Year 1, A.C. - One Year Of Checking Out Your Shorts

I knew I was coming up on a year, but only caught, this morning whilst checking into something, want to make a musical directory for myself so I don't post the same stuff too many times, that the date was March 7.

A year of general weirditude. Endless tangents requiring a dowsing rod to find the point I was originally trying to make...often being that, ultimately, I should not be in charge of anything. For example, I'd bomb anyone using rice adjuncts for beer, St. Louis, this means you.

Probably shared enough of myself to continue diminishing my chances to make friends in The Real World, When People Stop Being Polite, And Start Believing In Bigfoot. I have happily let my geek flag fly.

I've never been under the impression that I'm the new media. I'm comfortable both in life and with myself, and don't have the time or hunger to Empower The Afflicted And Afflict The Powerful, as much as I want to, anyhow... 

There are bloggers out there who are genuine reporters, including many who have been seen and linked to here - I'm not, I have my pet philosophies, liberal viewpoints, what I of course consider to be common sense; my last post on gay equality of marriage in Minnesota; my determination that the owner of the Vikings is a criminal and that Minnesota is getting the shaft in so many ways on this dumbass stadium project; the fact that Mitt Romney could have made a lemonade stand very successful and universally corrupt, and so should not have been in charge of anything either. 

You've watched the showing off of a basement remodel, while, hopefully, not noticing that it is making paleo go slowly crazy - and we've basically had a comparatively good experience, and are actually reasonably close to done, thus cutting down on my future therapy bills. In truth, this sort of project is never easy for anyone, comparatively good experience or not, but, the horror stories heard from even just friends' projects would have had me gibbering, shivering, laughing maniacally through the sobs.

Also featured some of my pet kinks: fishing opener is coming up, put up the stockings and earthworm bunting; in general, music needs either crunchy guitar or crunchy lyrics or at least some goddamn emotion, hence, Top 40 Pop Music/Country Music is the most Satanic of all forms of anything ever and how in hell do you pronounce Ke$ha anyway TikTok my ass; the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall is one of the coolest photos ever taken, right there with the Patterson Gimlin film.

Thanks for reading, if you are reading and not commenting, fucking bring it, I can go anywhere and take abuse but am happily providing a public forum.

Thoughts, critiques, scathing rebuttals?