Welp, what can I say? What a week. Do you ever just take a step back from your life and think about what a great sitcom it would be? Like, if you were to remove yourself completely and look in, you’d be able to laugh and complement the writing? I utterly detest that sentiment, and yet, more often that not, I find myself in less than savory situations.
For those of us familiar with my work in the theatre, my Magnum Opus was a production of Over the Garden Wall, which was wildly well received in the Minneapolis Metro, and unfortunately shot by a girl more concerned about duct taping the University provided camera to the theatre balcony than she was with filming. The keerrrr-rip of duct tape, resonating in the back of your less than lustrous recording, while you focus on… something. You’re not sure what it is, but it’s a well known fact that focus should never be directed at the actors when watching a performance.
Or, maybe, you put a pair of chopsticks wrong on a table, because yes, I assure you, a set of chopsticks can be haphazardly placed upside-down and that’s the reason the restaurant you work at isn’t getting any business, because of chopsticks. Maybe someone got written up for that and another person fired. Perhaps later, you’ll get stuck in a building and wake up the doorman who locked the door to take a nap to let you out. If I were a dog who needed to go outside, he would have moved a lot faster. I was pretty close to pooping on his marble floor though, I’m not going to lie.
Life is stranger than fiction, ya’ll. Given, sometimes it’s miraculous and stupendous! Or not always. And for those of us stuck in the purgatory that is “not always”, there is a silver lining, but we’re too blind to see it.
Some boys view the world through rose coloured lenses.
Some boys wear sunglasses at night.
And some of us are nightblind as fuck, but we keep pretending we can see just fine.
Sometimes little details in life get us down, but we can’t let ourselves be crushed by the bitch-wit-dat-fat-ass-in-da-club that life really is. Most of my life has actually been a cantankerous fugly slut in Juicy Couture sweats, so I’m curious to see what else it can bring to the table.
Bring it on, February.
Do your worst.
Disclaimer: Manic depressive word vomit aside, there’s a lot of CRAZY GOOD content coming up this week, including a review of Loring Place, an interview with a bourgeois designer, and a review of NYC’s best cakeries!