Years Of Wrong Impressions

So. 

 Hi.  

How you doin'?  

Umm, yea.  I been less than attentive, haven't I?

I guess it's good that AG brings the postings, and the occasional drama.  Otherwise this would be a dull fuckin blog, wouldn't it?  Thanks AG.  You help bring the weirdness.

I guess I've been in an existential sinkhole, I don't know what to write about.  So many current topics are dealt with by much better writers, Clif  at Sadly, no!, driftglass, alicublog.... it makes one feel a grinding debilitating envy, it does.

3Bulls runs a long delayed epic musical post designed to make EVERYONE feel clueless about last year's music.  Admittedly, it's based on Pitchfork's end of year review, which is already  written by Insufferable Music Wankers with no self-esteem and way too much time on their hands.  So it's like highly refined, purified weapons-grade  Music Snobbery designed to make you huddle into a fetal ball, clutching your Boston 8-tracks.  I can't even bear to look at my files to see what 2008 music I added, knowing it will be lame.  Working Man, indeed.

Outside, it is frigid in a way that not only freezes the snot in your nose, it actually makes sunlight move slower.  Plus, the entire universe, apparently, is covered by a couple of feet of snow.  Attractive and conducive to wintery recreation when located in Colorado or Tahoe, but here it just serves to cover up the people who froze to death until the ground is warm enough to bury them.  The dog won't even poop on the yard, because she's too wimpy to walk on the snow and I have to shovel the dookie off the sidewalk onto the concealed grassy areas.

Some say that there is change coming, that a new President will be working to reverse the damages of the previous egregious squeezebags; but winter has set in, and things such as growth or warmth are but a rumor and a dream.  

So.

what to do over the next few months, until either the weather relents or we pile into the car and head for Mexico?  Maybe just try and reach out through these digital realms, making brief fleeting contacts as best we can, keeping the flickering, guttering flame of humanity and fellow-feeling alive in these dim, dark, cold days until ...  what, really?  What are we waiting for?

Maybe waiting is the wrong idea.  Waiting for something to change is passive, and miserable frigid midwestern winter notwithstanding, some kind of action may be called for.

But what?