Our Lazy, Lazy Century
This is my one-hundredth post on this monstrosity. There are lots of ways I could have gone in order to commemorate the occasion.

For instance, I finally finished The Brothers Karamazov and had intended to write a very boring thematic analysis of it. I thought for sure that would be the best way to drive off any lingering "readers" of this blog.

I still may do it if only as an exercise to crystallize some impressions I have of the thing before they are pushed out by re-runs of Benny Hill or whatever other sensory input I find demands space inside my already crowded head.

I have also been toying with some ideas about how capitalist competition leads inevitibly to stratification, segregation, delineation and elitism, undermining basic fundamental concepts of democratic meritocracy that are crucial for capitalism to thrive, grow--survive even.

But then I thought, Jesus, I've just managed to bore even myself. Why would anyone want to read that?

But then I re-thought again, this is my goddamn blog and I can write anything I want and people who don't want to read it can just leave.

OK, no, sorry, I didn't mean that.

I'm cranky as I'm having some mixed feelings about reaching 100 posts so quickly.

As part of my ongoing, lifelong endeavor to make a failed writer of myself (a slow, agonizing process of procrastination, self-doubt and lots of Grand Theft Auto), having written 100 (non-paying) posts in a relatively short span of time is something of a dubious distinction.

There are plenty of people who crank out posts more quickly than I do, but very few (as far as I've seen yet) who match output with length-per-post. This double-whammy makes me doubly grateful for the people who slog through this mess on a semi-regular basis.

But being 100% honest with myself, writing here is really one more way out of making a good-faith attempt at writing anything else.

(Important note: none of this is a plea for pity or rah-rah pats on the back. I hate that shit. Really, it's just more narcissistic self-analysis from a bemused, critical place. Really. Really. Shut up.)

The other side of it is that I'm writing for an audience without waiting for the approval of some editor or editorial board. So you people get this without the benefit of objective analysis or proper creative input offered by grown-ups who generally know what they're talking about.

You lucky, lucky bastards you.

Keep reading, strangers. Who knows, maybe some day I'll accidentally discover a government plot to poison the nation's drinking water with a substance that turns political radicals into some kind of fish (like a sea bass or a red snapper, maybe) and I'll be forced to go on the run (with a nubile young ingenue in tow) in search of the one person (identity undetermined but who will be played by an aging English stage actor making his last stab at celluloid success) who can save my life and expose the nefarious government plot all at the same time and you'll actually have something thrilling to read past palm tree humor.

It could happen. Hold your breath.

And because I think masochism is fun, I'll share my last proper rejection letter with you guys. It's form-standard, but that's what makes it sting! It's from Glimmer Train Press magazine. I could post their url, but fuck 'em.

Here it is:

Dear [Pops],
Although we won't be publishing this particular piece, we do thank you for sending "In Lieu of Flowers". It was a good read. We're not able to give specific feedback, but please take a look at Editors' Input for some ideas. Again, we appreciate the opportunity to read your work!

Ah well. The title's still good, though it's probably been used before. It does make me feel good that they took so much sincere pleasure in the "opportunity" to reject my work. But then, I'm a giver by nature.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0 (third time in history! Again, I apologize)


Pops

- posted by Pops @ 11:49 PM