmo careening down the side of a cliff caught on tape by his honey or his kid.
What I have noticed mostly though is that since my last blog entry, not a hell of a lot has changed save the latest rotation of the globe, which thankfully continues, given the alternative. But the real upside to all this? If you forget your password, a couple of mouse-clicks and your are back in business. Sweet.