Just a Monument, plz.

Slow Chemical is on hiatus for a moment while I catch up on writing it. I’ve been busily working offline on many other things for the past couple of weeks. I’ve quit smoking, gone back to school, and begun looking for a new job and a place to live. It’s just the way I tend to do things, as a procrastination apprentice: all at once and with very little time to spare. This time last year I was a completely different person in a completely different place. Same story a year before that. My life changes so very quickly and frequently that by now I’ve stopped bothering to worry about it, and just float on.

For those who have followed me online for a few semesters, that should sound about right. How many domain names have I had, under how many formats, and with how many writers and artists by my side? Infinite combinations, no one person could remember everything we’ve done with this here empire. From thousands of adoring fans to a simple weblog in 60 seconds flat, that sounds like something I would do again and again. I keep trying to figure what the point of this Blogger site is though, and in this one entry it seems to be a typical journal.

I went to the cheapo movies with Kitty last night to see Birth. It was really, really great -- much better than the one I walked out of last week to avoid getting into some fisticuffs with an asshole sitting near us. Next week we’re seeing Alfie and I <3 Huckabees. I considered doing “DVD Reviews” or something but decided that would be less awesome than never doing anything with a point to it. Like this.

I will be recruiting arrogant nerds for positions here. I haven’t decided where to find them yet. I’m not sure if I want anyone else from my offline life to be around here, but there are a couple who might fit. We’ll see. If you have a firm grip on the English language and consider yourself to be too cool for sex and sandals, give me an email (mcfloss@gmail.com) or leave a comment with a link to a blog or site with your writing on it, and please provide a return address. Remember, it’s not predictable humor anymore -- we are now serving pretension and philosophy by the gallon.