Sophomore Britpop albums.


I’ve been such a whiner this week, for which I apologize. Hormonal turmoil, sinus irritation, insomnia, and a pile of work are not good playmates. But I’m not done with the complaining.

One of the stupidest, among many very stupid, things that is working my nerves these days is when I post a link on social media (to a petition about a grave injustice, to a cat video, to an awesome interview with someone marvellous) and no one pays attention, then that exact same link goes viral a few days later.

Why wasn’t it good enough when I told the world about it?

Why aren’t people trusting my judgment as to what’s a important/adorable/great link?

What about meeeeeeeeeee?!

It’s not even an injustice I’m suffering, nor my cat video, nor my interview piece, so who the fuck cares, right? People are busy and bombarded with information. It doesn’t matter what I think, really.

It’s like I want to recreate the feeling when my 14-year-old self had heard of, like, two bands that most other people at my school hadn’t heard of yet and I briefly felt all underground and cool.

It didn’t last.

Neither did the careers of Live or Ugly Kid Joe.

Speaking of not lasting, it’s interesting to read the criticisms of Jamie Oliver in the press this week. The descriptions of him as a class tourist are really apt; he really can be clueless about poverty, food, and when to STFU. Talking with and talking at people is not the same thing.

That having been said, he does a lot of good. I just wish he’d do it in a less smug, condescending, and self-serving way.

Speaking of smug, condescending, and self-serving, I’m off to a writing workshop at a local improv festival this afternoon. I expect a lot of it will be rehashing things I learned in Chicago last year. Fingers crossed that I’ll learn enough new and/or get a kick in the pants to get shit done in a more productive way.

Maybe I’ll even remember how to come up with a conclusion and punchline again.

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