1. Tuesday, August 27, 2002

    i am having the hardest time with this proposal that i need to write 

    i used to have a teacher who said that if a writer gets writer’s block then he shouldn’t write right then. i never liked that teacher.

    i went through all the strange motions of creation last night. i got super excited about how i was gonna do it. i got hyper. i got horny. i got hungry, then thirsty. then i wanted to use the phone. then the bathroom. then i sat down at the computer to do it, then i hit a wall.

    my proposal is going to be in a blogspot blog and i was redesigning the page to look like the company who i wanted to work for. and there was this big blogspot ad on the top so i was able to give in to my procrastination when, after i paid to get the ad off the top, i got a message saying that the ad will stay on for 24-48 hours.

    so that gives me a few more days to be a complete slacker.

    im getting pretty tired of being a slacker.

    what sucks is that nothing motivates me.

    there used to be a time that i wanted to impress the pretty girls. but that doesn’t do much for me any more.

    mostly cuz its not enough to have them impressed. and its not to have them want to make out with me.

    i want them to completely adore me.

    i guess im not that good of a blogger yet.


    and yeah, the money’s good, but it’s not enough to get a cadillac.

    so why do any of it? the fun?

    im old, fun makes me sleepy.

    there are a very small amount of people whose opinions do matter to me, and i think i do this for them, for their approval, for their recognition.

    strange thing about that sort of motivation, rarely do they like the things that i write to impress them, generally they like the off-the-wall things that i just write out of my ass.

    you know what i want though, secretly?

    just between you and me?

    it’s very idealistic, so don’t laugh.

    just like how i don’t want the hotties to like me because of my clothes or my hair or my accent or my shoe size, things that aren’t really me, i want them to like me for my real parts.

    anyhow, i want some big time magazine, i interviewed Anka who, at the time, was writing for Details, this was many moons ago, and she said that she totally made a living and could live in new york city by writing 12 articles a year for Details, anyhow, i want some fancy editor to say, “tony, forget the clips, we know who you are and we see bigger things for you. we want you to interview real people, real celebs. we want to put you on the road with a great camera, and we want you to write three articles a week.”

    i love the road.

    i love the people.

    i love the taking of pictures.

    i love to daydream.

    i love writing and writing and writing and writing through the alleged writer’s block, and real carpal tunnel, you hack teacher, who wouldn’t know a real writer if he sat in the front row of your class with a Gwar tshirt that said “this toilet earth” across the front.

    and for a very few, an extremely few exceptions, the old adage rings true, but of course i’ll polish it up for you:

    those who cant rock


    and those who can rock,

    hit the road,


    and have catholic girl skirt contests.