tummy ache.

I was glad to see that it hadn’t been a full calendar year since I last posted a blog post. I was also glad to see that my last post was about a movie club, a thing I’m still doing at this point in time. Though movie club is less fun when you’re watching the films of a director and every single film you’ve watched isn’t that entertaining and you’re kind of just wondering if you’re wasting your time. Look, I’m not here to discuss David Cronenberg. Yes, the guy likes body horror and then has a son who likes sci-fi themes and more body horror. Are they visually interesting films? Sure. Are they good films? Still waiting if I find one of those. I know I was doing play reviews and obviously that isn’t happening with a global pandemic still raging, if not strengthening, and I did spend 5$ to watch a play via streaming this weekend. The issue is that spending 2.5 hours watching a play seems much more entertaining when you’re actually in a theater and it’s been harder for me to muster up the time commitment to jump into a show called “uncle vanya.”

None of these are the topics of discussion in this blog though. I told some folx that I would restart the blog once we elected a new President. Not to give some political commentary from the perspective of a straight white male, but just because I thought that was a big enough event to use as a launching point for my superstardom once more. Because there’s nothing more famous than a guy who’s written 100 something blogs and that’s what you think when you think of celebrity instead of Brad Pitt or Selena Gomez. Oh right, onto the point though. Again, there is no point. I don’t have anything to say, I didn’t know what I was going to write. I just figured, that my tummy was aching a little bit so maybe that’d inspire a creative outpouring. Instead it makes it feel like I’m going to have to go to the bathroom sooner than later. I would not advise potato chips being dipped into tuna salad as meal that I would recommend to almost anyone, but sometimes you want to mix things up on the weekend after having 5 days of being responsible and health with eating habits. The issue is that there are probably much more satisfying ways of splurging on food compared to dipping potato chips into tuna salad. I don’t see the Rock posting that as his cheat days on Instagram, though at the same time I have zero desire to eat a pile of pancakes that is 2 feet tall.

A few weeks ago an old friend of mine posted a video he created that was based around him writing a letter to his future son. It was political in nature and it was done by a gay man whose voice should be amplified much louder than mine. It was a beautiful video and well, yeah, it was great, am I going to write all the details of it? No. Because I forgot them. However, I commented on it and he mentioned something about me writing this blog and he didn’t know if I was still doing it but he always enjoyed reading it. It made me think, isn’t this a wonderful time capsule for my future children. He’s writing wonderful, thoughtful, intelligent pieces and I’m writing about how I dip potato chips into tuna salad as I mixed cherry coke zero with diet dr pepper. I think that both of those things are wonderful in their own way with mine being much more wonderful and his kinda being sappy and melodramatic and not nearly as endearing and spiritually healing and life affirming and other buzz words as mine. Like his video got hundreds of people viewing it and liking it and telling him how great it was. My posts get me very limited interaction, but I talk about big issues like again, potato chip tuna salad mixology. What I’m trying to say is that just seeing how much my words can mean to someone, it does make me think I should comment on everything. Like yeah, I just said I shouldn’t comment on shit because I don’t have anything new to bring to a table and we should be amplifying the voices of those who deserve to be heard. Except that again, I want my future children to know that I spent my 30s watching football and eating tuna tartare with fried scalloped potatoes. I want them to read that and whenever they’re thinking they aren’t good enough, or they can’t follow their dreams, they see what their father did and they don’t give up because they don’t want to be following in those footsteps.

Sometimes you forget you’re an inspiration. Sometimes I forget that though I don’t bring anything original, that though my ideas are dumb, that I need to be heard. I have people counting on me. I have a guy who did something much better than I’ve ever done who is counting on me. Who probably said that because he’s a really nice guy and very sweet and knew it would make me feel good to hear that because he’s a caring person. But like, he’s just one of millions, if not billions that feel the same way. Writing this has made me stomach stop aching, my stomach now is rumbling with the pride of a nation inside it. Don’t even try to figure out what I mean by that because I’m not entirely sure myself and I really don’t want to change the sentence because I feel my second go will fare even worse. I’m not going to say the blog is back. I’m not going to say I’ll be posting constantly. I will say that I hear your silence and I know I am missed. I hear the silent clamoring of my countless fans hoping and praying that I came back with a vengeance. And guess what y’all? I am back. Just like I said 5 other times and then didn’t post for six more months. So look forward to more of this where I start off talking about David Cronenberg films and end up with a farcical ego stroke that I don’t know how much is real or how much is made up. Again, I have no idea what that last sentence is supposed to say.

I wanted to end this post already, and I can’t end like that. It just took me like five minutes to even figure out the word count on this darn thing. Conclude, however, I still will. I’ve been reading this book for my book club and it’s been giving me nightmares every time I read it so I’m scared to keep reading it. I’m also scared to start the next book because I picked it and I’m worried it’s not going to be that great. The world is a scary place. This is how I decided to end it? By listing off my own anxieties and fears that barely sound rational to me and I suffer from it, so it’ll sound even more irrational to a layman. Because I think of all my readers as laymen. I think of myself as an intellectual god, proselytizing to the masses. I really wanted to include another paragraph so I didn’t come off as conceited and then I’ve dug an even deeper hole for myself. Listen, I get it, I’m a mess. A little mess. Real fans will understand that reference. Real fans would be my family members that would know that’s a nickname given to me by my late great Uncle. I don’t consider anyone else other than my family a real fan because I doubt anyone else might read this. Ah good, started off a high, narcissistic ledge and now I’m plunging into a sea of self doubt. That’s more how I prefer to end things. So it goes.


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