Friday, April 08, 2011

Soon, With More Better Stuff?

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings."
- Lewis Carroll, Through The Looking Glass

Well, actually, no. The time has most certainly come, but not to talk of many things. The time has come, instead, to talk of fewer things. It is time for me to bid you a fond farewell.

[*waits a beat, for you to regain your breath*]

Yes, I'm serial. This blog is history (or, at least, will be after you've read this.) The race is run, the book is read, the play has reached the final curtain. This blog is an ex-parrot.

I've been coming here and writing nonsense for the better part of six years.

(Or, at least, they would have been the better part of six years had I not been filling them up with twaddle.)

(Actually, I like twaddle. Some of my best friends are twaddlers. I don't mean to unduly denigrate twaddle. The descriptive fits, however, so I've used it, much the same as I've used you.)

(No, I haven't really used you. At least, not consciously. I have, it's true, acquired a few fruitcakes along the way - and I'm mighty grateful for them, too - but they weren't acquired via subterfuge. It was overterfuge.)

(One thing you can be glad about is that you'll never again have to navigate through a sea of unnecessary parentheses only to find, by the end, that you'll need to consult a Neptunian dictionary in order to translate what you've just read.)

So, like a dog under the dinner table on liver night, the question begs: Why?

The truth of the matter...

(Isn't that a hell of a thing for me to say? As though I haven't told you the truth before. Saint Peter on a pogo stick! If there's one thing I've done here, it's tell you the truth. As a matter of fact, here's the one time I did!)

The truth of the matter is I'm tired of embarrassing my mother. When did I do that? Three sentences ago, if you clicked onto that link. And I'm sick of it. Also, MY WIFE.

(No, no, no. I'm not sick of MY WIFE. I'm also tired of embarrassing her. Although it was her idea for me to begin blogging in the first place, so she's hardly without blame in this affair, I'm going to stop writing stuff like THIS. And THAT.)

Mostly, I'm just plain tired of writing. If I was making some money from this thing, maybe it would be different. I'm not, though. I've gotten lots of fruitcake, and that's a good thing, but money? No. There's been a decided lack of that. And, really, money isn't what it's about in the end, either. What it is, is that I don't have anything useful left to say. I've pretty much gotten out of my system everything I felt an overwhelming need to say, so why stick around? It can only go downhill from here. I mean, just look at this pile of crap you're reading right now, if you want proof.

Before I go, I want to make sure you know I'm not leaving because of anything you said. It's quite the opposite. I love the stuff you guys say. That's why I've stayed with it for so long. Seeing your comments made my day. And, as a matter of fact, I'll probably be visiting you on a regular basis ("haunting you" might be a more apt way of putting it, when one considers how often I hijack other people's comments sections) so it's certainly not that I don't like you. I LOVE YOU! You've given me four years of joy!

(Of course, I've been blogging for 5 and 2/3 years, so...)


Enough. I'm done, at least for the present.

(Ah, what the hell. I'm done for the past, too. However, I regress.)

What will the future bring? Who knows? Something could stick in my craw and I'd be back here tomorrow to rant about it.

(Or later today, for that matter. I'm looking forward to seeing how we do without a government. Won't happen, of course. Governments always threaten to shut down, but then all sorts of hideous malcontents like me come out of the woodwork, saying, "Who gives a shit?", then they somehow find the funds to continue.)

Or I might decide to come back in May and bore you to tears with thirty or forty posts about mens fast-pitch softball. Perhaps, if the Celtics win the NBA Championship in June, I'll not be able to resist crowing about it. Whatever the case, if I return it will be because I truly want to say something new. It won't be because I feel a need to fill space via the expedient of posting a re-run, something of which I'm sure you've had more than enough during the previous five or six months.

Before I go, I'd like to leave you with some words of wisdom: De Gustibus Non Est Disputandum. That's what my grandfather kept shouting when they carted him off after he had performed an unrequested circumcision on the neighbor's poodle, so it's good enough for me, too.

(Lovely. If that doesn't convince you I've got nothing but fumes left in the tank, there's not much that will.)

As a going away present, here's something I wrote once when I was feeling underappreciated, and you can read it whenever you feel like you might be missing me. It should cure you.

(Here comes a lie...)

Soon, with more better stuff.

Thursday, April 07, 2011

Some Of My Friend's Greatest Hits

What I'm writing now, and publishing tomorrow, brought a desire to post this today. It is a collection of links to some of the best writing done by three good friends in the blogosphere.

All of the following either touched me deeply or made me truly laugh out loud. I felt enriched after reading them. I share them with the hope that they will do the same for you.

Disclaimer: I always feel bad about doing something like this because I feel as though I'll be hurting someone's feelings. This involves only three writers. They are singled out for various reasons, none of which are your fault. That is to say, if you feel slighted by NOT being mentioned here, because you think we're mighty good internet friends, please rest assured that we are and not being mentioned does NOT mean you haven't written anything of great worth. You probably have. This is hardly a complete list of every distinctive post or person I've found while visiting any of you, and I feel bad about not featuring some folks in a similar fashion to that which I'm about to do for Chris, Chris, and Steve. Some whom I enjoy on a daily basis may not be mentioned simply because you don't tend toward longer pieces. I'm a wordy bastard, so I like other wordy bastards. Some are more visual than literary. You know who you are and you know how much I love your stuff. For some, it may be because your writing is so uniform I couldn't choose a few pieces without feeling as though I were slighting you in some way. It may be because my most treasured memories of your writing came via personal correspondence rather than at your public blog. It may be because I'm a vile lazy slug and my memory is random. That's probably the best thing to hold in your broken heart as you curse me. Anyway, if you're listed on my sidebar at all, rest assured that I have you there because you write things I enjoy reading, even if nothing is singled out here.

The Long Goodbye
Two Coats
Thanksgiving Comes First
Eternal Autumn

Lo Siento, Senor Poopy Pants
Heckling Shirley Temple
Beethoven, Bugs, And The Terminator
Whatever Happened To... Little Red Riding Hood?

In Which My Secret Origin As A Super-Villain Is Revealed
In Which It All Depends On Your Point Of View
In Which I Owe My Existence To The King Of The Dumb-Asses
In Which I Am 0-for-2

And now, you can scratch your head and wonder just what in hell I'm publishing tomorrow. Or you can come back and see.

(After reading all of the above, of course.)

Soon, with more better stuff.

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Ruby Starr & Grey Ghost

Yesterday, I went on and on about concerts I've attended. Good read if you're all out of Sominex. Anyway, one of the concerts I mentioned was one that featured a performer named Ruby Starr. I told you about how underrated she was, how she died young, and other sad stuff. What I should have done was give you an opportunity to listen to her.


Soon, But It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This.