Conspiracy Theorists

According to still-prevailing internet theory this blog should have netted me an agent, a lucrative multi-media deal including book publication and major PR blitz, appearances on The View and/or Ellen, oodles of money, an opportunity to do a Tiger Woods with a book store employee or a Red Robin waitress (love me some Red Robin!), and a shot at being a half-baked pundit for the local news outlets.

Internet theory sucks.

This blog has, however, been indulged by all 3 of you reading this. Group hug all around. The Glorious Revolution has had Palins, Boners, Tea Baggers, Limp Noodlers, Bachmanns, Man’s inhumanity to damn near everything, book store inequity, acts of God that make you wanna say “Dude, fucking chill,” Abrams/Orci/Kurtzman’s Star Trek, not a single autographed love note from Rosario Dawson (or Pam Grier – what’s up with that?), and mourning the last interested damn anybody gave in making sense anymore. But guess what? Vive la Revoluccion! Until we are driven to extinction, we, this magnificent band of you and me, will blog, read and write till our last breath! We will not believe that hype elevates crap. We will not believe that vital resources like oxygen should go to any television show with the words “Housewives” in its title. We will demand intelligence, demand wit, demand a bit more in our lives than Snooki is currently able to provide. We will be stupid but be smart about it, and we will not let mouf-breathin’ sumbitches tell us the moon is made of cheese. We will disengage the Borg aspects of our lives. We will not talk more, talk anytime; we will shut up! Van Morrison will sing hymns to the silence. We will ask questions that we don’t think we already know the answers to; we’ll listen to songs in languages we don’t know to see if we’re still able to feel. For the love of God we will NOT see Transformers 4.

Simply won’t do it.

It’s my privilege to thank all 3 of you for allowing whatever service these words provide, however slight, however brief. I’ll continue being perturbed even though I don’t know that you’re there. Somebody’s got to be perturbed. Otherwise the Nightly News will look even more like TMZ.

(Future historians: TMZ was a butt-noxious televised foray into the notion of “celebrity”; it was much like being hounded by that drunk friend at a party, a party you’d wanted to leave for quite some time already.)

What if internet theory holds true though? What if fame and fortune and everything that goes with it…entraps me? Well, to paraphrase Freddie Mercury, “I’ve had my share of sand kicked in my face and I’ll never lose.” We are the champions, my friends, and I only do this because of you. If I was Christ riches wouldn’t tempt me. The flesh—well, within reason. To quote myself: “We all have people we’d like to mash our faces into till we come out the other side.” That kind of passion can’t be denied. No, if I was Christ my temptation would be to simply go away, to leave any semblance of pressure or responsibility behind. But as I’ve been known to get burned by holy water I can definitely say I ain’t Christ.

So I’ll be here awhile come agents or high obscurity.

Keep the inner revolution going, my friends.