2004-05-05 - 5:00 p.m.
OK. Let's try this again. I dunno, something went wrong with my last attempt, but perhaps I'll have better luck this time.
So it's six days after my thirty-third birthday. Lately I've been pining for the wussy, pop music of my indie-rock youth. That was a fun time. I could be snarky and snobby and people would humor me. And now? I dunno.
Many artists and musicians never even reached this age. By age twenty-two, Marconi had practically invented radio. At my age, Jesus would die and save millions of people. Me? I've made sure that mail and faxes made their way to their intended recipients.
As the great philosopher Stephen Morrissey said, "In my life, why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye."
Well, I'm going to try to see what this looks like.
Books I'd like to write (and for which I'm qualified):
"Chicken Soup for the Cashier's Soul"
"Chicken Soup for the Security Guard's Soul"
"Chicken Soup for the Janitor's Soul"
