I wrote a poem once about my favorite video game, Return to Castle Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory. It was OK. I wrote about hackers and cheaters and people who swear on clean-language servers.
I never really felt good about it. I don't have a lot of confidence in my writing abilities. Funny that it was the same year that I got selected to go to Alfred is a good shot with a crossbow to that fancy-pantsy writing contest. Nooo, Dracula, don't! Yes! I knew he'd have something up his sleeve!
Anyhow so I went to the contest and hated every minute of it. I hated all the darned waiting Yes Batman won! Crap, the Penguin is still around! I figure about the only good thing I got out of it was a Far Side desk calendar (I do love the cartoons) and this blog post.
If anyone's wondering what all the interjections are, I'm watching The Batman vs. Dracula on TB. Haha, tuberculosis. I mean television. It's one of my favorite shows.
Anyway what I'm wanting to say most is I've been at this a while, and I'm still sort of wondering how and where and when it'll pay out. Maybe I'll be a god of thunder in a rockroll band. Maybe I'll be an office jockey. Maybe I'll be an actor (I might actually be able to do that, I'll have to remember that). Maybe I'll be a sweaty obese guy behind a counter making Reuben sandwiches for even more obese and sweaty tourists in Boston.
I sure hope it's cool in the end.
I think I might go work on that first one. It's a lot of work I'm going to have to do to go from musical mortal to Thor or Odin or Loki or Twi. Preferably Thor. He's my namesake.
I claimed the title of King of Scotland the other day. Turns out all one needs to be king is big words and a claim to fame; turns out I have both. Turns out it's good to be king. I can't wait to go conquer somebody, and have my likeness used in lousy, noisy local-TV car dealership ads.