Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Heroes Returns April 23rd
I'll be the first to admit it: yesterday's post really wasn't my best ever. It had about four or five half-baked ideas in it, any one of which might have been an OK post developed on its own, but thrown in there like that, all defenseless and unformed... it's like dropping a fetus off at kindergarten.*
It's like making gumbo, only instead of shrimp and okra, I decided I would use gravel and old pencils. You know, because I had some of those handy.
It's like Thing that is not dissimilar to Other Thing. It's all fucking metaphory. Or simile-ish. I get them confused.
You're going to have to forgive me for yesterday though because, you see, I am distracted. I don't really know how to say this in any way to make it easier, so I'll just come right out and say it:
I'm leaving you.
Not forever. Just for a few days. I get on a plane tomorrow morning at a very reasonable hour for most of you, but considering that I live on Pacific time AND I have no job, it will be for me too disagreeably early.
As for why I'm leaving and to where I am going, well let me take those questions one at a time:
1) It's not me, it's you. I'm not really sure how or why, I just think it was time it was said by someone somewhere.
2) Well, that's more complicated. Once I've got the blindfold on and I'm locked in a trunk inside a black C-130 that doesn't officially exist, I tend not to ask questions. Four year anniversary of the war. I can only assume something special is being planned.
This is not the first time I've been forced to leave you all for an extended period and I can tell you already this year that it won't be the last. Just know that every time I do leave, I think of you all often. Mostly when the giddy realization hits me about half way through the morning that I don't have to slog through another blog post that day. Then I say something to myself on the order of "Whee!" and pound another celebratory Shirley Temple Is A Whore (Sprite, grenadine, Courvoisier and rohypnol).
This time, however, things are different. I've decided that I'm going to take care of you all while I'm gone. I know you look to me with affection and good will and--most importantly--the aching, bone-marrow need, not unlike the way Rush Limbaugh looks at OxyContin. Or cake. Or the way Newt Gingrich looks at chicks who are not his wife. Or, again, cake.
I'm going to post a week's worth of stuff all in advance. But you shouldn't act exactly like Rush with a cake. Try to dole it out, day by day, to tide you over. The last thing you want is to be half way through a day's work on Thursday in the grip of a massive Pops jones.
We'll be back live Tuesday morning.
Now take my hand. Stay with me. I'll get you through this.
*=our Catholic school I have found to be deeply ambivalent about such an act.