Lets see, what does my adoring public want to read? This is a tough question, because I have many things about which I could ramble, rant and theorize. But what will you people actually find interesting? I could write about the fact that Unearth just signed to Metal Blade Records, or the beautifully embarrassing way the Yankees lost the World Series. I could comment on my film shoot this past weekend and all of the hilarity and drama involved (both on and off the screen). ...Yeah, there's nothing like shooting a period-peice porno in a haunted house:0p. I could discuss my new apartment and why it has convinced me that a good portion of my world-domination army should consist of cockroaches and Latinos. I could explain how Grady Little fully earned his being fired as the Red Sox Manager. I still don't have a job; should I write about that? I could embark on a diatribe about "Kill Bill: Volume 1," explaining how (and why?) I think Quentin Tarrentino is purposefully trying to make a "B"ad movie, and why that is brilliant. I could make an official prediction that "Ilium" by Dan Simmons is going to win both the Hugo and Nebula awards for this year. And, of course, I could not do any of these things out of fear that no one cares what I have to say.

But whether anyone cares or not is not the point of a blog. Or at least not my blog. I can make all of the style and grammar mistakes there are and no can tell me to fix them. I can talk about how fecal stains on yellow wallpaper made Martha go crazy and you can all just sit there in idle confusion. For over fours year I wrote prose under the stern thumb of higher education. Now I can let my writing breathe. And I don't have to feel like a failure or a fraud when when I am told that I've supposedly done it wrong! I can go back and edit at my leisure. This has become my diary, my outlet for the love inside me of writing. And when I want to improve something stylistically or grammatically, I will, and when I want to leave it as is, I will, and none of it will be subject to anyone's approval but mine!
So, perhaps you are wondering why write in a public format such as this if the point is to not be subject to anyone's approval. Well, I'll tell you. The drive to write is, for many people, tied closely to the drive to be read. And for me to have the motivation to write (at least in prose, poetry is another matter) I need to know that I am being read. By someone, somewhere. And according to my hit counter, I am. My blogger site is free, and so I'm not risking too much by writing freely and without much concern for the reader. When I intend to present polished work, it won't be here. This is my playroom. And to repeat, for those who missed it, to even play with prose I need to know that I am being read. So, I may hope that you enjoy, or take interest in, my writing, but, here and now, I certainly don't need you to.

Uh oh, I ended a sentence with a preposition. Deal with it!

True Christians (Biblical-Inerrancy Christians) believe that this world is fallen; that the inherent nature of humankind is evil. Not that non-christians can't do beautiful things or cannot glorify the God who created them, but that the absolute zero to which we all return is sinfulness. And I believe this. I believe it with all my heart. And a great reinforcement to that belief is the existence of the Red Sox.
Now, don't misunderstand. I am a true, true fan of the Red Sox. But they ultimately fail to the Yankees over and over again. The Yankees are the great evil of the sports world. They are the team who over and over and over and over again beats the Red Sox when it counts the most. They have the most money. They are ruled (with an iron fist) by a self-serving madman who threatens his subjects with job termination should they lose! And their fans love to see them beat the Red Sox, a team who has been down for decades, kept there by the Yankees. Their fans love to see them kick those who are down. The kid who just wants to believe in the power of his dreams is being kicked over and over and over and over again and the crowd fucking loves it! This is a sick sick world. How can I believe in justice and love as the natural human inclination when I am a Red Sox fan? I'm not really blaming the Yankees, even though I desperately hate them. I'm just saying that this is the way it is. The curse of the Bambino is the curse of the fall.

Maybe in Heaven I will see the Red Sox beat the Yankees to the World Series, but while I'm on this world, I won't hold my breath.

I just posted this at the useddonkeysforsale forum my friends and I made at Yahoo. But I felt like posting it here, too.


Clearly everyone is is wrapped-up in their jobs and social activities. Otherwise this forum would be overflowing, right? I know that the Etters don't have a working computer, and Heather and I are using her roommate's computer (which sucks! - the computer I mean). And I know that the Hills don't have a connection at home because Cox cable is a seething bastion of uncontested evil in this region. I know that Kassy is afraid of her computer . . . oh, she's not even a member yet (damn that man Bentley and his sexual distractions! . . . did I really just say that?). And Will's in Hawaii.

Is Bryan Read the only one making money out there? Are we all destined to be left by the wayside foolishly believing in the power of our dreams while the world-wide information ameoba develops into it's glory?! Well if so . . . good!! When America collapses in ten years and no other country has the power to occupy this landmass and we're all thrown into anarchy it will be WE who rise to the top! We whose turn at success and fullfillment will come! We who will scratch out a living and find our hope in friendship and God and a healthy bean crop! We who will hunt down Richard Simmons and end the madness! We! WE! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!


Ah, screw it, I'm gonna go see Ester Drang tonight.
GO RED SOX!!

And remember, when you can't afford to go Six Flags, let words be your amusment park.

And thanks for the comments, you guys. They make me happy.

Sigh. The life of a Red Sox fan is a life of pain.