So this is the last one. We’ll see how much more I have until the end of the year. I do have some Notes of a Goon writing to do, but I really can feel finished.
Christmas is going to be unsettled, just like Thanksgiving.
Whatever. Keep plugging along until I have to make a change.
Lots of thoughts listening to Mean Age Daydream this morning, as well as some of the Thanksgiving podcasts. The guest was a comic who wrote, and was pitching a book on “woke” comedy.
One of the things he had was following a rape victim on an open mic…and how that really killed his act for the night.
Another was following a disabled comic.
Going through my inventory, I really don’t fit nicely into a lot of the categories of concern. (Which sounds a lot like one of Fauci’s comebacks to Rand Paul about gain-of-funciton research being conducted in Wuhan; No, Senator, we weren’t conducting gain-of-function of concern….)
So what the hell am I? Disabled? Yep. Rich? Nope. White? Not completely, and that was a bit of an issue for my father growing up in the deep South in the 1960s. Product of an affluent school? Fuck no. I grew up all over the place, and really don’t have anywhere I consider “home.”
I could ask what considerations I should have, etc.
But I don’t care. Leave me alone, and don’t try to make me live the way you think I should.
There was a radio host to whom I used to listen (when he was still on the air…) who had a video message a couple of days ago that was targeting the sorts of things people think are important today. His message? “So what.”
I agree, of course, but that also makes me out-of-place today. But that comes with being a recovering radio guy, I guess.
I’ve written every day in November, now, for thirteen straight years.
Because it’s what I fucking wanted to do.