the Earth is lighter

For all the pomp and circumstance, the millions of people gathered, the events, the exuberance, and the elation that yes, the guy I voted for, who I supported from the beginning of his candidacy, who I actually LIKE, becoming President of the United States and delivering an impassioned if perhaps not emergently quotable speech, two words unspoken by anyone on the dais were the loudest.

It's over.

It had been by the time Yo-Yo Ma and three talents of a similar caliber sat down to play. The torch passes no later than noon.

Holy fuck.

I can't tell you accurately just how much of my personal identity can be traced to that avatar of cruel ignorance and failure. Being politically aware on a full-time basis started for me eight years ago today. My initial thirst came from the hope and desire to learn that my hatred for the man was irrational.

The answers I found are now irrevocably engraved in our history.

The anti-Bush rant has become a genre in and of itself among bloggers, opinion makers, and the rest of humanity. It's something you could bang out in a few minutes time whenever you were angry. It flows easily, and you can say fantastically vile things without a trace of remorse. He was and is, after all, The Enemy. Richard Nixon in cowboy boots. Herbert Hoover minus even the stated desire to "put a chicken in every pot" Marie Antoinette, except he actually meant "let them eat cake" To recount the entirety of the clusterfuck would be superfluous. But if you must hear it:

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I believe that this can be the start of something great if we, the people are willing to invest in it. Of course, none of us can know what began today.

But at the very least, we know what's come to an end.

So drink deep. Here, at the end of the world, we must be sure to celebrate when we have cause.

Getting Back into the Game

I've taken a sort of leave of absence from this space (as opposed to previous gaps where I was just too lazy to transfer any of my ideas into written form) due to the fact that my wrists were screaming at me every time I began to type at any kind of length.

No, I still don't have health insurance.

Yes, I realize that that's pretty dumb of me.

It also meant that playing the guitar was right out.

Long story short, I've been getting rusty in two of the areas I most wish to improve myself. It's pretty much sucked. Especially since I'm currently stuck in the early stages of a stage musical project because apparently I forgot how to flesh out a damn plot structure.

I'm not saying any more at the moment because

(a) waiting until I have it on its feet to talk about it gives me an incentive to get it done faster

(b) someone with better resources than me could very easily take the rug out from under me on this. The songs I want to use will very soon be public domain.

I will say this. If it goes up, the musical accompaniment will be a guitar, bass, and drums, with possible additions on a per song basis.

It pisses me off knowing that as of this writing, I wouldn't have the chops to play the guitar parts.

Which was especially awkward when this happened.


I have to say that as a(n alleged) performer of multiple stripes, being congratulated when you know that you sucked ass is one of the more embarrasing things that can happen after a performance.

I made it through about half of the solo in Sunshine of Your Love before getting Andrew to wail on the drums to cover for my incompetence.

But I'm playing again. And as of now, I'm writing again--here and elsewhere. And I've put an end to a few rather annoying slumps.

And there will be more to speak of soon.

These are Good Things.