“Talks too much.”
That’s what they always said. They, ubiquitous they. They who fill out report cards. They who guide boring class field trips. They who lead tedious classroom discussions. They who never understood the true value and genius of my side conversations. They had no sense of humor. They were only interested in policing creativity. Truth? They were probably underpaid and exhausted by smartasses like myself who knew it all and had to comment on every. fucking. thing. “Not everything needs an editorial, you know,” an old friend once told me. While this friend and even “they” were probably right, I just couldn’t help myself. I still can’t. talking too much in the digital age, as luck would have it, is a good thing. As a blogger, a podcaster and a tweeter, I am now offered endless opportunities to never shut the hell up. I write plays and my favorite part has always been long stretches of ambling dialogue. I wrote a show once and someone who read it told me, “Wow. You really love people just standing around talking.” Guilty as charged. When I finished a new show last year, something didn’t click. Although, it was a monologue show (a wet dream for someone who likes to write shows where people just stand around and talk) there was something missing. that something? Me. seemingly overnight, I couldn’t fake wanting to write for other characters anymore.It started to ring hollow. It felt like I was pushing phony conversations I didn’t actually want to have. Turns out, the character that couldn’t wait to open his mouth was the character who wouldn’t shut up during class all those years ago. Turns out, I wanted to write for me.
That’s how we, you and I, got here. It’s me talking. My old beloved blog where I met so many people and learned so much kind of talked about my journey of being recovery and that was sort of it. And while I’m still in recovery and not some fucking crazy person who woke up and thought they could drink like a gentlemen, I want to talk about other stuff too. Life has given me opportunity to write about pop culture so I’ll talk about that since it’s an obsession and something I love yammering about. And I’m gay so I’ll talk about that because that still seems like something people get all fucked up about. And of course I’ll talk about being sober and the other assorted mental health delights I get to have. The images here are all mine or manipulated and changed by me so they become mine. I’m learning to talk with pictures too so maybe my next monologue show will be standing around showing you pictures. I know. You’ve already bought your ticket. So if you’d like to use any of them, reach out to me. I’m no professional photographer and just another tool with an iPhone who likes taking pictures of his french fries. Translation: I’d be thrilled if you wanted to use them and will probably be very easy/accommodating. I guess I should also mention that in true monologue style I’m not really going to get my grammar panties in a wad and edit 4 billion times. I want to talk and have a brain vomit, sort of stream of consciousness ramble. Like Jack Kerouac crossed with a drunk Care Bear. Or something. So yeah. I’m talking.
(thanks for listening)