There is one deathball high fructose corn syrup laced Atomic Fireball in the drawer of my desk. I am conjuring up the will to never ingest it. I've dropped a couple of pounds since the beginning of the new year and I don't dare risk falling off the wagon into the land of junk food enchantment. Enough about my cliched resolution and on to the state of the blog.
My tenure as a Blogcritic is drawing to a close. I'm leaving their fold for various reasons, but leaving BC means you probably won't be seeing as many music reviews here in the future. There'll still be plenty of music babble happening just with not as much frequency. More of the focus here will be on stories.
There's stories of old to be told - perhaps the night the whole gang went commoding or the night I almost kicked out of Martin Theater for smoking and cussing people during E.T., or maybe I'll tell of the time I whacked the neighbor girl on the head with a hammer because she was messing around in my toy box (I was only 4). That's where SS is headed this year. And it's not a mere nostalgia trip through the past as the Soulfish wife believes. It's because all stories happen in the past, perhaps even science fiction.